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barbenheimer-core · 3 years ago

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AUDERE EST FACERE !

하나. chanel : part four — 3k words

Wangja crossed the street with a bag of two steaming bowls of ramyeon and red ginseng, speeding up his pace to prevent the noodles from getting too soggy while he walked the path over to his shop where he had left Ahyeong at, sighing as he thought about the new addition to the cast.

When he had walked into his store last night, he was not expecting a stage to commence immediately upon entering the lounge.

Thank the writer (this was the first and last time he was going to say that) that their conversation and actions had already been written out, or else the shop owner would've been gawking at the new girl for the entirety of the stage.

He had been immensely startled back then; it was unusual for him to not know the timing and plot of every stage because he always made sure to check the comic that permanently resided in a small, hidden corner of his shop every single day.

But when he had browsed the comic as soon as Ahyeong had left, he had been bewildered at the sudden shift in the book's contents.

The cast page had been altered to feature four main characters instead of the original trio, and as he had turned the pages, he had noticed the new stages being inked with interactions that had never been present as of before.

To think that an already complicated web of troubling relationships had not been enough for the writer, they had proceeded to add a love square to the mix.

Wangja grimaced at his creator's choices in life. They had definitely been influenced by someone to do so if it had been so last minute.

But one thing was for sure; out of all the stories that the writer had put him in, this was by far the most interesting.

"Ahyeong-ah! I'm back!" he yelled into the air as he stepped in, his voice echoing in the shop.

The silence was his only response.

Confused, he stepped through the streamers that decorated the lounge's archway, eyes searching for the girl while he set the food down on the coffee table next to the abandoned copy of Shiver.

"Ahyeong, are you here-"

He stopped abruptly, gaze finding the peach cover of True Beauty toppled upside down on the floor in front of a shelf he swore no one would notice.

With dread in his mind, he picked it up, turning it around, only to be faced by the drawn version of the person he was looking for.

Oh no. She'd seen it.

If Gilyeong had to describe his sister at that moment, he would've said she looked like she'd risen from a grave in a zombie apocalypse movie.

She looked dead. Alive, yes, but dead.

Like someone had told her whole life was a lie.

When Ahyeong had arrived back home from wherever she had dashed off to during the morning, she had looked like she'd gone through the five stages of grief, questioned the meaning of life, and ran a marathon through the streets of Seoul by how hard she was breathing.

He had almost asked her if she was okay, but that would've come off as him being "concerned for his dear sister," as Eunjung had so uselessly put it, and he hated proving people right. And besides, Ahyeong was clearly not okay.

"Oye, grinch," he called out across the table after seeing her actions.

She looked as if she hadn't even heard him. No annoyed flinch, no irritated twitching of her eyebrow; no reaction at all. Just her mindlessly trying to eat soup with chopsticks.

Eunjung looked at her with an extreme amount of concern.

Gilyeong almost puked at the feeling of worry in his gut.

Ahyeong was functioning on auto-pilot, her consciousness having taken a backseat as the only thing that moved her was sheer muscle memory.

She couldn't even remember how she had come back to her house, however, the stinging in her legs informed her of how she had deserted the shop and ran all the way back home, much to Driver Kwon's horror.

Her head felt empty.

Being in a comic? As a bully? That had to be the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard, or read, about herself.

It did not make sense. She was quite literally a model student, with a record as clean as glass. Being reduced to the likes of a bully? Impossible.

And then the derealisation came in.

This probably wasn't real after all. Maybe it was just one big practical joke blown out of proportion.

Yeah, that was it, she concluded as she finally became aware of her surroundings, dropping the chopsticks in her hands with a confused look and picking up a spoon to continue eating her soup, unaware of the small breath of relief from across the table.

That weird paralysis thing hadn't happened since the other day anyway, so she was probably going to be okay.

TURN.

What a fucking lie, you're kidding—

The doors to the house banged open, harshly knocking against the walls and startling the occupants of the dining room.

Song Hwayoung came inside the house, immediately making Eunjung receive her in a hurry and assist her with taking off her coat and setting her a pair of slippers.

Ahyeong was panicking. Why now? The universe was being unnecessarily cruel. Her body felt like a rock, cemented into the ground. The air got colder, the lights felt different, brighter somehow, as if someone was shining a spotlight down on her family, as if a grim situation was about to ensue.

Ahyeong almost got up to greet her mother, but sat back down after seeing the subtle shake of Gilyeong's head, who hastily looked down at his empty plate after Hwayoung came to sit at the head of the table.

Her mother looked like she had been trying to bottle up her anger the whole day, and the cap was finally about to burst.

Ahyeong felt unsettled at the sudden change in demeanor. Her mother had never gotten this furious before, ever. She attempted to stand, but she was glued to her seat and could only watch as Hwayoung glared daggers at Gilyeong.

She threw a stack of papers in front of Gilyeong, who shrunk into his seat when he saw its contents.

"What is this?" Hwayoung inquired, trying her best to appear calm.

The young boy mumbled a reply in a voice so small that it was barely audible.

Hwayoung flared her nostrils, "Say it louder!"

Both siblings flinched at the volume. "My report card," the youngest said shakily.

Why was her mum flipping over a simple report card? It's not like grades mattered—

"Even I know that it's a fucking report card. What I want to know is why your grades dropped to C's and D's and why the hell you're failing in math?"

Ahyeong's eyes widened, either involuntarily or of her own free will, she didn't know. Hwayoung cursing at her brother and raging over his academic report? That was quite literally the opposite of how her mother was. Hwayoung was supposed to be the sweetest person she'd ever known, understanding and supportive through every endeavor.

For a moment she considered if her mother had been replaced by a clone of a crueler version of her. With the bullshit that was happening to her right now, the theory did not even feel that far-fetched.

At Gilyeong's silence, Hwayoung scoffed, "All of this was happening and you didn't even bother telling me? I was in a phone call with your friend's mother who told me her son had scored first place but when she mentioned how you weren't even in the top ten do you know how humiliated I felt?"

She stood up abruptly, throwing her chair back, which was immediately caught by Eunjung, and scowled at the boy, not a single trace of warmth in her eyes that her daughter was familiar with, "What an embarrassment to the Song name. At least your sister fares better than you."

With that, she stalked away, heels clicking against the marble floors as she retreated to her room.

TURN .

Ahyeong got up as soon as she could control her movements, rushing over to Gilyeong whose eyes had become red and puffy as he sniffled.

She pulled him in between her arms, and he shook uncontrollably, Eunjung watching the ordeal with downtrodden eyes, wishing she could help.

This was far beyond what she thought would happen. No, that woman could not have been their mother.

As she put her brother to sleep that night, she came to a solution.

Stepping into the elevator to reach Cloud9 Officetel's terrace the next day, her resolve strengthened.

This nightmare was ending, one way or the other.

Jugyeong was quite possibly living the worst nightmare she'd ever had.

The world was too cruel. Beauty was only on the inside, they said. What a horrible lie.

She had been humiliated beyond measure. All she tried to do was convey her honest feelings to quite possibly the only person who had ever been genuinely kind to her. She would've been fine if Wang Hyunbin had simply rejected her and decided to stay as friends. But for him and Semi to destroy her pride and self-worth like that? Because of how she looked?

She felt her eyes burning with warm tears before they cascaded down her cheeks, the cold wind at the top of the building harshly biting at her skin and rattling her bones.

She shivered.

Cold, it was too cold. What a day to die.

Jugyeong's hands hovered over her phone's screen as she stared at her mother's contact. Would her family even mourn her? Good riddance, they would probably think.

But she had to tell someone, and even if her mother was harsh with her words, she still loved her. She had to tell her the reason why she was about to jump off of a building.

Just as her finger leaned down to press the call button, the door to the rooftop opened, and Jugyeong jumped in shock, turning around to see who had come in.

She did a double-take.

Was God personally consenting to her taking her own life? Because she was pretty sure he had sent down an angel to escort her soul into heaven.

Her glasses had been abandoned on the bench she'd been sitting on from when she had been trying to wipe her tears, so she couldn't really see the person properly, but even with bad eyesight, the stranger looked almost ethereal.

They were dressed in a black dress and heels, as if they had gone to a funeral, or were planning to go to one.

They stopped upon seeing Jugyeong's disheveled self.

Was God finally being kind to her in her final moments?

Mind in a haze and not thinking straight, Jugyeong broke down yet again.

Ahyeong was startled at the girl crying in front of her. She didn't think there was going to be someone else up there other than herself.

When she looked closer at the girl who was sobbing uncontrollably in front of her, she noticed who it was, immediately taking a few steps back on instinct.

Moon Gayoung? Why was she in a school uniform— oh.

You've got to be kidding me.

What luck she had, walking right into the girl this world literally revolved around.

She felt something pulling away at her in the back of her mind, sending warning bells down her spine, saying she wasn't supposed to be there. But why?

Ahyeong's heart almost burst out of her ribcage when Jugyeong threw herself at her, clutching almost painfully at her waist and sobbing into her dress.

She froze at the sudden contact, arms awkwardly hovering over the girl's shoulders.

Jugyeong had probably not recognized her yet, because there was no way she was hugging her future tormentor just like that.

"Th-thank y-y-you for c-coming," the girl said between choked breaths, "F-for being- for being here in my—" she struggled to say the words, "—my final moments."

Ahyeong stilled at that.

By the time her words had registered, she already knew what was happening.

This was the scene from the drama, she remembered, when Jugyeong had tried to kill herself because of the incident at school.

How ironic. Ahyeong almost laughed at her situation, they were here for the same fate for almost the same reason. Both didn't like the world that they lived in.

But for the Song girl, this was a test, really. A theory she came up with in the dead of the night.

The sensation of falling, that knee-jerk reaction, and the feeling of finally waking up from your dream. That was what she was hoping for. She wasn't here to die, she was here to go back to living her own life.

But the girl who clung to her was dead set on ending things, and frankly, that was a dreadful thought.

Ahyeong had no intention of leaving her as she was, be this a fictional world or not, Im Jugyeong was a human being who deserved a lot more than she got.

"Were you going to jump?"

Jugyeong's thoughts came to a halt as the Angel asked a question, the oddly familiar lilt of her voice bringing a strange mix of foreboding and warmth in her gut.

Still shaking, she only nodded against her shoulder.

"Why?"

"Because-" she sniffled, tightening her arms around them, "because everyone hates me," her voice faded at the end, and her wobbly knees gave in, making her sink into the hard floor and dragging the person along with her.

This time, the Angel wrapped her arms around her, rubbing soothing circles into her back.

"Jugyeong, things may seem horrible for you at the moment, and you have every right to be upset over what was said and done, but it is impossible to know answers to such questions when you're so overwhelmed."

The words cut through her haziness, her cries slowly stopping as what they said registered in Jugyeong's mind.

"You don't really want to die, do you?"

It felt weird, being told such things by a stranger.

Maybe deep down she had already known, but her despair had overtaken her senses and disregarded her common sense.

"Why were you really about to call your mother?"

Because she was hoping someone would stop her. To make sure someone really did care about her despite appearances.

The Angel patted her back, and slowly pulled away, only to firmly place their hands on Jugyeong's shoulders.

"Your family's waiting."

She didn't need to be told twice.

Maybe God was kinder than she thought.

It was getting dark now.

The cold evening air nipped at her skin as Ahyeong stood on the edge, heels digging into the concrete as she gazed down below.

What a hypocrite she was, telling all those things to Jugyeong.

She'd sent her home with a taxi after their ordeal, and Jugyeong had not even looked at her once through the whole thing.

She didn't know why.

The road was buzzing with activity, cars zooming past on asphalt, people walking home on the footpaths, vendors selling seasonal goods by the side.

It seemed to be a normal day.

She wondered how the rest of their day would go if her body suddenly flopped down there.

Gooseflesh rose on her arms. All of this was too real.

She slapped herself, the stinging spreading through her numb skin and making her wince in pain.

What was she doing? Was she really about to jump off a building just to test a theory out?

What if it failed? The pain in her cheek would pale in comparison to what would happen should she fall.

And the people waiting for her back home, thinking she was off paying her respects to an old friend. Gilyeong and Eunjung would be destroyed.

Ahyeong stepped back. No, she couldn't do this. She wasn't planning on dying today. Or anytime soon really.

She'd just have to get used to living here—

TURN.

Song Ahyeong stepped closer to the edge of the building, awaiting her doom.

What the fuck!? She didn't want to die, shit, shit, shit—

The LED screen behind her lit up in hues of pink and purple, colorful shadows falling on her dress that did nothing against the frigid wind.

Jung Seyeon's face graced the billboard in the distance, an ode from the people to celebrate the day he was born, and an apology for being the reason he died.

One more step and she would fall. No, no, one more step and she'd fall—

Ahyeong leaned forward closing her eyes for the last time.

NO!

And so, she fell backward.

Wait, backward?

TURN.

Ahyeong barely registered the iron grip on her wrist before it was tugged hard, her stiletto losing its balance and twisting her foot at an unnatural angle.

She widened her eyes as her vision blurred, surroundings moving too fast, and braced herself for the impact on the rough concrete.

It never came.

Instead, she fell on the person who had taken the liberty of pulling her back, and subsequently saving her. Groaning, she raised her head, squinting against the bright light of the advertisement.

"What a relief," Suho breathed out.

The ColorBeauty commercial cast the glow of its neon colors over their faces, and as the faint melody of Seyeon's voice filled the silence in the air, Song Ahyeong knew that somehow, she had fucked up.

masterlist

#true beauty #cha eunwoo #hwang inyeop #moon gayoung #lee suho #han seojun #im jugyeong #kang sujin #extraordinary you #lee suho x reader #lee suho x oc #korean drama #kdrama fanfic #kdrama imagine #kdrama scenarios #webtoon

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phroyd · 3 years ago

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One of our Great Comedians leaves us this day! Rest In Peace, Jackie! - Phroyd

Jackie Mason, whose staccato, arm-waving delivery and thick Yiddish accent kept the borscht belt style of comedy alive long after the Catskills resorts had shut their doors, and whose career reached new heights in the 1980s with a series of one-man shows on Broadway, died on Saturday in Manhattan. He was 93.His death, at Mount Sinai Hospital, was confirmed by the lawyer Raoul Felder, a longtime friend.Mr. Mason regarded the world around him as a nonstop assault on common sense and an affront to his sense of dignity. Gesturing frantically, his forefinger jabbing the air, he would invite the audience to share his sense of disbelief and inhabit his very thin skin, if only for an hour.“I used to be so self-conscious,” he once said, “that when I attended a football game, every time the players went into a huddle, I thought they were talking about me.” Recalling his early struggles as a comic, he said, “I had to sell furniture to make a living — my own.”The idea of music in elevators sent him into a tirade: “I live on the first floor; how much music can I hear by the time I get there? The guy on the 28th floor, let him pay for it.”

The humor was punchy, down-to-earth and emphatically Jewish: His last one-man show in New York, in 2008, was titled “The Ultimate Jew.” A former rabbi from a long line of rabbis, Mr. Mason made comic capital as a Jew feeling his way — sometimes nervously, sometimes pugnaciously — through a perplexing gentile world.“Every time I see a contradiction or hypocrisy in somebody’s behavior,” he once told The Wall Street Journal, “I think of the Talmud and build the joke from there.” Describing his comic style to The New York Times in 1988, he said, “My humor — it’s a man in a conversation, pointing things out to you.”“He’s not better than you, he’s just another guy,” he added. “I see life with love — I’m your brother up there — but if I see you make a fool out of yourself, I owe it to you to point that out to you.”He was born Yacov Moshe Maza in Sheboygan, Wis., on June 9, 1928, to immigrants from Belarus. (Some sources give the year as 1931.) When he was 5, his father, Eli, an Orthodox rabbi, and his mother, Bella (Gitlin) Maza, moved the family to the Lower East Side of Manhattan, where Yacov discovered that his path in life had already been determined. Not only his father, but his grandfather, great-grandfather and great-great-grandfathers had all been rabbis. His three older brothers became rabbis, and his two younger sisters married rabbis. “It was unheard-of to think of anything else,” Mr. Mason said. “But I knew, from the time I’m 12, I had to plot to get out of this, because this is not my calling.”

