#which frustrates him to no end and makes him come up with really inventive ways

[nowimjustastranger]

Somebody to Call My Own Lore | Part 1

I can't get enough of this trope so here I am, letting the brain worms win.

Edit: Refined the lore for this AU, so this is the revised version!

Trigger warning for suicide and torture! Neither are graphic.

Old Man Ford (Dimension 419"3) & Mullet Stan (Dimension 77/H)

While exploring the multiverse, Ford 419"3 had come to the distressing realization that Stan suffers in every dimension. So 419"3 Ford made it his mission in life to travel through dimensions and help as many variations of Stan get the happy ending that he deserves by stepping in to correct the course of the timeline to produce the best outcome.

The reason why Ford is so determined to alter Stan’s grim fate in so many dimensions is because Ford had lost his own Stan to suicide while he was still in college, which is what drove him to completely bury himself in his studies and invent dimension travel with Fiddleford. Ford had left time travel alone because he could never get the timeline to remain stable in his calculations, so going back and changing even the smallest detail could very well cause his dimension to collapse on itself (like the butterfly effect).

Ford uses a portal gun to jump between locations within a dimension and a wormhole gun to travel between dimensions.

Ford wears a black helmet with red accents, but his visor doubles as a screen and shows every choice and the paths that diverge from these choices until he can narrow the series of events down to one action. The data is encrypted so only he can read it.

Ford doesn’t have the data displayed all the time since he doesn't want to rely on it too heavily and also because it's not absolute. There are several choices and, while Ford can narrow them down, he can't know for sure how something will go down. So he tests the waters the old fashioned way, determining how to proceed based on how the targets react because then he knows what path is the most likely outcome and he can guide it back on course.

Yes, he does use the data during combat, it makes him practically omniscient. He doesn't utilize the data when dealing with a human (or humans) because he can handle that fight with ease. But in the multiverse, he’s normally going up against opponents who are stronger/more powerful than him, so he uses the data to give himself the advantage.

Because of Fiddleford McGucket, Ford can get involved in the timeline directly, carrying a gun that alters/erases memories. Unlike the memory gun in canon, Ford and Fiddleford worked on it together and tested it thoroughly (on Gnomes who volunteered) before ever using it on humans (cough themselves cough). It still has an addictive quality, but only when it's used on the same person several times, so Ford usually tries to only use it on someone once.

A few weeks after Ford officially started exploring the multiverse, he met a variation of Bill Cipher, who taught him the ropes (teaching him languages, helping him build a translator for alien languages that Ford physically couldn't speak, getting him out of rough spots while he was still getting the hang of traveling).

But Bill was only making nice because he was after Ford's technology, the ability to accurately predict fate a tantalizing power that would make Bill akin to a god. But Ford simply wouldn't give Bill the cipher to read the data no matter how close they became and Bill eventually dropped the act around two years into their friendship.

Bill took Ford to one of the dimensions that he and his freaks had conquered and tortured him for the information. But he didn't break and Bill didn't really have any leverage to make him crack since Ford's first act in the multiverse was to lock his dimension in a protection bubble (with the unicorn hair spell) to keep those he loved safe just in case something like this were to happen.

Bill gets frustrated after years of silence (outside of screaming during torture) and gets overconfident that, even though Ford won't give Bill what he wants, Ford's broken beyond repair both mentally and emotionally.

On the contrary, Ford was simply biding his time, waiting for Bill to slip up. And Bill does, ten years into Ford's captivity, he leaves Ford's mutilated body on the ground when his freaks drop in for a visit.

Ford heaves himself up, his pain tolerance having steadily climbed until most of the torture was easy to block out. Ford fashions a crude bomb that he had been designing in his head for years using the materials around him, killing Bill and his freaks with the equivalent of a black hole compressed into a tube. Ford barely made it out of the dimension before it was consumed, the Axolotl saving him by pulling him out right as the bomb went off.

