#the cat in either image is either boy in question

[minijenn]

Me, writing for Steven in UF:

Me, writing for Dipper in UF:

[resart]

The Inconspicuous Writing Gem: Daeran’s Look-alike Contest Breakdown

The Dance of Masks brought the long-anticipated last hurrah to the Knight Commander’s story. Although it was announced that the DLC would focus on the companions, I wasn’t holding my breath for substantial content that would actually enrich the characters’ plots. The game is already massive and has a ton of variables, so expecting the writers to continue storylines that can have multiple outcomes would be unreasonable. But one scene far exceeded my expectations and set the bar high for the rest of the expansion, rendering me more critical about some of its elements than I would normally be. The event in question may not appear as much, but the true artistry in writing stories driven by the player’s choice fully reveals itself in what we don’t see on the surface. Daeran’s look-alike contest varies greatly, depending on how his personal quest was resolved, and, therefore, serves as a semi-epilogue to his arc. I wanted to post an analysis of his character’s progression for quite some time, and this send-off is a fitting opportunity to delve into this matter. I’ll break down the differences in the new scene as well as in a few others and share my overall thoughts on what this addition brings to the table. Brace yourself because it’s going to be long.

I'll start with a quick reminder of what Daeran’s questline outcomes are, because I'm going to reference them a lot:

Good, in which he’s openly grateful to the Knight Commander despite having to face the tribunal, and Liotr, noticing their bond, intervenes so the Inquisition doesn't lock him up;

Lobotomy, in which Daeran reluctantly accepts his predicament of having to face the trial, Liotr doesn't support him and after the crusade, the Count is sent to the asylum and lobotomized;

HappyEvil, in which the Commander kills Liotr to secure Daeran’s freedom;

ArchEvil, in which Daeran doesn't have any trust in the Commander, feels deserted and murders Liotr to avoid the trial.

At first glance, there's nothing profound about Daeran’s festival quest — it fits his image to indulge in the vain act of self-celebration by choosing the most accurate imitation of himself. However, this simple setup proves itself clever when we realize that, by observing the contestants, he sees himself in a distorting mirror. Coincidentally, each participant appears to represent a different facet of the Count’s character. Therefore, his reactions to them speak volumes of the self-image and mindset he developed during the crusade in each scenario.

Among the doubles, we have an aasimar who mimics Daeran's arrogance and cruelty, and constantly interrupts other participants' speeches with mocking remarks.

A woman who recreates Daeran's sophisticated bon vivant persona.

A drunkard who paints Daeran as a worthless and utterly unapologetic rake.

And finally, an innocent boy who keeps staring at Daeran with admiration and portrays him as a virtuous hero of the crusade.

After the presentation of the contestants is over, Daeran asks the Commander’s opinion. Again, his responses to their verdict vary in each case (unless they choose the cat), but the difference in how he reacts to being compared to the little boy is the most telling.

No matter what the protagonist suggests, the winner of the contest is fixed for each of the outcomes. If the Commander failed to earn Daeran's trust and he murdered Liotr himself, the conceited aasimar is declared the winner.

If the Commander killed Liotr, the Count awards the lady.

If the quest was resolved peacefully (either Good or Lobotomy), Daeran chooses the boy and has a heartwarming exchange with him.

This variety of possible scenarios and the way they are handled encapsulate why I consider Daeran's story so intricately woven and enjoyable to analyze. He's an incredibly flexible and dynamic character whose potential endings range from becoming a saint to a homicidal maniac. But what makes this duality and everything that comes in between so engaging is that all these vastly contradictory conclusions are equally organic and convincing, given his rich characterization and the player’s choices. The subtle yet significant divergences in the narrative paths maintain the integrity of his personality and prevent his evolution from seeming far-fetched while efficiently showcasing his growth or regression.

Regretfully, this attention to detail is missing from the other new scenes, which don't convey a similar sense of progression and can come off as somewhat disconnected from the rest of the playthrough. The rendezvous, for example, avoids references to how the player concluded Daeran's romance and quest. Given these plotlines' non-linearity, it's an understandable approach, but it prevents the scene from exploring deeper themes and hitting more emotional notes. What's particularly detrimental to the its overall intensity is the absence of exclusive dialogue for the True Love outcome. Ironically, it's the two worst endings that get unique and surprisingly heartfelt lines.

The difference is insignificant, however, because the conversation always plays out the same. All in all, the segment is nice and leaves a lot to the imagination, but only partially exploits its potential. Meanwhile, the festival mini-quest embraces the aforementioned strengths of the storyline's writing, giving every iteration of Daeran distinct dialogues that clearly demonstrate the impact the crusade and acquaintance with the Commander had on him.

I won't examine every dialogue branch in detail but will mainly focus on the Good scenario. As someone who likes this ending the best and even advocates the controversial writing in the final confrontation with Liotr, I always thought the narrative failed to properly sell its implied benefits. Apart from the closing conversation in the quest itself, late-game provides little reactivity to differentiate the outcomes, making it hard for the players to fully grasp the internal shift that Daeran undergoes. Comparison of said dialogue in various scenarios reveals his perspective in Good route as the least egocentric and overall most mature. Unfortunately, in an individual playthrough, these qualities can get overshadowed by the Count's dissatisfaction with the inconveniences he will eventually have to endure.

Aside from that, the effects of each resolution manifest only in Daeran's responses to one question in the romantic route and how he expressed his feelings regarding Galfrey’s death.

Even though they show evident contrast and serve as a much-needed emotional pay-off for the moral dilemma the player faced in the storyline finale, both are relatively minor, with the Queen one completely missable in most playthroughs. When combined with the similar omission of negative repercussions for Daeran’s moral condition and emotional maturity in other outcomes, it's not surprising many players believe he doesn’t ever change or that becoming better fundamentally clashes with his nature.

The discussed competition scene remedies the narrative’s deficiencies, ultimately proving this statement untrue. In the Good outcome, Daeran presents a reasonable dose of self-distance. When confronted with the drunk’s insults, he replies with humor and courtesy, which is a stark contrast to his reactions in the Evil outcomes and his past responses to criticism. Despite being hurt by the harsh judgment, he understands such a low opinion of himself is somewhat justified. The Count's mild response and his sensitivity to the suggestion that he's nothing more than an unfeeling scoundrel may even indicate that he has developed some remorse for his past actions. He also dismisses unwarranted flattery and distances himself from the brash egotism. All without falling into a spiral of gloom and self-deprecation that occurs in the Lobotomy scenario. Introspectiveness and vulnerability showcased here are a seamless continuation of the self-evaluation Daeran does in the High Trust version of his quest upon being supposedly betrayed by the Commander.

It's all the more unfortunate that the other interactions in the DLC don’t acknowledge these differences and instead return to the common denominator of all endings. As a result, the player will go from Daeran, who self-reflects and claims the aasimar presents an unfunny caricature of him, to Daeran in the tavern, who puffs himself up exactly like the guy (using even the same words) and seeks more sycophantic praise. While it's expected for him to put on an airy act and tease others, the absolute lack of self-awareness he previously exhibits in the Good route is quite jarring. Considering the complexity of the storyline as well as all sorts of limitations, such inconsistencies are inevitable (the base game already has a fair share of them) and in the end, one can easily reconcile them through their own interpretations. However, after being spoiled by a reactivity treat like the festival mini-quest, it's disappointing that the remaining dialogues lack similar nuance.

In the Good scenario, Daeran's behavior reinforces what we learn in the epilogue — that in this version, he has the most difficulty navigating through his newfound freedom and redefining himself in it. Choosing the winner of a silly contest shouldn't be hard for him, and it isn't in the Evil outcomes. There, the self-satisfied Count (who in both cases already has the blood of at least one innocent man on his hands) picks what he perceives as an idealized version of himself — be it the aestheticized depiction of his self-centredness or the unbridled and unyielding haughtiness. Noteworthily, in the Happy variant, Daeran openly flirts with the lady and, in both Evil paths, if not romanced, attempts to seduce his favored contestant. It’s peak narcissism, given the implications of the scene. In the peaceful outcomes, especially the Good one, the ordeal is a series of unpleasant self-reflections that even causes him to become overwhelmed by sorrow at one point. In the end, Daeran’s choice stems not from an ulterior motive or a desire to boost his ego but from genuine fondness for the boy. The youngster's belief in the Count’s kindness and heroism reminds him of his own innocence that was prematurely and brutally snatched from him. At his core, Daeran is not a self-sufficient master of his own fate but a helpless child thrown by unfortunate circumstances into otherworldly oppression and a vicious cycle of selfishness. In the Evil routes, he successfully deludes himself into believing he’s the former, but here, he realizes he’s the latter.

We're used to seeing Daeran scoffing at saccharine narratives and lofty ideals, and in the Evil versions, he's indeed annoyed with the boy’s portrayal of him. In one of them, he even anticipates him to be disenchanted, finding the prospect amusing. In the campaign's early stages, the Count voices his dissatisfaction with being enrolled in the crusade and laments the tarnishing of his ill reputation. Any suggestions that he may be secretly vulnerable are met with biting retorts. But now, Daeran doesn't disabuse the child and isn’t even bothered by being seen as a heroic figure. There also isn’t any objection when the Commander points out the similarity between him and the boy. He’s shocked they can see through him but decides to be honest and agrees with their assessment. Daeran’s sensitivity and his tendency to be more emotionally transparent with the protagonist is, at this point, a recurring theme in the peaceful outcomes, so it’s a shame that when they later choose to compliment his vulnerable soul, he's always equally dismissive.

Daeran is perfectly aware of how damaging cruel disillusionment can be to one’s psyche. As a child, he witnessed firsthand the powerlessness of good in the face of evil, the suffering adhering to moral principles can bring, and how those who claim to be righteous can turn out to be as callous and uncaring as hardened villains. These experiences left the young Count with a pessimistic view of the world and human nature, making him adopt coping mechanisms that only deepened his melancholy and loneliness. Knowing this, he wishes to spare the boy a similar fate and plays along to preserve his innocence.

In the non-peaceful outcomes, Daeran gives the signet away as if it was an insignificant bauble. But even though we barely ever see this side of him, some dialogues indicate he’s proud of his heritage and his ancestors' role in Mendev’s history. They were valiant defenders of the kingdom, who, for generations, protected its borders from any threat. This is who the Count, as a scion of the Arendae house, was originally destined to be and who, it so happens, the boy sees in him. Perhaps his take on him makes Daeran reflect on how differently things could have turned out had it not been for his family's demise and the Other’s interference. It undoubtedly revokes memories of his roots and deceased kin, since he not only rewards the child with the ring but also educates him on its meaning and sentimental value, expressing unexpected sincerity and kindness. In the Lobotomy scenario, this gesture is particularly bittersweet — with his impeding childless death, Daeran’s lineage is going to expire, making the memento the only way to keep its memory alive.

Finally, the Good version of the scene carries a deep symbolic significance. Daeran rewards one person who doesn't focus on his superficial traits or recreates the mask he hides behind. The image the boy paints of him may not be accurate, but while the other portrayals embody what the Count turned into under the Other's influence, this one shows what he could have been if he hadn’t lost the childish naivety he now longs for. And who he, despite his own skepticism, still can or perhaps even already started to become, thanks to the good protagonist's compassion and support. Just like the Commander, the boy views him as someone better than what his predicament forced him to be. And Daeran, confronted with sincere faith in him, cannot help but answer the call.

[husbandhoshi]

TO GROW LOVE (AND EAT IT TO THE CORE)

pairing: mingyu x gn!reader wc: 8.1k summary: your whole life, you've only wanted one thing. then you meet mingyu. suddenly you want too much, and you wish the summer never ended. notes: farmer!au, established relationship, angst/hurt/a little comfort

this is a birthday fic for my one and only cat @wuahae ! yes this is about half a year late but what can i say. all good things come with time. thank you for being so kind, funny, and thoughtful (and patient)! not a day goes by where i’m not thankful for our friendship :)

and a million thanks to hana @wqnwoos and jackie @97-liners for helping me with edits. literally you guys are insane writers and i will never stop looking up to you.

i. strawberries (the summer we were young)

When a strawberry is ripe, the seeds push out from the heart of the fruit, as if it's bursting from the inside out.

This is one of the few and only things you've learned by living in Seogwipo, where strawberry season comes like a supernova. The May sun, full and heavy, peels into summer, and the roadside farms open their doors, trying to catch stray vacationers from Jeju City on the other side of the island.

That being said, there are approximately two things to do here. One of them is farm. The other is pretend like you have a life, which is your childhood friend Yizhuo's favorite thing to do when she's back from university on summer break.

Today, this involved convincing her ritzy, too-good Seoul friends that they're missing out on this side of Jeju. (Missing out on what? You're not sure. Perhaps the chipped paint of the mural walls, or the endless flat-topped stretches of seagrass. Yizhuo isn't fooling anyone, but you've always liked stretching your legs out in the bed of her pick-up, even on the long drive to nowhere.)

Unsurprisingly, her friends quickly came to the same conclusion. Just one look at your local strawberry patch, with none of the glamour of the bloated tourist traps in the city, and they decided they'd rather spend the afternoon at the beach.

It was then, between the fragaria blooms, when you met Mingyu. He asked for your name, and the rest was history. Yizhuo and co. scattered like the grasping hands of an overripe dandelion and you learned that he was, one, the newly-graduated son of a pair of local farmers, and two, very, very attractive. Almost too much so, especially for a place like this.

Now he holds up a berry, a bright red murder between his fingers, and tells you to try it.

"You must be delusional if you think i'm taking food from a stranger," you laugh, perched on the fence bordering the field. It sprawls before you, melon stripes on the sunbaked ground.

"No, my name is Mingyu," he replies. "No idea who delusional is." His smile, all bright lip and snaggletooth, tears into the scarlet belly of a newly picked strawberry.

"We all know what happened to Persephone."

"Well, if the underworld was a strawberry patch, I wouldn't mind being stuck there for all of eternity."

"What're you picking all these for, anyway?" you ask, watching Mingyu struggle with his too-big straw hat between the vines. His woven basket bleeds over with little berries.

"Jam. I make it on the very first day of every summer."

"Why?"

"You ask a lot of questions for someone who trespassed on my farm. You're cute, but I won't let you off easy."

He laughs at how you balk, clearly red-handed. You're not sure how to tell him you don't think you were supposed to be here either. You don't do things like sit in the back of trucks, trespass, or talk to pretty farmer boys who take a fancy to you, but it's the summer before you graduate and you're not even sure how long you'll have to continue making bad decisions.

"Are you gonna take my first-born now?" you joke instead. The daylight runs down the rim of Mingyu's hat, trickles down his brow, and you wish you could pour the image of him into a jar and keep it forever.

"No, but I will invite you in for some fresh jam on toast. I baked a loaf this morning." and when you say nothing, he continues. "The strawberries are only good once a year. It's the best you'll ever have. Promise."

It's a whine and a half, and somehow you convince yourself this will be the last bad decision you'll make. You've been here long enough to know that good things don't come twice in Seogwipo, and he is unlikely to be an exception.

Yizhuo blows up your phone, you tie the gingham apron around Mingyu's tiny waist, and the basket turns to blood in the saucepan.

Mingyu is right. Love comes to you in that kitchen, high and red like the sun, and the jam never tastes as good as it does that summer.

ii. watermelon (hollowed out, like a magic trick)

"A good watermelon sounds like a heartbeat."

You watch Mingyu heave the fruit, small and striped, out of his grocery bag. It joins the array of egg sandwiches and banana milks you picked up from the store together earlier. (There should have been chocolate Pepero too, but you split the box on the walk).

You're on a picnic, sprawled out on the outcropping overlooking the water. The path up is basically right behind your house, but you had never cared to visit. It had always been the local makeout spot, a schlocky teen crawl for those with nothing better to do, and yet, with Mingyu stretched out beside you, it seems newer. More exciting.

You're still just friends, or at least that's what you told Yizhuo. But ever since you sat on Mingyu's kitchen counter and ate from his jam-covered spatula, you don't think you've gone a week without seeing him. It's been almost two months, which seems so long and yet not long enough—he makes it easy to be greedy.

"See?" He thumps the watermelon with the heel of his palm. "Try it."

You already went through this entire charade at the grocery store, right in front of all the local aunties, but you indulge him. There's little point to triple checking if it's still ripe, but you think he just likes hitting it.

"It sounds good," you say. "But how are we even gonna eat it? We don't have a knife."

"Watch this." Mingyu procures a coin from his pocket. "You didn't learn this in elementary school? I feel like everyone was doing it."

"Here?" you ask, incredulous.

"Yeah, here. I grew up here too, you know."

He holds the edge of the coin to the skin and slams his palm into it once more, so that it lodges itself into the rind, and begins dragging it around the fruit. You start to wonder if he bought the watermelon just to show you a party trick—not that you mind, though. The strain of his biceps peeks through his rolled up white tee, and you remember why he was able to stop you with just one look back when you first met.

"No way." The watermelon is so ripe, it bleeds around the incision. "I feel like I know everyone here. And I definitely would have remembered you."

"I was probably, like, two grades above you," he replies. "And my parents shipped me off to live with my cousins after elementary school. They said I should get out of Seogwipo and experience the real world."

"Good call. There's nothing here." You watch Mingyu spin the melon over to cut through the other side. The coin catches the sunlight, and it looks like gold. "I wish I left for university. The one here is so small."

"Really?" He pauses to show you his handiwork. The two melon halves roll over on their backs, their cut edge cruel and jagged. "Cool, huh?"

"Impressive," you say. "Honestly. I really didn't think that would work."

"I didn't either when I first saw someone do it. But I’ll try anything once," he replies, ripping open the packaging of the plastic spoon from the bag. "I can't believe you don't like it here."

"You do?"

"Yeah. A lot." He shoves the spoon in his mouth, and you watch the watermelon juice pool around his lips. "I missed home. The trees and the tall grass and the ocean. All the fruits. Everything. I learned to ride a bike, right down there by the water."

"Hm." He passes you the spoon. You don't want to hog it, so you carve out a piece bigger than you need. "Are you gonna work at the farm?"

"Maybe. Haven't decided yet," he says. "I think I want to be here, though. Maybe do something with food, but I want to be home."

"That's funny, because I think I’ve always wanted to live a different life. Or at least one somewhere else."

"You want to go to law school, right?"

"Yeah." Mingyu is right. The watermelon is all sugar, and you would almost feel guilty for eating it if it wasn't technically good for you. "I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer. It's something about the people watching, I think."

"That’s really cool," Mingyu says, mouth full but no less sincere. It's then that you notice your shoulders are almost touching, and your heart crawls back up to your mouth. "You know what you want. I admire that."

He makes it sound like a compliment, but you're sure it's a curse.

You think of your parents. There's a permanent wrinkle ironed into their foreheads, the paper crease of expectations and high standards. It's not that they didn't care, but their kind of care was a humbled sort, made heavy by a hard life. It didn't help that your big sister Seohyun went straight from Yonsei to work a big tech job in San Francisco and never once looked back.

But you can't blame any of them—wanting has always been a hereditary failing. Sometimes Yizhuo will catch you frowning at nothing, and then you remember that life isn't a performance and every day ends at the same time no matter how hard you work. But you don't know how to tell her that the only thing you can do sometimes is want, because otherwise you wouldn't really have much at all.

It seems like the exact opposite of how Mingyu lives—everything about him seems to pass like the seasons. Maybe that's why you can't seem to get enough of each other.

"Thank you. Really." You dig the spoon into your half of the melon. There isn't much left. "You're way too nice to me."

"It’s not hard to be," he laughs. "Maybe you're just too hard on yourself."

You're losing track of the distance between the two of you. You can almost feel the heat playing off his skin.

"Maybe."

It's then, under the veil of summer, where you meet Mingyu's gaze and, finally, things seem close to simple.

All you know are his eyes, heavy with sun, and then the slow, slow move of his lips against yours. He tastes like August, long and sweet, and for once you know what it's like to not only want, but to have, and to have again.

The ocean sings on the horizon, and the watermelon bellies weep.

iii. adzuki beans (or, the blood of a headless taiyaki)

Mingyu eats taiyaki headfirst because he says it hurts less.

"That makes no sense," you tell him, your pinkies linked. You never really liked holding hands, but yours fits so perfectly in Mingyu's and there's some girlish, childlike shine to it when you watch his finger search for yours after just a moment separated.

"What do you mean."

He breaks your gaze to eye a red bean taiyaki, like an unwilling predator sizing up their prey. It's the lamest, most embarrassing iteration of National Geographic you've ever seen, and yet you cannot find any fiber within yourself not deeply in love with the lion.