After earning a degree from City College, he completed his rabbinical studies at Yeshiva University and was ordained. In a state of mounting misery, he tended to congregations in Weldon, N.C., and Latrobe, Pa., unhappy in his profession but unwilling to disappoint his father.Hedging his bets, he had begun working summers in the Catskills, where he wrote comic monologues and appeared onstage at every opportunity. This, he decided, was his true calling, and after his father’s death in 1959 he felt free to pursue it in earnest, with a new name.He struggled at first, playing the Catskills and, with little success, obscure clubs in New York and Miami. Plagued by guilt, he underwent psychoanalysis, which did not solve his problems but did provide him with good comic material.Nevertheless, he found it hard to break into the nightclub circuit in New York — in part, he claimed, because his act made Jewish audiences uncomfortable. “My accent reminds them of a background they’re trying to forget,” he said.

While performing at a Los Angeles nightclub in 1960, he caught the attention of his fellow comedian Jan Murray, who recommended him to the television personality Steve Allen. Two appearances in two weeks on “The Steve Allen Show” led to bookings at the Copacabana and the Blue Angel in New York.Mr. Mason’s career was off and running. He became a regular on the top television variety shows, recorded two albums for the Verve label — “I Am the Greatest Comedian in the World Only Nobody Knows It Yet” and “I Want to Leave You With the Words of a Great Comedian” — and wrote a book, “My Son the Candidate.”

After dozens of appearances on “The Ed Sullivan Show,” Mr. Mason encountered disaster on Oct. 18, 1964. A speech by President Lyndon B. Johnson pre-empted the program, which resumed as Mr. Mason was halfway through his act. Onstage but out of camera range, Sullivan indicated with two fingers, then one, how many minutes Mr. Mason had left, distracting the audience. Mr. Mason, annoyed, responded by holding up his own fingers to the audience, saying, “Here’s a finger for you, and a finger for you, and a finger for you.”Sullivan, convinced that one of those fingers was an obscene gesture, canceled Mr. Mason’s six-show contract and refused to pay him for the performance. Mr. Mason sued, and won.The two later reconciled, but the damage was done. Club owners and booking agents now regarded him, he said, as “crude and unpredictable.”

“People started to think I was some kind of sick maniac,” Mr. Mason told Look. “It took 20 years to overcome what happened in that one minute.”His career went into a slump, punctuated by bizarre instances of bad luck. In Las Vegas in 1966, after he made a few ill-considered remarks about Frank Sinatra’s recent marriage to the much younger Mia Farrow (“Frank soaks his dentures and Mia brushes her braces,” one joke went), an unidentified gunman fired a .22 pistol into his hotel room.A play he starred in and wrote (with Mike Mortman), “A Teaspoon Every Four Hours,” went through a record-breaking 97 preview performances on Broadway before opening on June 14, 1969, to terrible reviews. It closed after one night, taking with it his $100,000 investment.He also invested in “The Stoolie” (1972), a film in which he played a con man and improbable Romeo. It also failed, taking even more of his money. Roles in sitcoms and films eluded him, although he did make the most of small parts in Mel Brooks’s “History of the World: Part I” (1981) — he was “Jew No. 1” in the Spanish Inquisition sequence — and “The Jerk” (1979), in which he played the gas-station owner who employs Steve Martin.Rebuffed, Mr. Mason set about rebuilding his career with guest appearances on television. His new manager, Jyll Rosenfeld, convinced that the old borscht belt comics were ripe for a comeback, encouraged him to bring his act to the theater as a one-man show.

After attracting celebrity audiences in Los Angeles, that show, “The World According to Me!,” opened on Broadway in December 1986 and ran for two years. It earned Mr. Mason a special Tony Award in 1987, as well as an Emmy for writing after HBO aired an abridged version in 1988.

“I didn’t think it would work,” Mr. Mason said. “But people, when they come into a theater, see you in a whole new light. It’s like taking a picture from a kitchen and hanging it in a museum.”In 1991 Mr. Mason married Ms. Rosenfeld, who survives him. He is also survived by a daughter, the comedian Sheba Mason, from a relationship with Ginger Reiter in the 1970s and ’80s.“The World According to Me!” generated a series of sequels — “Politically Incorrect,” “Love Thy Neighbor,” “Prune Danish” and others — which carried Mr. Mason through the 1990s and into the new millennium.He published an autobiography, “Jackie, Oy!” (written with Ken Gross), in 1988. He also found a new sideline as an opinionated political commentator on talk radio. In the 2016 presidential campaign, he was one of the few well-known entertainers to support Donald J. Trump.Mr. Mason’s forays into political commentary caused him trouble. He was reported to have used a Yiddish word considered to be a racial slur in talking about David N. Dinkins, the Black mayoral candidate, at a Plaza Hotel luncheon in 1989. Mr. Mason was a campaigner for Mr. Dinkins’s opponent, Rudolph W. Giuliani. Mr. Giuliani said the incident had been blown out of proportion but nevertheless dismissed Mr. Mason from the campaign. Mr. Mason at first refused to apologize but did so later.

He drew attention for using the same word regarding President Barack Obama during a performance in 2009.Appearances on the cartoon series “The Simpsons,” as the voice of Rabbi Hyman Krustofski, the father of Krusty the Clown, confirmed his newfound status, and earned him a second Emmy. Not even the 1988 bomb “Caddyshack II,” in which he was a last-minute replacement for Rodney Dangerfield, or the ill-fated “Chicken Soup,” a 1989 sitcom co-starring Lynn Redgrave that died quickly, could slow his improbable transformation from borscht belt relic into hot property.“I’ve been doing this for a hundred thousand years, but it’s like I was born last Thursday,” Mr. Mason once said of his career turnaround. “They see me as today’s comedian. Thank God I stunk for such a long time and was invisible, so I could be discovered.”

Michael Levenson contributed reporting.

Phroyd

#rip #jackie mason

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weirdfetishes123 · 3 years ago

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Expansion experiment - deviantart

Today was finally the day. I was going to test the formula that I had been developing for months in front of an audience of my fellow students and professors. I was a graduate student at a prestigious university and have devoted my studies to developing a compound that will make a man’s musculature expand without him having to work out. I believed I had finally figured it out, and had gotten permission to test the muscle-expansion formula in front of an audience of my peers. My test subject was a guy named Dan, he was a couple years younger than me, 23, and had a sweet face with brown hair and warm brown eyes. Dan was about 6’ tall, but he was very skinny and his clothes always hung off his lanky frame. I had even seen him in our university gym a few times trying to lift weights, but his form was terrible and he never got anywhere. We had gotten to know each other a little bit and he had taken an interest in my research. When I asked him if he’d be interested in testing my experimental muscle-growth formula his face lit up and he agreed almost before I had finished speaking. Now I was standing on the stage in the auditorium with my materials wearing a blue button down, khakis, and a purple tie. The room had filled with about twenty professors and eighty students who were all eager to see if my muscle growth formula would actually work. If it transformed him the way I was intending it would revolutionize the fitness industry worldwide, but it all depended on this test. I motioned for Dan to come up on stage. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” I asked him softly, "This formula is still unproven. “I’ve never been more ready for anything,” the skinny guy replied, “I’m ready to get huge!” And he flexed his skinny arms. “Okay, great!” I smiled at him and out at the audience. “Take off your outer clothes. Dave suddenly looked a little nervous, and his eyes darted around the auditorium, but he took a deep breath and removed his shirt, shoes, and pants. He was left standing only in a pair of blue spandex briefs that I had given him earlier. Even the tight briefs seemed oversized for his skinny body. “Okay, now this is as simple as putting on sunscreen,” I said, and got out a gallon-jug of a white oily substance. I rolled up my sleeves and coated my hands in the cream. “This is the stretch-cream I’ve created,” I explained, “I’m going to coat his skin with it and it will ensure his skin expands safely and evenly as his muscles grow.” I then rubbed the substance all over Dan’s chest, back, arms, and legs, making sure every inch of his skin was covered. I then made Dan coat his hands in the stretch cream and reach into his briefs and get his package and ass thoroughly coated in the substance. He looked shiny, as if he was turning into latex, but the shine on his skin was fading as the stretch cream dried and was absorbed into him. “Okay Dan, you can now put this tank top and gym shorts on,” I said, handing the skinny man some loose athletic clothes. “Now it’s time for the main event!” I said excitedly to the audience, “This man is about to go from a skinny twig to the size of a world champion bodybuilder!” The audience murmured and a few clapped, but most were still skeptical. Many of them clearly thought my research was nonsense, but Dan smiled, “I can’t wait!” he said. I then got out a small glass vial of formula I had been holding in my pocket. Years of labor and research had gone into producing it. If I was right this little vial of liquid was going to pump Dan's muscles up to superhuman size. I handed him the vial, he gulped it down, the whole room waited in tense silence for several seconds. “Oh man, I feel tingly,” Dan said, “I feel it spreading all through my body.” The whole auditorium had gone quiet as if everyone was holding their breath. Then it began.

First, Dan’s chest started to become more three-dimensional, his pecs suddenly taking on some volume and rising up from his flat torso. Then his scrawny arms began to swell as his biceps and triceps morphed from practically non-existent to Olympic weightlifter size. His neck quickly thickened as it became wider than his head . "Look, it's working!" I couldn't help but yell. I was over the moon, my tireless research was actually paying off. "Damn he's hulking out!" Someone from the audience yelled. "Woah I'm getting huge!" Dan said, "This is nuts! I can feel my body pumping up!" Dan's thighs were expanding like muscular tree trunks, and the shorts he was wearing were quickly being stretched to their limit. Even his tank top was now shrink wrapped over his expanding abdominals and melon-sized pecs. Soon we could hear the threads of his clothes start to strain and pop. Suddenly his tank gave up the fight and burst off his superhuman torso, revealing every bulge and crease of his incredibly defined and growing muscles. A couple seconds later his shorts also ripped apart leaving him only in the tiny blue briefs. His ass had swollen up as wide and round and firm as a pair of bowling balls, and it looked like you cold balance a wine glass on top of it. We could also now see what the formula had been doing to Dan's package. His cock and balls were shrink wrapped in the stretchy blue fabric, and had also clearly been affected by his growth. His dick, which I knew had been pretty unremarkable earlier now looked like a 10" python and fat as a Coke can. His balls were bigger than eggs and rapidly approaching the size of tennis balls. I hadn't anticipated this happening to his package, but clearly he wasn't upset with this side effect. I just hoped the stretchy briefs managed to hold on. Dan's body was magnificent, his waist had barely grown since his expansion began, but his chest had literally quadrupled in size. His skin stretched tight over his enormous muscles, and I swear I could have fit my entire hand between his ballooning pecs. His biceps and shoulders were like powerful cannonballs and his arms were almost as thick as my waist. His proportions didn't even look real, he was like a comic book superhero brought to life. I was going to be rich and famous, every man in the world was going to want a body like Dan. “This is awesome!!!” Dan yelled, and a bunch of guys in the audience jumped up and applauded. Bot then as Dan flexed and posed I noticed something strange. His washboard stomach, which was covered in tight bulging abdominal muscles, was suddenly looking a little rounder than it should. Within a couple seconds it almost looked as if he had a roid gut or was a bodybuilder who had taken too much growth hormone. This wasn't supposed to happen. A few seconds later I noticed his ass was swelling up faster and faster, looking disproportionately round and straining the stretchy briefs. Unfortunately I wasn’t the only guy in the room who noticed this new development. “What’s happening to his gut?!” Someone yelled, “He’s getting fatter now!” "Oh no, no, no," I whispered under my breath. Dan’s hands immediately dropped and went to his belly which was now pushing out further than his pecs and was getting rounder by the second. He felt his expanding midsection and looked over at me in panic. “What the hell is happening to me?!!” he yelled. “Shit! I - I - - don’t know!” I stammered. By now Dan was looking like an off-season bodybuilder who had massively overeaten. Every part of his huge body was puffing up and his new muscles were losing their definition. “There’s something wrong with the formula!” “He’s blowing up like a balloon!” Someone yelled. Dan was starting to look like an overblown olympic powerlifter or a champion Sumo wrestler who had just come off an eating binge. His waistline couldn’t have been more than 32” five minutes ago, and now it had to be at least 80” around.

“Help me! Please!” Yelled Dan becoming more and more frantic, but there was nothing I or anyone could do. His abs were now totally gone and his belly had expanded to the size of a yoga ball. His pecs were swelling up as big as ripe watermelons and were starting to push into his chin. I watched as his globular ass expanded rounder and rounder, until his blue briefs were just a straining thong buried deep between his ballooning cheeks. It was like watching bread dough rise. Dan was practically crying, “I don’t want to be a fatass!” “Well, technically it’s not fat,” I said, “The formula was designed to pump up your muscles with a special inert gas, and it must be overproduction of that gas in your body that is causing you to expand like this. So really you’re not getting fatter. You’re inflating with air. People in the audience gasped. “What the hell?!” yelled Dan, “So you’ve turned me into a balloon?!” “We-...” SNAP! I was cut off my the huge noise Dan’s briefs made as they finally burst off his expanding body. Dan’s torso was far too round for him to see it, but the rest of us now saw his inflated package in full view. His cock had blown up to almost two feet long and wider than a two liter soda bottle. I didn’t know if he was aroused or if it was just the pressure in his body, but his manhood stood straight out and was slapping the underside of his ballooning belly. His nuts were now the size of soccer balls and were throbbing as they grew. “Holy shit his dick is bigger than my leg!” Someone in the audience yelled. By now Dan’s back was starting to round out to match the curve of his enormous belly. His bloated limbs looked like overstuffed sausages and it was becoming impossible for him to move them. I could hear his skin creaking like overstretched latex. “Oh my god the pressure!” Dan yelled. “I feel like I’m gonna blow! Someone help me!” I walked up to the panicked ballooning man and put my hands on his belly, his skin was so tight and I could feel him getting wider and wider as if he was hooked up to a powerful air pump. His huge cock pressed against my stomach and I realized that he was getting taller as he expanded. Dan was at least seven feet tall now and almost that same width. I looked up at Dan as his head began to be fixed in place by his swollen torso, “I coated you with enough stretch cream to put you through a taffy puller. I promise you’re not going to explode into pieces. Now keep calm and take some deep breaths, and everything will be okay soon.” Dan winced but he seemed to calm down a little bit. I realized his feet were no longer touching the ground and he was just resting on the curve of his inflating body. His limbs had puffed up into bloated cones and were becoming shorter and shorter as his body rounded out. Even his hands and fingers puffed up like balloon animals as they filled with air. Dan was now totally round. The skinny young man had been transformed into an 8 ft tall ball of tight inflated flesh. A couple more seconds and his hands and feet were just bloated divots on the sphere while his cock swelled to almost 4 ft long and smacked the lower hemisphere of his body. Then, with one last groan, Dan abruptly stopped expanding. “Phew.” I muttered.The room was in shocked silence. All these guys had just witnessed a man take my formula, then swell up like a bodybuilder before blimping out into a helpless human ball. Dan looked tired, but relieved. He still looked like one more breath could push the pressure too far and burst him, but for now he was in one piece and wasn’t swelling. “W- w- well everyone,” I stammered, “this has certainly been an unforeseen effect of the formula.” “You blew this guy up to within an inch of his life!” Someone in the audience yelled, “He was supposed to look like a bodybuilder not a blimp!” “Clearly I have research still to do,” I said.