The Axolotl wants Ford to continue his journey, because at the end of the road there is also a happy ending for Ford. This translates to Ford thinking he’s simply on borrowed time because he believes that he was meant to sacrifice himself and take Bill with him (the dude is damaged), fully committing himself to his mission to make the multiverse a kinder place for his little brother.

Because of his years of suffering at Bill’s hands, Ford is morally gray/borderline dark. Not toward Stan though, obviously. He had also developed touch aversion, Stan being the sole exception since he subconsciously perceives his brother’s touch as safe. This mindset extends to every variation of Stan, but is eventually reserved for one Stan in particular (the Stan from 77/H).

Ford calls all his counterparts "Stanford" to avoid confusion. Later on in the series, 77/H Stan will be referred to as “Lee”, also to avoid confusion.

[boundinparchment]

Chiaroscuro

Il Dottore cannot sleep and his mind cannot help but wander. Established Dottore x GN Reader, absolute fluff. It needs no explanation. Also on AO3 here.

Your book was open, spine cracked, pages pressed against your chest in a desperate attempt to not lose your place.  He heard you catch it in time, sigh in relief that the pages weren’t wrinkled, and then return to the steady breathing he’d heard for the past few hours.

In your defense, it was late by normal standards.  Any other night, he’d have joined you on the other end of the sofa he kept in his private office, your head in his lap as you read aloud.  But this formula wasn’t going to work itself out and he couldn’t easily hand this over to a Segment, not this time.

He sighed softly and tried to relax his hand, lest he snap yet another pen (this time, out of sheer frustration rather than a passionate fervor).  It didn’t make sense.  By all accounts, the way the variables interacted should lend itself to this calculation perfectly.  So where was the snag?

Dottore tried to work backwards, thinking through step after step, logically, impartial.  The potency of the residue…entirely dependent on the strength of the dead Archon…which was based on the faith their mortals had in them…

Faith wasn’t quantifiable.  There was no magic number that served as a benchmark.

As intangible as the stars and just as much a lie.

His hand began to move of its own accord; he worked best when he got his thoughts down on paper, could see the words.  

When had he drawn…?

Dottore’s finger traced the outline of the hand in the margins of his notes.  Not his.  He knew the intentional style of his own studies, for he’d spent centuries without a Kamera through which to capture specimens.  Accurate details and representation were only as good as the eyes and hands that could capture them until Fontaine’s invention was available.  He’d even found something close to peace in creating detailed sketches of specimens and structures; he would never admit that giving visuals to his ideas was one of his favorite parts of development.  It was one element he hated giving over to a Segment, even if a younger part of him was better suited.

But it still begged the question: what was your hand doing in his notes?

Red eyes shot up at you, still fast asleep, head lolled to the side.

He leaned back in his chair, clipboard propped against his knee, a pencil instead at the ready.  He couldn’t keep wasting ink, he’d be left with nothing but a mess.  

Usually this difficult of a time meant his perspective was skewed and that even a Segment would be useless.  He’d have long started pacing if you weren’t here but he didn’t want to disturb you.  Funny thing, how self-aware he’d become around you.

His hand moved of its own accord as his eyes traced your sleeping form.  

You’d come down here one day by accident, looking for a quiet place to escape to, book in hand.  One of his Segments pointed you back upstairs to the library with all of the bluster and impatience his younger self was known for.  But you’d shot back that a debate-bordering-on-duel between Arlecchino and Tartaglia had broken out, leaving the library more of a war zone than a place for research; who was he, in any form, to deny a person a safe haven for that?

You were warned of the screaming, the shouting, the mechanical dangers.  All you’d done was shrug and say that you’d keep out of the way.

He doubted you would find it any better down here.  And yet you returned, week after week, a pile of books and notes in your arms, and kept to your little nook near the stairs.  Unobtrusive.  

But you were always there and your absence was felt nonetheless when you fell ill or whenever your department pulled you back.

You always returned, though, and he hated how that soothed a strange knot in his stomach. 