Fall is a forgiving place for your relationship to settle. You're now a senior at university and he's started his gap year. Gap implies he's in the middle of something, but in true Mingyu fashion, he leaves it up to fate, or chance, or something not nearly as kind (whim).

"Taiyaki isn't alive. And why would you want to pretend it is? Eating gummy bears would become an extinction event."

"It kind of is." He holds out the tail end of the taiyaki, the pastry almost explicitly flayed open, in front of you to eat. "Why does the Haribo bear have a face? Why do the gummy bears live in a gummy forest?"

"Great, so now I can’t even enjoy gummy bears without feeling like a serial killer?"

You dig your pointer into his shoulders, broad from all the time he spends on the farm. To think that his hands, big and weathered, were made to pick berries (and now wrap around your pinky finger) is bruising, if not ridiculously funny.

"It's a crime of passion. Gummy passion. Prosecute that."

He kisses your cheek and your heart almost squeezes into two.

The terrible thing about being with Mingyu is how seemingly endless his affection is. Now he's feeding you in public and buying the two of you matching socks (cat and dog, to be exact), although you'll admit it's a little charming, even if the neighbors do gossip.

He's sweet, too sweet, and his kisses stick to the back of your throat.

But you can't be fooled. There's an unsaid violence to the way Mingyu loves. (The meticulous spiral of the peel he carves when you ask for him to cut you an apple. The grind, decisive and cruel, of a knife against a cutting board. A pair of canines against your neck, your jaw.)

Even now, he bites the head off another unwitting taiyaki before stuffing it back in the bag.

"We're still splitsing, right?" he says, with perhaps 1% of his mouth available for speaking and the other 99% murder machine.

Splits, he always says before you share food. You never had the heart to tell him that it's in the same family as mines or sharesies or takebacks—silly childhood relics, ones that no one uses anymore because they don't mean anything.

This time, you don't hear him because you're thinking about the law school fair you went to before Mingyu picked you up. The future is so close, it scares you. A year from now, what ground would you be standing on? Would it smell like this—the peat, the thread-spool fields, the balm of the ocean? Would you still have Mingyu's finger wrapped round yours?

"Have you decided if you're staying at the farm?" you ask.

"Not really." He uses the back of his hand to wipe off his chin. "If my sister decides to take over, I’m actually kinda thinking of going to pastry school instead of getting a masters."

Mingyu had been toying with the idea for some time after you had talked about it on the outlook. It started off as a joke (September; a galette), then a what if (October; green tea mochi), and now it sits at a kinda.

"Kinda?"

The word gathers speed in the pachinko machine of your mind. You never liked being a kinda person. For Mingyu, it seems like a luxury of a word, but for you, it's really just another thing to hide behind. Kinda talented, kinda ambitious, kinda just there. You're always one foot in, one foot out of something better.

"Yeah, kinda. Why?"

"I dunno. What if we both end up leaving?"

"Maybe. You still want to, right?"

You would be lying if you said you didn't—it's what you always wanted. Seogwipo has been a sun-rot, too-small crutch for you, but you would also be lying if you said you weren't terrified that you'd eventually come back, limping like some doomed Icarus, unable to truly make it in the real world.

Then you think of the pockmarked farmland beside your home, lacy with the fall harvest. Even now, you can trace the endless blue of the coastline all the way there, cut through all the maybes and just let the sound of the ocean fold you into sleep like you were a child again. You wonder if Seohyun, all the way on the other side of the world, ever misses it.

"I’m not sure," you say, because, as much as you don't like it, it's the only answer you have.

"It's ok. You'll figure it out. You always do." He squeezes your cheeks together between his thumb and index, laughing at how they pillow out underneath his fingers. "Screw pastry school. I could come with you. Who else would keep you fed?"

Mingyu's complete and unfounded belief in you makes you feel something close to betrayal. How could he say any of that? With what proof? Only someone like Mingyu would be able to hold the wrinkled fruit of your unremarkable life between his palms and see something better than that. Maybe it's because he grew up on a farm. Either that, or he already cares for you too much, too painfully.

Secrets are easy to keep when they look like yours. At least here, in the pit of your stomach, you can keep count, take attendance of them, all your tittering, small anxieties. Some days it feels like your ribs are pressing out, but it's better than cutting everything loose to spill out over what little you do have control over.

You can handle a little pressure. You have to.

What concerns you is the hand Mingyu's got across your chest. With one look, he just might gut you. A twist of the heart-knife, and all those carefully wound insides carved out in an instant—maybe he'd pity you, but worse than that, he'd likely be disappointed.

For you, expectation has always stood taller than shame, and the idea that he sees something past you makes you want to run away.

"I could be a house husband," he says as easily as ever. "You'll be off saving the world, arguing with whoever, and I'll be there to run you a bath afterwards."

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves," you reply, binding up the strange, hollow feeling in your stomach with a laugh.

There's a scared little girl hiding inside you, and whether Mingyu sees her or not hurts the same. A spade is a spade. You can only pretend so long.

You look at the taiyaki floating in their wax paper bag, blinded and wrought open by the same grin that now peels you down, and you're not hungry anymore.

iv. winter pears (rotten, outside your parents' house)

Mingyu's family loves Christmas.

You think it's because of the pear trees they have in the front yard. They stand bravely before the house, all emerald ash and wisdom in the December freeze. Run your palms over the knobs and it's like you can see into a sleepy visage of simpler days past. (Below its heart, carved: 1982, the year the farm was bought. Along the tangle of the roots: gyu waz here, in an unsure, childish scrawl.)  

Winter comes to the countryside crawling on its hands and knees. On days it doesn't snow, there's a mist, boggy and clingy. You've come to realize the cold is more of a threat than a promise, and so the pear trees still bear fruit; the silvery branches hang heavy, faithful.

The first day of December, Mingyu's parents had tasked the two of you with decorating the farmhouse, a duty you took very seriously. You wrapped Mingyu up in string lights and watched him blink in and out like your own personal firefly.

It wasn't until you watched the rafters, the barn doors, the joyous vault of the ceiling all glow, like a spectacular firework, that you finally started to understand why Mingyu was so into the holidays.

It was in the yellow blush of the string lights that you had your first pear from the tree, which Mingyu insisted was a holiday tradition. We make poached pears, he said, mid-bite. You simmer the pear in syrup until it gets so soft, you can cut into it with a fork. Just like butter.

That same night, he kissed you, mouth hot and trembling and tasting of honey, and pressed you against the bark so hard, you could feel the grit of its veins against your skin.

You think December became your favorite month, and pears your favorite fruit.

So much so, that for the entire month, you try to put away your worries about law school applications to celebrate with Mingyu and his family.

You learn his mom makes the best hot chocolate (a cinnamon stick and a dogged devotion to the whisk), and that Mingyu has no clue on God's green earth how to ice skate. (He careens right into your chest the first time. You spend the next hour with him attached to you like a backpack—he manages to find the most impractical ways to do anything, which you somehow admire the most). On Sundays, Yizhuo ditches her Seoul friends and instead accompanies you to the mall two towns over, where she watches you compare different ties and watches and collagen creams as you decide on gifts for his family. (Lilac is so last year, she'd say, stirring the straw of a watered-down milk tea.)

It's not until the weekend before Christmas when you realize just how serious things have gotten. Your feet understand the meander of the dirt path to the farmhouse, your bones the scent of the yellow-skinned apple, the faded wildflowers. Your palms crave the plush of the rug they have in front of the fireplace. Hell, you can't even eat soondubu without thinking of the kind Mingyu's dad makes, with extra anchovies and green onion.

You don't think about what this means. There are ten days left in December and love poured from a full cup never seems to run out.

"Please let me carry some of those," Mingyu wheedles. "Oh my god. I'm like the worst boyfriend in the world."

"No, you are not." you make your way up to his doorstep, taking care to one-two step over the stray roots of one of the pear trees. It's second nature to you by now. "The moment I hand you a box, you are gonna start trying to figure out what it is."

He harumphs and plucks the big one off the top anyway, the one he knows you can't reach. "I didn't even know you were getting us gifts. You didn't have to."

"It's the least I could do. Who shows up to a holiday dinner emptyhanded?" You stop at the front door. "And stop shaking it," you laugh, using the tip of your boot to nudge his shin.

"Okay. Okay," he says, saccharine, adoring, before grabbing the doorknob. "Ready? Are you nervous? You shouldn't be nervous, right? It's not fancy or anything, if you were worried about that."

And that's the thing that wedges itself between your ribs. Mingyu and his whole family are like this. They love and worry and love again; it presses deep into you, fills you, and overflows.

So here you are, standing in your nicest dress and balancing a stack of gifts you hope will amount to something, never enough but something, to repay the people who you feel have loved you more than you deserve. It's all you really have. You do your best, and yet you know when that door opens, it'll all be washed away in a high-tide flurry of hugs and laughter and the familiar press of Bobpul's wet nose against your leg. They're just those kinds of people—they would be just as happy if you didn't bring anything at all, and somehow that makes you feel even more guilty.

"No, no," you wave him off. "I’m fine. Excited."

When Mingyu opens the door, everything goes just as you expected. His sister takes your coat, your gifts are whisked away to the tree (Aji has already figured out which one is his), and his parents descend upon you in a choking swell of warmth and charity.

We baked some fresh bread for your parents (—Thank you so much, but you really shouldn't have.). You look so beautiful in that color (—No, no, you flatter me too much.). Mingyu better be taking good care of you (—He is. He really, really is.).

The kitchen is gauzy with cinnamon, anise. They must be making their famous poached pears, which Mingyu remarks on, just like clockwork.

Dinner passes the same way. It bubbles over with affection, and you feel swallowed by an impossible yearning. This—a full table and a hand to hold underneath it—did you deserve this? And could you keep it?

For an instant, you picture yourself, years later, at this same seat. Mingyu would be fussing over the rice cakes, his apron still gingham because it reminds him of the day you two met. His parents, grayer but no less happy, bickering over the shade of tinsel on the tree. And the dogs, coiled at your feet like they are now. The vision laps at your bones like you're a raft in a storm.

You're pulled back into the moment when Mingyu squeezes your hand, grounding and insistent. "Mom asked how school was going. I told her I think you're basically the smartest person I know, and I’m pretty sure you're getting into whatever law school you want."

Mingyu's parents laugh, and they cut through their pears.

"Oh, sorry," you say. "Um."

Clink. Knife meets flesh, meets porcelain. Your cheeks are hot. You wanted to talk about anything other than yourself tonight. Clink.

"The top programs are a reach, but it'd be nice." clink. "I just want to get in somewhere."

"They’re all so far away," Mingyu's mom remarks. "So grown up. Any school will be lucky to have you. You'll get into all of them."

Clink.

"Or maybe you can stay here." You watch the prongs of Mingyu's father's fork disappear into the pear. "Keep us old folk company."

"No, no, I think Mingyu should take notes and get off his lazy ass," his sister says, teasing. "Going back to the city will be good for him."

"So you can, what, burn down the kitchen again?" Mingyu grumbles, and the whole table seems to boil over with laughter.

"We’re kidding," his mom tells you. "No matter where you go, I’m sure you'll do great. We can even throw you a party at the end of the year. For graduating."

Clink. Clink.

There's a horrible uneasiness writhing around in your stomach. It's pear and syrup and clove and a blackness, an anxious, selfish one that sucks up all the generosity of the evening and turns it into shame.

Mingyu's mom is talking about throwing you a graduation party, something you didn't even think to do for yourself, and here you are, thinking about the shaking moment you open your rejection letters and the lonely path you'll draw on your way back home.

It's ok. They missed out, Mingyu would say, pouring you a consolation drink, and then it would be over. You'd go home and sit on your bed and the trifold piece of paper would go round and round your head like it was in a washing machine.

Your heart, an inventory of tasks and goals and tally marks. Things you've taken and things you've owed. It's a soft, boneless excuse. Be grateful. Give them that, at least.

Clink.

Dessert ends before you can tell his family not to get their hopes up. Mingyu's mom sends you off with your loaf of bread and a kiss on the cheek, and the moment is gone.

"Gyu," you call out on the steps in front of the house.

There are words at the seam of your lips. You want to tell him you're sorry for worrying so much. For making the whole dinner about you and then very possibly having nothing to show for it when it matters. For the heaviness in your chest. Your cowardice. But none of it comes out.

Instead you watch Mingyu pull at the leaves of a pear tree, watching the frost-filigree they get at the end of the season. He looks over his shoulder and smiles at you, as if he's on the hazy cover of a magazine. His eyes bend so wonderfully at the corners when he looks at you, and it breaks your heart.

"You had fun, right?" he asks. "My parents like you a lot, you know. I think they really do."

But that's the problem, you want to say. You all do, and I have no idea why.

Some of the pears are beginning to rot now. You watch one drop off the vine, and it caves to the pavement like it was made of nothing at all.

v. wild barley (grows like weeds)

In March, you play house.

Your parents leave on a two week trip to see relatives, and Mingyu takes it upon himself to make sure you survive.

It's a kind, blinding charade.

(7 am, breakfast. You usually don't even eat breakfast, but you wake up to doenjang and a smile, one that presses itself to yours until you're wearing it on the long walk to school.)

(4 pm, the stretch between lunch and dinner. You're muddling through another useless club meeting when Mingyu sends you a picture of him in your mom's apron, making kimchi. Kiss the chef, he texts you. You promise to, over and over and over.)

It's good until it isn't.

That isn't to say that it's Mingyu's fault. In fact, it's never really Mingyu's fault, and that's the worst thing about your relationship. Sometimes you wish he was worse just so there was someone else to blame.

(1 am, a fridge-cold glass of water and a hand on the column of your spine. Can't sleep? He asks. Just had a weird dream, you say.

It's a lie. You're a liar.

You miss your parents and the first wave of acceptance letters comes out in two days. You're not like him. Sleep has never been a cure for the exhaustion you're feeling, and you have no way of telling him that however warm the bed is won't fix that.)

It's on a Thursday afternoon when you open your mailbox and see the tiny, thin envelope that you've been expecting for the past week. You don't need to open it to know what it says, and yet you do it anyway.

The sun is white, a ghost in the spring sky. The ocean bleeds into the overcast, the curly barley stands tall around your feet, and you let the worst letter you've gotten in your life fall upon your shoulders, word by terrible word.

Then you close it, pinching the seam shut, and draw up your brave face. Nothing left to do but be brave. You're convinced you've used up all the sadness in your relationship—spend in pennies and the well still runs dry. Mingyu will cup your cheek and call you darling, pouring into your emptying basin, holey and broken.

You see him now through the kitchen window, Venus in his clamshell of a kitchen. Galbijjim day, he had said this morning. Now, he waves at you, glittery with recognition.

Your throat feels like crumpled paper.

Mingyu smiles at you, hazy through the glass. Your cheeks hurt and your mouth is paper mache, but you smile back anyway.

///

The letters come one after another.

You know what the envelopes hold and yet you keep opening them. The little folder you keep stashed in your bottom drawer gets fatter every passing day because you can't help but revisit your misery, almost as if you need to remind yourself it exists.

Mingyu is none the wiser. Today he decides he'll put off pastry school for one more year. "It doesn't feel like the right time," he says, rolling a log of burdock kimbap up. "You know what I mean?"

No, you don't. You never really do.

You do know, however, that it would feel really fucking bad that, come the end of the year, to have nothing. All your friends would be going somewhere—even Yizhuo opened her acceptance to an MFA program in Shanghai yesterday—and you would be here, still, feet firmly planted in the muddy Jeju dirt like they always had been.

"Hey, don't look so disappointed." he jokes. "Don't tell me you're already trying to get rid of me."

You're not, you really aren't. But part of you wonders if it's just a race to the bottom. If you got rid of him before he decided he wanted to get rid of you, maybe it would hurt a lot less. One less letter for the folder.

"Never. But imagine if you picked up a French accent at pastry school. Then I’d consider it. Maybe."

You watch his knife rock back and forth on the cutting board as he cuts the kimbap.

"Some for you. And more for me," he says, in what you can only describe as someone attempting to speak French when they've never heard it before. "Unless you want more, mon cherie."

He brings the plates to the table, his grin nothing short of dizzying.

"I’m irresistible, huh? Still wanna leave me now?"

"You're gonna have to try a little harder than that, I think."

The words roll off your tongue, easily, traitorously.

You watch the kimbap disappear off of Mingyu's plate.

Going, going, gone.

///

Seogwipo is always dark at night, only kept alive by the glow of the moonlit sea.

You can't sleep. Again. And so you sit out on the steps in front of your house, letting the twilight wrap around you like a blanket.

You got your last letter back earlier today. You held your breath and tore it open like you would a birthday card with money in it.

Waitlisted.

It was surely better than a rejection, but some naive, child-eyed part of you thought that if you had just closed your eyes and hoped hard enough, things would work out the way you had planned. Tragically, it wasn't enough this time. You wanted and wanted and you thought maybe that would mean you'd come close to deserving it.

Your parents called today. After managing to sideline the issue of basically the rest of your entire life, they had finally cut through your sad little charade. No good news yet, huh?

No, but—

It was always like that with you. No, but it's not as bad as you think. No, but give me a chance. No, but I’m trying. I've been trying.

You wish things didn't come out of you so complicated. That you could be like Seohyun, who could go through school with her eyes closed and still graduate at the top of her class. Instead, you parade around your little failures, trying to convince people it all could mean something only if they squinted. See? It isn't so bad.

You think you're past the point of crying about it. Your stomach hurts, you're cold, and most of all, you just want to go back to bed. Plus, although Mingyu sleeps like a log, you think he's developed a sixth sense for whenever you get up too early.

Time to be brave, you've been telling yourself, although you don't know who you're pretending for anymore.

So you nudge the front door open—it's so old, it wails if you come at it with any more force—and, to your surprise, see the light above the kitchen sink turned on.

It's not very bright, but it's enough to make out Mingyu's broad silhouette, back turned to you as he makes a cup of tea. He's humming one of his made-up songs.

"Mingyu?"

"There you are," he says, turning around. "Just came out to check on you. And make you some tea."

The kettle whizzes. Your gut twists.

You still haven't said anything to Mingyu. To manage your own disappointment was one thing—you don't think you could handle another person's. And yet when he stands there, Pororo mug between his huge hands, you feel as if you are holding a knife, big and guilty and bloody.

"I-I'm fine, Gyu. Honest." you watch his expression flicker, unreadable in the persimmon lamplight. "Sorry you had to come out. It's chilly out here."

"You know, you can tell me what's going on. I won't judge."

No, no, no. This is the last conversation you wanted to have, with the last person you wanted to have it with.

You feel feverish. You think your hands are shaking.

"Mingyu, I swear—"

"Whatever it is, we can fix it. I know we can."

That almost makes you want to laugh if you didn't want to cry so bad. Of fucking course he would say that. Mingyu, who treats life like it's the watermelon trick he showed you on the outlook, wants to put a bandaid on this whole thing, as if that could come close to fixing it.

He'd tell you to curl up on the couch with a bad movie while he orders takeout. Kiss you on the top of the head. It's ok, baby. Just another bad day for the person who has the worst luck in the world. Another lump of problems for him to try and make better. If he isn't sick of you now, he sure would be soon enough.

"It’s okay," you say, steeling your voice. "It really isn't a big deal. Let's just go back to sleep."

You try to walk away, but the hardness in Mingyu's eyes roots you down to the tile.

"Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Pushing me away," he swallows. "Like you always do. I know something's going on."

"I’m not, i just—"

"You just what? You can't help it?"

"No, I—"

"Because you like to know that you can? That you can say whatever and then watch me come back?" A fragmented, heavy silence thrums between you. He's looking at you like he's daring you to say something, anything. His gaze is black. "What am I good for if you can't tell me anything?"

There's that familiar, stinging pressure behind your eyes. You think you're crying, but you're not sure. Maybe you've been crying this whole time.

"Fine," you bite. Your blood feels like hot metal. "You really wanna know? I didn't get into law school. There. Happy now?"

Mingyu looks stung.

"W-why didn't you tell me?"

Because I thought you would stop loving me. I thought you would have finally had enough.

"Because it's not all about you, Mingyu."

The words, selfish and damning, burn your tongue. Mingyu is right. This is what you always do. You fuck up and then make everyone else hurt for it.

"I'm sorry," Mingyu says. His voice doesn't sound like his. Instead, the words seem to hang in the air, trembling and holding their breath, waiting for an apology you can't give yet. "I shouldn't have—"

"It's ok." You swallow hard, and it hurts. "Let's just go back to bed."