"I certainly hope you'll be able to return this young man to his original form," one of the older professors said to me sternly, "otherwise there could be severe issues for your research going forward." He walked up on stage, rubbed Dan’s inflated side, sighed, and walked out of the auditorium. I gulped. The auditorium slowly emptied, with a few guys walking to to touch Dan's inflated body and take notes. He just sat there whimpering or moaning. Finally the room was empty and it was just me and the man I had blown up. “Let’s go big boy,” I said. I rolled Dan’s inflated body down the long wide corridor to my lab, trying to ignore the stares and gasps from my colleagues. Once we were back in the large lab I looked up at him, "So how do you feel?" I asked. "I - I - I feel so b- big," Dan stammered. "Are you in pain?" I asked "No," the ballooned boy relied, "definitely no. I feel pressurized. I feel like if the pressure in me got any stronger I'd burst into a million pieces. But it actually feels… kinda… good. "Feels good?!" I asked. "Y-yea," he replied, "it's like my whole body has a hard-on. My skin is so sensitive. Just feeling your hands rolling me just now made me want to cum." Damn, I would never have expected that. Dan was horrified a few minutes ago, but now it was almost as if he was enjoying the feeling of being gassy and round. "Well I still need to try and deflate you," I said, "is that okay?” "I guess so," Dan muttered in response. For the next hour I tried everything I could think of to get the air out of Dan, but nothing worked. I put hoses in his mouth and ass and tired to suck the gas out, but as soon as he appeared to be shrinking he swelled right back up faster than I could pump the gas out. I even tired getting him to ejaculate the air, and I stroked his huge engorged cock until his round body shook and he started moaning from the pleasure. Then a strong jet of gas came shooting out of his dick. His body was deflating, the pressure in him going down, his skin becoming less tight. I keep stroking him and the gas kept coming out. Within a minute he was back down to almost his original height and no longer perfectly spherical. I was so hopeful. "That's it buddy! Let's get that gas pumped out of you!" I said. Dan just kept morning. But then the jet of air issuing from his cock began to slow. In a few seconds it had stopped entirely, and Dan still looked like an overinflated sumo wrestler. "I feel it coming back." He said. It was almost as if he was taunting me. He was smiling. I realized he was re-inflating, and in another minute he had swollen back up as big and round as he had ever been. "Shit." I said. I realized then that as Dan had blown back up my cock was also expanding. For some reason watching this man inflate like a balloon had me incredibly around again. I stroked Dan's blimped up dick again, "I'm afraid you might be stuck like this," I said. He just moaned and muttered "fuck yeah." Suddenly someone banged on the lab door. I almost jumped out of my skin. I inched the huge laboratory door open and my jaw dropped. It was Brian, the captain of the wrestling team, one of the most muscular and drop-dead gorgeous men I had ever met. He was basically a celebrity on campus, and hundreds of men and women lusted after him. Brian’s broad powerful shoulders and 6’5” frame filled my field of view as did at least 250 pounds of pure muscle. His blonde hair was spiked up and cut into a fade on the sides, and his electric blue eyes pierced into me. “Hey man, whats up,” he said smiling down at me, and he pushed his way past me into the lab. Brian stood in front of Dan’s bloated round body. He ran his hand along the man’s inflated sides, he paced around the distended man as if he was inspecting a racehorse. Then he turned and looked me straight in the eye. “I watched that show you put on earlier. I saw you turn this twerp into a living blimp. I watched as he swelled up bigger and rounder until he was on the edge of bursting. I gulped, “Yeah?” I said, “the experiment didn't go the way I wanted.”

Brian stepped closer to me, his strong arms gripped my shoulders and he leaned in until I could feel his hot breath against my ear. “I think it went perfectly,” he said, “watching this boy blow up was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I thought my dick was going to burst through my pants I was so hard.” “Are you serious?” I said. “Totally,” Brian whispered in my ear, I could smell his masculine sweaty odor and sweet cologne all around me. “And I want you to do the same thing to me.” “Wa-what??” I stammered. “You heard me,” Brian said looking me right in the eyes and leaning in so close our noses almost touched. “I want you to blow my body up like a giant human balloon. I want to feel the gas inside of me filling me up, puffing me out, making me expand into the biggest man in history. This is my deepest fantasy and you’re going to make it happen.” I couldn’t believe it, Brian the star athlete wanted to become a blimp. The man who looked like he could have a career as a fitness model wanted to be inflated by me. I had to admit to myself that the idea of Brian blowing up into a helpless balloon made me incredibly horny. I looked up at him straight in the eyes, “Are you sure you really want this???” I gulped, “I may never be able to deflate you down to normal size again.” Brian paused. He put his hands on his hips and looked up at the massive blimp that Dan had become. He was thinking hard. "Once you're blown up it will mean no more life as a wrestling captain, no more athletic scholarship," I said, "No more hard muscular body, no more flexing for all the girls and boys. You'll be a helpless balloon like Dan, and that will be your life from now on." Brian was thinking hard, his eyes darting between me and Dan. Maybe he didn’t realize that I couldn’t just deflate him back to normal. "How does it feel big boy?" He asked, rubbing a hand against Dan's swollen belly. “I feel so goooood!” Dan suddenly said. “You know, fuck it,” Brian said taking a deep breath. “I’m ready to be pumped up huge. And way bigger than this guy. That’s the body I want. It’s what I’ve always truly wanted.” I couldn't believe he was for real. “Okay man, well, take your clothes off so I can rub the stretch cream on you.” Brian then took off his polo shirt and jeans. I realized he had been wearing his spandex wrestling singlet under his clothes. I had seen Brian compete at wrestling matches before but I had never seen him in his singlet this close. His body was unbelievable, every muscle was hyper defined and as muscular as a greek god, and the bulge in the spandex between his legs was almost obscene. It looked like he had equipment that would put most porn stars to shame, I could see every detail of his thick round cockhead through the singlet. “I’m not taking my singlet off,” he said and winked at me. I realized he wanted to stretch the suit as far as it would go. I reached under the tight stretchy fabric of Brian’s singlet to rub the stretch cream on his muscular body. The man was so jacked, the spandex clung to him like a second skin. His muscles felt as hard as smooth warm stones, and I felt them flex and ripple as I rubbed the cream on him. His abs were like cobblestones, his pecs were perfectly round and already stretched his skin tight. I ran my hands over his hard nipples that pointed straight down. I felt myself getting hard as I rubbed every inch of this god-like musclestud, pressing myself into his bubbled ass. “Mmm, feels good man,” Brian said.

I then reached under his singlet from behind to get the stretch cream on his hefty package. His balls were so big, just one of them filled my palm, they were like ripe plums. His cock was even more impressive, I couldn’t even get my hand around it, and it had to be at least 8 inches soft. I could feel it twitch and begin to get chubby as I fondled it and covered it with the serum. I then stepped back and reached behind him to cover the smooth round domes of his ass. It felt like his ass had been carved from warm marble it was so round and firm. I reached between his cheeks and felt them swallow my whole hand, his intense heat radiating against me. Once he was covered I stepped back and looked up at him. He smirked. “You enjoy that?” He asked, looking at the unavoidable bulge in my slacks. I realized his cock was now totally boned up too, and the 11 inch monster was straining the fabric of his singlet. “You’ve got an incredible body.” I said. “I really do,” Said Brian, flexing and lifting his arms into a double bicep pose, “And it’s about to get even more incredible. Blow me the fuck up.” I went over to my desk, grabbed another vial of formula and handed it to him. “You’re sure?” I asked. “I want to be fucking huge!” Brian yelled as he gulped the formula down. Within seconds Brian’s impressive muscles were already becoming bloated and engorged. “This feels amazing!” He yelled, flexing his swelling arms and pecs, “My whole body feels electric!” In seconds Brian’s muscles were superhuman size, his pecs were three times their normal width and were already almost up to his chin. His arms were twice as wide as his waist and his biceps looked as big as soccerballs. His quilted abs were fighting for space to expand on his tiny belly and were stretching his singlet tighter and tighter. The poor suit’s straps were already straining trying to cover Brian’s overblown pecs and monster shoulders. “Fuck yeah!” Brian yelled, “I’m like a titan!” It was true, if the formula had initially pumped Dan up into a bodybuilder it was pumping Brian’s already muscled body up like the hulk. But I knew what was coming next. “I hope you’re ready for the side effects,” I said. The overblown muscle man loomed up over me, his swelling cock tenting the straining fabric of his singlet. “I’ve never been more ready for anything,” Brian said, patting his magnificent abs. Then, like clockwork, Brian’s belly began to puff up under his meaty hand. “Fuck yeah, here we go!” He yelled as his abs gave way to a round roid gut. His limbs were quickly losing their muscular definition as the gas kept pumping all through his body. “I’m really blowing up!” He said laughing, “This feels incredible! I’m gonna be enormous.” Brian was expanding much faster than Dan had. Within a few moments his distended belly was approaching yoga ball size, and he looked more and more like an overblown sumo. Suddenly his singlet burst off of his swelling body with a tremendous snap, leaving the ballooning muscle man totally naked. He wasn't so big yet that he couldn’t walk, but it was becoming more of a waddle. “Well that was bound to happen!” He laughed, patting his enormous gut. Taking a few steps towards Dan he reached around his expanding belly and grabbed his cock, which was now bigger than a fire extinguisher. With some awkward steps around his swelling thighs, Brian rolled Dan forward against a wall so that the first balloon boy’s ass was facing us. “What are you doing?!” Yelled Dan, unable to see what was happening. “Grab me that stretch cream shit!” Yelled Brian. I did what he asked and brought it over. The inflating jock then rubbed more of the cream on his swelling cock and Dan’s ass. I suddenly realized what his plan was as he placed the tip of his engorged manhood against Dan’s hole and braced his hands up on the round boy’s sides. “What are you doing?!” Yelled Dan. Brian just grunted and slammed his inflating cock into the balloon boy’s hole.

Both of them moaned. It was almost like Dan was screaming. I saw Brian’s round expanding belly press and squish against Dan’s rounded side. It sounded like two latex balloons rubbing against each other as Brian plowed Dan. The bulges and curves of their gas-filled bodies pressing into each other, while they bounced and vibrated. “Fuck I can feel your cock blowing up inside of me!” Dan yelled. “Fuck yeah,” Said Brian, “And it’s got so much growing to do still.” By now Brian’s inflating body was making it difficult for him to keep fucking Dan. His Belly was bigger than a yoga ball and was getting more and more difficult to squeeze between Brian and Dan’s side. It was bulging out to the side and fighting for room to expand. His limbs no longer had any muscular definition at all, they just looked like four bloated sausages, and Brian’s inflating pecs were making it more and more difficult for him to turn his head. His cock was still logged deep inside of Dan though, and his balls were approaching the size of watermelons. Brian looked over at me, and I realized he could no longer move his body enough to keep thrusting. “Well don’t just stand there you idiot!” He yelled at me, “Help us!” He then looked down at his own ballooning ass and arched his back as best he could. I knew what I had to do. I walked over to the two balloon men, slowly unbuttoning my shirt, undoing my belt, and stepping out of my slacks. I slid my briefs down revealing my own ample cock and coated it in the skin stretch cream. I heard Brian lick his puffy lips. I then pressed my cock between Brian’s turgid ass cheeks, his soft warm skin as round and firm as two yoga balls. “Do it!” yelled Brian, and I pressed myself as hard as I could against his puffy body as far as I could go. I felt the tip of my cock enter his hot swollen hole. It was incredible. I moaned. I had never felt anything like this before. Brian was so tight, it was like the gas pumping into him was making his ass tighter by the second. I could literally feel him blowing up around me. I began to thrust and push against Brian’s inflating body, with my entire body pressed against his swollen back, my arms wrapped around him as far as I could reach. It was like fucking a huge warm rubber balloon, with every push and thrust he’d squish and bounce back. “Yes! Deeper! Deeper! Pump me up!” Brian yelled. As I fucked and bounced against Brian as he inflated, his engorged cock was still deep inside Dan. Dan was squished up against the wall and every time I thrust into Brian it pushed Brian’s cock deeper into him. I could see Dan’s tight balloon flesh bouncing and vibrating as he was plowed by Brian getting plowed by me. I could only imagine how big Brian’s cock had blown up inside of him. “Yeah you’re fat fuckblimp!” Brian yelled at Dan as their inflated bodies bounced off each other in unison. “You’re just gonna get blown up and fucked stupid forever!” “So are you big boy.” I said to Brian, pushing my cock as far into his inflating ass as I could. “Fuck yeah I am!” Brian yelled, “And I’m gonna be the biggest fuckblimp anyone has ever seen!” By now Brian was almost totally round, his limbs were getting shorter by the second and his hands and feet had puffed up into useless divots. His back had rounded out and his enormous asscheeks were becoming less prominent on his increasingly spherical body. It was actually making fucking him much easier, and I could get my whole cock inside of him without being blocked by his puffy cheeks. But his hole was getting tighter and tighter and I could feel the pressure in him getting higher and higher. Brian was now so huge and round I couldn’t see Dan even if I leaned around, and I realized that Brian was definitely bigger than Dan. He had clearly realized it too. “I’m so much bigger than you now you little blimp runt!” He said, “How’s it feel getting fucked by a man who’s ballooned up bigger than you can ever hope to be?!”

I just heard Dan moan, I knew he was squished between the wall and Brian’s enormous sphere of a body, while the former wrestler’s monster cock was filling him up from the inside. By now I was just fucking the curved wall of Brian’s enormous ball of a body, and he had to be well over ten feet tall. Then, I felt the pressure in him begin to slow, and his skin stopped pushing out against me. The balloon was full. With one last great thrust I pushed into his inflated ass and came. Within seconds Brian was cumming too. The whole enormous balloon shook and vibrated, and I could hear him gasping and moaning. It was like an earthquake inside his huge body. I stood back and suddenly saw Dan blowing up bigger and bigger. He was yelling and basically delirious from the pressure being pumped into him. I was worried Dan was going to explode, the pressure from Brian cumming in him might be too great. I could see Brian shrinking as Dan got wider and taller. Then, with one final surge of growth, it was over. Amazingly both blimp boys were now about the same size, ten feet tall and wide. With some effort I pushed and rolled Brian until his ballooned-up dick was freed from Dan’s ass. His manhood had blown up to about six feet long, two feet thick, and seven feet around. His huge turgid balloon balls were at least four feet in diameter, and still throbbing. Dan just moaned and rolled backwards. "Fuck that was incredible," Brian said, "I just want to be blown up bigger and bigger." "I'm going to keep you nice and huge," I said. “You’re my balloon now.” and I rubbed my hand against his monster cock. "But I don't want to be kept in this back room," Brian said, suddenly defiant "I said I wanted to be a balloon, not your exercise ball. I want you to roll me out of this building into the middle of campus, tie me down, and pump me up with helium until I float like I'm in the Macy's parade. Then everyone will get to see my awesome body." "I can't do that!" I yelled, "I can't bring a naked balloon man out into the middle of campus! The spectacle with Dan in the auditorium earlier was bad enough." Brian stared down at me from the top of the 10 ft ball that was his body. His blue eyes piercing right into me. "You're going to do what I want and here's why," he said, "the surveillance cameras saw me come in here, and there's no way you can sneak me out of here without being seen. If you don't do what I want, next time someone sees me I'll tell them you drugged me, held me hostage, and blew me up against my will. You'll lose your research funding, be kicked out of this university, and probably get arrested. If you do what I want then I'll tell everyone who sees me that you're a scientific genius and letting you inflate me was the best decision I ever made." Fuck. Even now Brian was cocky as hell. I knew he was right, there was no way to hide this, Dan was a nobody but everyone on campus knew Brian. He winked at me. "Okay big boy," I said, "Fine. If you want to be blown up for the world to see, I'll do it." I said, putting my pants back on. "Fuck yeah you will," Brian said. I strapped a helium tank and some ropes into my backpack to bring outside. With that I squeezed Brian’s enormously inflated body through the lab’s oversized doors and rolled the ten foot naked ball down the wide corridor. People stopped and gasped, but I faced forward and pushed Brian out of the building and into the lawn at the center of campus. “Oh my god! He’s blown another guy up!” I heard someone yell. “This one is even bigger than the first!” another added. “Wait?! Is that Brian?! The captain of the wrestling team?!” “He’s the hottest guy in school! And you blew him up like a balloon?!” “That guy’s our teammate! He’s and all star wresteler and now he’s fat as fuck!” “Holy shit! Brian’s dick has swelled up bigger than me!” A crowd was forming around us and I realized I could be in a lot of trouble. Then Brian spoke up.