It wasn’t until several months in that he offered the tranquility of his office that the two of you really spoke at length.  He couldn’t afford for anyone to know about the Artificial Archon project, and having you in his office, where he could keep a better eye on you, seemed to have been a sound decision.

Until both of you spent the better part of an evening and the early morning in deep discussion about the redundancy of the entire Archon system when clearly, there was no point to it.  The Tsaritsa ruled with an iron fist; the Anemo Archon was all but absent.  It fit the nations’ respective beliefs, you argued, but it kept the people divided, focused on things that didn’t matter.  No wonder Khaenri’ah hadn’t subscribed to the notion of a god.  And why was Fontaine dealing with a floating threat, clearly on Celestia’s radar, but not Snezhnaya?  

Soon enough, he couldn’t be rid of you and he didn’t want to be.  He couldn’t place when, precisely, which was a source of frustration he couldn’t rip out, not like the weeds of his past.  But at some point, his heart yearned and you answered and now he spent his sleepless nights marveling at you, not unlike how he marveled that Ruin Golem so many centuries ago.

Your eyes, curious but cautious, caught things he did not.  So much life there, in a way he could never quite capture in his mind’s eye.  He did not find it tedious to explain something to you, to break it down in a different way.  Food tasted better when you were around.

You’d lament having to iron your uniform again with the way your shoulder was positioned.  Even in sleep, your lips always moved ever so slightly, as if speaking in your dreams.

Lips so soft he did not deserve them and yet you bestowed upon him kiss after kiss anyway.

No matter how dark the room you entered, it was as if you brought the sun with you, brightening even the darkest corners of his mind.  He angled the pencil, pressed harder at the shadow cradling your face as the nearby lamps flickered.

He carefully smudged and blended, flicking his gaze up just long enough to confirm the shape of your cheek, your nose, your brow.  

He could not help but wonder if he was growing soft in his fifth century. 

The world had not worn him down.

But you certainly had.

[dropthedemiurge]

Some language comments for Gray Shelter [Episode 5], just like I promised!

"Do whatever/however you want to. (literally: 'Do it the way your heart desires') You do things how you want to anyway."

"I'm sorry" - the translation is correct, it's just it's funny how Yoondae's level of apology to his friend he just lashed out at last time + he wants to ask him for HELP, and all he says is: 미안 (mian). The most informal and short way of apologizing possible. He's so teenager-minded still.

Even when he asks "Can I leave my stuff in your dad's warehouse?" it comes out grammatically more of a demand, like 'Let me do that'. Yoondae is talking like someone who has a lot of walls and doesn't reach out to people, he doesn't talk kindly but he's honest and straightforward and he cries easily but he's very angry about it.

I especially love his facial expression, even when he's at his most miserable, he'll make it everyone else's problem, as if being pitiful is the worst thing that could happen to him. "I have no one else I could ask for help but you >:(("

Fun fact about Korean's sentence structure, when you quote someone or express your thoughts, you put your sentence this way: "quoted phrase" and then + "that's what they said/what i thought/etc". So oftentimes, I see Kdramas use that trick when characters say a phrase... and then take it back with "that's someone else's thoughts" or "that's what you thought I'd say, right? LMAO". It's funny how the translators' way of transferring this was using the word "Sike!" xD

"It wasn't a mistake to me." "If it wasn't a mistake, then [what]? Since you started talking [about it], let me ask you. So what if it wasn't a mistake? What do you want to achieve with me?" "Can I do anything about it? In the past or now, you're the one who runs away and avoids me. I asked you, can I make a decision (do I have any choices)?" "You made the move but you want me to decide? Fine, then. Let sleep together once and end it once and for all. Go wash up first. I don't have time, I only left office for a short time."