It's getting colder and colder. You think there's a little hole in your sock, right above the cat's whiskers.

Mingyu doesn't reach for you as he passes to get to the hallway. Maybe he doesn't know how to anymore.

The Pororo cup is left abandoned on the counter. You walk over and read the label on the tea bag—barley, because you have class tomorrow morning.

You pick it up, let the ceramic buzz between your hands with whatever warmth it has left, and hold it to your lips.

It's cold now, but all you can think to do is drink it. Erase all the evidence that tonight ever happened, and maybe it'll be nothing more than a bad dream in the morning.

There's honey at the bottom of the cup. It sears the back of your throat, but you drink until there's nothing left.

vi. the peach blossoms (without fail, bloom every August. I miss you.)

You broke up the next day.

Even now, you remember what happened. You had woken up early that morning to make your own breakfast because you couldn't allow Mingyu to give you any more of himself. Your hands could only hold, shatter, so much.

"Mingyu, I think we should...." You looked at the zigzags of jam on your toast, angry and uneven. "I think we should stop seeing each other. For now," you had added, as if that made anything better at all.

Somehow that seemed more merciful at the time. Really, you think it just showed your cowardice. If you were going to break his heart, you might as well have gone all the way the first time.

Maybe it was a good thing that Mingyu saw right through you. He always did.

"So that's it, huh? You're just gonna give up on us?"

"No, I just...need some time."

"How long?" he asked. "Be honest with me. Because you know I’ll wait."

"I don't know." You couldn't meet his gaze. His eyes reached and reached over that kitchen table and you denied him even that.

"Don't you always know?" he asked, pitifully, desperately. "Don't you want this to work?"

And you did. In fact, you don't think you had ever wanted anything more, and it was that that scared you. You had already lost law school—you couldn't let the only other thing in your life let you go. So you pulled the trigger first.

"We should just end things. I'm sorry. I can't give you what you need."

He packed his bag within the hour, and you think everything, from then on, froze inside you. You didn't move from your seat until your parents came home from the airport later that day and asked why there were two plates of toast still on the table.

You think you knew, someplace, inevitably, this would happen. You, who only knew hunger, had reached deep inside Mingyu and rooted out a love you didn't think you were worthy of having. And yet you still ate from the vine, bite after guilty bite, until you couldn't take any more. The only time he asked you for anything at all, you couldn't give it to him—such was the irony of your relationship.

Maybe you were doomed the moment the first strawberry hit your tongue, just like you had said, all that time ago.

About a month later, you got another letter in the mail. Chungnam National University Law School, it read. This one was fat, in one of those brown envelopes lined with bubble wrap. Somehow, miraculously, that position on the waitlist had turned into an acceptance. You held the package to your chest and cried, loud and with abandon, as if taking a deep breath after almost drowning.

Ironically, the first person you wanted to tell was Mingyu. But the good news you needed to save your relationship came too little, too late. Perhaps that meant it had no legs to stand on in the first place, but that didn't stop you from missing it. Instead, you told Yizhuo, and she drove you to Jeju City and treated you to dinner. "You should just call him," she had said. "Hey, don't look at me like that. He'd probably pick up on the first ring."

The city is swathed in August's crimson summer—peach season. The narrow streets are lined with peach trees, the fruits glowing like fat drops of sunlight. All you do these days is plan for your eventual move to Daejeon and the start of a life that seems newer and shinier than your own. But surrounded by the cicada song, the velvet treeline, the rain-soaked asphalt, somehow you think you're going to miss Seogwipo more than you think.

(Fickle, fickle heart. You always needed things to be taken away to really be able to appreciate them. Somehow, all that wanting had boiled down to something more satisfying, more filling.)

You wonder how Mingyu is. Now that you think about it, he seems just as much a part of Seogwipo as the farm he lives on. It was only last summer when you had first met him in the field, set on fire by the strawberry harvest. You think about him now, peddling around that ridiculous wicker basket to make jam. Maybe talking to another pretty girl, someone as naive, cruel as you had been.

Not long ago, you considered calling him to apologize, but that'd just be another thing to be selfish about. A little time and some warm weather, and I’m calling to finally wash my hands of you. That's what it would sound like, no matter what you said. Still, it didn't stop you from thinking of him, every flower, every season.

"You know, I always wanted to grow peach trees. But I think we've always been a pear kind of family."

Mingyu. If a voice could cut through air, it'd be his.

You whip around, half-believing you're hearing things. Certainly that would be easier, but you're learning that there are some things you can't run from.

And like a picture, Mingyu stands tall, golden, framed by the peach blossoms. Not a thing about him has changed. Not even the way he looks at you.

"Mingyu," you breathe. Unfortunately, none of the times you replayed your last conversation with him help you come up with something to say, because in none of them did you anticipate him coming back. "W-what are you doing here?"

"I live here, silly."

"No way," you reply, scrambling. "Crazy, because I live here too."

You both laugh nervously, a silly, bubbly thing, but you feel like you're going to throw up. It's only now that you realize you're kind of on the walk to his place. Seogwipo has never had places to hide.

"I...um." You try and disentangle the guilt from the nostalgia from the scent of the peaches and the warmth on his face. They all look the same. You missed him. "I got into law school. In Daejeon."

"I heard," he says. "Not surprised at all. I always knew you would."

"Thank you. I mean it." The cicadas buzz around you, as if they know they have an important silence to fill. "You're staying in town, right?"

"Actually, I decided to apply to culinary school. It finally felt right, you know? I'm leaving at the end of the summer, but it's just in Jeju City. I couldn't leave the island."

"Thank goodness. I don't know if you could tell, but I kind of always hoped you would. I don't think I’ve ever eaten better food." Your voice wobbles, but it gets there. "You'll do amazing."

Then time stretches and forces you to recognize, reckon with, the moment you're in. You wonder if he feels the same way you do—bruised, overripe. If there's still a space in his heart for you.

Deep breath. Life only gives you so many chances.

"Mingyu, I’m sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't make us work. You deserved better." Saying it feels like peeling the skin of your heart back. There's still a palpable distance between the two of you—you think that had always been there—but it feels more comfortable in a way it never did before.

"Don’t apologize," he says, easily, as he always does. Everything seems to flow off him like water, and you think that's the part of him you loved the most because it was the one thing you couldn't touch. "We loved each other. I think that much was true."

A jasmine breeze curls through the trees, sending the blossoms fluttering around you like ink in water. The very first time you met Mingyu, you thought the image of him, haloed with the sunset, was the one you wanted to keep forever. And yet, somehow, you don't think you'll ever forget the way he looks right now.

"Will you ever come back to Seogwipo?" you ask.

"I was gonna ask you the same thing—you were always the one who wanted to get out of here." He grins, ear to ear. "Of course I'm coming back. There's nowhere I'd rather be."

"Yeah. I think I know what you mean."

The sea, the clay dirt, Mingyu. Even yourself, clumsy and care-worn. You think, somewhere along the line, you forgot how to love. But you're learning—one step at a time.

"Friends," you say. "Let's be friends. If you'll let me."

"Thought you would never ask. Gladly. Always." The space between you seizes, like it's holding in a breath. Maybe one day, you'll think of closing it once more, but you like where you stand now. You can admire him better from a distance, without your fingerprints all over him. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, something he does before he gets ready to leave. But before he does—"I'll see you soon, okay? You better come back. Promise me."

For the first time, you see the honesty in his eyes and you really, truly believe him.

"Promise."

The Seogwipo sun is high and red in the sky when you wave Mingyu goodbye. It feels like you're coming to an end of a long summer, but you're not afraid. You watch the wind dance through the peach blossoms, their branches never searching, never wanting, and you finally feel as if you've arrived home.

[sxeraphfic]

what are your nsfw hcs for donnie? 🤭

TW/NSFW - DONNIE DARKO HCS

Thank you for the ask dear! 

And anyone else who's reading this, if you happen to take a liking to one of my hcs and want me to write a fic/drabble on it just send it in the ask box <3 

A/N: these hcs are general nsfw hcs.. If anyone's interested in cough dead dove and darker nsfw hcs.. My asks are ready for that question :9

Donnie is a socially awkward young man who attempts to hide it through sarcasm and long intellectual rants, the truth is he's never been exactly.. Popular in either the friends or relationship department. That being said, his fantasies usually involve intimacy. In other words, he's totally a horny guy and def has frequent dirty thoughts. And anyone who's watched the deleted scene between him and his therapist would see that.  

What are my personal hc’s for him?  

I think donnie is most likely into some more obscure and weird kinks/interests while simultaneously being kind of vanilla.��

He’d be happy to try anything out really as long as it isn't causing you overt harm that's long lasting.  

He’s probably gentle and shy about sex at first with you, but as time goes on he’ll get more and more into rougher sex   

he enjoys cumming on your face, stomach, thighs and inside you, obviously.

Rough sex with him wouldn't be super crazy bondage or anything but he's definitely into slight smacking/spanking and manhandling. If you're shorter than him it's probably a guarantee he secretly gets off on it or even occasionally admits it to you during it.  

He’s probably read a lot of playboy-esque magazines and has seen images involving tied/cuffed hands, if he's feeling brave he'd be happy to go either way with doing it. 

I can imagine him being into nipple/breast play as well, tbh whether you have a flat chest or A cups or DD cups he's gonna feel them up. He enjoys biting, licking and sucking them too.   

tummy kisses

def loves to give hickies/love bites aswell, specifically on your neck and thighs. He likes if you give them too.

Donnie’s favourite body parts would include; stomach, thighs, neck and chest.   

Donnie's favourite positions may include; doggy style, spooning, missionary, breeding/flatiron and standing.  

I think he would enjoy grinding and dry humping ALOT, he's a bit of a freak and enjoys the forced lack of stimulation from it if he's grinding or dry humping against you. Seeing you use him for pleasure through grinding drives him absolutely crazy, I think it's one of the few examples where a little bit of a soft dom side of him comes out. especially if you're needy during it.    

Thigh fucking? Thigh fucking. Your thighs are not safe.    

Finger sucking as well, both ways.

He's def at least a teeny bit into mommy dom stuff lets be real. Call him a good boy, edge him and control what he's allowed to do, he likes it.  

Def a head giver, sure he likes to receive. But the thought of getting in between your thighs and feeling them crush his face or feeling you push him away makes his cheeks flush and his pants tighten.  

Normal donnie? Cat boy. During sex donnie? A total puppy boy.

That being said Donnie is kind of a sexual chameleon, he can go from soft dom behaviour to being honestly kind of subby in seconds.  

He has a slight humiliation kink, which ties into his more subby side. If you make fun of him or tease him during sex it'll just make his dick 100x more hard.  

Don't forget to praise him though, the poor thing has hardly been complimented or praised throughout his life so he’ll appreciate it and fantasise about you doing it.

Donnie likes it if you act desperate or needy, or if you plead for him.

He's definitely going to ramp up the teasing aswell during it, he likes to humiliate you just as much as you do to him.

Donnie enjoys casual clothing during sex if that makes sense, don't get him wrong he finds lingerie beautiful. But something about seeing his partner in nothing but a t-shirt and panties or topless with just pyjama pants on gets him reeeeal hot.  

Donnie may partake in “risky” sex, he gets a high off of doing inappropriate things semi-publically and enjoys the idea of almost getting caught. Eg; in changerooms, bathrooms, cinemas etc.   

Donnie is vocal during sex, he grunts and huffs and mumbles from how good it feels.

Donnie is not a dirty talker, and he doesn't use pet names super often either. But he might let a tiny bit of dirty talk slip out if he's getting really into it.   

Remember at the start when I said he could be into some “more obscure stuff” ? well here's a FEW possibilities, stockings, choking (towards him), dacryphilia (tears), edging, lowkey feet too i'm sorry guys. There's some more stuff but that might have to be for a dead dove hc list LOL.

That's it for now! Maybe ill do a part two for general nsfw hcs for him one day but i've run out of ideas. I hope you all enjoyed <3

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[ominous-corridors]

Reunion // Ominis Gaunt

Warnings: NSFW. Dominis. Unprotected sex.

Ominis Gaunt x Reader

One shot

Word count: 4,744

Keep in mind I'm Dyslexic so there may be spelling/grammar/punctuation errors.

Summery: Ominis has been gone on Auror work and has been out of the country for years. He is finally home and comes around for a little reunion.

A/N: I'm so sorry you are all subjected to such a long rambling. My fingers ran and I followed. Hope you enjoy. Part of this was inspired by this image.

Ominis Gaunt. How to explain Ominis Gaunt?

He was kind. He was caring. He understood your problems. It was very interesting when she learned he was blind. It was many years ago, she had failed a Charms exam. Looking back on it now, that exam wasn't even that important. It was a silly thing to think about how hard she was crying as she walked through the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower. The echoing of shoes and sobs following her as she wandered aimlessly around the castle. All of her other friends had already gone to their other classes, leaving her alone with her emotions and thoughts. 

"Excuse me?" A gentle voice said behind her.

Turning, she saw a boy. She had seen him before, with his blonde hair slicked back and his piercing blue eyes that never seemed to see her. He was in one of Her other classes, Herbology maybe? 

She wiped her face on her robe sleeve, trying to rid the signs of her salty tears before he could get a good look and ask questions.

"Yes?" She said, maybe a little more cutting than she intended. 

He didn't seem to notice, "I couldn't help but hear you crying. Are you alright?"

He knew.

"O-Oh. Yes.....I'm fine," She gave a weak smile in hopes of reassuring him.

"You don't sound fine," He took a few steps closer to her, his wand firmly held out in front of him.

Why did he have his wand out like he was ready for a fight?

She sniffled again, "I am. Promise."

A small chuckle escaped his lips, "Very interesting. Already making promises and braking them. And we haven't known each other more than five minutes."

What did he know? 

He made his way across the marble floor to stand in front of her. It was interesting, the way he had come from only lead to a dead end, but she could have sworn he wasn't there when she originally passed that part of the corridor.

"Please, I know you don't know me very well, but I can be a very good listener. If you need to talk with someone." 

And that that was the beginning of a wonderful friendship. Not only did he help her feel better that day, but he was always the constant comfort for her during the rest of her schooling days. It wasn't exactly either of their faults when things started to get in the way after graduation and neither of them had really seen each other in person for a few years. Always owls back and forth about where their career paths took them. 

Ominis was actually a very good Auror, despite his lack of vision. He and Sebastian worked together, which made her happy that they could stay close with one another. It was a nasty thing that happened with them during their fifth year. It took a while for them to rekindle their friendship. That was really when Ominis and her got close. They were good friends before, but in those months after the incident, Ominis was the one who needed comfort. And that's where she came in. He had alway been there for her, and it was her turn to be there for him. And that's how she found out more about his family. What they did to people. To Him. And there was no way she were going to make him go back to them over the summer. 

So she offered to let him stay with her. An offer he tried his hardest to refuse, but she wouldn't let him. The summer months spent with her family were an integral part of what made their bond so strong. The days spent out behind her home sitting in the grass under the old oak tree. The sound of her voice as she read him all of those stories she always talked about. He would often slip into a cat nap as she read to him. When she noticed she couldn't help but smile and continue on reading, lest he wake up again. 

And now here she was, sitting at the table in her flat as an owl swooped in, dropping a letter in front of her. She had been expecting the small envelope for a few days. Details of when Ominis would be coming into the city again. He had been away somewhere in Eastern Europe on a case for a while. He had told her that she would not be able to refuse to see him, it had been far too long. She had offered him to come to her flat. She knew he wasn't one for crowded pubs, much preferring a quiet setting. 

I'll be there on Friday. 

7pm. 

Ominis

It was an oddly short note, but he surely was getting things wrapped up and didn't have a lot of time to be sending out his normal pages of writing she had grown accustomed to. 

--

She fiddled with her dress, smoothing the silk under her fingers. The motion was almost unconscious, a way for her to let out the small bit of anxiety that was bubbling up in the pit of her stomach. She poured herself a glass of wine and took a few sips, hoping to calm her nerves. She knew that Ominis couldn't see her, but she still felt the need to check her appearance in the mirror one more time, just to be sure she looked okay. She had always had a soft spot for the man--She even had a crush on him during their school years. She could feel the old emotions of that school girl crush coming back up to the surface as the clock inched closer to seven. She shook her head, trying to get rid of those thoughts. It had been years since she'd seen him, she was acting silly. 

There was a knock at the door.

She set her glass down on the table before making her way down the hall and opening the door. 

And there he was, in all of his glory. Time had been very kind to him. He still sported his hair style from school, slicked back and still just as blonde as it had always been. He still had the same smile on his face. She felt a shiver run down her spine as she took him in. He had a wonderful blue three piece suit that fit his chest and arms snuggly. 

She took a deep breath, collecting herself, "Ominis!"

"Hello, dear," He held his arms out, inviting her in for a hug.

She didn't hesitate to walk right into them as she snaked her arms around his torso, burying her face into his chest. She felt his arms close around her in a tight hug. The feeling of being in his arms was just something so right. She could feel the butterflies of her old crush fluttering in her chest. She almost welcomed them as she took in his cologne. He smelled of mint and something she couldn't quite pinpoint. Perhaps a new aftershave? It had been a long time, he was bound to have something different about him. She wasn't complaining though, she welcomed the delicious aroma he put off. 

"Miss me that much?" He chuckled, still holding onto her tightly.

She felt the rumble in his chest as he laughed, and she realized she could hear his heart beating as well, thrumming against his ribs. She looked up at him from her place in his arms and giggled lightly as his jest.

"Is that such a bad thing?" She questioned with a teasing tone to her voice.

She saw the small smile he had been wearing grow wider at her question and he shook his head, "I suppose not." 

She smiled up at him and slowly pulled away from his arms, taking his hand and leading him into her home, "Tell me about Eastern Europe. You know I don't get to travel. I would love to hear about it."

They found seats at her small table in her kitchen and she poured him a glass of wine before sitting back where she had her own sitting from before. 

"Well, I'm not sure how much I can tell you. Sebastian did do a wonderful job at painting me a picture of what it looked like, but I'm not sure I could really do it justice," He admitted as he took a sip of his wine.

"Well, tell me how you saw it. What opinions do you have in that brilliant head of yours."

He smiled again, "Well, how to describe it...."

He thought for a moment, swirling his wine in his hand as he sank back in his chair. He was starting to relax, lose all those silly 'proper' mannerisms. He knew he could really relax with her, not have to worry about the judgment he was so used to. 

After a moment he spoke up, "Well, it could be loud. Walking the streets with Sebastian. He told me how beautiful the architecture was, how different it was from home. There were always carriages being driven around, and people. But, there was a little shop down one of the quieter side streets. They had the most wonderful coffee there, and good pastries. The smell of them was so delicious," He was smiling widely as he recounted the memory, "And at night, when all of the people were finally gone.....It was so peaceful. The only sounds were my footsteps and a few owls that had a nest near where we were staying. That was when I really enjoyed the city."

She smiled at him, "That does sound lovely. Maybe on day you can show me that little pastry shop."

"I would love to. I thought about you every time I went there, you know. I know how much you adore sweets and sugary things."

He thought of her? Well, of course she thought of him, but she hadn't thought that he gave her much more thought than when he got a letter from her that he had to write a reply to. It almost caught her off guard.

Ominis noticed her silence and spoke again, "Darling, I must admit--I thought about you more than when I went to that shop. More than when I got your letters," He sighed, running a hand through his hair before he sat up straight again, "I don't know how I've managed these years apart from you, being back here now. When you opened the door I felt like I dove head first into the Black Lake. I can't keep my feelings a secret any longer."

His feelings? What was he talking about? Surely his didn't mean what she thought he did.

He stood from his place at the table and came to stand in front of her before swiftly getting to his knees. He held his hands out to her, an invitation that she couldn't decline. She placed her hands in his and he squeezed them lightly. She looked down at him as he stayed like that for a moment before he continued.

"I'v had feelings for you since we were at school. I thought that maybe it was just a school boy's crush and I would get over it. I didn't want to jeopardize our friendship on something that I would forget about in a few weeks," He chuckled, "But I was very wrong."

She sat there, him still holding onto her hands. She watched him carefully, taking in every detail she could. How his pale skin seemed to almost glow under the light filling the room. Every last little beauty mark on his face--They almost looked like constellations. She had realized she was holding her breath at that point and took a sharp inhale. 

She felt Ominis's hands tighten around hers as she did so, almost as if he was afraid of her answer. Like if he didn't hold her tight enough, she would float away like a balloon in the wind. 