“Calm down guys! This was my idea! I’m going to be the biggest man in history and get dressed up in uniform and floated above every pep rally and football game this university hosts! I fucking love being blown up! You guys gotta try it!” “He asked you to do this to him?” A suspicious young guy asked me. “He sure did,” I replied, winking, “And I’m happy to make you just as big.” The guy’s eyes got as wide as saucers and he took a step back. I laughed. “Well what the fuck are you waiting for?!” Brian yelled, “I’m supposed to be a balloon so get me off the ground!” With that I tied ropes around Brian’s puffy feet and handed them to a couple of his wrestling teammates who had crowded nearby. I then took the helium tank off my back and hooked up the hoses. The other end I slid into Brian’s distended ass where my cock had been a few minutes earlier. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” One of the wrestlers asked. “Fuck yeah! Now blow me the hell up!” Brian yelled, and I switched on the gas. Within moments Brian was again inflating at a rapid pace. The crowd took a step back as his spherical body grew wider and taller and his head hands and feet seemed to grow smaller and smaller. His cock and balls however kept pace and ballooned up with his body, and soon his dick was bigger and wider than a huge plush sofa. A couple guys actually jumped on it and straddled it as it grew. Brian passed 15 ft, 18 ft, 20 ft, and the gas kept pumping into his ass and he still sat on the ground. Maybe all his earlier muscle mass was holding him down. I could hear him whimpering and groaning as his stretchy flesh strained against the growing pressure. Then gradually, as he passed 25 ft tall, Brian started to lift off the ground. “Holy shit it’s really happening!” The guys straddling his dick said, quickly jumping off as he rose up into the air. I turned off the helium pumping into his ass, and the wrestling teammates holding his ropes slowly let them out until he floated about twenty feet over us. Brian looked like a new planet floating in the middle of campus and his proud cock and balls stood right out from his spherical body. His cockhead and balls were now easily the size of small cars and the skin on them was incredibly tight from the enormous gas pressure in him. From way above us we heard Brian gasp, “Fuck yeah! I’m the biggest balloon in history! I want everyone to see me! And tomorrow blow me up even bigger!” The wrestlers tied Brian’s ropes down, and people walked around the field gawking and taking pictures of the muscular young man who had been transformed into an enormous naked balloon full of helium. I guess he could be pretty popular at games and rallies, as long as they put some stretchy outfit on him to cover up his inflated junk, and he was loving all the attention he was getting. Then I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was one of the other wrestlers who had held the ropes while Brian blew up and floated off the ground. I figured he wanted to punch me for turning his star teammate into a helpless blimp. But he didn’t. “Hey man,” He said, “I saw what you did to Brian, getting him huge and making him fly. And I was wondering… well, could you do that to me?” I suddenly imagined this athlete bursting out of his clothes and swelling up into a sexy man balloon to be rolled, fucked, and floated. I put my hand on his shoulder, “Come back to my lab with me,” I said, and led him into the building.

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notthatiwilleverwriteit · 5 years ago

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What are some of your favorite 19 days’ chapters and why?

Good evening, dear anon-san!

I’m sorry it took me a while to get to your question. I had some uni work to catch up on. Also, thank god you didn’t ask me to narrow it down to just one chapter (^_^ ‘‘) I’m going to give you my TOP 5 chapters in ascending order, so let’s start with...

#5 Zhanyi hug in the rain (ch. 143)

The aftermath of JY kissing ZZX was spread to cover multiple chapters, but I think the last of them was my favorite. The thing I always love the most about this chapter is ZZX’s reaction to it all. The kiss had shocked and upset him but seeing his best friend break down and being so scared that ZZX was going to cut ties with him... Despite ZZX’s initial reaction and not yet understanding how JY was feeling exactly, there was no way in hell he would ever leave his best friend like that. Or allow him to believe that ZZX would reject him as a person based on something like sexual orientation. In addition to how much I fell in love with ZZX in this chapter, the art of rain and lights reflecting on the wet pavement was so beautiful.

#4 MGS reunites with his father (ch. 240)

Admittedly, the beginning of this chapter was about something else but the ending half made such an impact on me that I had to include this. One of my favorite things about MGS is his relationship with his mother, and to see how much he loves and looks up to his father just doubled all the feels.

What broke my heart the most was MGS basically not wanting to show how much he is struggling by lying that he has friends and he’s doing good in school. To MGS, his father is someone respectful and courageous, and he wants to be like that so bad. MGS is handling a lot of responsibilities and is responsible in nature but he also feels like he’s failing. Based on many things, the world has vilified him and at some point, he bent the way everyone was expecting of him. And I’m sure MGS thinks his father would be sad if he knew all that.

I also loved how time was utilized to enhance the intensity of their relationship. It seems it had been years since MGS and his father had seen each other, and over that time all the expectations had grown in MGS’s head. And feelings of shame and failing had silently eaten Mr. Mo. He didn’t want his son to see him like that, but I think he also thought he didn’t deserve to see how much his son still loved and look up to him. Basically, all the time they had been apart had made the fears and assumptions grow out of proportions in their heads.

#3 MGS asking for the black studs (ch. 283)

The earrings are one of the most interesting aspects and symbols of Tianshan. And MGS asking for them from HT was a huge development in their relationship. I’ve seen people wondering if that was when MGS accepted HT’s feelings but I think it’s way too early to jump to that kind of conclusions. To me, the earrings have always been a representation of control, both in good and bad.

SL had once violently taken control of MGS’s body and marked him for life. The holes would forever remind MGS of SL and what SL thought MGS’s place was in general. SL had made it clear which one of them was in control both physically and mentally. And MGS had learned not to trust people who were more powerful than him and stay away from them.

And in the beginning, HT was in the same category as SL as far as MGS was concerned. He was an entitled rich kid who thought he could own MGS. MGS was both wary of him but also wanted to spit in his face. However, how he saw HT changed over time as MGS learned to know HT better, albeit against his will.

When MGS asked for the earrings, I don’t think it was on a whim or because HT pressured him. He asked for them because he himself wanted to. He thought it through - what it would mean to him - and decided that yes, he wanted them. He was going to let HT do something for him without insisting that he paid HT back somehow. He was willing to owe HT and wear something that connected them. So, he was both trusting HT and giving him some control over himself.

In addition to all that, confidence is such a great look on MGS.

#2 HC’s flashback and the dog (ch. 252)

This chapter was brilliance from start to finish, and it instantly became one of my absolute favorites. Where do I even begin with how amazing this was!

First of all, it’s interesting because this chapter revealed HC’s point of view on what HT had dreamed about earlier (ch. 228). (More about the comparison here.) I’ve always been a big fan of HC’s character, and it broke my heart to see how much love and pain there is between him and HT from HC’s perspective. It seemed like despite loving his little brother more than anything else in the world, he was going to become a villain and monster in HT’s life. At some point, HT would no longer believe how much HC cared about him.

Another thing I loved was to see how gentle HC was with little HT. He knelt down and wiped the fat tears that only a child could shed. He picked HT up and pressed him close and tight against himself. HC carrying little HT in his arms is still probably my most favorite panel of the whole comic. He had raised HT and it was up to him to give his little brother the comfort and security that a parent would normally give. But it also showed that HC had a big soft spot for his brother that would always pull him in two opposite directions when it came to being between their family and HT.

As if all of that hadn’t broken my heart enough, it was revealed that HC had, in fact, kept the dog. He had lied to HT and let HT take his kid’s sadness and anger out on himself. He had knowingly broken HT’s heart and made himself the bad guy. HC knew what kind of life awaited his brother and he needed to become stronger and tougher. The difficult part was that it was HC who was put in the position of making HT ready for the world. The fact that HC still hasn’t told HT about the dog suggests to me that the dog has become a special “place” for HC. Maybe he needs a break from it all every now and then, and visiting something he had saved instead of destroyed helps HC feel better about himself and allows him to be softer and gentler.

In addition to all of that, I also liked how this chapter implied that brother Qiu was someone HC trusted and they had known each for a long time. Gave my Qiucheng heart a nice squeeze.

#1 SL’s flashback/backstory (ch. 294)

As weird and perhaps concerning as it might sound to some people, I have always been intrigued by SL. MGS has been my most favorite character for a long time, but to me SL is the most complex and interesting character. It’s like MGS is my favorite but...I kind of have this mysterious “another list” beside that in my head, and SL is the only character on that list. And on that list, he’s even more of my favorite than MGS.

In short, this chapter blew my mind. I had been dying to know more about SL, and boy oh boy, was I given so many things to think about. First of all, I loved how OX used the black panels. They’re often used in 19 Days to tie flashbacks and present time together, but I think in this chapter they were also utilized to express SL’s mind.

In the beginning, he’s by himself, scratching the bathroom walls with a knife and it seems like he’s deep in thought. “So noisy...” works as a bridge to the flashback of his parents shouting at each other but it could also mean that SL’s mind is noisy as in “not clear”. Maybe thoughts and memories had sneaked in to fill his head while he’s scratching the wall or perhaps doing something seemingly mindless is a way for him to clear his head.

What makes me think that “noisy” could also be a mental thing is how we get another black panel after SL is done thinking about the past. Only this time the panel is blank. It’s not noisy anymore. Now, the interesting thing is, “blank” is clear but it’s also... blank. Is it easier for SL to act and function if he’s not thinking about the past or feeling things in general? Did he need to “clear” his head before seeking out HT and taunting him about MGS?

What was the absolute peak for me, though, was this panel:

I said earlier that HC carrying little HT is my favorite panel of 19 Days, but this one is a damn close second. I had some mixed feelings about the whole “he can’t feel physical pain” syndrome but for the most part, it served as something that ultimately made SL and MGS’s relationship even more layered in my head. I was personally blown away by the image of little SL who couldn’t feel his injuries standing there by himself and watching little MGS crying, being a scared child in pain and comforted by his mother. Was young SL curious? Fascinated? Jealous? Envious? Angry? Again, I’m dying to know more about him.

SL talking about MGS was really interesting, too. I’ve said it before that I don’t see SL being so hung up on MGS for romantic reasons. I don’t think SL is in love with MGS and/or jealous of HT in a romantic way. (This is not to say you can’t or shouldn’t ship them. As far as I’m concerned, people can ship whatever they want.)

I think SL’s behavior is about his need to possess and control rather than being in love with MGS and feeling threatened by HT in that sense. He speaks of “hope”, and he’s used hope to manipulate MGS and effectively keep him in the same black hole SL himself is in, too. Their relationship comes across as “misery loves company” to me. I suppose you could see all of that as dark, twisted romantic love but I’m just having a hard time putting SL as a character in that mental frame.

This chapter also put SL and HT next to each other to enhance their comparison and different roles. SL and HT are from the same world but represent very different things in MGS’s life. As a side note, I have always found the opposing colors of SL and HT interesting in the ending panels:

Despite being the twisted and manipulative antagonist, SL is wearing white and his hair color also very light. “White” always makes me think about how he sees himself as someone who saved MGS. Is holding that over MGS’s head merely a way to control for SL or does he believe he is a savior? Either way, SL’s white is a striking contrast to HT’s black clothes and hair. At first, HT was a bad guy too in MGS’s mind but HT’s role is to actually save MGS and give him hope. Black isn’t usually a color associated with all that. Goes to show that things and people aren’t always what you think they might be.

I think these are my TOP 5 chapters at the moment. I would say #2 and #1 are pretty solid winners in my head, but eagerly waiting if OX tops them for me one day. Thank you for your question, dear anon-san!

#19 days #zhanyi #Zhan zheng xi #Jian Yi #tianshan #He Tian #mo guan shan #he cheng #brother qiu #qiucheng #she li #answered ask

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lillupon · 4 years ago

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So, I've got a very long rant/opinion here and Idk really know how to say this without coming off kinda bad but I'm gonna say it anyways. I agree with the fact that the seventeen tag has been kinda dry lately on most fanfic places, but it's really only in the smut area. It's the sane way with other groups too I feel like. All of the nice little innocent tags are boomin to this day and thats completely fine. I think the smut tag is dry tho bc lately I feel like a few social issues (like sexualizing people and disrespecting them and their identity) have crossed over into kpop and have been ?blown out of proportion? Lately there's been a rampage of people who like to say that writing smut about someone is disgusting and is dehumanizing because people want to assume that it would make the idols uncomfortable which could equate to some morality issues on how you are reducing someone only to their body without their consent and a bunch of stuff like that. It kind of pisses me off bc this is fiction. About grown adults. Clamping down on horny people who simp over hot asian men isn't going to solve the issues we face in real life. I think a shit ton is wrong with the world we currently live in, and deciding to come after something that isn't even real bothers me. Like what does that actually accomplish. But yeah, I think thats a reason why smut has been dying down. I mean, on youtube almost every video about unpopular opinions, or things they dont like about kpop will include something about shipping idols in fanfics. And then everyone in the comment section will talk about how its all fine and dandy in moderation, but once people start writing smut it's crossing the idols personal boundaries. It's something I've been seeing a lot more often and I think people who are interested in writing smut are being turned away from it bc we've gotten to a point where people are being called disgusting for having fantasies.

Hi Anon, thank you for sending in this Ask.

I want to preface this by saying: when I write or talk about Mingyu and Wonwoo fucking on my blog, it is a fantasy. I am not speculating about what the real Mingyu and Wonwoo might be like in bed. I am imagining the versions of Mingyu and Wonwoo that I have created in my head, that exist only in my stories. None of it is real. I understand that this can be a blurry boundary for some people. But for me, the separation between fantasy and reality is well-defined. Now, on to your Ask!

You’ve hit the nail on the head with this one. You’ve also touched on many of the issues I have been struggling with myself as of late. It’s difficult to argue about morals since everyone has a different set of values, as well as different comfort levels. Some people think real person fiction (RPF) is a gross invasion of privacy. Others are fine with it. And others don’t care one way or another. There is no single answer; I can only offer my answer. Which means, of course, people are welcome to disagree with it, or parts of it.

In this essay (LOL But forreal: this is an essay), I will be sharing my experience in the k-pop fanfic community from 2014 to present, the etiquette I personally abide by as a reader and writer of RPF, as well as my stance on RPF in general.

I started reading and posting fanfics back in 2014/2015 on a website called AsianFanfics (AFF). Obviously, no one on that site had a problem with RPF, since AFF is a platform made specifically for sharing stories about Asian celebrities. For many years, I read and enjoyed RPF with zero guilt. I scribbled away by myself in my own corner of fandom and curated my own content. I didn’t interact much with other fans, readers, or writers. I didn’t have a Twitter, and I only used tumblr to reblog memes. As a result, I’ve been able to avoid a lot of anti-shipping discourse, as well as purity and cancel culture. I had no idea there were so many negative opinions about RPF. It wasn’t until I became active on the subreddit r/Fanfiction last year that I learned about all the discourse surrounding RPF.

This newfound ‘awareness’ does make me feel guilty at times—but only because after mulling this over, I still don’t think this is something to feel guilty about.

Here’s what I remember, first and foremost, when I create and consume RPF: fanfics and my favourite ships are fictional, and fiction is fantasy. This is basic etiquette when it comes to RPF, and most people in the k-pop fandom understand this. Delusional fans exist, of course, but they are not representative of the entire k-pop community.

Another point of etiquette is to keep fanfics within fandom spaces. I would never push my fics into celebrities’ faces, or go around claiming that my fanfics are accurate representations of a k-idol’s life or personality, in any way, shape, or form. I would also discourage directing ship-related questions to official accounts, or bringing them up during fansigns or other face-to-face interactions; I believe that in these instances, shipping does have the potential to strain real-life relationships.

So with basic etiquette out of the way, let me share my approach to RPF in general.

As much as we like to think we know our favourite celebrities, we really don’t. All we see is their public persona. And this public persona is intentionally controlled, managed, and curated by a team of people: directors, tabloids, editors, makeup artists, publicists, etc. How “real” are these celebrities? We are so distanced from them that they may as well be fictional.

I draw from the public persona that idols project, and I work them into my own writing. But at the end of the day, these personalities are my own interpretation. My interpretation is probably nothing like an idol’s actual personality. I just use the “public persona/character” that idols portray as inspiration for my own stories, which are set in wildly different universes.

More than anything, I think of k-pop idols as “actors” in my fic. You know how when you write an original novel, you scroll through Google images, looking for the perfect person to portray your original character? RPF is literally that, except you might build upon pre-existing dynamics and personalities.

When it comes to explicit fanfiction, two main concerns are prevalent: one of consent, and one of sexualisation.

If we argue against explicit RPF due to lack of consent, we should be willing to apply the same lens to all explicit works. How do we know that the creator of a movie, book, series, etc., is okay with us using their characters in our stories, explicit or not? We don’t. Perhaps some creators encourage fanfiction, but don’t want their lovingly crafted characters engaging in sexual acts or experiencing trauma. We just don’t know. I feel this line is even more blurred when we talk about characters from movies or TV series.

Let’s take Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, as portrayed by Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan, from the Captain America movies as an example. I am willing to bet that when people consume and create explicit fanfiction about Steve and Bucky, they are imagining Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan in their heads. I doubt many people are imagining the 2D cartoon versions of Steve and Bucky, even though they’re technically the exact same characters. Why? Well, it could be because movies are more readily and easily consumed than comics, and so people are unfamiliar with comic book Steve and Bucky. But it might also be because fans find Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan attractive. Is this really any different from RPF, where fic authors make up everything about a celebrity’s life?