The way they both care about each other but their dialogues and words are very sharp and bitter almost all the time, especially here, aaaah. That's the contrast that hooked me for all these 5 episodes. Soohyuk doesn't swear but he's talking to Yoondae very harshly and emotionless here, and for Yoondae harsh talk is the default, it's like Soohyuk is lowering his manners to talk on his level, to provoke him (or maybe that's also how he distances himself from the discovery that Yoondae has feelings for him).

And Yoondae is holding back his frustration and tears, but he understands the way such words were aimed to hurt him, so instead of lashing out back at Soohyuk, as he probably wants him to, he swallows and unusually calmly, almost softly says: "Let's talk when you can be honest. Because I will shut up and wait for you."

And it makes Soohyuk stand there in shock and contemplate.

I'll add next scenes in READ MORE since this post is getting long!

Here's the moment when the boss asks their youngest employee to write something more 'trendy' for their marketing text xD It's very true that trends in Korea come and go very quickly, they also love to invent new terms and phrases all the time. Like "MZ slang", there are many phrases, and the one trendy phrase the boss uses as the example is 킹받네 (king-pad-nae) which literally written as 'receive the king' but means "I got angry" - but with a teasing/playful subtext, like friends could say each other 'ah you're so cute, it makes me angry'.

If I'm not wrong, this phrase was widely used like 1-2 years ago and not really in its trendy peak as well right now but kudos to boss to even learning it xD And it's funny how translator chose to (I assume) use "[living in my head] rent-free" phrase as a substitute. Another fun fact, they ended up using some trendy lingo in their ad that translator gave us as "no cap!" but that part of phone msg was so blurry, I couldn't see which exact Korean phrase they ended up using x)

"Hyung, if you have any ask for help, say so. For you, 2 million... No, I'll try to give you until 3 million won in any way."

Can I just say that we had this character for one moment and I'm so not ready to let him go, I want Jeongwan to have his own storyline and everything and he's too sweet and also caring for strangers/his colleagues, and so he stole the spotlight for me xD

Yoondae said there's no food at home. But also, as you can see, there is: beer, water, rice that you can cook in the microwave, kimchi for a side dish and some other microwaved food. According to my Korean friends, typical Korean person (poor like student) can survive if they have rice, kimchi and also ramyeon. That's their the most basic food. Just a fun fact. xD

Also he was on his third can of beer, and he already made a drunken longing call on the verge of tears to Soohyuk, lying about being hurt and bringing trouble just so he'd return home. "Is that okay with you?" - just shoot me, please. :')

"I called [the cleaning service/you] to tell you to stop it [sleeping outside of home]" "Let's have that dinner [that I promised you] today. Wait for me."

After days, Yoondae was ready to give up, he "tricked" Soohyuk to return home just so he could tell him he'll move out and stop pushing any talk. And then, Soohyuk brought up the dinner (the feelings) that he kept avoiding. No wonder Yoondae looked so struck and confused. It just gave him his hopes back (and viewers too, but we probably should've known better with this kind of series haha)

Interesting cultural context: they are getting samgyeopsal - grilled meat, chosen by Soohyuk because Yoongdae said there wasn't anything he wanted to eat. And usually, the youngest one has to set the cutlery and grill meat, out of respect for the seniors. And here we see that Soohyuk is the one choosing the place, menu and even grilling the meat and pouring soju for Yoondae.

Once again, it shows that despite Yoondae's emotions and pleads, he is not mature enough, he is not ready to focus on other people. We know he can't plan his own future, he doesn't know what to do, and we see where their relationship stands now - Yoondae is still more of a burden than an equal partner to Soohyuk, and Soohyuk is more of a parent.

Even when they drink soju (in Korean drinking etiquette usually you don't drink alone, you toast together and drink together), notice how they don't even clink their glasses together, then Soohyuk is the only one drinking and Yoondae wants to follow him but puts the glass back. He's taking a shot later, when Soohyuk grills the meat again. They are totally unsynchronized at this point of their lives, and it's painful to watch.

"I said he [my father] was dead because that's the truth/reality for me. There was no other [hidden] meaning. I didn't plan to lie to you."