She still harbored feelings for him, but it had been years. He was bound to be a different person, as was she. Would they be able to have a relationship after being away from each other for so long?

"Ominis-" She began before being cut off by his deep sigh.

"Please, just give this a chance. Give us a chance. I have lived without you for too long. You are every thought on my mind. Your voice is like sweet nectar to my ears. Your scent is intoxicating. I understand why men do such rash things for the women they love. I would do anything for you. Anything to be the one who gets to know who you really are behind closed doors. To be the one who gets to feel your soft caress," He suddenly let go of her hands and moved them to rest one on  the arm of her chair, and the other to rest on her thigh. 

The feeling of his hand on her sent a shiver up her spine. She felt the goosebumps rising under his touch. His words were already making her feel dazed. How could he hide such strong feelings from her for so long? Why did he pick now to tell all of it to her? 

She felt his hand squeeze her thigh lightly, another sigh leaving his lips.

"I don't think you understand what you do to me, darling," He chuckled and shook his head almost in a teasing way.

"What?" She could feel her underwear staring to get damp.

He leaned in closer, his chest now hovering over her body and his head tilted up to hers as she looked down at him, "You don't understand what you do to me." His voice was husky now, and barely above a whisper.

She felt her breath hitch and her skin ignite under the warmth of his proximity. Her heart was practically beating out of her chest and the butterflies in her stomach threatened to fly away with her. In that moment, she could swear that Ominis was staring right at her. Pouring his soul into hers. 

He leaned in even more, noses touching and lips ghosting over each other, "I'm going to kiss you now, if you'll allow it."

She barely heard him over the sound of blood pumping in her ears. She couldn't manage to speak, not the she didn't try. So, she opted to just nod ever so lightly, not wanting to move her lips too far away from his.

He pressed his lips to hers, gentle and sweet. It was in his nature to be gentle with her. He had always been that way with her. His hand on the chair swiftly moved to the crook of her neck, finally giving her the skin on skin contact she hadn't realized she was craving. His thumb rested gingerly on her jaw as their lips moved in sync. 

After Ominis had done his testing of the waters, she felt his kiss get more aggressive, more rough. More like he was drinking in the sweet waters he had been yearning for, for years. The fire in him only growing as her lips moved to match his rhythm, surprisingly enough for her. She didn't realize she had wanted this so badly, to feel his lips on hers, to feel his hands on her. It was enough to drive her mad, and she craved more. 

Ominis moved his lips from hers, earning a soft whimper in disagreement. He chuckled again as his lips adeptly found their way to her neck, laying a path of soft kisses. 

She bit her lip, feeling the trail of heat and the tingling sensation he left in his wake. His hand on her thigh moved suddenly, slipping higher, his thumb grazing as he went. He was getting dangerously close to her now. She let out a soft moan as he began sucking on her neck.

She felt him smirk into her skin, "I want to see you. All of you."

What did that mean? See her?

His mouth moved to her ear, his hot breath washing over her. And almost as if he read her mind he spoke in a hushed whisper, "You know I see with my hands."

Oh.

Oh.

Her body moved before her mind could process. She quickly stood, causing Ominis to almost fall over. He was thankfully quick on his feet, standing not a moment later. She grabbed his hand and pulled him along behind her as she made her way to her room. 

As soon as she crossed the threshold, his hands were all over her. She would never know how he seemed to just know. Right now, though, all she could think about was he feeling of him running his hands down her sides as he pressed his body against hers from behind. He went straight back to kissing her neck again as his hands moved to the back of her dress.

She could feel as he delicately undid each button, running his fingers behind on the newly exposed skin of her back.

"Your skin is so much softer than I imagined," He said as he laid a few kisses across her shoulders, pulling the dress down off of them.

As soon as it he got it past her shoulders he let go, letting it fall to the floor, all but forgotten as he slid his hands down her back slowly. Savoring every inch of her now exposed body. 

Her breathing was shallow. She took quick breaths to try and fill her lungs, but nothing she did could stop them from screaming at her as she felt his hands leaving goosebumps behind them.

"W-Would you like me to show you?" She managed out. 

He hummed an agreement, his fingers still tracing out the shape of her shoulder blades under her skin.

She turned to face him, almost as if he was commanding her and she was to obey. He held his hands out to her, his eyes half closed in what only could be disturbed as a sultry glance. She bit her lip, taking his hands by his wrists. She could feel his pulse. She was glad that his body had to be screaming at him as much as hers was. 

Gently, she brought his hands to her chest, letting him cup her breasts in his hands. She watched him as he did so, his mouth falling open ever so slightly. He moved his thumbs over her hardened nipples which elicited a muffled moan from her as she clamped down harder on her bottom lip. She watched him smirk and blink a few times before she moved his hands, sliding them along her abdomen to rest on her hips. He squeezed lightly at first before digging his fingers into her flesh, his nails almost leaving marks.

"You are exquisite," He breathed.

He squeezed one more time and she felt her legs getting more slick by the second. She then moved his hands behind her, letting him rest them on her bum. He gave it a good squeeze before leaning in and kissing her again. His lips hungry for her, passion and desire leaking out of them. 

She realized that she was the only one naked in the moment, and she wasn't about to let him get away with that. She quickly started unbuttoning his vest as their tongues melded together. The only sounds in the room were wet lips and heavy breathing with a few moans here and there. 

Ominis's hands moved again, this time on their own to grab her hips again, digging his nails into her skin. She let out a small moan, prompting him to do it again. After a few more moments of unbuttoning his clothing and wet kissing, he stood before her in just his trousers.

She took in the sight of him, soaking in every detail of his form. He was still lean as he had been in school, but there were ever so slight layers of muscle that tugged at his skin in just the right way. He looked absolutely divine. Her lip found it's way between her teeth again as she tried to count every little round mark on his skin. She could spend hours just trying to commit each one's location to memory. 

"Enjoying the view?" He raised an eyebrow at her as he kicked out of his shoes.

"Oh, more than you know." 

He let out a deep chuckle as he stepped toward her.

"Lay down," His voice was rough and commanding. 

She didn't hesitate to obey, quickly making her way to the bed and laying down. He made his way to her, grabbing her thighs and pulling her to the edge of the bed. She let out a small yelp to which he only smirked. He guided her underwear off slowly, letting his fingers graze her skin. He spread her legs wide, holding on to her knees as he he knelt down in front of her. His hands moved from her knees and slid slowly up her inner thighs, his calloused fingertips grazing her in a way that made her feel like she was on fire. He slipped on of his hands under her leg, lifting it onto his shoulder and firmly holding it in place by her thigh. He squeezed again, pressing his cheek into her soft skin.

"You are a divine gift from the Gods, my sweet."

Every time he spoke words like that to her, she could feel her whole core tremble. If he could make her feel like this with just words, what could he do-?

Her thoughts were cut off by the sudden feeling of his finger sliding over her clit. She gasped and almost pulled away from the sensation, only to be stopped by his firm hand on her leg.

"Ah, there you are," He said.

He quickly backtracked his movements, pressing light circles against her. She let out another string of moans as he worked her sensitive area. She looked down at him, watching him. His mouth was parted and she could see the desire written on his face.

"You are music to my ears, dove."

He continued like that for a few moments before dipping his fingers to her entrance, feeling the pool she had left for him. Because of him.

"Oh, you are so deliciously wet for me, love," He smirked again, sliding two fingers into her slowly, relishing in the feeling surrounding them. She threw her head back against the bed. He let out a small groan that mixed with the moan she let out at feeling him inside of her. 

He began pumping his fingers slowly, the sweet sound of her drawn out moans and the wet slapping of her pussy hitting his ears. He picked up the pace, shoving his fingers as far as they would go.

"O-Oh, f-fuck!" She arched her back. His fingers were like magic as he worked her.

He stopped suddenly, removing his fingers quickly. She whined at the loss of him, looking back to see him slowly put his fingers into his mouth, sucking her off of them.

"Merlin, you taste phenomenal."

He quickly stood, unbuttoning his pants and pulling out his member, pumping it a few times with gritted teeth.

"On your knees." He commanded.

She quickly got off the bed, kneeling in front of him. He still held himself in his hand. He used his other hand to grip onto her hair.

"Open," He growled.

This was a new side to him that she hadn't seen before, and she wasn't ashamed to say that she liked it. She liked being commanded by him, she liked how he gripped her, how he pleased her. So, she did as she was told. She opened her mouth wide, sticking her tongue out, ready to accept him.

He slowly guided himself into her mouth, a muffled groan escaping his lips. He moved her head by the hair firmly in his fist, stroking himself ever so slowly. 

"Your mouth is so fucking good." Ominis was not one for swearing. He hardly ever said anything one would consider crass, and that made this all the more attractive to her.

After he gave her a moment to acquaint herself with his size, he began thrusting his length into her quicker. Soft groans coming from him as he did. He began picking up speed, thrusting harder, shoving his whole length down her throat. She tried to keep her throat relaxed, not choke on him, but she couldn't keep it up. She gagged loudly, which caused him to pull out entirely, a wide smirk on his face.

"Good girl," He said, "Now, get back on the bed. Ass up."

She moved and got back on the bed on her hands and knees, putting her bum in the air. She felt him get on the bed behind her, his hands gripping onto her hips. He slid one of his hands down her bum and felt for her entrance before taking his length and pressing his tip against her.

"Ready, love?"

"Y-Yes," She breathed. She had never imagined that their reunion would turn into this, but she was happy it had.

Without another word, he roughly pushed into her, feeling her walls around him with a drawn out groan. 

"Fuck," He muttered, rolling his hips.

She moaned out as he did so, feeling him fill her. 

He reached out and gripped her hair again, pulling her to support her top half with her hands. He began bucking into her wildly, moans and groans filling the room as they both felt the pleasure rocketing through their bodies with each connection of hips. 

"That's right. Take it, darling, " He groaned, "You take my cock so well."

She could feel him hitting deep within her, right on that magic little spot. Each thrust of his length hitting perfectly. The knot in her stomach was tight, almost painfully so a he continued his pace, her moaning loud and unbridled. He moved his hand from her hair and slipped it around her mouth, leaning forward to press his chest against her back.

"Quite, darling. I want to hear my cock fuck that pretty pussy of yours," He almost purred into her ear. 

He continued to buck his hips as he stayed over her like that with his hand over her mouth. Her moans muffled by his firm grip on her face. He grunted into her ear as he listened to the wet sound of skin on skin echo off the walls surrounding them. 

"Mmmm," He said something after that. Something that she could only describe as air slithering past his tongue. 

Parseltongue. 

He let the sweet sounds of it pass his lips as he fucked her. Listening to him speak to her like that was only serving to drive her more mad. She could feel herself getting closer as the friction became almost unbearable. 

Her walls began to tighten around him, causing him to let out another groan.

"Let it out, dove. Come for me," He whispered into her ear, sitting up in his knees again and gripping her waist tightly. 

The then began pounding into her, pulling her hips to meet his as he groaned and grunted at the feeling of her tight pussy around him.

It didn't take long for her to get to her climax after that as he continued to hit her sweet spot. Her legs shook under her as the knot in her stomach came undone. 

"O-Oh, Ominis!" She moaned loudly as she came. Her breath heavy.

He chuckled, continuing to hit her hard as his own climax came over him. He groaned loudly, pushing as far into her as he could, filling her to the brim. 

They stayed in that position for a moment, both panting hard as they came down from the high of their escapade. After a moment, Ominis pulled out, falling onto the bed next to her. She quickly followed his lead and laid next to him.

He opened his arms for her to come closer to him and she happily obliged, cuddling herself into his chest as his arms wrapped around her. He kissed her forehead and then rested his chin on top of her head.

"How was that?" He asked.

She giggled, "That was....It was wonderful."

He chuckled and squeezed her tightly to him, "Good."

[metalgearstranding]

Revolver Ocelot's Familial Story: an Untapped Potential

I've watched this MGSV review some time ago, and Keiv Review Things mentioned something that I rarely see pointed out by fans or critics of MGS:

"You can have an intricate story with a message about culture, the futility of revenge, and surround that story with inherently interesting characters. But what good is any of that if you don't do anything with these characters? This is a larger issue with this series, but the sheer volume of horrible shit everyone endures only to just gloss over because they got a job to do makes it far more problematic in this game."

It's always been one of my personal pet peeves with Kojima's writing. On the one hand, I love his characters, they're so cool. He allows them to be human, flawed. He doesn't judge them, which I find very refreshing.

What I don't like about his characters, is that he writes amazing backstories for them, but for a guy who's WAY too into tiny details, Kojima doesn't seem interested in exploring the emotional ramifications of those backstories...? Like Keiv said, it's just... glossed over.

In my opinion, the most glaring example of untapped story potential is Ocelot.

(Just a note before I start: I mention the novels and other sources outside of the main games many times. It's a bit of a Schrodinger's cat situation whether everything in those is considered canon by Kojima or not, so keep that in mind I suppose.)

THE (MISSABLE) REVELATION IN MGS3

During the final fight with the Boss, she opens up her suit and reveals a long, sinuous scar snaking down her body. She explains that she was pregnant with the Sorrow's child in 1944, and gave birth on the field of battle to a baby boy. That child was then taken away by the Philosophers. That's an interesting info on its own, but it really only matters if you've heard a very specific, missable codec call earlier in the game.

If you keep calling EVA after falling in the crevice, Snake will ask her how Ocelot ended up with the rank of major despite being so young. EVA says that she heard Ocelot is the son of a legendary hero, that his mother was shot in the gut during battle and gave birth to him right there. EVA also heard that after they stitched her up, the scar was shaped like a snake.

If you paid attention during that call, you can easily put two and two together later and come to the conclusion that this legendary hero is the Boss, and that child is Ocelot. This raises two important questions:

1: Did the Boss know Ocelot was her son?

2: Was Ocelot aware that the Boss was his mother?

Sadly, none of the games offers any answers.

...Unless you speak Japanese that is. And have access to either the MGS3 or Peace Walker novelization, neither of which have been translated into english. Not officially at least. Thankfully, a fan translation exists for both of them.

In the MGS3 novel, before Snake gets to the field for his confrontation with the Boss, we are treated to her inner thoughts:

“The image of Snake came to mind. And the image of Ocelot, young and growing, made her smile. Her Adamska had become a fine young man." (page 296)

This is confirmation that yes, the Boss knew that Ocelot was her son all along. On the same page, we also get an answer to the second question, as well as a new, devastating revelation:

"She tried many times to make Snake leave the area. She failed to do so, but as it turned out, it gave her what she really wanted. It saved her from another plan: to use ADAM, who didn't even know who she was, and it saved her from destruction. (…) Thank you, you saved our family."

Not only Ocelot didn't know the Boss was his mother, but if for whatever reason Snake hadn't been up to the task, Ocelot would've had to be the one to pull the trigger. Such, tasty, tasty potential for drama, tucked away in a novel that probably very few people read...

What about Snake, did he know about the link between Ocelot and the Boss in MGS3? Snake can be a bit dense, so even if you as a player manage to get EVA's codec call and make the connection, there's no telling whether Snake did. There's no mention in the MGS3 novel either, because the codec calls themselves aren't featured in it. The fight in the WIG between Snake and Ocelot isn't in the novel either, so there is no reason at all for Snake himself to draw a link between Ocelot and ADAM since they don't exchange names.

So we don't know for sure if Snake knew, right? Yes and no. You can know for sure if, again, you speak Japanese. In the "Doublethink" codec in MGSV, Snake (the real one) calls Ocelot by his real name, Adam. But according to this post, in the Japanese version, Snake apparently refers to Ocelot as "junior”, as in “son of the Boss". This is explicit confirmation (for Japanese fans at least) that Snake was aware of Ocelot's parentage, and also that at some point, Ocelot himself learned about it, maybe through Snake or Zero.

THE CONNECTION BETWEEN OCELOT, ZERO AND THE BOSS

Speaking of the devil, we learn in MGS3 that he worked with the Boss, but we get to learn a little more about them (and Ocelot) in the novel. This is a conversation between the Boss and Zero (David Oh is Zero's real name):

"Two NSA codebreakers defected to the Soviet Union four years ago. I was never informed by the CIA during my time in the US though. After that, he seems to have been engaged in intelligence work in the Soviet Union. Their codenames were ADAM and EVA."

She knew this. She had the information and waited conscientiously for the reason why no news had come, so as not to fall into the Soviet trap. Zero was somewhat alarmed by her. She paused.

"I'll ask you again. Why did you help me?"

He felt a grip on his heart at the question. It was as if he heard the creaking of a strongsoul that had silently survived a secret fight.

"In the fall of 1944, when you flew to France, you passed a soldier with a baby in his arms at the airport."

The Boss stared at him with an expressionless face. He was convinced that any lie, no matter how trivial, would be discovered. Trembling, he finally gave a slight nod. Sweat was dripping from his temples. She still said nothing. She kept her neck tensed and her eyes closed, as if she could conquer any pain, anger, or fear.

He was truly ashamed because she did not blame him.

It was an autumn night when the Allied landings at Normandy had been a success and the war was set to end early the next year. The military plane that landed in the middle of the night carrying David somehow took a crying baby with it in the turnaround. He intuitively knew the identity of the baby. So, he overlooked it.

She had a bright future ahead of her. As Commander Eisenhower's confidant, there would be plenty of work for her to do in the army and in politics after the war. But The Boss never abandoned her family. So, during the red hunt, David continued to defend her on the witness stand. He had committed a crime.

"...Yes, that's right. I knew that child was going to be your biggest scandal someday."

He didn't even regret it. That boy, little Adamska, would soon be twenty years old.

After all, he wanted to atone for his sins by trying to protect her from the red scare.

There was no hope of forgiveness. Therefore, she had kept Zero away from the Cobra Unit. But if he was truly going to work with her from now on, an apology was in order. (page 242)

The translation is a bit rough (or my reading skills might be failing me, entirely possible lol), but to recap, this passage seems to tell us that Zero crossed paths with baby Adam soon after he was taken away from his mother (and they were taking the child back to the US from what I understand?). He had an opportunity to say something, do something, but he didn't. The communist panic was in full swing at the time, and because of her relationship with the Sorrow, the Boss was suspected of being a traitor. As Zero says, “that child was going to be your biggest scandal”. So to protect the Boss against herself, safeguard the bright future in front of her, Zero didn't tell her what he knew about her son. Zero didn't regret his silence, but he still put himself on the line later on, publicly defending her, even lying to the authorities to protect her.

It's possible Zero might've been keeping tabs on Adam as he grew up, maybe he knew he was working as a codebreaker. Even if had known that, Zero was not informed that he had “defected” however (it's quite obvious the defection was as real as the Boss's, it was just an excuse to send Ocelot as a spy in Russia). It's possible that the higher ups at the CIA didn't trust Zero knowing he was close to the Boss.

This also seems to say that the Boss knew her son was a codebreaker, and that he was one of the two who had “defected”. Maybe Zero told her, maybe not. Either way, the Boss knew enough about Zero's involvement (or lack thereof) that she didn't include Zero in her Cobra Unit.

We know that post MGS3, Ocelot's real allegiance lies with Snake, but otherwise, Zero specifically is who he ends up working for. Ocelot seems genuinely loyal to him until the Patriots dissolved (as a reminder, originally, the Patriots was a group composed of Zero, Ocelot, Snake, EVA, Para Medic and Sigint. Their goal was to make the Boss's vision of the world a reality, but they couldn't agree on what that was supposed to be, so Snake left and Ocelot silently and permanently switched his true allegiance to him). Considering Zero's affection for the Boss as well as possible lingering feelings of guilt, what was his relationship with Ocelot like once he came to work solely for him? Did he just consider him coldly as another employee or did he have warmer feelings for Ocelot because of who his mother was? Could it be possible he thought of him as a son perhaps? I think it's likely that Zero was the one who told Ocelot that the Boss was his mother at the very least. That could explain Ocelot's loyalty to Zero pre-Patriots if he felt an actual kinship with him. Maybe that info was then shared with Snake and the other Patriots once the group was formed, and maybe Snake felt it was a good reason to put his trust in Ocelot from that point on.

THE WASTED OPPORTUNITIES OF PEACE WALKER (AND THE PHANTOM PAIN)

Peace Walker introduces a character with a strong tie to the Boss, Dr Strangelove. She was in love with the Boss, and she wanted a child with her. Strangelove knew the Boss had a baby of her own with the Sorrow, but it's unknown if she knew the identity of that child, where he was, and what he'd been up to.