When readers and writers of fanfic talk about how hot Steve Rogers or Bucky Barnes is, those comments are about Chris Evans and Sebastian Stan’s bodies. When reading explicit stories, fans are going to picture Chris and Sebastian’s bodies in their head, doing sexual things. Can we say, “Well, it’s not really you, Chris/Sebastian”, when in a way, it is?

The reality is, people are going to thirst over celebrities, regardless of whether or not explicit fanfiction exists. They’re going to post thirst tweets on Twitter. They’re going to talk to friends and strangers online about how hot [insert celebrity name here] is. They’re going to fantasize about dating and having sex with their favourite celebrity. Or, as it is in my case, they’re going to make up stories in their heads about their favourite idols dating and banging each other. People are going to do all of this without ‘getting consent’ from the celebrity. Cracking down upon and shaming writers of RPF isn’t going to change any of that.

To be honest, I’m not sure why people think it is disgusting to imagine sexual scenarios about real people. It is okay and normal to have these kinds of fantasies. I suppose the alternative is to fantasise about having sex with cartoon characters instead? It’s a very binary way of thinking to say that if you imagine/write real people in explicit scenarios, you are immediately sexualising, dehumanising, or objectifying them. There is more to dehumanisation than writing smut about our favourite celebrities. For one thing, you can love someone and appreciate all parts of them, and still want to fuck their brains out. And generally, fanfics come from a place of love—love that is not only sexual in nature.

Is it the sharing aspect inherent to fanfiction? The possibility that a celebrity might stumble upon explicit works about them? The chances are very low, I think, of the k-pop idols I enjoy writing about coming across my English fics. But I also believe in curating your own content, and that applies to celebrities too. Perhaps a celebrity should not go searching for fanfics about themselves. And of course, people should not show celebrities their fanfics, unless invited.

Another argument I hear against (explicit) RPF is, “How would you feel if someone wrote fanfiction about you?” First off, I don’t like this argument because there’s a difference between someone who decides to be a public figure versus someone who decides to remain a regular private citizen. Celebrities should and do know what they’re getting into when they choose their occupation. (This is not to say, “They are celebrities; sexualise them all you want because that’s what they signed up for.” Here, I am only acknowledging that people might have sexual fantasies about celebrities they are attracted to. Presumably, celebrities are cognizant of this.)

If someone (whose existence I am not even aware of, mind you) decides they want to write explicit fanfiction of me in some tiny corner of the Internet, I wouldn’t care so long as: (1) they don’t shove it into my face, and (2) they don’t harass me and ask invasive questions about my personal life and relationships. It’s not hurting me or negatively affecting my life, so it wouldn’t even register as a blip on my radar. When fanfiction remains within its appropriate spaces, it is largely harmless.

Now, if a k-pop idol were to ask their fans to stop writing fanfiction about them, would I? Yes, I would. However, I can’t imagine that happening. Judging by the number of ‘sexy’ concepts, fanservice moments, and variety shows such as ‘We Got Married’, I am certain that k-pop idols realise they are the stars of many fantasies—some of which are explicit in nature. Considering the prevalence of shipping in the k-pop industry, I would argue that shipping is subtly encouraged.

It’s sad that so many talented writers are shamed out of fandom, or feel that k-pop cannot be the medium through which they tell their stories, or explore their sexuality, or cope with trauma, or simply have fun. Professional works and Hollywood love their RPF—readers and writers of fanfics should be able to, as well.

As you said Anon, “clamping down on horny people who simp over hot asian men isn't going to solve the issues we face in real life” (this is a lovely sentence, by the way). The kind of person who dehumanises another and reduces them to a sexual object will do so some other way, if not via fanfiction. I don’t think the issue of fetishisation can be fixed simply by telling people not to write explicit RPF. In my experience, people who read and write RPF are more respectful and thoughtful about these things than the general public. We’ve all seen the general public say highly sexual things about celebrities in the media and to their faces, or tag celebrities in their thirst tweets. Are these things less invasive than fanfiction? Personally, I don’t think so. And in my opinion, there are more pressing and damaging issues in stan culture than fanfic.

In conclusion, I don’t think there is anything wrong with creating and consuming RPF, both explicit and non-explicit so long as we:

Remember we are writing fiction

Keep RPF within its appropriate space, and

Do not harass celebrities about their personal lives and relationships

RPF is not for everyone. There may be people who enjoy RPF, but draw the line at explicit stories. This is fine. Everyone has their own personal preferences. What is not fine, however, is attacking people for creating things you don’t like. I’m not sure what kind of moral crusade people are on and what they hope to achieve by shaming writers of RPF, explicit or otherwise. Ultimately, fic authors are writing a fantasy. It’s not real; no one is being hurt. I think it’s important for people to curate their own content, and AO3 makes it very easy to filter out explicit works and unwanted tags.

Maybe this is me trying to justify my own participation in explicit RPF—I don’t know. What I do know is that I love k-pop, and fandom is an important part of my media and entertainment experience. I adore the k-pop idols I write about, and I just want to imagine them being happy and getting lots of love and orgasms. Let a bitch be horny, goddamn…

Some bonus fun facts!

At the time I am writing this, on AO3:

26.2% of Stray Kids fanfics are rated M or E

26.3% of Seventeen fanfics are rated M or E

29.0% of Merlin fanfics are rated M or E

34.9% of Captain America (Movies) fanfics are rated M or E

40.1% of BTS fanfics are rated M or E ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Coincidentally, I saw this post on Reddit this morning: Can we have a RPF positivity post?

#asks #my writing #fic & fandom #I keep coming back to fiddle and add things to this answer #but I think I've said all I wanted to now...

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cuculine-nelipot · 5 years ago

Text

Wish We Could

Chapter One: Loved You First

{ Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary: After the Battle of Howgarts, Hermione and Ron start dating; their slow-burn friends to lovers arc complete. He’s nice, and she’s comfortable, and everyone is happy for them. Everyone but Fred, who can’t stop thinking that he loved her first, and Hermione, who begins to wonder if they really are as over as she thought they were. }

2nd May 1998, The Battle at Hogwarts

Hermione Jean Granger was far from perfect. No one knew that better than she did. But she was careful, and she didn’t break things she couldn’t fix, or at least she didn’t used to. So you can imagine the devastation she felt when she kissed Ron, when he kissed her back, and the years of bickering, and flirting with flirting ended in that one, cataclysmic moment. She saw Fred watching, she saw the break; the life she then realised she wanted more than anything broke to pieces right there in his startlingly green eyes. She heard Harry yell something at them, Ron peeled away, laughing, and Fred was gone. The show went on, as it had to, as it must, because if there is one thing Hermione had learnt in her life, it’s that there is no such thing as a person, only players, and there is no free will, only the cruel pen of fate, and Hermione was its unwitting almost-heroine.

22nd August 1998, Morning

So maybe things aren’t so bad. Ron is sweet, or he is trying to be. Ron calls precisely when he says he will. Ron comes to dinner with her parents. Ron tries his hardest to at least look like he is following their dentist-talk. Ron’s kisses are soft, though they tend to be more mushy than gentle. Ron smells like strawberry shampoo. Ron is learning everything he can about cricket, and Chelsea F.C, and Ron is memorising her favourites of everything. Ron is a practiced mummy’s boy, and hers simply adores him. And Ron is her friend, has been since First Year. Together they have fought trolls and rode dragons. They almost died together more times than she cares to count. Theirs is the story you couldn’t write, a romance blown to epic proportions, this love is sweeter than fiction, — right? So why is she so nervous?

Ron arrives at 0930 sharp, dressed in respectable dark grey trousers and a blood red jumper. He kisses Hermione on the cheek, hugs Mrs. Granger, and shares a firm handshake with Mr. Granger. He hands Hermione a bouquet of garden roses because, she supposes, they look enough like peonies. On observing that his white shirt collar is crumpled and half tucked in, she compulsively reaches out and straightens it. He blushes, and from the corner of her eye she sees her mother purse her lips as though trying not to smile, a gleam in her eye as she witnesses this small act of intimacy. Hermione drops her hand, wishing she could take it back.

The again restored powder blue Ford Anglia idles in the driveway. Mr. Granger makes a remark about car batteries, and Ron agrees, saying nothing of the vehicle’s extra-ordinary traits. He holds the door open for Mrs Granger and Hermione. You look beautiful today, he says as the latter slides past him. This is the first time her parents are visiting The Burrow, so she thought they would be more comfortable undertaking the journey the muggle way. Her parents, quite understandably, have become just the slightest bit skittish around magic since learning of their daughter’s escapades, starting from aged 12 to seven months ago, including the fact that she had erased their memories and sent them to Australia for the better part of a year. This had the unforeseen and rather unfortunate side-effect of inspiring in them a strong desire to become more involved in the social aspects of her ‘other life’, as they had come to think of it. When Ron showed up one day, shortly after she gave them back their memories, and re-introduced himself as her boyfriend, this day became inevitable. And so, they are on their way Ottery St. Catchpole to visit the Weasleys.

The conversation flows well enough, Ron proves surprisingly adept at keeping the usually rather withdrawn Mr. and Mrs. Granger talking about their work, and sports. Her parents, eager to make up for lost time, and to know everything about their daughter’s apparent suitor, ask him lots of questions about the upcoming school year, and the adventures of their past, though there is a significant portion they skirt around (the time she was petrified for instance). Ron knows when to listen and when to ask the right questions. Ron knows which stories to tell. Ron keeps them laughing enough that they don’t notice the ride to Devon is going much faster than the laws of physics allowed. And Hermione looks out the window, and says nothing. It is a scenic drive to the West Country. All rolling fields and blue skies. The sun, a pale gold, trips lightly through a barely there mist, and everything shimmers.

“Is everything okay?” Her mother asks, nudging her with her elbow. Hermione half turns to look at her and nods, saying nothing of the cold dampness rolling through her stomach.

19th June 1996

It didn’t come out of nowhere, their first kiss, though it would have looked that way to anyone watching. Maybe it wasn’t the best timing — okay it was terrible timing — but time suddenly seemed to be in short supply. After all, she had just almost died again — Hermione, and everyone else who had been at the Department of Mysteries the night before. It must have been afternoon but it was impossible to tell with the curtains drawn, shading the ward an artificial dusk. Everyone was sound asleep except her, and Sirius, who was in another room going mad from his glimpse beyond the veil. Hermione was reading a book. She could always find one.

Fred walked in alone. She remembered thinking that was weird, but when he pressed his lips to hers, it became apparent why. “What are you doing here?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

“Well in case you missed it, my brother, my sister, and my friends all just almost died. I got here is soon as I could.” He skips over the words with characteristic lightness, but there’s a gravity in his aspect she had never seen before.

“Well in that case you’re late,” she teases, her tired face jerking in the vague likeness of a smile.

“It’s just gone past seven in the morning,” he frowns, and brushes the hair from her cheek, “what time did you think it was?”

“Afternoon,” she sighed, leaning back into the pillows. “So I only slept for a few minutes then.”

“I’ll ask a nurse to get you more Sleeping Draught.” He turned to go but she grabbed his wrist to stop him. It seemed too intimate, but she liked it, and judging the grin that flitted across his face, so did he.

“Don’t. They’re busy.”

“You need to sleep. You’re a patient too.” He leaned down, gently kissed her on the forehead, and swept her hair back. “I’ll be right back.”

22nd August 1998, Afternoon

Hermione had hoped that she would have to act as mediator between her parents and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and that she would therefore be much too preoccupied to worry about how uniquely uncomfortable the circumstances are. But she had no such luck. Not only was Fred everywhere, but her parents and the Weasleys got along famously. Ron had apparently well-advised his father on the appropriate number of muggle-specific questions to ask in an hour (one), and their mothers shared a passion for gardening. Already there was talk of exchanging various herb seedlings. She should be relieved, happy even, and it occurs to her that under different circumstances she would have been.

The rest of the gang had peeled away shortly after lunch in search of something more entertaining, leaving her and Ron alone with the parents. Hermione politely excuses herself from the table.

“And where do you think you’re sneaking off to Granger?” This particular red-haired boy that she almost slams into is missing an ear.

“George!” The smile that creeps across her face is nothing short of ebullient. Perhaps even more so than his twin, George Weasley could put near anyone in a good humour. “I wasn’t sneaking off anywhere. I just… needed to use the loo.”

“Pity. We were just about to throw the Quaffle around. Could do with a sixth. I was meant to get Percy but I’m sure everyone would much prefer you.”

“Everyone?” She asks skeptically. George was, of course, the only one who knew about the car crash that had been hers and Fred’s… whatever it was.

“Everyone,” he insists.

It’s cold for August, the sky is clear and the sun is still shining in that enchanted way. If there was a such a thing as perfect Quidditch weather, even Hermione would have had to admit that this was it. Harry has his arms wrapped around Ginny, saying something in her ear that makes them both laugh. Fred and Charlie talk a few feet away, watching them with equally perplexed and somewhat revolted expressions.

“If I saw Ron doing that I might just puke,” she hears Fred say. She could have heard him say anything and smile, but that particular remark makes something spark in her heart that she fights hard to stifle. “Oh, Hermione!” His pond-weed green eyes widen comically when he catches sight of her, the skin of his cheekbones turning pink. “Hi Hermione, hey!” He shifts his weight uncomfortably and looks away.

“Fred,” she says, cool as ever. “Hey Charlie!”

“I’m sorry, Hermione was it?” He asks with a teasing glance at Fred. “It’s good to see you again,” he adds, and gives her a brawny hug. She hadn’t actually managed to properly say hi to anyone earlier, there was so much excitement about Ron and Hermione, and The Meeting of the Parents. Harry and Ginny tear themselves apart and come over, and more hugs are shared. The divide themselves into teams of three, and for the first time in a while everything feels almost normal.

While she is by far the weakest player between the six of them, one simply could not spend years around Quidditch buffs without picking up a few things and Hermione, a true perfectionist, was now more than capable of sort of holding her own. And besides, Ginny was the only one present who actually played as a Chaser; George and Fred are more suited to whacking than passing, and Charlie and Harry, like most Seekers, are terrible at paying attention to other people. After a far too lengthy debate it was decided that the most balanced configuration was Hermione, George, and Harry against Ginny, Charlie, and Fred. Things get off to a slow start; it was nearly impossible to get Harry and Ginny to stop flirting and actually play the damned game. But once George slips past Charlie and scores an easy goal, it’s game on. He and Harry score five more between them in quick succession. Ginny, not one to take losing lightly, especially not to her Seeker boyfriend, ‘accidentally’ sends the Quaffle flying at Harry’s head, causing it to ricochet straight into Fred’s hands, and he makes fast work of scoring. They equalise soon after.

The game quickly degenerates into anarchy. Ginny bites George’s arm to keep him from scoring. Hermione flies up behind Harry and covers his eyes as he tries to make a pass. At some point, Charlie takes a shot and both George and Hermione dive to save it, ramming into each other head first. Hermione, much smaller, and the weaker flyer, falls off and George lunges to grab her arm but misses, so she’s free falling. Everyone swoops in to catch her but Fred gets there first. She slams into his outstretched arms, and his broom jerks down, threatening to send them both tumbling to the ground but he manages a semi-controlled landing and they both stumble onto the grass, winded and half in shock, but otherwise okay. Bending over with their hands on their knees, they catch their breaths while the others land one by one. Their eyes meet, and they experience a fleeting, shinning moment of absolute clarity.

“Well I suppose it’s been a good few months since someone’s almost died,” Ginny quips. All faces turn to her, stunned, speechless. She shrugs and makes a face as if to say am I wrong? And just like that the tension dissolves into hysterics, and they’re laughing — side-stitch, red-face, on the floor laughing harder than any of them have in longer than they can remember.

“Sorry,” George manages between gasps for air. “I’m really sorry.”

“You better be careful Georgie,” Fred says with a pointed, peevish sideways glance in Hermione’s direction, “wouldn’t want to incur the wrath of ickle Ronnikins now would we?” In that moment she swears she could deck him, and she’s sure he only said it because he knows she can’t.

“What’s going on here?” The voice cuts through the hilarity like an ice pick.

“Nothing dad!” Hermione trills defensively “We were just messing around.”

“Well no one invited me,” Ron groans at what he thinks is a discrete volume, but earns their party a withering look from Mrs. Weasley anyway.