"I moved out completely. If I don't organize my life starting from doing this, then I don't think I'll be able to live like all the other [normal] people."

The fact that Yoondae started thinking about improving his life (the word 'organizing'), immediately made Soohyuk stop in surprise. So he started asking what does the normal life like others mean to him, hopeful to find that equal adult footing from Yoondae... but Yoondae's thoughts stopped there. And Soohyuk offered his own goal and life meaning: "to have a place to go back to, that's enough for me".

Here's when Yoondae thoughtfully agreed with him: "It's important to have a home", and took the meat tongs from Soohyuk, saying how high-maintenance he is. Yoondae embraced that realization, he took the responsibility (even a small cultural gesture) and even though Yoondae nagged him, Soohyuk smirked. Because it wasn't a completely hopeless situation. And Yoondae proved it, by saying how eating like this and going home together is his normal life as well. (and yet they were still unsynchronized until the very end! we can't have happy ending yet)

AND HERE IS WHERE I HAVE TO MAKE A SECOND POST! Because tumblr only allows 30 images in one, and I can't stop screenshotting the last conversation so I'm going to make another post that you can find in 'gray shelter comments' or 'dropthemeta' tags (upd. or here's the link to the post!)^^

[peachyfnaf]

I'm sorry but "MY BEAUTIFUL PRINCESS WITH A DISORDER<3" really made my day and I needed you to know

🤣🤣🤣

I can't believe Nexus is bullying peepaw war criminal.

Do you think Nexus is going to be stopped by big bro Sun or do you think the lil guy is going beyond the point of no return?

(Please talk about baby cringe Lord Nexus, I want to hear about your blorbo 🙏)

That's because Nexus IS my beautiful princess with a disorder, I'll have you know <3 they're diseased but it's okay I can give them their tetanus and flu shots and it'll all be better I GOT THIS

But. ahem, okay, blorbo yapping time. I'm not even gonna say "I'll try to keep this short" because I know it wont end up that way HAHAHAHAHA

"Do you think Nexus is going to be stopped by big bro Sun or do you think the lil guy is going beyond the point of no return?"

I... have absolutely no idea!!!1! (and also it took me an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize peepaw war criminal was Ruin KJDFHSDF)

The most frustrating thing about canon Nexus is how his morals, motivations, and goals seem to see-saw back and forth all the time. at first, he became how he is now due to Solar's death. he spiraled in his grief, identity-issues, and abandonment. but... now his motivation is to become an all powerful god??? while it's most likely that NSP is at play and affecting his thought process, it's... well, it's really hard to take him seriously as a villain because of it, lol. for an audience to enjoy, and even sympathize in some cases, with a villain, their goals and motivations have to be concrete. they have to be relatable, or at least understandable, but Nexus' whole thing is... not, Imho. and I know I'm not the only person who feels this way!!!

I see a lot of people calling Nexus "cringe", and the thing is, when it comes to canon Nexus, they're not really... wrong??? The worst thing Nexus has done so far is make Old Moon see his past victims, which is fucked up of him to do, but.. so far, that's kind of it??? other than that, his "villainy" consists of saying empty threats and cheesy evil one-liners. hell, he was supposed to kidnap Sun yesterday but instead spent the whole episode yapping and venting to him, chasing Sun around in the worlds darkest game of tag before getting some lead right in the face dkfjhsdfsd

Also, notice how he's only targeted Old Moon when it comes to actual physical violence? not Lunar, Earth, Solar, or Sun, but Old Moon? yeah, I did too. we already know that Nexus does everything because he's lashing out, but as of rn the only target he's gotten his hands on physically being O.M...? well. I think it says a lot. cause' yeah, he sure as shit scared the life out of the other Celestials, but he's never put his hands on them!! the only other one of them he harmed physically was Earth- and not only was he not aiming for her, she was just in the way- he felt immediate regret for his actions once in space, and has yet to even see Earth ever since that day.