Could Strangelove have been potentially interested in getting in contact with Ocelot? Had Ocelot been in the game, would he have wanted to know more about his mother from Strangelove's point of view?

What about the mammal pod? How would Ocelot have reacted to it? Would he be disgusted? Sad? Would he see it as an opportunity to talk to the mother he barely knew? The mammal pod was just an AI programmed by Strangelove, with information she gathered from the government or was aware of personally, so we don't know if info related to Adam was in the bank. So let's say there was not, how would he have felt if the pod hadn't reacted to him at all?

And then there's Snake's scar. In Peace Walker, Snake wears the Boss's scar on his chest. The scar from which Ocelot was born. Sure, it was utilitarian in the context, Snake used it to hide a wire saw, but it was still a powerful symbol. Even in relation to the Boss only, Snake doesn't even talk about it, and it disappears entirely later. It's a damn shame, because it was such a good physical manifestation of the emotional scar she left him... But beyond the cool hiding place for his saw, what was Snake thinking about when making it? From what I've seen, a couple people headcanon that Ocelot helped him with it. I really love that idea, it would've made the whole thing a bit much more interesting.

Ocelot not being in Peace Walker was already a wasted opportunity, but then the mammal pod is brought back in Phantom Pain and we STILL don't get one scene, one line even implying Ocelot had any meaningful contact with it.

THE SORROW AND LIQUID OCELOT

There isn't much about the Sorrow in the main games aside from a tiny cameo in MGS4 in which he ousts the ghost of Psycho Mantis.

However, the Sorrow has another cameo in the MGS2: Bande Dessinée digital graphic novel. There are a few story differences from the game, and one of those is an apparition of the Sorrow alongside Liquid's Snake's ghost. He expresses disappointment in Ocelot: "No son of mine would have allowed this madman (Liquid Snake) to take control of his will. No son of mine would've been so pathetically weak."

Please correct me if I'm wrong, but the canonicity of whether or not Ocelot inherited his father's powers and was really possessed by Liquid Snake's ghost via his grafted arm still seems to be up to debate in the fandom (we know Ocelot eventually replaces that arm, and uses a combination of nanomachines and hypnosis to turn himself into Liquid). For what it's worth, in the bande dessinée, he does seem genuinely distressed, but we're so used to Ocelot pretending to be what he's not, it's hard to say if he's faking it somehow. If he wasn't truly being possessed by Liquid, it's possible he had started with the hypnosis already, or had deluded himself somehow into thinking Liquid was possessing him. Either way, the Sorrow showing up is so interesting.

"No son of mine would've been so pathetically weak". This is a truly harsh, heartbreaking thing to say to your child. There's always the possibility that if the possession was real, Liquid could've been manipulating Ocelot and it wasn't the Sorrow at all. It would serve his agenda after all, considering the hate Liquid harbors towards his own "father". We don't know much about the Sorrow as a man. All we know, is that despite not being a part of Ocelot's life, he loved his son enough to die for him. The Boss herself was a tough love (you could make a case for "abusive" if you wanted) kind of substitute mother for Snake, so it's not impossible the Sorrow would have been the same sort of man. If it was really him, we can only conclude the guy was an asshole and that Ocelot was better off not having him in his life. If it was hypnosis or a delusion, then that obviously says more about Ocelot than the Sorrow.

Ocelot being absolutely terrified at the idea of being a disappointment to his father would explain so much about him, about why he goes to such extremes to accomplish his missions. It makes you think, why did he end up like this? When he learned who his mother was, was he also told the story of her killing the Sorrow so that Ocelot's life would be spared? He could've developed survivor's guilt from this, leading him to becoming a bit of an overachiever in a way (I'm sure someone actually qualified in psychology could have a field day with this lol). The MGS4 novel implies that Ocelot saw Big Boss as a father figure (that's another can of worm entirely, personally I think the kiss on the cheek in the game itself -among other things- implies something different, but for the sake of the argument, let's say it's correct), so the lengths he goes to to free him from the Patriots would be another example of Ocelot doing everything he can not to be a disappointment to a parental (or authority) figure. All of that adds another layer to Ocelot that could have been very interesting to delve further into.

THE ABANDONED CHILD

Metal Gear as a series happened because Snake and Zero couldn't get over the death of the Boss and in trying to make her will (or what they interpreted as her will rather) a reality, majorly screwed the pooch.

Ocelot is the Boss's biological son, but that connection doesn't directly affect anything else happening in the game. Ocelot was already working for the US government, Snake could've ended up trusting him because of that. We don't even know if Snake DOES trust him because of Ocelot's affiliation in particular. If you interpret the Boss's will as “let the world be”, then Ocelot (and after that Snake) achieved that by destroying the Patriots. But that happened as a result of Zero's actions, that wasn't Ocelot trying to make the Boss's will a reality. So in the end, Ocelot being the Boss's son ends up being just cool trivia. Kojima could've just removed that codec in MGS3 and it wouldn't have changed much in the grand scheme of things.

Part of the MGS message is that your genes don't dictate your destiny and your choices. I guess you can say that Ocelot not sharing his mother's desire for peace is another example of that message, but it's not satisfying to me because Ocelot doesn't decide to do that. He doesn't purposefully rebel against her, he just keeps doing what he was already doing, what he was taught to do since birth. He does that in Snake's interests, and in the MGSV truth tapes he seems to at least support Snake's idea of a nation of soldiers, but is he just going along with it or did he ever have his personal opinion of what the Boss's will was supposed to be and how HE would've actualized it? We don't really know for sure because despite having so much of the spotlight on him in the games, we're given very few opportunities to get to know the man behind the wild cat.

I used to dislike Ocelot in MGSV because I thought he was out of character and kinda boring. I changed my mind entirely when I saw someone point out that Ocelot on mother base with Snake didn't need to pretend and grandstand. He was as close to his true self as we've ever seen him. Even if Kaz's characterization wasn't there to provide contrast, MGSV depicts a much wiser Ocelot than what we see in Snake Eater. It makes perfect sense that he's got a good, calm head on his shoulders, because to play four-D chess the way he does, you have to be in control of yourself. Even when it comes to his “torture fetish”, the way he talks about it in one of the tapes shows that he's actually humane about it (as humane as torture can be I guess lmao). We also see a softer side to him, with the kids, and with DD. Even maybe some good ol' jealousy towards the fake Big Boss's interest for Quiet. Ocelot is a man perpetually hiding behind masks, but he's not an unfeeling psychopath. Which is why it's so frustrating to me that we're denied even the tiniest glimpse behind the mask when it comes to his parents. A couple more peaks behind the curtain to show his vulnerability and humanity would've made an already great character amazing in my opinion.

When I think about all of this, I have to admit that I low key end up somewhat resenting Snake in a way lol He gets so much character development because of his relationship to the Boss, whereas Ocelot gets basically nothing. Ocelot was not raised by her of course, but he met her, he saw the huge influence she had on Snake. SURELY Ocelot has an opinion or feelings about all of that, right?

Knowing what Snake meant for his mother and vice versa, was he ever envious of Snake's relationship with her? Did Ocelot resent his mother for not telling him who she was when they were finally reunited? Has he ever caught himself wishing she could've told the Philosophers to go fuck themselves, and rescue him from them?

Ocelot himself not having anything to say about his mother sucks, but Snake not having anything to say about it either also sucks. A single scene, a single codec call where they could've talked about their relationship to her would've added SO MUCH to the characterization of both Snake and Ocelot.

So yeah. I actually like that Kojima leaves things up to interpretations, that he doesn't always go for good endings, or even satisfying endings. But he created such fascinating characters, I can't help but think he could've done even more with them...

(If you guys have anything to add, know of information I might not know or missed, or a correction to make, my inbox is always open!)

[hotxcheeto]

Heyyy could you please post something about Abby x female reader. So it starts with Abby and lev in a forest and suddenly someone shoots in Abby’s direction but not hitting her (on purpose) that’s were the reader comes in she doesn’t fight them cause she knows lev because she was on the island before and helped him in some way then she takes them to the place she lives (it’s kinda like Jackson just in a forest)

━ 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐓

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) - Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - Mentions and a slight description of imaginary violence, abby and reader don't like each other for the most part, I don't think there's any cursing, the end though is open ;)

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ? - Yeah/Nope

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 - I don't know if I like how I wrote this... ty for requesting though!! &lt;3

The cracked, broken and rotting bark beside her head was not the place she'd hoped another arrow would make home. A few having already flew passed making her head dizzy and her body spin to catch just a glimpse or a sliver of whoever it was.

But there was always nothing, absolute barren surroundings that only had a milky film drenched over the top. It was impossible to tell whether or not you were close or far, right beside her or hiding fifty meters from where they stood.

The fact that she could not once locate you sent a surge of panic to set in whilst she ducked behind a tree, motioning for Lev to do the same. The boy stared at her, fear flooding his pupils but she was more focused on listening.

She couldn't hear a sound, speculating that you either were being completely still or if you were moving, you had been being extremely quiet yet articulate about the way in which you stepped on the dirt. Not a branch broke, or a leaf would rustle, just the own sound of her heartbeat in her ears. Pounding against her skull and beating violently against her ribcage.

It was as if her surroundings were desolate, but your threatening existence was still very much active and present.

"I know you're there..." She heard you before she seen you, your voice echoing off the silence, bouncing from tree to tree, it was impossible to tell where you were coming from. "I seen the boy with you."

Lev gave Abby a stare, she could see the adrenaline rush at just the mention of his mere presence. His life for a split second flickering across his pupils, images popping into his mind as he danced into a state of distraction.

"I know him."

And then he was back, both him and her looking at each other. Bewilderment stunning their forms as the crack of a twig finally gave away that you were in fact, directly in front of them. Standing there, holding your bow, but when Lev looked, it was pointed downward.

"He was my friend..." Your voice wasn't familiar at first, until he thought, because before now you hadn't talked much, and when you did, it was in whispers. Your husband preferred when you were quiet, but Lev liked all of your stories that you would make up from your head. Those made him happy, they made him forget about all the bad around him for a moment, they were familiar.

"Y/n?" He stood, much to Abby's dismay, walking out right ahead of you. Abby didn't hesitate then, only showing half of her whilst peaking out from the tree, cautious, as curiosity had once killed the cat.

"Why're you with her? She's a wolf." Abby tilted to look at the patch she hadn't ripped off her jacket, suddenly regretting the fact she hadn't tore it off and burned it a lot earlier.

"No, she left, after she helped me and-" Lev paused, noticing the way you tilted your head when his thoughts drifted again. "Where's Yara?" You then asked softly, cautiously, like you hadn't wanted to ask the question in the first place but you hadn't had a choice.

"She's..." You nodded, allowing him to come to a conclusion without having to say a word. "How?" You looked up at Abby, seeing the blonde shake her head. "I tried, they got her before I could..."

You hummed, pulling Lev towards you and into a hug which he hurriedly accepted. Your thumb moving to the side of his cheek to trace over one of the healed scars that still wasn't as faded as yours that have been and will forever etch out your cheeks to their shape.

"We heard about... about a place out here." Abby began, not needing to continue as you nodded, looking down at the boy. "I live there, but, they're not big fans of the people you used to... run with." Lev pulled away, looking back at Abby, worried.

"You can come... but only because you're with him." Her eyes were trained on the way you walked to her side, staring her down while your hand creeped up to her jacket. The tips of your fingers digging underneath the patch before yanking it off.

"They don't take kindly to the brutality on either sides." You held it out to her, fingers brushing over your palm when she took back the WLF patch and tucked it away. "Not what was mine, and not what is yours."

"She's good now." Lev interrupted, making you shift your body to look at the boy who stood up straight when he spoke. "I promise."

"A bug or a predator, she'll go through the same entrance questions everyone else does. Along with you, but at least you'll have a voucher." Her eyes about popped from her head when you spoke, following after you when you began walking once more.

"Bug?" You laughed at her tone, shrugging your shoulders. "Most wolves were fireflies once, you're apart of the rest of them, are you not?"

There was a pregnant pause, one that was tense and suffocating while you walked. She was choosing which nouns and verbs she'd string together in order to speak, but there was a rather large moment between, where all that was heard were the crunches underneath your boots.

"I was. They're gone now." You stopped, turning around to her as she finished speaking. "Not all of them. You're still here. Though, if you start taking the vigilante route and blowing our community up, we don't have a FEDRA lockup to throw you in. Unfortunately."

She glared at you, only for Lev to clear his throat in order to stop whatever ultimate staring contest you'd gotten yourselves into. Pulling you backwards by your hand to separate whatever tussle the two of you were going to get into if you continued standing that close.

"You know ab-"

"I wasn't always part of the... what did your people call us? Scars?"

"Stop it." Lev demanded, squeezing your hand to gather up your attention like they were scattered apples lying across the ground. "Both are gone, or dead. Just stop."

And you did, hushing yourself, giving a split second to look over her features. Examining the aggravated, fiery swirl in her grey appearing eyes. The way her jaw clenched and then relaxed when you took yet another step back.

"Let's go." You then mumbled, allowing Lev to walk in front of you while Abby behind you, even if that in fact made you nervous. You trusted Lev enough though, that his opinion on the girl kept you from shoving and arrow head through her neck and leaving her to bleed out.

"I don't call them scars anymore." She spoke quietly, Lev too far ahead on the makeshift path that weaved between trees to hear a single vowel. "Lev said that it's... offensive."

She smiled when you laughed slightly, shaking your head.

"Better than what some other wolves called us. They were cruel, inhuman, if you could even begin to call them human." You took in a deep breath, crossing your arms in a half attempt to warm yourself up.

"What they would do... the leader. Or do you call him the Alpha?" Abby snorted at your words, shaking her head. "Isaac. Yara got rid of him." You frowned, eyebrows furrowing. "Is that how..." "Yeah."

Again the act of talking become extinct, though the steps were much more comfortable. But there was something still strained about the connection between the both of you, you figured that it would end up staying that way. Not that you'd have it differently.

"Will they accept me?" She asked, looking over at you and seeing you tilt your head back and forth. "If I give a good word, you'll have a much better chance. But I'm not sure if I want to."

It was a teasing tone underlined with quiet threat, your hands adjusting your bag and bow while stepping down the old staircase that was a landmark that you were close.

"How sweet of you."

"I try... not very hard though. Your feathers are easy to ruffle. I wouldn't call you a wolf, maybe a pigeon instead."

Abby scoffed as you walked ahead of her, only catching your eyes when you turned to give her a grin.

"Well what're you waiting for? Come on, it's just up ahead."

It was a shame that you were agitating, because you were also a nice sight compared to the far worse things she'd been used to.

[megs-bee]

New Fic: In nepeta veritas

In nepeta veritas

(8979 words) by megs_bee

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Dead Boy Detectives (TV)

Rating: Mature

Relationships: Cat King/Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne Additional Tags: Post-Season/Series 01, Post-Canon, catnip, Recreational Drug Use, kind of? it's the catnip, Touch-Starved, Touching, Mild Smut, First Kiss, Catwin - Freeform, Purring Cat King

Series: Part 2 of Wreck my image of myself

Summary:

“Have you tried it?” Edwin asks. “The catnip.”

The Cat King hums, pleased. “I did. Very potent. You do good work, not that I expected anything less."

Edwin hesitates, but shyly asks one of the questions he’s been wondering ever since delivering the gift. “What does it feel like? Ghosts, of course, are unable to get intoxicated, and I never had the opportunity while I was alive. I find myself…curious.”

Prowling closer, the Cat King looks down at Edwin. Resolutely Edwin keeps his gaze above the Cat King’s shoulders and not on the chest revealed by his shirt or the strong calves below the hem of his kilt. “I’m a big believer in satisfying curiosity. Did you want to see, sweetheart?”

“See…? Oh.” Edwin swallows as he realizes what the Cat King means. “See you…like that.”

“Mmhmm. Seems a shame for you not to enjoy the fruits of your labour.” He leans forward, planting both hands on the bed on either side of Edwin’s knees. Not touching anywhere, but so close and Edwin is captured by golden cat’s eyes. “See me all soft and loose and warm. Would you enjoy that, Edwin?”

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

There are many things Edwin wants; the Cat King is more than willing to give them to him.

(This is a sequel to my first fic, Wreck my image of myself, but can probably be read standalone. Still, personally I think part 1 is pretty great, so. Check it out! 💙)

[bellaxgiornata]

Falling For the Devil [Part twenty-four: "The Devil and the Baker"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: You, Karen, and Marci go Halloween costume shopping. Days later, the three of you meet Matt and Foggy at the bar for Halloween.

Or

Matt uses his hands to figure out what your costume is–-or an excuse to feel you up. Then you both spend a very sexually tense evening at the bar in a dangerous game of secret public foreplay.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut (like...a lot of it later in the series), language, some violence

Word Count: 4.7k

a/n: This installment actually has a naughty part two smupdate called "The Leather Couch" to look forward to afterwards. But there's lots of Spicy Matty in this one! You can find all of the installments for this series on tumblr here.

“What did you say you and Foggy were going as?” Karen asked Marci.

Your eyes scanned the rows of women’s Halloween costumes the three of you were standing before, spotting everything from witches and clowns to sexy maids and cats. You still weren’t entirely sure what you were going to dress up as and Matt had been adamant about not sharing his costume with you. The plethora of choices surrounding you wasn’t helping, either.

"Sexy cop and criminal," Marci answered, standing in front of the handful of various sexy cop costume variations. "I entirely plan to handcuff him to our bed in that little orange jumpsuit and have my way with him later."

"Wouldn't expect anything less from you," you muttered, eyes still scanning the rows of costumes. "What're you thinking of dressing as, Karen? I'm entirely lost here."

Karen sighed beside you, her shoulders sagging with the exhale. "I don't know," she replied. "I was already a skeleton last year. I just don't really feel like putting much thought into a costume when I'm only going to get drunk at a bar, you know?" Her hand reached out, grabbing onto one of the packages before the pair of you. "I don't know, maybe a pirate?" 

“Yeah, you need something a little fiery,” Marci said, apparently finally deciding on one of the many cop costumes before her and pulling it off the rack. 

You paused in front of a costume, a large smile stretching across your face. Grabbing it, you turned and held it out to Karen. “Sexy viking,” you told her. “Totally you.”

Marci’s face lit up as she stepped over, throwing an arm on Karen’s shoulder excitedly. “Yes! It’s badass and totally hot.”

A small grin was on Karen’s face as she accepted the package from your hand, scanning the image on the front of it. “You two sure I can pull this off?” she asked hesitantly.

“With your legs in that little skirt?” Marci asked her. “Uh, yeah. Most definitely.”

Karen shot you a questioning look, one brow raised. You nodded instantly at her.

“That faux suede bralette thing is screaming your name,” you told her.

“Alright, alright, you’ve both convinced me,” she relented. “I’ll be a sexy viking this year.”

Marci’s mischievous gaze landed on you next, a devious smile on her mouth. “We need to find you something sexy for a certain Mr. Murdock,” she purred.

“Oh,” you said hesitantly, “I don’t know if I was going to necessarily go for sexy…”

“Oh come on, live a little!” Marci cried out. “I’m sure Matt would love touching all of that exposed skin all night.”

Karen held up the package with the viking costume, flashing you the image of the skimpily clad woman on it. “If I’m being something sexy, so are you,” she pressed.

With a sigh you gave in. “Fine,” you conceded, quickly holding up a finger and adding, “but nothing too revealing, okay?” 

Marci grinned, turning and grabbing a costume off of the rack and showing it to you. Your eyes went wide before you immediately shook your head.

“Absolutely not!” you declined as Karen giggled.

“What? You don’t want to see just how much of a good Catholic boy he is?” Marci teased, waving the sexy nun costume at you.

“Uh, his mom’s a nun? Kinda weird right there,” you told her, entirely vetoing the idea.

“Ohh, how about a sexy nurse?” Karen suggested, grabbing the costume and showing it to you, waggling her eyebrows meaningfully. “Maybe he needs you to patch him up later?”

You blushed, the idea sounding a little tempting. He would find it amusing and you were sure he’d make some sexual comment to you later–that alone made the idea even more tempting.

“Maybe,” you whispered. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Oh!” Marci exclaimed, grabbing a costume off the rack and holding it out to you. “Sexy judge! You could do some real fun roleplaying with that later, if you know what I mean,” she said, shooting you a sly wink.

And like hell if that also didn’t sound like fun.

“ No ,” Karen breathed out, her hand flying up and grabbing a package from further down the rack, whirling around to you with a knowing smile on her face. “This one.”