“Sorry Ron,” Charlie offers diplomatically, “but we had an even six and if you joined then we would have had to ask Percy to play too —”

“— I heard that!” Comes the disembodied screech from inside.

“— which we of course would have thoroughly enjoyed but he’s just so hard at work helping to rebuild the wizarding world in these trying times.” Charlie works very hard at keeping a straight face while the rest of them burst into laughter again. He may have been laying it on a bit thick, but it works well enough to put an end to the subject, and they all go inside for tea. Fred shoots Hermione another peevish grin, and this time it’s undeniable; she wants to kiss him as much as she wants to absolutely eviscerate him.

Evening

No, Fred Weasley does not know what he’s doing. He just know it’s a bad idea, and that he can’t stop himself. He can’t stop his heart working double-time whenever he catches sight of Hermione. He can’t stop watching his younger brother talking to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, and thinking that it should be him. He couldn’t stop the rush he felt when he had Hermione in his arms, and he can’t stop wishing that he hadn’t had to let go. He couldn’t stop the hope that sparked in his chest when they landed and she looked at him that way, and he can’t stop it happening again every time he replays the moment in his head. He also cannot stop replying the moment in his head.

He can’t stop looking at her. He couldn’t stop himself from sitting across from her at dinner. He can’t stop himself brushing her fingers when she passes him the butter, and the salt, and the pepper and the peas. He can’t stop looking at how her skin glows bronze, and her dark hair flecks golden red in the warm, floating-candle light. He can’t stop thinking how he loved her first. He can’t stop any of it.

“You’re playing a dangerous game here,” Charlie says low into his ear, after the third time he asks Hermione to please pass the plate of Yorkshire puddings.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“She’s dating our brother.”

“I know that.”

“So what are you doing?”

“I’m not doing anything” he snaps, struggling to keep an even keel. Charlie leans back with a satisfied smirk and says no more on the subject for the rest of dinner, but he does yelp when Fred spills hot soup onto his lap.

20th June 1996

Already Hogwarts felt like something from another age. Was it just months ago George and Fred turned the fifth floor corridor into a swamp and flew off into the sunset, hanging up their blue and and bronze ties with so much flair and theatricality? It didn’t seem possible. Held up in the early morning’s grey light, against the dense mist rolling over the glassy, black lake, that moment seems somewhat lurid now. So Voldermort was back. They already knew that, and now everyone else did too.

“Are we going to talk about yesterday?” Hermione asks, her voice splintering the thin silence. The question catches him entirely by surprise. First because he wasn’t sure how she knew it was him coming up behind her. Second because she had seemed to be ignoring him since the hospital.

“Do you want to talk about yesterday?”

“Why did you kiss me?” She tried to sound cold, but a slight whine in her voice made it obvious that she had been fretting over the question.

“Because I wanted too, and because I almost didn’t get the chance.

After some consideration, during which she was completely still and he shifted anxiously on his feet, she turned to him and said, “I think I’d like to do it again. Just to see.”

He kissed her without hesitation, tilting her head back with his hands on either side of her face. It was brief and it was sweet. “Was that okay?”

“That was perfect. Thank you.” She turned back to face the lake, agonisingly unreadable. After a moment, she reached out and silently took his hand.

22nd August 1998, Night

There is nothing Hermione wants more than to dive into bed and stay there until it’s time to go to King’s Cross. Or better, to simply wake up on the 2nd of September and find herself in History of Magic, or Transfiguration. Maybe if she was lucky, Professor McGonagall would teach her how to turn herself into a teapot. At least that way she will always be full of tea and she’ll never have to think about boys again. But no, there had to be showers, and hot chocolate, and going over the evening with her parents in agonising detail. When she at last manages to escape, she is already halfway up the stairs when her mother calls out.

“The twin with both ears — Fred — was he the young man that used to call all the time?”

“Yes,” Hermione replies curtly, a prickle of heat rising up her neck.

“What happened between the two of you?”

“Nothing,” she shrugs, trying her best to look nonchalant. Too much. Not enough.

She tries to go to sleep but fails. She reads but can’t concentrate, as is wont to happen on the rare occasions books seem to yield no answers or insight. Eventually she takes to laying upside down on her bed, staring at the pinprick lights criss-crossing her ceiling. There’s a tap at her window, and turning her head reveals a familiar old bird. A really old bird. At the sight of Errol she scrambles, perhaps a little too excitedly, to slide the window open. He offers her his leg, and the attached scrap of parchment. She scratches his head and offers him the small bowl of birdseed she keeps nearby for such occasions. He flies away. She unfurls the note, and sees the familiar, elegant script that he uses when he’s up to something:

Mademoiselle Granger,

I would like to request the joy of your company at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour this coming Monday, the twenty-fourth of August, at ten o’clock ante meridiem.

Sincerely, F. Weasley

chapter one | chapter two

#fremione #fremione fanfiction #fred x hermione #hermione granger #fred weasely #harry potter fanfiction #fred x hermione fanfinction #hermione granger fanfic #fred weasley fanfiction #I was half asleep when I proof read this so PLEASE let me know if there are any errors #mine

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thecomicsnexus · 6 years ago

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Heroes for Hope

HEROES FOR HOPE DECEMBER 1985 BY CHRIS CLAREMONT, ANN NOCENTI, JIM STARLIN, JIM SHOOTER, STAN LEE, ED BRYANT, LOUISE SIMONSON, STEPHEN KING, BILL MANTLO, ALAN MOORE, HARLAN ELLISON, JO DUFFY, MIKE BARON, DENNY O’NEIL, GEORGE R. R. MARTIN, BRUCE JONES, STEVE ENGLEHART, MIKE GRELL, ARCHIE GOODWIN, BERNIE WRIGHTSON...

JOHN ROMITA JR, JOHN BUSCEMA, BRENT ANDERSON, JOHN BYRNE, CHARLES VESS, RICHARD CORBEN, MIKE KALUTA, FRANK MILLER, BRIAN BOLLAND, JOHN BOLTON, STEVE RUDE, BRET BLEVINS, HERB TRIMPE, GRAY MORROW, PAUL GULACY, ALAN WEISS, JACKSON GUICE, HOWARD CHAYKIN...

AL GORDON, KLAUS JANSON, JOE SINNOTT, TERRY AUSTIN, DAN GREEN, JEFF JONES, JON J MUTH, TOM PALMER, AL MILGROM, BILL SIENKIEWICZ, P. CRAIG RUSSELL, CARL POTTS, AL WILLIAMSON, SAL BUSCEMA, BOB LAYTON, JOE RUBINSTEIN, STEVE LEIALOHA, WALT SIMONSON...

DAINA GRAZIUNAS, MARIE SEVERIN, BOB SHAREN, PETRA SCOTESE, CHRISTIE SCHEELE, MICHELLE WRIGHTSON, GLYNIS OLIVER, GEORGE ROUSSOS, LESLIE ZAHLER AND JANET JACKSON (NOT THAT JANET JACKSON)

SYNOPSIS

The X-men are attacked by a strange entity that makes them feel despair and end up going to Ethiopia to help people against the famine (and fighting this entity after a while).

OFFICIAL CONTEXT

CONTEXT BY CHRISTOPHER PRIEST

The most heated racial episode in my career occurred during Marvel's production of their charity book for Ethiopian famine victims. Promoted as work from "the top writers and artists in the industry-- the very best of the very best," profits from this effort were going to be donated to help the poor starving Africans. It was a truly noble effort, one the entire industry rallied behind (at least until DC decided to do their own book, thus dividing the talent pool along company lines). Denys Cowan dropped by and mentioned, amused, that he'd seen the list of talent working on the famine relief project. There wasn't a single African American creator invited to participate. This actually amused me tremendously, and I went over the list myself to make sure, but, yup, no blacks had been thought of as, "the very best of the very best," and none were invited to work on this book.

Tickled, I picked up the phone and called Larry Hama, telling him no blacks were on the list. Larry was hugely amused, and suggested we do our own charity relief book for the poor white trash of Appalachia. He and I howled with laughter, and then shook off the dumbness of it all and got on with our lives.

Only, a white staffer had overheard part of the conversation (I assume the notion of my "recruiting" Hama to do my "own alternate charity book"), and some warped interpretation of my conversation with Hama got reported down the hall to the X-MEN office (where the book was being developed). The editors became incensed and loudly demanded my head on a plate for, essentially, inciting the black talent to stop working for Marvel. I mean, this thing got blown to huge proportions, so much so that, by the end of the day, it was largely accepted as fact that I was organizing a walkout of black talent, and the EIC kind of put me and the X-Men editor in a room to negotiate a deal.

I just couldn't stop laughing. I mean, it was all so stupid. These were stupid people. It was extremely stupid to do an African relief charity project and not invite any damned Africans to work on it. It was even sillier for these stupid people to invent some massive protest out of a silly joke in a 30-second phone call with Larry Hama.

The X-Men Ed was not amused, and refused to believe me when I said I had no intention of bad-mouthing the project. I was invited to participate, but I just chuckled and said, "No affirmative action, please." And this just set the Ed off into a screaming match that could be heard everywhere in the office, "What is WRONG with you? Why do you have to make a RACIAL ISSUE OUT OF EVERYTHING?!?!?!"

It just got out of control, and the episode (along with my paying my assistant to stay home on MLK's birthday once it was ratified as a national holiday but Marvel refused to recognize it, other than the numbingly patronizing "We got us our own holiday" speech by Luke Cage in the VISION & SCARLET WITCH Miniseries) fairly cemented my pariah status at Marvel. Without saying a word and without actually doing anything, I was routinely assumed to be some radical activist who saw everything as a race issue.

I felt trapped in a world of loons. It was totally no-win, and I tended to simply withdraw from the office more and more, from people who, in my view, had now invented a justification to do what they'd been doing all along: fencing themselves off from me.

CONTEXT BY JIM SHOOTER

Pam had arranged for Oxfam America to receive our donation. Their reaction to our offer, at first, was what one might expect from people who had never seen a comic book up close: “Comic book? There’s nothing funny about famine!” Sigh.

For some reason Pam was determined that we should donate the money to them, though, and we convinced them that comics weren’t always comic. They still demanded to review the finished book before they would commit to accept our donation.

When the book was ready to go to press, we sent a mock-up to Oxfam America to review.

Their response was that they wanted nothing to do with it. Flat rejection.

Furthermore, they said that the book was unbelievably offensive and that we, the people of Marvel Comics, were racist, sexist and reprehensible.

When this was told to me by Pam and Marvel President Jim Galton I felt as if I were being called on the carpet. I was flabbergasted. I showed them the mock-up.

They didn’t see anything wrong with it.

Galton called the exec at Oxfam America we’d been dealing with to ask what their specific objections were.

Their response was that, while under no circumstances would they have anything to do with our project or with us, they would send an executive to meet with us and explain the many horrific, repugnant, disgusting elements that made our “comic book” anathema.

So they did. Oxfam America’s representative came to meet with Galton and me. The meeting took place in Galton’s office.

I do not remember the man’s name.

He was a nice-looking, thirty-something man. He had on a suit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Designer shoes. He had on more gold and diamond jewelry than I’d ever seen on a human being. Jeweled watch. Cufflinks. Stickpin. Bracelets. A neck chain that would make a rapper blush. Doubt me, go ahead. Discount by two-thirds what I’m telling you and you should still have an image of a guy wearing clothes and jewelry that at market price would feed a thousand starving people for a month.

After the greetings and handshaking, Galton, making conversation, said that he imagined that Oxfam America and other charitable organizations had, at least, gotten a lot of people to focus on the ongoing tragedy in Africa, and had inspired many efforts such as ours from musicians and performers and artists.

This Oxfam America fellow, let’s call him Midas, just plain gushed about how good for business the East African famine was, how donations were rolling in at record levels. He talked about the millions dying as if it were a great marketing opportunity.

Galton and I were stupefied. We couldn’t believe how thrilled Midas was that his business was booming.

Midas explained that the purpose of his visit wasn’t here to request changes or negotiate. He had come to save us from our own folly. He made it clear that Oxfam America had nothing but contempt for us and our work. He came as a favor, to urge us not to publish the abomination that we had created. He assured us that it would destroy Marvel Comics.

Right. Well, naturally, I wondered why.

Midas flipped through the mock-up. Again and again he pointed out black characters that he said “looked like Michael Jackson.” We were obviously trying to capitalize on Michael Jackson’s image and fame.

Michael Jackson in particular and the Jackson family in general were huge supporters of Oxfam America, by the way. Every drawing of a woman, he said, was sexist and exploitative. He was particularly offended by depictions of Storm, which he thought were more than sexist, a denigration of women of color.

I mentioned that the men were heroic and glamorous, too. Just like in the movies, stars tend to be good looking.

He pointed out a panel in which Chris had a carnival barker saying: “Yowza….” That, he said, was racist in the extreme. I don’t have the book handy, as explained above, but wasn’t that character Caucasian?

Moore and Corben’s pages? Yikes.

I cannot begin to tell you all the racism, sexism and hate that he (and Oxfam America) read into the words and pictures.

Wow.

The punch line is this: Midas accused Marvel of “stealing Janet Jackson’s logo.” He believed that the Heroes for Hope logo, credited to Janet Jackson, was ripped off.

I offered to introduce him to the designer on our staff who had created the logo, one Miss Janet Claire Jackson. He dismissed my obvious attempt at a cover-up.

No, really, we have a designer named…. Oh, never mind.

No wonder Janet Claire Jackson eventually started going by the name “Blog Elf.”

Finally, the lunatic left. Galton and I shared a moment of “what a jerk.”

Pam was instructed to find some other organization to which to donate the money. She came up with the American Friends Service Committee.

Heroes for Hope was a huge success. Thanks to our sales department, we got donations from downstream—distributors, retailers, even fans.

Can’t find the press release and the picture of me and Galton giving the AFSC honchos the PR “Big Check” created by our production department to symbolize the real check. I think the initial donation was $500,000. Much more came later.

It was a great thing. Jim Starlin, Bernie Wrightson, Ann Nocenti and Chris Claremont are great heroes in my book. Heroes for hope. There are people alive today who wouldn’t be without their efforts.

AND ABOUT THOSE STEPHEN KING PAGES

The non-comics writers who participated needed some help in most cases, which Ann and Chris provided. The biggest challenge was Stephen King’s contribution. I may be exaggerating here, but not by much—he gave us something like 5,000 words for three pages. Almost overnight, by the way. Chris, Ann and I somehow cut that down to what would fit on three comics pages. 500 words? I forget. Has anyone else ever had to cut out 90% of Stephen King’s brilliant words?

REVIEW

This was bound to not be a nice comic-book to review. The famine in Ethiopia at the moment had political origins that people decided to look over in favor of Live Aid and We Are The World.

Let’s just say that sending super-heroes there to help doesn’t guarantee a success (although they could have done something more against politicians, but let’s not go there).

The story is a bit abstract and the characters pretty much end up making sense of it without ever checking their facts (like the entity being a mutant and why it exists). The sequences about each X-man being tortured psychologically was too repetitive. By the time they end up in Africa (something that happens on a wild guess), the book is almost over.

The art doesn’t have a nice unifying feel. Something that could have been possible with breakdowns and less inkers and colorists.

But you know what? I understand why it had to be like that. This book was made ad honorem, and people did a great effort to just put the damn thing on the stands.

My other concern is that the X-men weren’t the right fit for a story like this. I understand they were popular back then, but these comics should attract non-readers as well (it’s for a good cause after all). And to be frank, things like Rachel Summers, Storm not having powers, Magneto being the leader... those are things of that time. Very hard to relate to. The Avengers would have been a better choice, or even Spider-man and the Fantastic Four (even if Spidey was looking a bit different at the time).

I like the message of not losing hope, and hope being the one thing keeping people alive in such tragedies... but then they kind of go back home. Leaving hope?

I don’t think the ideas in the book were brought down on something concrete or to keep thinking on. It is just confusing.

I give the book a score of 5

#heroes for hope #famine #marvel comics #x-men #1985 #comics #review #modern age #live aid #arthur adams

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dabibliophile · 7 years ago

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Venomous is a Shapeshifter and Here’s Why

Venomous having shapeshifting powers, either innately or through self-modification, would answer a lot of the questions surrounding him; most immediately, it would put the “body types don’t match” argument to rest regarding the “Laserblast is Venomous is Shadowy Figure” theory.

We already know shapeshifters exist in this universe; KO’s classmate Genesis is one.