So, I really have no idea if he's going to be "redeemed" or not. one second he's showing signs he might be, and the next he's falling further down the "pretty badly written villain" rabbit-hole. if he does get something akin to a redemption arc, he'll prolly mostly be accepted in the eyes of the viewers, considering a lot of peeps sympathize or at least understand where he's coming from, but I seriously doubt the other Celestials would take him back. the only one's who might see him as family/a close friend again are Sun and Solar, but even then, nothing would ever be the same.

I hope he gets redeemed, or at least freed from the hold Dark Sun has on him and he's able to live his own life, I really do. at his core, Nexus is a good person. a good person who was crushed under the weight of the shadow of the man he was born under. and we know this because he used to be New Moon. sweet, dorky New Moon.

New Moon, who made inventions like sentient knives and whoopee cushions. New Moon, who had matching My Little Pony stickers with his best friend. New Moon, who bought a whole ass island-luxury-house for Sun because he wanted to make him feel better and give him the proper space to heal. and New Moon- the poor freshly-baked A.I who gave his all to make sure he could do everything that Old Moon could, but it just wasn't enough. he tried and tried and tried, but it wasn't enough.

So yeah, idk if he's getting one in canon, but to me, he more than deserves a good ending, for the life he was given. let him be at peace.

[mail-posting]

Wanted to flesh out and add more headcanons to this ↑, so that'll be under the cut!

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

This post by my friend(?) Is basically what I mean by he's chaotic academia lol

⫘⫘ Messy as hell handwriting that only he can read, although sometimes he can't read it either and struggles with remembering what he wrote

i feel like he'd have a typewriter in his room for important notes because of this (no idea if those actually existed when idv takes place but we have cypher machines which seem pretty similar so-)

He's always, always doing something with his hands.

if he's not writing on his notes, he's doodling abstract shapes or concept inventions on them.

And if he's not doing that, then he either has something to fidget with or tinker on, or he's playing with his hands.

⫘⫘ speaking of hands, to me he only wears one glove because they irritate his scarred hand.

He should take regular breaks so his hands don't cramp and hurt, but he's usually so engrossed in his tasks that he forgets it's even a problem.

⫘⫘ He talks a lot! But sometimes it's not just the chatty type of talking but a cacophony of thoughts and ideas that his brain works him up into and needs to be dragged out of him by the only way he can.

If you're not his friend already and you end up on the listening end of one of these, as long as you don't actively recoil from it you've probably gained a ton of trust with him.

⫘⫘ Part of talking so much with everyone is that he has a lot of friends! But he doesn't really have many friends, you know? There's only a select few he trusts properly.

⫘⫘ His memory tends to go blank on things like the date or time.

He's worried quite a few people by not realising it was a holiday, and commenting on it with confusion.

More minor holidays like Easter and Valentine's Day are the easiest to forget, because people don't really decorate for them.

He has Several alarm clocks for timing, but he usually asks people to immediately come and get him if he's needed for something and isn't there.

Due to this, he's been part of things he wasn't supposed to be, because he generally trusts that he's just forgotten he was meant to be there.

Of course he has distorted dreams of the incident, but he actually has quite a lot that revolve around his prison time.

⫘⫘ He has a lot of night terrors. There's been so many nights where he's jolted up, heart racing, and couldn't tell what was real or fake or where he was for a while.

He was treated... extremely badly there. Any excuse to take frustrations out on a rich person was taken liberally by the other people. Prisoners, guards, all of them.

Lots of both physical and mental trauma helped to cement his broken mental state and lack of memory, as well. Being hurt like that is not going for your head.

After all, one of his canon dislikes are "implements of torture"

⫘⫘ He's pretty good at decoding when he decides to do a match! He avoids hunters pretty well too. Unfortunately, they don't like him very much...

He always HATES the rocket chairs. Not necessarily what happens after he's eliminated, although that's startling too. It's actually being strapped down to it that makes him panic.