You bit your lip, fighting back the smile that was growing on your face as you eyed it. Marci gasped, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

“Now that is one way to find out just how good of a Catholic boy he is,” Marci teased. "And you'd look hot as hell in it."

You grabbed the sexy devil costume from Karen; it was certainly not something you’d have normally picked for yourself. It was a short red pleather corset-style dress where the bottom flared out and wasn’t so form fitting that you'd feel too self-conscious all night. Though it looked like it would just barely cover your ass. There was a devil’s tail attached to the back of the dress and a headband with some devil horns. But the sexiest part of it was probably the thigh-high red fishnet garter socks. And like hell if you weren’t getting some ideas about Halloween night with Matt after the bar just looking at this costume.

And on top of that, it felt a little like openly claiming The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen as yours. He was always your Devil, but for Halloween night you could be his devil. And you were sure he’d appreciate that sentiment.

“Yeah,” you said, glancing up at Karen with a grin. “This is definitely my costume.”

_________

Sliding out of the backseat of the taxi behind Karen, you tried hard to not flash anything underneath your costume. The pleather skirt truly did only just cover your ass, which would be dangerous if you had any reason to bend over tonight. Or if you fell in the three inch heels Marci and Karen had somehow convinced you to wear despite the fact that you'd be drinking tonight. 

"You said they were already here waiting for us?" Karen asked over her shoulder.

You adjusted your dress and the devil horn headband on your head as Marci slid out of the taxi after you.

"Yeah," she answered. "Fog said they were waiting for us outside. Just look for the bright orange jumpsuit."

You and Karen scanned the groups of costume-clad individuals along the sidewalk outside of the bar. Marci was beside you, openly readjusting her tits in the skin tight jumpsuit she had unzipped quite low. Karen started laughing beside you and you glanced at her with a questioning brow.

"They're over there," Karen choked out between laughs, shaking her head as she pointed. "I'm sorry but Matt looks ridiculous."

Your gaze followed where Karen’s finger was pointing. The orange jumpsuit Foggy was wearing caught your eye first until your attention slid to Matt beside him. A hand flew up to your mouth as you laughed. Even from this distance you saw Matt grin beside Foggy, apparently hearing your reaction. 

The three of you made your way over to the pair of them, weaving past the groups of people on the sidewalk. You lost it all over again as you finally reached them. Karen was right, he did look ridiculous, but in an incredibly sexy way.

There was a little white chef's hat on his head and what looked like a few smears of flour on his face underneath his dark glasses. The costume he had on was a pair of tight fitting dress pants and a white and brown pinstriped shirt, the sleeves of which landed just before his forearms and left them exposed to your great delight. There was a brown vest over the top of the shirt, and topping all of that off was a dark apron complete with more flour smears. But what was really killing you was what was written on the apron. It read 'Making them buns' and you snorted loudly upon reading it, completely losing it all over again. 

"What are you supposed to be, a chef?" Marci asked him.

"I'm clearly a baker," Matt told her, gesturing at his apron. "Obviously, if I'm making them buns."

"My idea," Foggy cut in. "With how often I've had to hear him tell me about all the cake jokes about his ass recently."

You were biting your lip, fighting back another round of laughs. That's when Foggy realized what you were wearing and he shook his head, grinning.

"Should have figured you'd dress up as a–"

"Shh!" Marci swatted at her husband, cutting Foggy off. "Matt can use his hands to figure out her costume."

You saw the mischievous smirk immediately draw over Matt's mouth and the way one of his brows rose in extreme interest at Marci’s words. The sight caused your pulse to race a little. The three of you had discussed this in the taxi as you rode over and it had sounded like a good idea at the time, but now you were getting nervous at the prospect of Matt openly roving his hands all over your body. 

"Oh?" Matt curiously asked you. "You mean I have an excuse to feel you up right here and now?" 

Yeah, you were definitely rethinking this idea now with that coy look on his face. This man was purposely going to give you a heart attack.

“Uh, I suppose so,” you answered nervously, feeling shy with your friends standing nearby.

When you didn’t move, Karen nudged you forward into Matt, shooting you a pointed look. You turned to her, about to protest, but she was already focused on Marci and Foggy.

“Hey, why don’t we jump in line and give them a minute,” Karen suggested.

“Yeah, good idea,” Marci agreed, grabbing Foggy’s hand. She shot you a sly look as she added, “But I’m pretty sure Matt is going to need more than a minute.”

The three of them wandered off to join the queue for the bar and your attention returned to Matt before you. That coy smirk was still spread over his lips, his gaze never having left you.

“So now that we’re alone,” he said after a moment, his tone provocative and full of meaning as he paused and licked his lips. “Can I try to guess your costume?”

Your eyes were focused on his mouth, those plump, pink lips now glistening slightly from where his tongue had just wet them. Heart rate spiking a little more, you nodded slowly. 

“Here,” he said, hands rising to your waist, but the moment his hands made contact with the plastic-y pleather of your dress he abruptly stopped, a wicked expression forming on his face. “Oh? Was not expecting that,” he mused, both of his thumbs lightly rubbing along the material of the dress.

A smile spread across his face as he turned, trading places with you so that you were standing against the brick wall of the bar and Matt was standing in front of you. To block everyone else’s view, you quickly realized. Your heart thudded a little harder in your chest at that knowledge.

“You’re awfully quiet, are you alright with this?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you breathed out.

Upon your consent, his hands slowly slid their way up your hips, climbing higher as the smirk grew on his face. Gradually they snaked their way up over your rib cage until both of his large palms paused at your breasts. The contrast between the heat of his hands with the cold of your skin in the late October evening had goosebumps dappling every inch of your bare skin. Matt squeezed your breasts roughly over the material of your dress and you gasped out, thighs tightening together.

“I have no idea what you are,” he whispered, tone low and sultry, “but I am quite enjoying finding out.”

“You uh, might have more luck with feeling the back of it,” you told him, voice wavering a little.

A playful noise vibrated in his throat before he gave your breasts one last squeeze, and then his hands were quickly sliding down your body, making their way to the back of the dress. Eventually he found the little devil’s tail and you saw his brows furrow as his hands felt along the length of it.

“Well, clearly a tail,” he thought aloud. “Are you a cat? Even though–” his head tilted to the side as his eyes narrowed behind his lenses, hands still touching the tail, “–this doesn’t quite feel like a cat’s tail.”

You shook your head along the brick wall you were pressed up against, smiling a little. “No, not a cat,” you told him.

“Hmm,” he hummed out, his smile returning. "What color is the dress?"

"Red," you answered quickly.

His hands dropped lower, gliding down over the curve of your ass. Feeling his fingers splay wide over each cheek beneath the fabric, he abruptly gave your ass a firm squeeze next. You bit your lip, fighting the growing heat between your thighs. You both were, after all, still in public.

“Well isn’t this short?” he murmured when the tips of his fingers grazed your actual ass under the dress, the fabric having ridden up while he’d been roughly kneading your ass. “Oh, sweetheart,” he almost purred, both hands having fully slipped under the back of the dress to grab at your bare ass. “Are you not wearing anything under this?” he whispered into your ear, the tip of his nose nuzzling into your cheek.

“Just–just a thong,” you answered, brain feeling like it was turning to mush in your skull with the way his calloused hands were openly playing with your ass. “Wasn’t feeling quite that daring tonight.”

Matt stepped closer to you and you could feel the slight bulge forming in his pants and pressing into your leg. His forehead dropped down to your shoulder, resting there as his nails lightly dug into the flesh beneath his hands. You fought back a moan, trapping it in your throat.

“I don’t even care about the bar at this point,” he said slowly, head still buried along your bare shoulder. “I just want to fuck you.”

A wave of pure want and arousal washed its way down your body and your eyes briefly closed, trying hard to control yourself. “We should–should probably stay for just a bit, at least,” you stammered out. Though your own desire to have his cock buried in you was making you want to grab a taxi and leave, too.

He sighed against your skin, his hands loosening their grasp on your ass and sliding down the back of your legs, but then he abruptly stiffened against the front of you. One of his fingers tugged at the fishnet thigh-high stockings you had on and you couldn’t resist the smile. Both of his hands began feeling around your thighs as a little whine came from his throat.

“Sweetie, are you wearing fishnet stockings and a garter?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you whispered.

He inhaled sharply, a faint groan coming from him next. “Fuck,” he throatily ground out. “You want to torture me tonight, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“I wasn’t exactly expecting this reaction,” you admitted.

Matt lifted his head, gently nipping at your shoulder. A shudder ran down your spine when he lightly kissed the spot afterwards.

“So what are you?” he asked curiously.

Tentatively you reached down, grabbing one of his hands from your thigh. He allowed you to raise his hand, drawing it all the way up to the headband on your head. You watched as his head canted to the side a bit, eyes narrowing behind his dark lenses as his fingers felt up the headband.

“Ears?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Horns,” you whispered.

A slow, sinful smile snuck its way along his lips. His hips bucked forward into you, pinning you further into the wall behind you. Both of his hands came to land on either side of your neck, thumbs lightly brushing along your throat. You were sure he could feel your pulse jumping under your skin right now.

“You’re a devil?” he guessed.

“Mhmm,” you hummed, nodding your head. “ Your devil tonight.”

His bottom lip rolled between his teeth, a soft hiss emitting from him as his head turned to the side. You could see his eyes clamp shut behind his glasses before he swallowed hard a few times.

“Do you have any idea,” he said after a moment, voice low, “how hot that is?”

Reaching out, your hands finally landed on Matt, resting them on his hips. Gently you pulled him closer to yourself, grinning up at him.

“I was hoping you’d like it,” you told him, fingers toying with the strap of his apron. 

His gaze finally landed back on you, his jaw clenching so hard you could see the muscles in his cheeks twitching. Your hands tightened along his hips at the sight.

“I’ve got a few ideas of what I want to do to you in this tonight,” he murmured. “So I hope you’re prepared for it.”

“Well,” you teased lightly, feeling a little bold with how turned on Matt already was, “we have a couple of hours here first. I’m pretty sure we can both find ways to…prepare for it.”

His tongue darted out along his lips again, your eyes following its movement. He smirked a moment later, one of his hands leaving your throat, dragging the backs of his fingers over your body as he gradually lowered it between your breasts, down your ribcage, past your stomach, and then finally up under your dress. Without hesitation his index finger slipped past your thong and swiped along your clit ever so faintly. Your body jolted, a strangled moan falling from your lips before you could stop it. Your eyes widened as a thrill shot through you, your mouth clamping shut.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Pretty sure I can get you nice and prepared , sweetheart.”

_________

Your arms were wrapped around Matt’s neck, the front of you flush to the front of him as your bodies’ grinded against each other slowly and sensually to the pop music playing in the bar Marci had picked out. You’d had just enough to drink tonight that the part of your brain programmed to overthink was muted, allowing the pair of you to join the plethora of other costumed bar patrons grinding against each other.

Matt’s hands were low on your back, pressing his palms hard into you to keep you close to his body. Gazing up at him, you smiled at the smears of flour along his cheeks and chin. He’d told you the flour was Foggy’s idea along with the costume–all thanks to Katy and her constant ass comments that Matt had apparently divulged to Foggy.

As if he sensed you looking at him, he glanced down at you, a little smile drawing over his lips under the dark red lenses. Warmth filled your chest, the feeling having nothing to do with the alcohol in your system or the amount of people packed in the bar.

“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?” Matt asked. 

You shook your head lightly, a grin on your own lips as you slid one of your hands out from behind his neck. Reaching up, your fingers traced the line of his stubbled jaw, his head leaning into the touch as he always did. 

“Nothing,” you answered, just loud enough that you knew he could hear you. And without your mind overthinking, you blurted, “I love you.”

His smile somehow grew, the corners of his eyes crinkling just at the edges of his glasses. “I love you, too, sweetheart,” he said.

Closing the distance between your mouths, his nose lightly bumping against yours as he did, Matt kissed you. Your eyes closed instantly, head tilting up further towards him as your hand held his cheek. He tasted faintly of the beer he’d drank as his soft, plush lips greedily kissed your own. The hand you had still behind his neck snuck its way up, just far enough for you to gently tug on his hair. The responding shudder from him had you unconsciously grind your hips into his a little too sensually.

Matt’s mouth broke away, his forehead coming to rest against yours. He groaned low and you felt one of his hands snake its way down over your ass and up underneath your dress. Your hips jerked into his, fighting down a wave of arousal as his palm felt around the curve of your ass for a moment. Before you even blinked, his fingers slipped over your covered mound, rubbing teasingly along your clit.

“Matt,” you chided quickly, though his name came out half moan, half reprimand.

His hand slid back to your ass, a sly smirk on his mouth as he gazed back down at you. “What?” he asked innocently. “I’m just checking out this delicious cake I’ve got here. I mean I am a baker after all.”

Rolling your eyes, you laughed lightly and stepped a bit back from Matt. “I think I need a drink if you’re going to keep being this handsy,” you informed him.

He continued to flash that sly smirk at you as he said, “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

A few minutes later you were leaning against the bar counter, drinking back your mixed drink and taking a short breather from dancing with Matt. You’d lost Foggy and Marci a little while ago and Karen had found a cute guy shortly after you’d all done a round of shots when you’d first gotten into the bar. After that, the entire night had been nothing but secret foreplay between you and Matt and right now you'd needed a few minutes to catch your breath. 

Matt was now firmly pressed to the back of you, his partially hard dick wedged between your ass. Bending forward, you wrapped your lips around the straw in your glass and took a drink, intentionally shifting your hips against Matt behind you. His right hand on your hip tightened and you grinned around the straw. 

"Careful sweetheart," he whispered, mouth suddenly beside your ear.

Slightly inebriated, you dropped the straw from between your lips, pushing your ass more firmly into him. He grunted, the sound loud with him so close to your ear, and you felt more dampness beginning to pool between your thighs.

"Keep it up," he growled low in your ear, "and I'll be fucking you with my fingers right here until you're cumming on them and calling me baby over this very bar counter." 

He lightly kissed your cheek and your body trembled at the mental image his words elicited. The hand on your hip slid downward and just underneath your short dress, one finger just barely ghosting your damp mound. You flinched at the delicious touch. 

"Don't think I won't," he warned.

Hands fidgeting with the glass in front of you, your cunt throbbed almost painfully at this point as he removed his hand from under your dress. You were beyond sexually frustrated with whatever this game was the two of you had been playing for the past hour and a half. It was torture and you were almost tempted to see if you pushed him enough if he would actually follow through with his threat just so you could get some relief.

Gritting your teeth, you tried to focus on anything besides the feel of him pressed up behind you. As you were trying to take a calm, relaxing deep breath in, you felt Matt tense behind you, an angry growl rumbling in your ear. You frowned, turning over your shoulder to ask him what was wrong, but you quickly caught sight of a brunette barely dressed at all and wearing bunny ears. Your eyes narrowed instantly. 

"You clearly make some nice buns," she slurred out to Matt, biting her lip coyly. 

Eyes darting down, you saw she had her hand on Matt's ass. As he turned around, her hand fell back to her side and a burning rage began coursing through you.

"Excuse me?" Matt shot out, an edge to his voice as his brows furrowed behind his lenses.

"Oh come on," she said, waving a dismissive hand at Matt, entirely disregarding how upset he was. "You can't have an ass in pants that tight, walking around wearing an apron advertising how great of an ass you do have and expect no one to touch it."

Matt opened his mouth to respond, but the anger rippling through you cut him off before he even began.

"Are you really trying to say he was asking for it?" you hissed at her, pushing off the bar and coming to stand in front of Matt. "Because of how he was dressed ?"

"Well, I mean–"

"You don’t just grab at people," you continued, venom in your voice and alcohol dulling your nerves. "You like it when strange men grab at you? Tell you that you were asking for it when they do? That if you didn't want that kind of attention you shouldn't dress a certain way?"

"Well, no–"

"Apologize to my boyfriend," you ordered, eyes narrowed at the young woman.

Startled, she blinked a few times before pink tinged her cheeks. "I uh, I'm sorry," she muttered to Matt. 

"Just because he's a man doesn't mean he doesn't deserve the same respect as women deserve," you told her. "Remember that."

She nodded quickly before ducking her head and disappearing. You stared after her, teeth grinding against each other. Matt slowly slipped a hand around your waist, drawing you gradually into his side. 

"Not that I couldn't have handled that," he said, burying his face into your hair, "but thank you.” His lips gently kissed your temple which was a stark contrast to how he was quickly tightening his hold on you. “That was also incredibly sexy of you,” he said, “defending my honor and all.”

You unclenched your jaw and focused back on Matt, trying to release the anger that had abruptly overtaken you at the young woman brazenly grabbing Matt’s ass. He was grinning down at you, though there was definitely something more behind that grin. Exhaling a sharp breath, you ran a hand across your forehead.

“Sorry,” you grumbled. “Double standards like that piss me off. And besides–” you began, glancing back up at Matt as a grin formed on your own lips; feeling emboldened by the alcohol in your system, your hand darted out behind Matt and firmly grabbed his ass, “–that’s my ass.”

His hand drew you firmly into him before his mouth descended onto yours. Pulling your hand from his ass, both of yours wound their way around his neck, holding him flush against yourself yet again. Matt’s mouth kissed yours with a growing intensity, but you could certainly feel the restraint he was practicing. You, on the other hand, were already nibbling on that soft, perfect bottom lip of his and needily whimpering against his mouth. Matt was the one who had to break the kiss in an attempt to keep you from tearing his costume off in the middle of the bar when one of your hands began tugging at the collar of his shirt.

“I just want you to know,” he told you, breathing hard as he lowered his face so that his lips were brushing your ear as he spoke, “that I’m going to take you back to my place when you finish that drink and I’m going to fuck you absolutely senseless in that devil costume.”

You swallowed hard as he straightened up beside you, a hungry look on his face as he sightlessly gazed down at you. With a shiver running down your body, you returned to your drink at the bar, quickly wrapping your lips around the straw and drinking the alcohol down. Matt returned to his place behind you, pushing you into the counter with his hips as one of his hands slid beneath your dress, his fingers lightly gliding along your cunt through your underwear. For the briefest of moments your eyelids closed, your eyes rolling back as the straw dropped out of your mouth, fighting back a throaty groan.

[flowerbloom-arts]

Hey, sorry if I'm repetitive but what do you think happened to the humans in the Moomin universe.

Absolutely do not worry about asking too many questions, I love answering them!!!

Humans in Moominland is a very interesting subject... In that they're a LOT less of a presence than even I thought they were.

Alot of people (including me) thought that when, in Moomins and the Great Flood, Moominmamma was talking about Moomins living behind huge stoves before the invention of central heating she was talking about humans' stoves.

But no.

She never uses the word human, she says people.

(...) In those days they lived together with the house-trolls in people’s houses, mostly behind their tall stoves. “Some of us still live there now, I’m sure,” said Moominmamma. “But only where people still have stoves, I mean. We’re not happy with central heating.”

“Did the people know we were there?” asked Moomintroll.

(...)

“[A Hattifattener is] a kind of little troll-creature,” explained Moominmamma. “They’re mostly invisible. Sometimes they can be found under people’s floors, and you can hear them pattering about in there when it’s quiet in the evenings. (...)

And it's not like "people" was used as a specific term in Moomins and the Great Flood, either, because we have instances like these;

“Thank you so awfully much,” said Moominmamma. “You must have invited quite a lot of people up here for sea-pudding, I should think.”

“Oh yes,” said the boy. “People from every corner of the world. Snufkins, Sea-ghosts, Little Creeps and Big Folk, Snorks and Hemulens. And the odd angler fish, too.”

(...)

The armchair bobbed slowly along towards a hill where a lot of people were running about, pulling their belongings out of the water.

(...)

“Well, well,” said the marabou stork, who was beginning to feel touched. “I think I had better put you down on dry land and try to rescue a few more before the sun goes down. It’s very pleasant, rescuing people.” And then he took them back to the shore while they all talked at the same time about all the dreadful things they had been through. All along the shore people had lit fires at which they were warming themselves and cooking food, for most had lost their homes.

So it could be that Moominmamma was just talking about living behind regular creatures' oversized stoves, like how the Moomin ancestor did in Moominland Midwinter, which is honestly a very silly image. And it's not like it'd be impossible - the Hemulen and the Marabou stork in Great Flood are absolutely massive compared to our main characters.

Marabou storks tend to be about 5 feet tall so relatively speaking, if we assume this stork is still the same size as he would be irl, then our main characters would be relatively mouse-sized.