At ten-ish years old, she can already grow new bones and muscles and change her hair color, though her body type remains the same. It stands to reason that an adult shapeshifter might be able to alter their proportions to the point that “Laserblast is Venomous is Shadowy Figure” is possible.

If Venomous was born with shapeshifting abilities, a career in bioengineering would make sense because he’d have a greater understanding of the concepts behind it due to exercising his power over the years, and he’d be able to do even more with it with as the field advanced.

Alternatively, he could have used his skills to give himself shapeshifting powers. We have a few mutated characters in the show, which I’ll mention later, but right now the takeaway is that such changes are possible, though general shapeshifting is likely more difficult to obtain than a singular change. But out of all the things you can do as a bioengineer, why that specifically? The most obvious answer is that shapeshifting is awesome, but Venomous seems to have better sense than to undergo a potentially hazardous procedure for fun.

Rather, Venomous gave himself shapeshifting powers because he initially had no powers at all. Most inhabitants of this universe have some kind of gimmick- super strength, telekinesis, vine whips, etc. Even those with no active ability like Dendy or Potato have benefits such as a turtle shell or rabbit speed.

The OK KO world is very dangerous, to the point that even news reporters and convenience store employees are combat-oriented. Individuals without powers appear to be rare, possibly a genetic throwback from before those two apocalypses and three doomsdays that Crinkly Wrinkly supposedly survived.

To quote tumblr user neddythestylish, “disability exists in the context of the environment”. And in such a violent world, having no powers could very well be considered a disability.

Disabled people have scraps at best for positive representation, both in media and real life. Non-powered people in OK KO may also face this issue. Are there any heroes in the OK KO universe without powers? Who can non-powered kids look up to?

I sifted through the sources on the wiki’s character page and looked at characters who either have no powers or whose powers aren’t innate, and the results were… sparse.

Ginger is a retired thief, no powers.

Nick Army “has two of every weapon ever made”, no powers.

Chip Damage appears to be a cyborg. KO mentioned his powers got upgraded, so they’re likely mechanical in nature rather than innate.

Co-bruh got his form and powers from being dropped into a pit of mutant snakes.

Gladys spliced lizard DNA into herself.

Holo-Jane’s physical form is elsewhere. We don’t know to what degree her holo-form resembles her physical form, but she might have prosthetic legs.

Boxman is a cyborg. Still not sure what’s up with the chicken hand.

Mad Sam is a mutant human, though it’s unclear whether this is innate or a result of living in the Danger Zone.

Ted the Viking carries around an axe and has a magical scarf friend, no powers.

URL: “was a normal kid” until he became living code.

I’m not counting the Hue Troop because they’re from far in the future, and I’m looking at OK KO’s modern society.

What I’m getting from this sample is that if you don’t have innate powers, end up mutated, or constantly carry around weapons, you have a high chance of getting your limbs blown off.

While some of these people may have been born without limbs (especially since there’s radioactive waste in the sewers), that it’s apparently completely normal for small children to fight robots with buzz-saws and lasers suggests violent amputation is more likely.

It’s usually not a good idea to use the experiences of a single person to generalize about a larger population, but the narrative lens is the only one we’ve got right now so that’s what I’m using.

Boxman is a level -10 villain who attacks the plaza almost daily. He could have been bullied as a child for not having powers, turning to villainy out of spite.

Ginger was a dangerous jewel thief. Though she’s level +3, she had no problem manipulating KO. That she called her heists “thrilling” raises the possibility that non-powered people are considered “fragile” and thus discouraged or banned from doing anything potentially hazardous, so Ginger decided to have fun the unconventional way.

Chip Damage is a level +15 hero, but he was only mentioned offhand, and I doubt he would have the opportunity for such heroics without having access to enough money for expensive prosthetics. (Reliable prosthetics can’t be cheap, much less weaponized ones, given that Neil’s keep falling off.)

KO helped Nick Army resolve a pickle problem. I’ve got nothing on that.

KO’s likely interacted with the rest of these characters as well, but I don’t think we’ve seen him so much as say hello to them onscreen. They exist in the background, as extras.

Shunting disabled people and other minorities into primarily antagonistic and background roles (or having them be the focus for one “Very Special Episode” and then vanishing) is an unfortunate byproduct of the ableism and other prejudices society perpetuates. OK KO’s parody elements put it in an excellent position to criticize prejudicial tropes, especially since it’s had episodes focusing on racism against aliens and kappa, and might be gearing up (haha) to do one about robots as well.

Simply put, if a society doesn’t accommodate a group of people, members of that group are more likely to be able to function outside of its accepted norms than to carve a place for themselves within it. Showing prejudice, not disability, as the source of villainy would be amazing, and Venomous’ place in the narrative makes him the best candidate for this (especially since Boxman got punted into the sun).

If my guesses about OK KO’s society are true, Venomous would have one hell of a chip on his shoulder going into this self-modification. The entire project would be a big middle finger to the society he lives in- but, ironically, he would also be bending over backwards to conform to it.

This could explain why Laserblast considered using the red orb on P.O.I.N.T.’s enemies: he used to have no powers himself. His reasoning could have been that “not having powers isn’t so bad, so it’s fine to use this to neutralize a villain”, or he could have succumbed to the “Just World” fallacy that so many fall for: that being disabled is a karmic punishment, and that it is furthermore an acceptable punishment for villains.

Whether his powers are inherent or not, I think he lost them at some point after the Sandwich Incident while further developing the red orbs. Lab accidents commonly give people powers in comics and cartoons, so it’d be an interesting reversal for one to take them away, especially after he could have worked so hard to get them in the first place. Venomous is researching turbonic energy to attempt to reactivate his powers. He’s made some minor progress with Fink- thus the difference between Venomous and Shadowy Figure. (Could he have a collar of his own under his scarf?) But he needs KO’s power to fully bounce back.

(Genes can change from expressed to not-expressed and vice-versa due to environmental stimuli, this is called epigenetics.)

We may have already seen an example of turbonic energy activating dormant genes. KO was conceived while Laserblast still had his powers, so KO has some shapeshifting genes in his DNA. We saw this manifest first in “You’re Level 100!”, and again in “TKO”. Most dramatically, we saw TKO go from baby fat to Ripped™ in the space of half a second in “Mystery Science Fair 201X”.

In other words, turbonic energy temporarily granted him minor shapeshifting powers.

Where does all this lead? With Boxman kicked to the curb for now and his factory turning away from the plaza, Venomous will likely have a bigger role in season two. And if that biochip he gave Boxman recorded anything, he’ll have quite a lot of data to pore over. Furthermore, he’ll know that KO has some control over his power now, meaning he won’t go all-out unless he’s in a situation more distressing than the season finale. Venomous is likely going to have to straight-up kidnap him and emotionally wear him down. But how will he accomplish that? What can Venomous do to get KO away from a plaza full of heroes and his level eleven mother?

“I can tell you about your father” should do the trick.

***

As always, I welcome any additions/corrections/questions/etc.! If I got something wrong or could revise my wording, don’t hesitate to message me!

#ok ko #ok ko theory #tko #professor venomous #shadowy figure #laserblast

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recentanimenews · 3 years ago

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Bookshelf Briefs 7/5/21

Boys Run the Riot, Vol. 1 | By Keito Gaku | Kodansha Comics – This was well-acclaimed when it was first licensed, and it’s not hard to see why. It’s a great look at transgender and genderqueer characters, showing both the difficulties and triumphs that they experience. The art is also terrific, popping off the page, particularly in the art that Ryo creates. I also enjoyed how Ryo and Jin became fast friends, and despite a few misunderstandings (mostly as their classmates see them in a different way) stay that way, especially as they’re both outsiders in a way. Oh yes, and the title itself, as well as its derivation towards the end of this volume, is brilliant in its layered meanings. I absolutely can’t wait to see what happens next, and hope that the fashion they’ve designed takes off. – Sean Gaffney

Kageki Shojo!! The Curtain Rises | By Kumiko Saiki | Seven Seas – I had read this when it first came out last year, but forgot to review it. Which is dumb, as it’s fantastic, and also it has not only an anime that debuted last week, but also a manga “sequel” that starts this week. The story of an all-girls school aiming to be the top stars in their not-Takarazuka-because-of-legal-reasons troupe, we meet Ai, a girl with a troubled and abusive past who is small and doesn’t trust easily, as well as Sarasa, a girl who also has a troubled past (that we don’t see as much of in this omnibus) but who is very tall and trusts very easily. Yes, it’s shiny peppy girl meets dark grumpy girl, and we all love that type of relationship to bits. The supporting cast are also very good, and this volume ends openly, which is good, as the story continues. – Sean Gaffney

Let’s Not Talk Anymore | By Weng Pixin | Drawn & Quarterly – Having enjoyed Weng Pixin’s collection Sweet Time, I was happy to discover that another volume of her work had recently been released. Let’s Not Talk Anymore is a beautifully painted, captivating comic that explores five generations of matrilineal family history, both real and imagined. The narrative is cyclical in nature, repeatedly shifting from 1908 to 1947 to 1972 to 1998 to 2032 and back again while following the lives of Weng’s great-grandmother, grandmother, mother, the creator herself, and her imaginary daughter as fifteen-year-olds. While not always readily apparent to the young women themselves, readers soon begin to see patterns and parallels emerge from the telling of their stories. The similarities and differences between their generational traumas and personal experiences inform who they are as individuals as well as in relationship to one another. Let’s Not Talk Anymore deftly and elegantly captures the complexities of the inherited realities connecting mothers and daughters through multiple generations. – Ash Brown

My Hero Academia, Vol. 28 | By Kohei Horikoshi | Viz Media – Things continue to be absolutely terrible for the heroes, and we’re starting to get an actual body count on their side, though it’s not any of the major characters… so far. Unfortunately, the big plan to stop the resurrection of Shigaraki is a disaster of epic proportions, though it’s nice to see that he seems to know the narrative tropes of this sort of thing and is headed right towards Deku. Fortunately, Gran Torino, also familiar with these narrative tropes, is there to stop Deku rushing in and killing himself. There’s not really a lot to talk about here as it’s just a massive, city-destroying chaotic battle, but it’s rare that you see a Jump title like this go so far in having its good guys lose over and over again. It’s chilling. – Sean Gaffney

Monthly Girls’ Nozaki-kun, Vol. 12 | By Izumi Tsubaki | Yen Press – I tried something a little different with this twelfth volume of Monthly Girls’ Nozaki-kun. Instead of reading it straight through, I read a chapter a day. I think that helped a lot in terms of appreciating the wacky episodic humor, which in this installment involves things like Nozaki trying to help Seo figure out her feelings for Wakamatsu by loaning her shoujo manga and later making a Wakamatsu doll, Nozaki owning in a competition amongst classmates to see who can write the best love confession, and Sakura’s ill-fated attempts to embody a cool girl to help Nozaki with a story. As ever, though, my favorite parts involve Hori and Kashima, whose relationship has evolved a little since his confession, though they’re still far away from becoming an official couple. Nothing here made me laugh out loud, but plenty made me smile. I look forward to the next one! – Michelle Smith

Species Domain, Vol. 10 | By Shunsuke Noro | Seven Seas – Ohki is the big focus of this volume, and not in a good way. After a fun, cute date with the girl who’s crushing hard on him, he shuts her down, saying that he’s “in love with science.” It’s not clear if this is meant to be a sign of asexuality or simply narrow focus, but it’s clearly rude to the girl, as everyone else notes. Then we get another elf showing up as a transfer student, only this one is a full-blown elf with magic out the wazoo, which he demonstrates in class. Now Ohta’s interested, having seen actual magic in action, which deals a devastating blow to Kazanori. Elsewhere, we probably get FAR more information about icaruses and how they get pregnant than we’d really like, much to Hanei’s horror and embarrassment. This is ending soon, but is still fun. – Sean Gaffney

Sweat and Soap, Vol. 6 | By Kintetsu Yamada | Kodansha Comics – Our sweet couple finally moves in together, will all the issues that you tend to see when that happens. It means we get their first fight, as Kotaro is trying to do everything himself so that Asako doesn’t have to, which annoys her as they’re supposed to have a partnership. She also badly handles a guy blatantly hitting on her while Kotaro is away, taking his business card even though she’s clearly not interested. That said, these things are fairly easily resolved, and the majority of the time we get to see what these two do best, as we watch them working, eating, making soap, and making love. (Even the fight is adorable, as passersby whisper that he’s getting dumped, which she angrily—and loudly—denies.) Read this; you won’t regret it. – Sean Gaffney

By: Ash Brown

#Anime #News #Manga Bookshelf

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icedteaandoldlace · 4 years ago

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There are tons of different explanations people give for why they don't like either character, but what the main issue boils down to for the majority of them is that a lot of people hate Iris simply because she's Black/doesn't look the way she did in the comics, and thus everything she does is deemed annoying or problematic in some way. And any moments she has that are actually annoying or problematic are blown way out of proportion and made out to be like that's all there is to her, even though they're few and far between/really not a big deal, and literally every other character has had those moments, too, because they're all just human and imperfect.

As a result of all this, it became a popular practice to ship Barry with Caitlin instead (some people were doing this before the show even aired), and a lot of the things people claim to hate about Barry's relationship with Iris are suddenly okay and also super romantic if they're being applied to a relationship with Caitlin.

And Caitlin is hated mainly by Iris stans, because being so popular among people who hate Iris makes her The Enemy™️, and because they feel she never properly redeemed herself after Killer Frost took over.

There's also some beef among the Iris stans with Danielle Panabaker for talking about Snowbarry in interviews. Her reasons for doing this were because A) the interviewers would ask her questions about it, B) it's the main thing her fans wanted to talk about, and C) the writers did actually plan on having Barry and Caitlin date temporarily before having Barry ultimately end up with Iris. Grant Gustin vetoed that idea and it never happened, but since there was a time when it was planned and Danielle would talk about the potential for a Barry and Caitlin relationship in a positive way, her discussing it has been interpreted as antagonistic toward Candice Patton and Westallen. Therefore she must be a racist for supporting a ship that is so popular among racists, and therefore Caitlin is problematic™️ because her actress is problematic™️.

So basically, the Iris stans started doing the same thing to Caitlin that the Iris haters do to Iris, which is finding fault anywhere they can and focusing on only that. To be fair, Caitlin does have a longer and more serious list of character flaws than Iris does, but a good chunk of the hate toward her is just retaliatory for her stans being awful.

TL;DR It's your standard case of pitting women against each other, but rooted in racism.

Why don't people like Caitlin Snow?

Why don't people like Iris West?

Drop a comment because I'm sooo lost. I stopped watching the Flash after season 3, but I'm hearing good stuff about season 7.

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hellyeahheroes · 8 years ago

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this is soo much wrong here

Well, Huffington Post did got few things wrong in this article. Like calling Bullseye and Man-Thing miniseries, which they’re not since Marvel doesn’t do those and considers them bane of the industry (yes, minis are a problem, keep telling yourselves that, Marvel). And some of the titles that are canceled, like Hawkeye they didn’t list as such.

I don’t know if there is a reason to panic about Moon Girl & Devil Dinosaur – from my understanding of it, her book has horrible sales in floppies, but sales great in trades, largely thanks to Scholastic buying tons of those, which is why she’s been going for so long despite poor sales.

As for Black Panther: World of Wakanda ending, the reason for that can be found in an article published by Comics Beat, where they point out one big problem haunting all of Marvel books, diverse titles or not. Every time Marvel has even mild success with anything, they try to turn it into a line. And customers want a book, not a line. Suddenly they add tons of spinoffs. Guardians of the Galaxy sold great when Bendis took over, suddenly we had solo series for every single member, which could barely hold on (probably because most people who bought them were just people buying the main book who liked that particular character and even then part could not afford additional book and stuck to the main title) and pushed sales of main book down (because part of the audience cannot afford two titles and will drop the main book to read the spinoff about their favorite character). Iron Man had great #1, suddenly they tried to give him two books before realizing sales went back to his average level and he’s unable to sustain two books. Daredevil could sustain himself, suddenly he became a line with Elektra, Bullseye and Kingpin. Deadpool actually had a line and they’ve blown it out of proportion with Foolkiller, Slapstick and Solo. And while many of those books are good or better than the main book, this automatically hurts their sales as people see them as spinoffs or connected and only buy with the main series and only if they can afford it. Such was the case with Loki: Agent of Asgard and Angela books (being seen as part of Thor line), now the same happened with World of Wakanda. What hurts the most though, is that Marvel instead of helping the series pretty much kicked it down when they decided to add third series, Black Panther & the Crew. And don’t get me wrong, those are great titles, but the way Marvel is trying to operate ends up killing those series pretty fast.