However. Tove didn't seem to have committed to this concept, and more or less just retconned it out of canon. Since the cats in Moomins and the Great Flood are seemingly regular-sized relative to the Hemulen's chair;

But in the 1968 revision of Comet in Moominland including future adaptations of the story, Sniff's cat is regular-sized, and so are the cats that appear in the Moomin comic strip, like the one in Moominmamma's Maid.

(sorry for using a screenshot from the 90s movie adaptation, I couldn't find a book illustration since I don't have a PDF of the revised book, much less an illustration of Sniff and his cat next to eachother, if that exists. If anyone has a way to read the revision in English pleeease give it to me)

But that's just Moomins and the Great Flood, which practically functions as a "pilot episode" for the whole franchise; it set up the concepts but is not representative of the rest of the franchise and has alot of things that get retconned but not entirely removed for the rest of the series, it wasn't even translated into/published in English until 2012. What about the rest of the franchise?

Well, the only instance of the word "human" being used in the books is in Moominpappa at Sea, while Moominpappa talked about how stone-faced the Fisherman/Lighthouse Keeper has been for the whole book;

‘There’s something wrong with you that I can’t make out,’ Moominpappa said to himself. ‘You’re not a human being at all. You’re more like a plant or a shadow, just as if you’d never been born.’

Which implies either of two things; the LHK is human or human-adjacent, or human is a normal adjective in the world of Moomin aswell.

And the only instance of the word "human" in the comic strip (there could be another instance I'm forgetting, however I'm not talking about Lars' comics because I am kind of prioritizing Tove's intentions here) is in a conversation between Snorkmaiden and Mymble Jr in Moomin Winter Follies;

Which... Kind of implies Mr. Brisk is human, I think? It's hard to imagine but there it is, the one instance of the word human in the comics.

And that's like... The only thing we really have within the original medium of Moomin.

But Tove had also worked on other things first-hand, and one of them had actual human characters.

That being Mumintrollet (1969, nice), a live-action show primarily known for the body horror of the Moomins removing their heads to reveal human heads inside. But with that obviously inapplicable facet of the show aside, we have this guy, the main antagonist, the King;

This guy is an explicitly canon human (can't be 100% sure since the show hasn't been transcribed or translated from its original swedish but I'm close to sure), and he's about the same size as the Moomins (probably because of the nature of the show, kinda like the whole head thing and Little My's normal human size in the show, but ehhh)

And that's, like, it for the canonicity of humans in Moomin, everything else is questionable or vague or a bit bewildering.

Like, is King Jones from Moominpappa's Memoirs a human? Why is he so big? What's going on here???

But that's all up to speculation, even the examples of the instances of the word human I've shown doesn't totally prove the existence of humans as we know them in this world. Alot of the characters look human but aren't, and others aren't stated to be not human, there are some oversized things like Muddler's tin that don't get explained, but who knows, really.

In short, I don't think anything has exactly happened to humans. They're either living among Moominland's society like fellow creatures (heck, maybe even some of the characters we know are human) or they're like... Rare or extinct or didn't even truly exist in the first place.

It's one big "who knows?".

[sailorsenshishitposter]

Choso x Reader

⚠️ Spoilers for chapter 259 kind of

Choso:

You are anemic, are the oldest sibling or suffer from frequent insomnia and panic attacks.

First Date:

You were on your way home when you heard a soft noise. You thought that maybe it was a kitten hiding from the rain but what you found in the alley was in actuality closer to a sopping, wet cat. You found a man huddling under a cardboard box. He looked like he hadn't slept in days and seemed almost catatonic but the weirdest part was the tattoo across his nose. "Um... are you okay?" It seems like you woke him out of his mental breakdown. He began to wipe away his remaining tears. "... I need to find my brothers..."

"You lost your brothers? Don't worry, I'll help you file a missing persons report at the police station. For now, I'm taking you back home with me." Before he could protest, you picked him up bridal style and walked back to your apartment. After unlocking the door, you placed him on the couch and covered him in towels. "What are you doing?"

"Drying you off. Now hold still!" Suddenly he was hit by a strong wave of warmth (your hairdryer) and began to slowly drift off. He woke up to the feeling of his hair being redone. You then held out a mirror to him. "I'm not that good at pigtails so I hope it's okay!" Fastened at the sides of his head were two purple ribbons that matched his outfit. "I'm #### by the way. What's your name?"

"Choso..." Your stomach then started to growl. "Are you hungry? I can make you something to eat if you'd like." He wasn't sure what you were talking about. "What is hunger?" Your eyes nearly popped out of your skull. "You're joking right? Anyway I'm going to make some chicken nuggets." You then went to turn on your air fryer. Suddenly Choso let out a blood curdling scream. "WHAT'S WRONG!?" He then pointed towards your kitchen appliance. After turning it off, you went to comfort him. "I'll put on something calming..."

Before Choso could contemplate what a television was, he suddenly saw fire before his eyes. "AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" Looks like you weren't going to ever put the fireplace channel on again. You then saw blood starting to pour from his tattoo. "What the fuck? Hang on, I'm going to get something!" A minute later and you returned with a bag. "What is that...?"

"Did you live under a rock or something?" You began to tear the package open when you heard him respond. "It was more like a tube..." Was he some kind of weird test tube baby? "That still doesn't answer my question. By the way, how old are you exactly...?" You then looked into his eyes and realized that none of this was a joke. "I believe I'm a hundred and fifty years old at this point."

You began internally panicking when Choso asked what you held in your hand. You could either tell him the truth or lie and you found the second option was looking like the safest bet. "These are... 'bandaids'.. (yeah let's go with that). People use them to help with bleeding." You then took the clean menstrual pad and began to place it over his tattoo. "That should help. Now what do you mean about being over a century old?"

He then told you of his life and existing with his nine younger brothers. "I recently lost Eso and Kechizu..." You then pulled him into a hug. "I'm sorry for your loss!" It sounded like there were only seven left now and you refused to ask if they resembled the dwarves from snow white even if your curiosity was killing you. "It's... alright. I still need to find the rest of them and my youngest half brother..."

"Half brother?" Choso then smiled. "Yuji... It was only recently that we met but I need to find him!" Yuji? That couldn't be the same boy could it? You then pulled out your phone. "It wouldn't happen to be Itadori, would it?" Choso would ask you what you were holding but he was too busy staring at an image of a boy with pink hair that was eating worms. "THAT'S HIM!" He then grabbed you by the collar of your shirt. "How do you know my brother!?"

"Calm... down... can't... breathe-" After he loosened his grip, you told him about how you were both students at Jujutsu High. "Let's go!" said Choso as he dragged you by your arm. You were now seated on top of the half curses back while he began to do the Naruto run. You made it to your school with a very anxious Choso. "Where could he be!?" Just before you could tell him that he was probably in his room, you bumped into someone and fell over.

You looked up and saw that you had run into the asshole otherwise known as Naoya Zenin. Choso was now helping you up. "####, are you alright?" The blonde scoffed. "She may be dumb but at least she has looks. Now if you excuse me, I'm off to harass my cousins-" Naoya felt something hit him and he felt blood drip from his now broken nose. "How dare you! Nobody makes me bleed my own blood!"

"All WOMEN ARE QUEENS!" Choso then raised his fists. Naoya was ready to fight and shouted "IF SHE BREATHES, SHE'S A THOOOOOOT!!!" Just as the half curse was about to use Supernova, the other man fell down. "Hi Mrs. Maki's mom!" Naoya now lay on the ground, bleeding out from a knife to his back. She then looked at you. "Please don't tell Gege that I was here!" She then went off screen. "Well that's one problem taken care of!"

The two of you rushed to Yuji's room and opened the door. Inside was a very confused Yuji and Todo. "####, what are you doing here?" You then pointed to the man next to you. "Brotha, are we going to finish our mukbang or not!?" Something then snapped inside Choso's mind. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY BROTHER!? I'M HIS ACTUAL ONII CHAN!" The two of them began to brawl while you setup your phone. "I'll help you film that video for your YouTube Yuji."

"Thanks! Ahh, the foods getting cold!" Yuji then began to swallow all the food, not even bothering to chew it. His jaw began unhinging like a snake. Now all that was left were the hot dogs. He finished a twelve pack in one gulp and then started feeling ill. "You okay?" You were about to get him some tums (you refused to let him use chalk as a substitute again) when you noticed black tattoos appearing. "Crap!"

"It seems the brat truly is an idiot. Those weren't hot dogs, they were twelve of my fingers!" It seemed like Yuji wouldn't be back for a while. "I wonder if anyone has every done a mukbang involving human meat before? Let's see if this goes viral." Sukuna then set his fingers into position. "Shall we?" It was now time to bring out his malevolent kitchen tools."EVERYBODY RUN!" you screamed. "OPEN!"

It was now two weeks later and the scandal about your school went viral in sorcerer circles. Yuji itadori, the main culprit, was no where to be found while Sukuna opened up a restaurant with his faithful servant, Uraume. Coincidentally, they were bombarded with one star reviews on Yelp. The main review at the top was from none other than Satoru Gojo. "He burnt my fries and my shake. I'd ask for a refund but in the end I just decided to give it all away to Ijichi." This is why he should have just let Uraume be the one to cook.

[nejishadow]

Shadow Weapon Ken Masterpost [WIP]

Decided I should make something to centralize all the info I have or may make about my Shadow Weapon Ken AU, so people can peruse if they want.

Since this is a rough guide for an AU, I just drew over official art and models. I used Ken's DLC costume image for the main ref. The battle icon for... well, the battle icon. And his Q2 image to showcase some outfit differences. I'll make a whole set of outfit refs... eventually.

This may change formatting or anything else at any time. Feel free to ask any questions on this post or in my inbox. I'm forgetful when making posts like this, or can't think of everything people might want to know, so any answers might be added in!

Everything under read more for now, the way I format this stuff for readability makes it long

If this gets too long it may be moved to a Google doc with this post being a hub or summary of images and fics / links

All fics about this concept will be uploaded to this Series on my AO3. As of Dec 2nd, there are 5

[Basic Info] - Swaps places with Aigis. He is still found when they go on vacation to Yakushima. Aigis' exact details for the swap haven't been decided yet beyond that she's a foreign exchange student, but will be built upon over time / she'll get her own post. - Immediately bonds to Makoto upon meeting him. Their bond in this AU is something more like a parent and his kid. - Programmed to view himself as a real boy and only that. If he ever perceives himself as an android / ASW he either shuts down or forgets / overwrites the realization. - Ikutsuki will not tell them why he's programmed that way, he generally refuses to tell SEES anything about Ken, beyond him being an Anti Shadow Weapon who will be a great help to the cause. - Ken was a major test to see if the Persona of a machine convinced it was fully human, rather than just human-like, would be stronger. Even more if the openmindedness and potential of a child would further it. Especially one who didn't want to lose anything. - He has some falsely implanted memories, thinking he had parents that were lost in an accident, hence his lack of family. This doubly fuels his attachment to Makoto because he doesn't want to lose anyone again. - Tends to be bullied or picked on by other students because he acts just enough different for them to pick up on it. This leads to him occasionally leaving school early or skipping, so on those days he can typically be found at Gekkoukan High with a member of SEES -- usually Akihiko or Makoto -- or in the student council room. If he's wandering around town, he's likely to be at the bookstore or hanging out with the stray cats. - Moves very quietly, so people outside of SEES are likely to forget he's around or not notice his approach. This doesn't help the above point, since he can easily listen in on people talking about him without getting caught, and some kids also think he's weird even for that. - He still is part of the soccer club / soccer team. He sees it as a way to keep his reaction time in top shape and blow off steam. He's the best player, but it makes him no friends, only isolating him farther due to jealousy. - Doesn't like eating food unless he's seen it being made. This doesn't apply to SEES (sans Fuuka for a long long time) after he comes to trust them, as he learns exactly how they all cook. - Has issues with volume control when he gets very excited, headphones or not. Liable to tap his feet or flap his hands when he's happy. Very easily loses track of time when focused. - Has trouble sleeping when it's too quiet, a side effect of his ASW programming constantly scanning for threats. - Can be snide or petulant when overwhelmed or irritated. He tries his best to be polite and mature but he can't keep up that energy forever.

[Visual Info] - Ken's model is closer to Metis than Aigis, more doll-like. He is meant to be very lightweight so he can move quickly and quietly, aiding in his use of his weapon - a sniper rifle. - His headphones are removeable as they simply aid in enhancing or blocking his hearing. He always has to keep his hearing aids on, headphones on or not, to hear properly. He panics if they're touched without permission. - He's almost always covered -- wearing pants, gloves, and high collars all year round -- to hide his body from everyone. - He perceives his body as fully human. This allows him to do things like change clothes and keep up his hygiene without shutting down constantly. He still avoids activities like swimming, assuming he doesn't know how, so it's scary. - Expression defaults to being flat. This leads some people to think he doesn't like them when meeting for the first time. Copies / mimics Makoto without thinking, standing like him or putting his hands in his pockets, and picks up the habit of tilting his head from him. - This AU design is supposed to invoke the smallest bit of P4AU Ken, since the longer/fluffier hair helps hide more his neck / body suit.

[Battle Info] - His main weapon is a sniper rifle. Only one shot per turn, but higher crit rate. - His Personas are still Nemesis and Kala Nemi, to avoid any messy or confusing persona swaps. His reason for having them will just shift (will be added here once expanded upon). - Skills more lean towards battle/support than healing, but Theurgy is still revival in honor of his false memories. - Lower defense stat but higher attack stat. Not quite a glass canon, but good to keep a healer around. - If heavily damaged in battle he shuts down to protect himself. His programming rationalizes this as passing out or being sick.

[SEES Social Info]

- Defaults to addressing everyone as "[Last Name]-San" out of respect. He slowly switches to "[Last Name]-Senpai", or for Akihiko just senpai, as he grows closer and gets more comfortable with them. He always refers to Shinjiro as Aragaki-San, and affectionately called Koromaru Koro-chan.

- Gets along best with Makoto, looking up to him as a leader and as a parental / brother figure. Makoto treats Ken like he himself wanted and needed after his parent's accident, and doesn't treat him lesser for his status as an Anti Shadow Weapon. - Isn't sure about Junpei, but warms up to him. Junpei's just psyched to have a little brother to joke around with, human or not. Junpei may be the worst at slipping up in his wording, but he's quick to correct or redirect. - Yukari is the best at having conversations and treating him like a normal kid. She fully understands the harm that may come to him otherwise, and is determined to keep him safe, in spite of Ikutsuki's blasé attitude. - Mitsuru is a bit more strict with him. Ken assumes this is because he's a kid and so has to be more careful. Mitsuru worries about Ken and helps Makoto keep everyone in line about him. - Still looks up to Akihiko, and respects his strength. Akihiko has a hard time fully addressing him as human, slipping up occasionally, but does his best to keep Ken involved / treat him like a normal child. - Adores Koromaru and will take him on walks whenever he can. He almost feels like he can understand him, unable to realize he can. Koromaru will hang out with Ken on nights everyone else is asleep, and Ken is restless. - Ken is very wary of Shinjiro. If he's in the vicinity of Makoto, Ken won't ever be far off, keeping an eye on things. Ken's programming tells him something is off about him, but unable to pinpoint what. He does still enjoy his cooking, and is cordial for the team's sake. - He respects Fuuka's varied knowledge, and likes hearing about what books she's currently reading or what she's programming. He still refuses to try her food, after the Incident.

[Other Social Info] - Does not like being around Ikutsuki and will keep as far away as possible, usually standing behind Makoto or another member of SEES. He only feels danger from him, but assumes he's just being paranoid so doesn't bring it up unless prompted, and is quick to dismiss it. - Occasionally interacts with other social links, though the majority are rarely out and about so only sees those if he meets Makoto at his school. - Knows Maiko and Akinari from the shrine, but wouldn't consider them close friends. Occasionally hangs out with Maiko, but generally thinks he's too mature to do stuff like play on a playground. Likes to listen to Akinari talk about his book, finding the ideas very interesting. - Thinks Kenji is kind of a loser, but is nice to him for Makoto's sake when he's over. They have a small bond over Featherman, if nothing else. - Sees Mamoru out eating sometimes, and will join him for a break since Makoto thinks highly of him, and since Mamoru is very nice to him since he's used to interacting with kids due to his siblings.

[nanistar]

i saw ur nightheart posts and i noticed u hate him quite a lot and im curious for the reasons why! i hope it doesnt sound rude! its a genuine question out of curiousity not an attempt for you to justify ur opinion, personally im aloof when it comes to nightheart i think hes just an edgelord tbh

nah you're not rude dw i get it. tbh i don't hate HIM as a character, i mean he's kinda annoying but whatever. instead i hate everything about him as a written extension of the authors and their views. nightheart isn't real, and doesn't have opinions but they authors do and they speak thru him to a young and volatile audience that might not know better. (which is also why i don't buy the "unreliable narrator" thing)

they twist the female characters around him to fit their narrative of "poor misunderstood sadboy" surrounded by "cruel mean women". squirrelflight, sparkpelt and even finchlight already had personalities, squirrelflight especially is known for bending rules for what she views as "the right thing", so why would she turn around and scream at him for wanting to change his name? why would finchlight, in one book, support his name change and stick up for him, only for in the next book to completely turn around and call him disrespectful and selfish. they needed to create more drama for him. before his warrior ceremony, he pulls off dangerous stunts trying to show off during his test, and it ends up blowing up in his face and fails, and he doesn't see this as HIS failing, he blames squirrelflight and his mentor for "expecting more of him because he's related to firestar" which??? and for that plot point to be given to him instead of his mother sparkpelt who is multiple times described as the spitting image of firestar? but she's like, totally fine with it. she's never given anything to do ever until she becomes a mother, (except disagree with alderheart like once and be the "rude misunderstanding woman" for his story too.)

and speaking of mothers... sparkpelt lost her mate as she gave birth, two heavily traumatizing things happening simultaneously. she had post-partum depression for a while, which is a serious and debilitating illness that KILLS people. yet she was still able to feed the kits, she didn't abandon them. they had plenty of attention from their family and from the other nursery cats. they were never once neglected. she was only out of commission for about a month before squirrelflight helped her back on her feet but that doesn't matter, because for the narrative, (and by the fandom) she is treated like a horrible abusive mother who neglected her kids on purpose. which. first of all crookedstar couldn't even LOOK at his daughter for the first week of her life and he is heralded as nothing but a loving father. second, nightheart goes on and on about how she left him and how she is hardly his mother because (lilyheart? i dont remember) one of the other queens helped raise them for the first month. the erins tie the worth of their female characters to how good of a mother they are, and any deviations from the nuclear family with a working husband and a housewife are automatically bad in their eyes,( yet they killed off ferncloud because she was "too annoying" for being a loving nursery mom.) (also think about how anti-adoption they are. the second the po3 secret was out, suddenly brambleclaw and squilf were never their parents despite literally raising them) they are horribly misogynistic, and their female characters are just pawns for either manpain or to be baby machines. this doesn't even begin to touch on how boy crazy the female protags have been lately, bristlefrost was interesting at first but eventually just turned into a wife for rootspring and then fridged for manpain, and sunbeam suddenly deciding shes in love with nightheart even though he stalked her and creeped her out???

adding on to this point, during ashfur's takeover, sparkpelt is EXILED from thunderclan (after being mauled by dogs, and by who she believes to be her father btw) she BEGS imposterstar to let her stay because of her family but he refuses. finchpaw chooses to go with her mother but flamepaw stays behind. then in his POV parts, he goes on and on about how she walked out on him!

again, nightheart the character: not real. he's a puppet for the authors to speak their misogynistic rhetoric. i would LOVE if he was just kinda a whiny emo dirtbag, or an actual unreliable narrator and whenever he complained everyone around him rolled their eyes and was like "ok nightheart" . remember that scene in meet the robinsons where bowler hat guy is telling his tragic backstory and he's talking about ppl at school and his narration says "they alll HATED me" while everyone in the scene was like "hi goob cool binder!" or "hey wanna come hang out with me later?" THAT'S (hilarious) but also what an unreliable narrator is. if that was nightheart it would be so funny. but instead, he HAS to be right, he HAS to be mistreated by all these mean horrible women. sorry for ranting, i promise im not mad at you.

[tickle-bugs]

Needling Away

Summary: When Clark skips a team-building acupuncture appointment, Lois offers to make it up to him personally with a massage. AU where Jimmy knows Clark’s secret and tries to protect him but Lois is on to both of them.

Lois has officially backed herself into the corner of all corners and she knows it. 

She’s almost positive that Clark is Superman. She still has questions, so many goddamn questions, but it fits so neatly in her brain that she’s getting tired of ignoring it. Clark’s just a nice, small-town boy who conveniently disappears whenever crime is happening, who shows up to work tired and bruised, and whose muscled chest is the exact softness and density as the super-pecs she’d just pressed her cheek on last week.

She knows that chest. At this point, it’s denial. 

“Hey guys.” Lois bumps open the door to their supply closet of an office. She sets down coffee and bagels for the three of them. 

“Hi Lois!” Jimmy looks up from fiddling with his camera. Clark waves shyly at her. His gaze hangs on her with awe of witnessing the sunrise. She looks away, face burning. 

“I brought you something.” She fishes out a crumpled envelope from her pocket and cringes at the state of it. She smooths it out. Takes a breath. 

“I know we’re still fighting to move up, but…I couldn’t have done any of this without you guys. I figured…if you’re anything like me, you’re probably stressed out of your minds, sitting up at night trying to figure out who Superman is--”

She meets Clark’s eye. His eyes widen. She clears her throat and looks away.

“I thought we could use a break.” She hands Clark the envelope. Their fingers brush as he takes it. He opens it gently and takes out three peach-colored vouchers with tiny text. His eyes skim quickly before he peeks up under his lashes. 

“Acupuncture?” He adjusts his glasses. Jimmy takes the envelope from him and reads it over, muttering under his breath. 

“Yeah! It’s supposed to help you relax. I’ve never done it, but Cat swears by it.” She sits on a table, gesturing wildly. She tries to dismiss the image of Clark looking up at her like that from her brain.

“This is so thoughtful, Lois. Thank you.” Clark smiles.

“Super thoughtful, but…Clark can’t go.” Jimmy elbows Clark in the ribs. He startles. They descend into a cyclone of whispers, doing that infuriating ‘best friend’ thing they do where neither of them speaks a complete word or thought. 

“I can’t? Oh. Oh! Right, yeah. Can’t go. Maybe I’ll give this to my mom, she’ll use it--” Clark starts to hand back the voucher. 

“Why can’t you go?” Lois frowns. 

“Uh…”

“He’s afraid of needles.” Jimmy blurts. Clark looks at him like a deer in headlights. Jimmy elbows him again and it seems to reboot him. 

“Deathly afraid, yeah. See one and I just, whew--I just pass out.” Clark laughs nervously. Lois’s heart sinks. 

“Oh.” She looks at her shoes. “Sorry, that was stupid of me. I should’ve asked you first.”

Clark’s warm hands gently take her shoulders. She looks up into his eyes, his smile, and is immediately at peace. 

“It’s a really nice gesture. The fact that you thought of me--” He grunts at another elbow to the ribs-- “and Jimmy was really kind. We appreciate you, Lois. We couldn’t do this without you either.”

“I will be cashing mine with haste.” Jimmy snaps his voucher, folds it crisply, and shoves it in his wallet. 

“I’ll give mine to my mom. She could use the break. Thank you.” Clark squeezes her shoulder. Lois nods, but she finds herself chewing the inside of her cheek in thought. 

 ……

That evening, Lois stands in front of Clark and Jimmy’s door for an embarrassing twenty minutes just raising and lowering her hand to knock. The inside of her cheek screams from the chewing. 

“Just knock,” she hisses under her breath, and her annoyance with herself drives her to knock a little too frantically. 

“Hey Clark? Is it okay if I--” The door slams open before she can finish-- “...come in?”

“Hi!” He beams. His hair is wet and curly from the shower and his hoodie looks so upsettingly soft. He’s wearing shorts, cozy ones, and the whole ensemble makes her want to chew on the drywall. He’s so cute. 

“Hi,” She breathes, totally cool and collected. They stare at each other for a moment before Clark’s eyes go wide behind his glasses.

“Oh god, did we have a meeting? I totally forgot, I’m sorry--”

“No, no. We didn’t. I just…wanted to see you.” She rocks forward on her toes. 

Way to sound desperate, Lane. 

Clark, adorably pink, opens the door for her. She steps into the apartment gingerly. 

“I should explain. I was thinking about the acupuncture thing. It was an excuse for us to spend some good time together and I messed it up. I really should’ve asked about your fear. I feel terrible.” Lois grabs his hand. It’s warm and soft to the touch. 

“You couldn’t’ve known. It’s not your fault.” He squeezes her hand. She pulls away. 

“Well, still, I felt bad that you were left out. I was thinking…maybe I could give you a massage? To make up for it?” Lois fiddles with her hands and watches him closely. His lips part slightly. He ducks his head, but Lois still catches the flush racing across his skin. 

“Wow, um…if you want to. I wouldn’t mind. You don’t have to, but—“

“I want to.” Lois smiles, and at last it feels natural. Clark awkwardly shuffles over to his bed and she follows. He sits stiffly, watching her with wide eyes. She stifles a chuckle as she sits behind him. 

“Get comfortable, Smallville. C’mon.” She pushes his shoulder. He lays down on his stomach, pillowing his arms under his head. He shuffles around a bit before he finally relaxes. 

“Can I go under your hoodie?” She touches his arm gently. He nods. She kneels beside him, sliding her hands up under the fabric. His back is warm and well-defined, almost foreign to the softness of his face. 

“Wow, you are…very tense. Your back’s like a brick.” With some difficulty, Lois starts working her hands into the dips and curves of his back. 

“Yeah, I’m just a tense….guy…” His voice breaks off into a murmur. Each muscle relaxes under her touch, like seams coming undone, and he lets out a sweet, soft sigh. Lois bites her lip on a smile. She’s never seen Clark relax like this before. Poor guy always seems like he’s a stiff breeze away from an aneurysm.

“I can’t believe you never did sports,” She hums. Her fingers trail upwards over patches of freckles and very faint scars. 

“I tried. It didn’t take. I like teams, but…I have much more fun getting to use my brain, I guess.” He shimmies in place a little bit. 

“So…how’d you get so strong?” She asks casually, timing the question with a push into Clark’s back. He groans and drops his head into his arms. At first, Lois fears she upset him, but then she catches the pleased sigh that follows after. 

“I started helping my dad with the farm and construction when I was very young. I guess it just built up over time.” He shrugs weakly. She narrows her eyes. It’s a good answer. Conveniently good.

Lois slots her fingers into his upper back. Clark full-body shivers to the point where she almost loses her balance. 

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Lois pulls her hands away. 

“Y-Yep, I’m fine! Promise.” He squeaks and gives a thumbs up, but his head remains steadfastly buried in the mattress. His ears are bright pink where they poke out from his hair. 

Wait a minute. Wait a minute.

Lois’s smile creeps into something mischievous. She leans down towards Clark and walks her fingers up his back. She gives an experimental little scritch, like she’s removing shmutz. He lets out a small eep and cranes his neck to watch her. 

“Are you ticklish, Smallville?” 

“Uhh…” Clark laughs nervously, avoiding her eyes. “I feel like no matter what I say, this is going to end badly for me.”

“You would be correct.” She skitters her fingers over his shoulderblades and he trembles, giggling like a maniac. He wiggles in place, grabbing fistfulls of the blankets. Shivering, bouncy laughter tumbles out of him in waves, consuming each breath before he can turn it into syllables to scold her with. His upper back tries to crunch in on itself to no avail. 

“Are you ticklish in any other weird places?” She pokes along his spine and he jumps. He rolls over quickly, too quickly, trapping her hand behind his back. She raises an unimpressed eyebrow and tickles the back of his ribs. 

“I’m ticklish in very n-normal places, thank you--Lois!” He squeaks and arches his back, swatting uselessly at her newly-freed hand. 

“Like where?” Lois grins. Clark narrows his eyes at her. The process of squirming had sent his hoodie creeping up, exposing the carved line of a hip and a bit of his stomach. Lois’s eyes dart to it. She feints for his back again but instead dives for his stomach. His voice cracks hard. 

“I’m not falling for thaaaaat!” Clark crunches forward like a lawn chair, deep laughter punching out of him. Her fingers creep around to the back of his hips and he falls back onto the bed, threading his fingers up into his hair. His glasses slide off his face and she catches them, neatly setting them aside. 

“God, you’re adorable. What endearing weakness for Superman to have.” Lois watches him carefully. Clark’s entire face shifts from pink to red as his chest heaves, still twitching away from her evil fingers. 

“Superman?” He shouts hysterically, half-caught in a bubbly laugh, and Lois laughs with him, folding forward into his chest. His hand immediately finds her back. 

When she looks up, his face is so close to hers, close enough to see the dusting of freckles fighting the wave of blush on his cheeks. His eyes are teary at the corners, still sparkling with his smile. 

The door bursts open then, sending the two scrambling apart. There’s nowhere to go on a bottom bunk, though, so they just smack their heads into the bed frame above them. Lois falls flat across Clark’s torso. 

Jimmy pauses, arms full of takeout bags, and gives them a very knowing look. 

“Do y’all need a minute?” He smirks and sets down the bags. Clark hides his burning face in his hands. 

“Nope, no we do not--”

“Jimmy, did you know Clark’s, like, stupid ticklish?” Lois leans on Clark’s shoulder and grins. He looks between them, alarmed. 

“As his best friend, it is my job to know all.” Jimmy fishes his food out of the bags. “Like how his armpits are really bad, for example.”

Clark squawks in offense, but then he’s flat against the mattress and cackling as Lois acts on her new intel. He starts to slide off the bed, his hair falling upwards with gravity. The light catches his eyes and smile just right, forming a clear picture of--

Superman. Clark is…Superman.

He must see it in her face then, that she knows, because he just very shakily raises a finger to his lips. His gaze darts towards Jimmy and Lois follows. 

“Your secret is safe with me,” she murmurs, knowing now that he can hear it, and smiles. He lights up, then his face settles into a deep, very attractive smirk. His eyes flash with sparks and then Lois is under him, screeching through laughter she didn’t know she was capable of. His hands on her are a dream and a nightmare all at once. 

“Unhand her, fiend!” Jimmy launches himself at the already-crowded bunk, worming under Clark’s tree trunk arms. Lois can’t quite see in the tight space, but she does feel the two of them crush her into the mattress as laughter floats around them. 

“Jimmy, the food!”

“Should’ve thought of that earlier, Clark! Perish!” 

Lois accepts that she will suffocate here beneath these two dorks, and it will have been worth it.

[senka-mesecine]

Idk if this is too much to ask you to write but what do you think the ideal dates are for the platoon boys? Thank u sm!!

---

― For Taylor? Especially post-war Taylor? Weed, music, slow dancing and you. Anywhere. Anytime. It can happen in an intimate, dimly lit room somewhere for all he cares, away from prying eyes, because hey, that room contains just about everything he technically needs for an excellent time, which is the exact opposite of his least perfect figurative date which undoubtedly involves all the pomp, ceremony, pretentious mingling and posturing of high society; the very environment he grew up in. All the inane questions. All the formalities. All the stares. The judgement, of course. All those bullshit rules and expectations. The very thing he ran to the 'Nam from. If he ever went out to such an event with you the first and last thing on his mind would be how to get the heck out of there, retire somewhere, light up a blunt and actually just unwind in your company. That's the perfect date and a cause for happiness.

― O'Neill likes beaches, palm trees, sunsets, tanning oil and the whole shebang. You asked for a perfect date, so yeah, what's the point of even asking if he can't describe literally the most stereotypically perfect image humanly imaginable, with all the elaborate details that go along with this fantasy. The type of crap you'd put on a postcard and send someone to make them angry and envious of you. Maybe throw in a Pina Colada in there with a tiny umbrella. Someone cooling him with a bamboo fan. He wouldn't mind a massage either. Basically, man just wants to go to some paradise island with you and go native out there for a spell. Maybe you can feed him grapes. And then undress too. Feed him grapes while you're undressed. Ah, who are we kidding. It's quite the opposite, I imagine. Man would probably end up massaging your feet by an open pool and cockily beam with pride while doing so (all unprompted).

― Bunny. God, Bunny. What on earth would Bunny even consider a perfect date? Running over road kill while speeding on the open highway? Maybe placing a can on top of someone's head, pulling a gun and saying 'Hey, babe! Watch!' as he aims. It is very difficult to imagine him in a civilian life and the unhinged crap he'd get up to, but in any case he got to be sadistically braggadocious, got to do whatever he wants, got to, the way he'd see it in his unhinged mind's eye, impress you and he got some pussy for it too afterwards, because what it boils down to. Getting laid with you is the perfect date. Indulging in some delinquency on the side? An excellent appetizer and side dish to said perfect date's outcome. Everything else is stupid and distraction to him from what he really wants. It's best just to put out. Might just sate him and distract him from doing something chaotic.

― Wolfe's the polar opposite of Taylor in that he undoubtedly wants all the fluff, puff and pomp of higher society. All those Ivy League graduates. Colleagues from West Point. And of course, him, flaunting you. These are his type of people and individuals, unlike those in his platoon, he actually fits in with. Here, he is not a fish out of water. This is a place where his socialization is well received, he's seen as at least semi-competent over the fact he served at all and what's best, he's seen as something positive instead of something negative. It's his compatriots from the platoon that might not fit into his world over here if they were ever figuratively present, the tables finally turning and Wolfe privately might relish that thought the same way he relishes showing you off, sipping on some champagne, ensuring you're in your finest attire yet while he half-smiles like the cat who got the cream.

― Swinging on a hammock in his arms? Literally, you think Elias needs more than that? Man genuinely strikes as easygoing and casual enough to consider, lets say, a nap date as a perfect date, because yeah, to quote him, feeling good is good enough and that's just about all he wants when he's in love. To feel good; feel happy. That's a philosophy he abides by. Unencumbered, carefree and light. I imagine him, in say, a civilian life, out underneath a shade somewhere where it's still sunny enough to feel the warmth on his face, just having done smoking some weed, maybe some soft music playing from somewhere and him caressing the top of your head as you're nuzzled into his chest, dozing off, being outside on that hammock long enough to actually see the first stars at dusk accompanied by the early moon peer up from above head. That's the definition of paradise. Everything else is missing the point to him.

― Hard to explain just why, but Rhah strikes as the only person on this list who'd consider something usually seen as a traditional date as his perfect date, convinced his person needs to be pampered and treated right because he isn't an animal; meaning that, yeah, he'd want the meal, the candles, the set table, the atmosphere, the everything. Probably cooks himself too. Sets up the whole scene. Throws on translucent red shawls on all the lamps to ensure the coloring of everything is a deep red because that's the color of love, baby. Undoubtedly doesn't choose a restaurant, rather goes for something more intimate of the homemade variety because he thinks civilians are inhuman robots not in touch with reality and he'd rather avoid meeting any of them, if possible. You get the roses, you get the schmoozing, you get a million and one complement delivered in that gravely voice and you get the romance in the most classical sense possible.

― For King? Fishing? Somewhere in a creek back home? You're both buck naked? Surrounded by pine trees? Bathing, splashing around, laughing like a pack of unruly kids, swimming around and having fun? He eats you out at one point? Maybe someone busts out the weed for good measure and maybe that person is him? Maybe not? What? You don't think that's a perfect date? Stop lying to yourself! Everything described is the exact opposite of the high stress, hard working environment of daily military life; everything he couldn't have there (with the exception of the reefers), he gets to have and experience during a figurative perfect date with you and he makes sure to experience it as frequently in quantity as humanly possible because in his own words, it's all gravy now that the war is done and he wants to make sure he indulges in that gravy guilt free without any pressure or social expectations involved.

― Again, Barnes and Elias are more similar than they think, because much like Elias, Barnes doesn't need much for something to be perfect, even though he'd staunchly deny there's such a thing as 'perfect' because it's not realistic to reach out for nonsense like that, but deep down, below all the cynical gatekeeping and rampant gloom and doom, a bottle of something hard, a good smoke, a meadow somewhere and you; all he really wants and needs. Literally imagine him as the type to just observe the wild nature of Tennessee somewhere up in Hill Country and be content with that, as far away from the world as humanly possible. it's the closest to peace he's gotten, really. In fact, man needs so little in way of quality time spent it's almost daunting. He is quite literally the definition of 'you're all I need.' Not at all a mere figure of speech with Barnes. Not just pretty words. Nope. He means that. Somewhere you'll never be found so he can have you all to himself. There. A perfect date. But then again, with him that sort of thing is never just a date; it's a lifestyle, really.

[i-will-cry-you-a-river]

It was supposed to be Miles/Hobie/Miles because @pleasetakethis post didn't leave my brain to rest, but Pavitr wanted to be included as well, and now it is not OT3, and not even slash, just pre-slash for an OT4 I've not seen before... Oops.

It was a weird thing to notice. It would have been a weird thing to notice in normal situation as well, but the one Miles was in?

It was more than just "weird".

Might have been disassociation, maybe that would explain why, while noticing the differences between him, and this terrifying version of him, Prowler him, a part of him had to note that of course he had to have the better hairstyle too.

Confident, scary as fuck, and so much more than scared little him, who felt like a bug under the microscope.

"Didn't answer. Why would I care about your father dying?" The other version asked, moving his fist away. Miles inhaled shakily, not finding his words. Seeing how everything changed, seeing that it was-

He was the fault of it.

He just shut down. He couldn't say anything.

"Huh, I guess the cat got your tongue," Miles - Prowler Miles, 42, The Other Miles - smirked. A clawed finger caressed Miles' cheek, more gentle and careful he would have thought it was possible.

"Leave us alone, Uncle Aaron," the Prowler asked, his eyes never leaving Miles'. The Spiderman's heart beat faster and faster, his mind conjuring scarier and scarier possibilities. He wasn't cruel, he wasn't a villain - but he knew what he would go through for something he set his mind on. And if there was one thing he believed all the Miles Moraleses were similar in, it was his determination.

"You sure, kiddo?" Uncle Aaron - not his Uncle Aaron - questioned, but he didn't wait for an answer. He just left the two boys alone.

"Now, kitten, what would you do to convince me to let you go?" The smirk on his face was strange and unfamiliar. The whole outfit, the hair, the confident body language... He couldn't have been farther from being Miles' mirror image.

"Please," he begged. Lightning sparkled from under his fingertips, but he feared that if he would use it on the bondings, he would be the one injured. He couldn't get injured - he had to deal with Spots and had to save his father!

"A-a," Prowler shook his head, his clawed finger digging into Miles' skin. He could feel a drop of blood sliding down his cheek, and he froze. "That's not an answer. Let's start again. What. Would. You. Do. For. Me. To. Let. You. Go?"

Spiderman swallowed, and nodded. "Wh-whatever you wanted. I... Please, let me go. I need to save my d-"

"Whatever, you say?" Other Miles smirked victoriously, and Miles' stomach dropped.

But he didn't back out. "Whatever you wanted."

"Good boy," Prowler growled. His head shot up, as if he was feeling something, but the spider senses didn't react. 42 looked back, his eyes narrowed. He lifted his right hand, and Miles flinched, preparing himself for the hit. Yet, instead of pain, the dangerous claws sliced through the ropes binding Miles to the box bag like they were not strong enough to keep a Spiderman still.

"I want you to get back here, as soon as you save your father." The Other Miles ordered, and as if it was nothing, he stepped back just in time two familiar forms broke through the glass.

"Miles!" Twin shouts came, and the figures rushed to him, one helping him stand, the other ready to defend them.

"It's okay, guys," he said weakly, still not looking away from the other version of him, as 42 didn't look away from him either. "I'm okay."

"Codswallop," Hobie huffed, his protective stance not relaxing.

"Miles, flower, you are not-" Pavitr hoovered over him, like a certified mother hen, and Miles' heart soared. He still had people who cared for him.

"As touching your little reunion is, I was under the belief that you had to hurry," Prowler drawled, amusement shining in his deep, dark eyes.

"He is right. I... I need to go. Please, let me save dad," Miles pleaded.

"Are you sure you are alright? Can you handle it?" Pavi asked, touching the side of Miles where he wasn't full of claw marks.

There was only one possible answer to that. "Yes."

"Good. Leg it, luv!" Hobie shouted, and pulling Miles from Pavi's hands, he lifted the two of them in the air.

"Don't forget your promise," heard Miles, and turning back to his other self, he nodded.

He would not forget. Whatever waited for him, he would come back. Because sure, Pavitr and Hobie would have been able to get him out, but not this quick and easy. He was thankful for Prowler Miles, and he was going to thank him. Properly.

Now, he had Spots to take care, the multiverse to protect, and his dad to save. But until that, he could appreciate the warmth of Hobie's hands around him, and Pavi's overprotective form fluttering around them, ready to get him to his original universe.