#Marvel #submission

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flatw00ds · 8 years ago

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Answers under the cut!

🏆 19. What’s more important to you: visual design, unique personality, a trendy character aesthetic, etc? If you’re not sure, then what’s the first thing you usually nail down in a character?

Usually the first kernel of a character comes as the visual design! Sometimes I’ll have mulled them around for a while in thought, but they don’t become ‘real’ until I commit them to paper (up until that point, they can change/be recycled very easily). That said, personality is usually my top priority, so I tend to go pretty hard on the character writing once the visuals are done.

💡 3. Has creating a character ever made you realize something about yourself?

aside from my glaring teeth fetish When I’m writing certain characters, sometimes I’ll come to the realization that they’re heavily influence by my own experiences with brainweirdness, and that does make me reexamine how I relate with my own issues and experiences.

💭 12. Do you fantasize about being any of your characters, or are you more detached?

I do, usually to get it out of my system before writing. There’s always character elements that are just so satisfying to work on, but need to be used very sparingly or they’ll become tired. So I tend to try and work out those spontaneous vicarious “WOULDN’T THIS BE SO RAD” feelings that way. Then I can focus on writing for a more long-term payoff.

🌻 15. Which character is your guilty pleasure?

It varies, but the worm vampires are always a nice indulgent treat to draw.

✒️ 11. If you have characters that embody certain traits of yours—good or bad—has writing them changed how you view those traits? Has it affected you in any way?

Ohhhhh yeah, absolutely. For example: Bupsy has many of my negative traits blown way out of proportion (blame-shifting, won’t admit failure, etc). His curse is also sort of a facet of this, too? Not the cannibal murder part, but the concept of compulsion--and struggling with compulsion--is something I dig into a lot. I realized recently that curses in my writing tend to directly reflect my own struggles with compulsion (especially the ones I had as a kid, which were very confusing and alien at the time).

I think the way it affected me was positive; I really love Bupsy as a character, and his arc is a redemptive one, so realizing I had so many of my own issues in his character was...pretty okay? Like I could love and work through even my worst traits. I’ve known people who openly admit to torturing the OC they relate to most and that always seemed kind of. Unhealthy.

🔑 17. Which character is the easiest to draw/write?

Depends entirely on what kind of mood I’m in, I think. Overall, Bupsy, Augustine, and Doc are the easiest for me to write in general!

🐲 5. Do you prefer to make human, animal, monster, or _____ characters? Why?

MMMMONSTERS, OBVIOUSLY.

I’m actually trying to get better at human characters, since I do have a lot of important roles in my stories that need to be played by ‘normal’ people. It does take me longer to figure out the ‘core’ of a human character, though, which is a bummer. Since I don’t have as dramatic a visual design to play against, it takes a lot of writing to deduce what’s interesting and compelling about them (Bernard is SUCH an example of this).

♨️ 10. Is there a character that explores your interests or fetishes (orrrr is that just all of you characters)?

Doc. Surprising no one.

Perhaps less known: Doc used to be a self-insert when I was A Child, used in imaginary superhero (and by that I mean supervillain) adventures, which were very aggressive rewrites of comics I had read where the villain didn’t cock it up like an idiot and won. They became entirely their own character as I got older, and went from being a power fantasy tool to being a sexy power fantasy tool, and now to a slightly less serious feel-good boner fuel monster person. They’re definitely not a self-insert anymore, but more of a...fetish exploration vehicle. But also a character I do a surprising amount of development for?

🎵 13. Do you create playlists for your characters?

Definitely! I’m very picky about what I put on them, so they’re often long works in progress. I should share them sometime.

🎬 20. Do you ever plan to do anything (comic, animation, etc) with your characters? Or are you just happy to have them?

Oh yeah, of course. I’ve done webcomics before, I trained for comics professionally specifically to tell these stories, it’s definitely happening. Most of my clown characters are in a webcomic that SHOULD have launched last month, butttttt thanks to some setbacks with Hiveworks (not a huge deal tbh) will...probably not be out until April. I’m a little bummed it has to wait that long, but I’m still excited to launch the project!

🌩 16. Is there a character of yours who’s a real struggle to write/draw? Why do you think that is?

I love Bernard, but he’s a hard guy for me to write. Mostly because his character arc is sort of about finding your place when you’re out of your comfort zone, and that’s something I have a hard time with personally.

🕸 1. Who’s the oldest character of yours that you still use?

Doc, I think? I didn’t commit them to paper for a while but I think wild daydreams definitely counts as ‘being used’. That would make them about 15 years old.

Thanks, guys!!! Really appreciate all the questions!

#character meme #meme #writing #text #characters #my characters #ocs

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thirst-order-confession · 8 years ago

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Could I please request Bodhi reacting to fem!rc, who is normally neatly dressed and tidy and soft spoken, chest deep in an Xwing or other space ship engine? Messy hair, jacket off, maybe a grease smear across her face and hollering back and forth with the pilot of the ship but with a wide smile on her face? Sfw or Nsfw I don't care. I just want to see more Bodhi stuff. ^_^

Hey there thanks so much for this ask! I had a blast writing it. It’s pretty long since it took on a mind of it’s own. I adore Bodhi and I kinda wanted to showcase the fact that the rebel Alliance was becoming a family and home for him. This is more of a snippet in the life of both the reader and Bodhi who have yet to define their relationship.

PS: I took on a different approach to Bodhi’s shyness. In the movie he has a lot of nervous energy rather than outright shy tendencies so I focused in on that. :3

It was a wonder that the X-wing made it back at all. Not many pilots came back from head on collisions with the rough terrain of that day of the week’s battle setting. By this point (Y/N) had seen it all; from paint jobs withered away by meteors to ships half filled with water it’s pilot miraculously sitting amongst the sea life. But some crashes drove home just how much was at risk; that the job of an X-wing fighter went beyond the amazing feats and the stuff of legends. Some cost lives some simply spoke of dumb luck.

The well position shot that brought the ship down scorched through via the nose of the plane, showcasing the intricate wiring below that had formed an almost perfect halo running along the length. Embedding in the cockpit somewhere just above where Hobbie’s head rested, was just that, dumb luck that took down the plane but spared the pilot.

And here Hobbie stood, arm in a sling ready to get back into the piece of what could only be called scrap metal at this point, tear off his cast and fight the good fight. Thankfully for his health and the sanity of Vrogas Vas, who reckless in his own right, played the role of the concerned squad leader well, the x-wing was not going anywhere anytime soon. Effectively grounding the hot shot pilot and all but, condemning his X-wing to be broken down into scrap metal. It’d serve it’s purpose for the rebellion either in battle or as a way to get the money to fuel the ins and outs no one but those inside the base thought about.

To Hobbie the X-wing was like an extension of himself and while Poe could sympathize in some ways, he knew when to let go. Having totalled two crafts before the one he now rode with well practiced ease.

“Hobbie…”

“No no, (Y/N), look before you say anything hear me out. She’s given me a good run and saved me life. I’m repaying the favor. I’ve tried asks the other mechanics around but now one will touch it or even go near me at this point!” His frustration was imminent by the ruddy color that had settled on his high cheekbones causing the blue of his eyes to become more prominent. The same blue eyes he tried batting the way of another mechanic just days before. All it took was one look at (Y/N)’s softening demeanor to see that he struck a chord; Hobbie let out a breath he didn’t know he was hold, thankful for the fact that he didn’t have to charm the straight laced mechanic. He knew better than to try that with (Y/N) who was plainly head over heels over one of the bases resident heroes, Bodhi Rook.

Quickly, the Jedha pilot, who played a major role in the battle of Scariff, became the talk of the base. Unlike Cassian he did not hold the same prickly demeanor that urged people to not waste his time. It was to the point that the shy pilot couldn’t go anywhere without being stopped. Words often taken out of context, whispered amongst the base inhabitants. His role in it all blown of proportion until he was soon looked at like one of the war heroes the empire had warned him against. How things had changed in the past 6 months for him. Going from a cargo pilot who was simply another cog in the machine to one of the most wanted men in the galaxy along side names like Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor.

It was for these reasons that he felt so at ease around (Y/N). Treating him as any of the new recruits she’d often helped with navigating the maze like hanger of Yavin. When days were especially hot and the asphalt of the semi exposed hanger seemed to bake the pilots alive, Bodhi, would often spot her resting against one of the gargantuan walls of the pyramid like structure; peering out into the expanses of green that peaked through the fog. Despite the heat (Y/N) always dressed up to code in her regulation jumpsuit, hair neatly tied back from her eyes, small smile reserved for him as she called him to join her. This is where he’d spend what few moments he could spare. Soon Y/N didn’t have to ask instead he simply gravitated towards the mechanic who magically seemed to avoid the grease and rust stains that colored all others in her division. The months blended into a tempestuous routine of Battles, missions and quiet afternoons joking around with one of the sharpest mechanics in the rebel alliance.

Today was one of those odd days spent in his psydo-home. The endless green now as familiar to him as the inside of the craft his piloted. Back from a three week mission on the other side of the Galaxy his body screamed at him to rest but his mind had other ideas. Deep brown eyes darted around from face to face. The mix of tan and garishly bright orange jump suits blurring together as he ran around. All eager to get back to their dorms after a long day of fixing the unfixable and doing the impossible. Not paying attention to where he was going Bodhi accidently rammed into an unsuspecting person. A sharp intake of breath was broken by the deep chuckle that rumbled from under civilian clothing of the grounded pilot. “Hey Bod! Welcome back, what’s the hurry?”

“Sorry Hobbie! Didn’t see you there..” Bodhi rattled off; talking a mile per minute as always. “How’s the arm” He added in; wincing as he looked Hobbie over. He looked no worse for wear, certainly less delirious since he last saw him. He could clearly picture Hobbie than, high on adrenaline, it took several of them to hold him down. All but tackling him as he continued on his tirade about the hell he’d bring to the empire after what they did to his X-wing. He was strong for a little guy..

“Oh good as new” The wry smile Hobbie offered did not seem to match his statement. But nothing could curve the joy that came from finally getting his way. (Y/N) had said yes after all. A reluctant yes, but a yes nonetheless.

Bodhi smiled at that. Playfully slapping Hobbie on his tender shoulder light enough not to truly hurt but hard enough to cause him to swallow his pride and wince. “Fuck’in hell..”

“Oh yeah definitely up for the turbulent flights. Being knocked around in the cockpit.” He joked good naturedly, shyly brushed stray strands of inky black hair out of his eyes. A nervous habit that still persisted despite being around friends. Hobbie was at least above hero worship, set on making a name for himself rather than hanging off the arm of someone else. “Hey I will be as soon as my ships good as new.”

Bodhi’s eyes widened comically taking in the smug smile across Hobbie’s face. No one in their right mind would have touched the scorched scrap metal. “(Y/N) will have it fixed in no time. Yeah she gave me some grief about it, stating that it’s take the better part of the next ten years to fix it or that I had a better chance of getting K2 to like me but I’m optimistic”

“She can fix anything that’ll run.” He said confidently, fully aware of the stubborn nature of the object of his affection. “ I just don’t know if she won’t kill you before it’s done”.

Three hours had passed since Hobbie had all but pulled at (Y/N)’s heart strings. “Stupid Hobbie and his stupid love for this stupid piece of junk. I should just melt it down myself not that it sell for much is there anything that still works?!” She muttered in between grunts as she unscrewed a bolt. Her words held little bite, more annoyance at the current task at this point to warrant any real threat. The melted metal of what was meant to be heat resistant giving her a good arm workout amidst the sharp edges and bare wire inside. Everyone in her little corner of the workspace had left long ago; going with nightfall. Now all that kept her company was the stickly breeze that would come in every now and then to lick at her bare arms every time she came up from the bowels of the beast of the ship to take a breath. The long sleeved jumpsuit long ago unzipped tied haphazardly around her waist, showcasing the tight fitted once white, now horribly stained grey tank top she wore underneath.

Torso deep, grease had made it’s way up her forearms giving off the illusion of sporting odd mismatched, slick, stripes and patches along feverish skin. Her hair fanned around around her, like a halo; having come undone as sharp corners and randomly placed bolts within the machinery snagged the plaits in her hair. Brand new nails held in between her teeth. The R2 droid assigned to help her letting out concerned beeps every now and then. Met only by a unbeat indiscernible tune as a response.

By the time Bodhi had gotten away from Hobbie and just about every other person who wanted an update on his latest mission (Y/N) was tugging on a twist sheet of metal with all her might. Feet planted firmly apart before the metal groaned and bent back into shape with a loud clank. Glistening from the light sheen of sweat that build up on her tired form he marveled as she watched her laugh triumphantly. Fists pumping in the air as turned to the droid. “Ha! Hell yeah I told you I could move it!” The encouraging chirps were halted by the sound of Bodhi’s approaching footsteps. They seemed painfully loud in quiet of the night. “Bodhi!” (Y/N) said breathlessly, deft fingers quickly moving to tan jumpsuit as she wiped her hands with practiced ease on the course material.

“Welcome home”.

He swallowed hard. It seems that whenever he was around her he either seemed to find it infinitely hard to find words or to stop the trainwreck of sentences that sped through his mouth. It seemed that today his mind favored quiet as he drank in the odd sight. Gone was the picturesque look of the feisty mechanic, in it’s place was one he had never seen before. Her love for what she did truly showed she had never seemed more beautiful than she did now in her natural habitat. Relaxed with an open smile, grease smeared on the bride of her nose though, he doubted she had noticed.

“You did quick work. It’s looking less like a hopeless case now”. He offered at last finding his words. It earned him a breathy laugh. The air seemed to grow more humid or was it simply the heat of the blush that was spreading through his body that caused the wind to provide little relief. “Hey I’ll have you know that this is now slightly functioning scrap metal rather than a neat pile of junk”. He smiled at that, both at ease and on edge by her very presence. Naturally the two seemed to draw closer. Gently he brushed away stickly locks from her forehead, returning them to the wild mass that still vaguely resembled a braid.

Her smile softened, leaning into the slight touch. Unspoken attraction and feelings buzzed around the two like the odd lightning bugs that (y/n) had seen some of the new recruits capture in jars. Her words from earlier had just struck him. This was home. From the quirky x-wing pilots that both livened the place and went to places that no doubt haunted them to the brilliant mechanics that kept everything running. Happy to simply do what they do; not calling for any more thanks than what was given always. Always ready to tackle the next job without complaint and here he was somewhere in between hero and average pilot. A part of something bigger than himself, a cause that didn’t strip away who he was but rather welcomed it.

The kiss came abruptly, no words were shared, no fairytale moment just a simple gesture between two people who didn’t need any words to convey what they felt. Her lips were warm against his own tasting vaguely of lip balm she’d often apply and heat. Undemanding almost lazy in their languid exploration of his lips; natural. He returned it with a bit more vigor. Nervous energy focused in on a single task; memorizing the shape as he might memorize star maps.

The loud crash and unceremonious beeps of the fallen over R2 brought them back to where they were. He was the first to break the kiss breathless eyes that he hadn’t even registered close opened. (Y/N) stood there with a giddy smile. The same he had seen moments ago. Her lips twitched before she let out a snort followed by a breathy laugh. If anything the R2 unit complained even more. Bodhi soon found himself laughing at the expense of the poor little bot. “I don’t think it’ll want to help you after this.”

“You good with a wrench Rook?” (Y/N) said as she jutted out her hips, balancing her weight on her left side. “Well more like holding a flashlight if we’re going by what he was doing”. Warm eyes darted to the droid that had somehow righted itself.

“Depending on how well you do, you might just get a reward”

“Oh yeah are you kidding me? I’m the best flashlight holder in the base” he stuttered out. No doubt his face was as red as the streaks that ran along the x-wing. But he could honestly care less. What he had (Y/N) was not defined but he had all the time in the world to figure that out.

“If that’s the case neither one of us will be getting any sleep tonight.”

Sorry I didn’t get to the NSFW stuff. This would have been waay longer if I had. This was already well over 2000 words. I’m always happy to write more of this! tho ;)

#Mod Remy #Bodhi Rook #He's a small bean and I love him #SFW #Sorta slice of life #Feel good #random R2 unit ruining the moment

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