He doesn't like being stuck to anything, and he especially doesn't like it when the hunters are usually nearby ready to hurt him.

⫘⫘ It's alright though, because he has his chain! He's augmented it in order to create the static charges you see in the matches.

There is just one teensy little problem. After coming to the makeshift hospital ward after blacking out while using his abilities a couple of times, he was asked what he did to keep his electricity generator from shocking him. He didn't have an answer.

As it turns out, he's rather numb in certain parts of his body. Including his neck. And as he was only focused on this invention being effective, he never quite realised that it might be a danger to have it near his already messed up brain.

He's trying to refine it so it doesn't do that, but he's advised to stay out of matches for now.

⫘⫘ he's not the best with self care. At all.

his hair is VERY messy, so it's tied in place with a lot of unconventional things.

Ribbons, wires, gears to wrap it around, clasps, and more. He even kept it tied with a pair of pliers one time. He just needs it up. It's a sensory thing.

But on a less light hearted note, he usually forgets to eat, and "forgets" to sleep while he's working.

If he does eat, he usually brings things like pastries from the main hall to his room.

And if he sleeps... The night terrors about killing his mentor are much more vivid when he jolts up to a desk that looks exactly as it always did back then.

⫘⫘ he doesn't work on his invention. He desperately wants to, but he can't.

Even for someone with good memory, trying to continue a project you last worked on YEARS ago, completely from scratch, is hard.

But he barely remembers what it was meant to do. His life's devotion, shattered to pieces in his mind because of a stupid impulsive accident he feels that he caused. It breaks him.

So he works on other things. Everything and everything will be tinkered with, because maybe he can remember what he wanted. Someday. Through desperate notes and ramblings and trying to weld the puzzle pieces together in his mind.

Grasping for it even as it slips away the more he tries to think of what it was...

⫘⫘ He has friends now. And he'll do whatever they want to do. Anything to distract himself from his plight.

They're the main reason he takes self care at all, besides keeping up appearances. He doesn't feel as alone when everyone is struggling with him.

His room is full of little gifts for them. Might as well put his knowledge to things that make them happy, right?

[freeuselandonorris]

Fic ask game: how do you approach writing the balance between the character’s internal thoughts/feelings vs the physical sensations they’re experiencing? I feel like in my own writing I’m always yoyoing between the two and it’s so hard to make it balanced/immersive. You always manage to convey character headspaces so strongly and I’m wondering about the process for that

ahh thank you anon, that’s such a lovely compliment!

i actually pretty rarely directly describe thoughts and feelings. generally it’s quite a clunky way of pulling the reader into the narrative, because it can just end up as reportage, where it just ends up as a kind of list of “lando felt x. oscar did y. lando felt z.” - obviously i’m vastly oversimplifying here but pace-wise, you see how there’s nothing actually moving the narrative on? where i do use it, it’s where a character IS stuck in their own head, usually on their own, and we’re not meant to be seeing the story move on yet.

so for instance, in the first section of it’s just self-defence until you’re building a weapon (sorry, AO3 is down again so i can’t link, i’m using my gdocs here!) you have a lot of lando’s thoughts and feelings because he’s in a mental spiral, and he’s not talking to anyone else about it yet:

It’s there, the feeling, as he drives into parc fermé, huge and heavy and bad. He breathes, in-hold-out-hold, moves his thumbs through the familiar pattern of button-pressing and menu-scrolling to put the car into neutral. For a minute he thinks he might burst into frustrated tears, in which case he’s gonna have to find an excuse to stay in the car a bit longer before someone sticks a camera in his face – but then the anger and adrenaline drain abruptly from his body like pulling a plug out of a sink full of water, and he wants very badly to see Oscar.

but as soon as oscar makes an appearance in the next paragraph (i.e. driving into parc ferme next to him), we’re into the bodily: lando’s out of the car, he feels like someone’s dumping freezing water down his back, his chest’s aching.

this ‘bodily’ description — describing the physical sensations rather than just reporting on what’s caused them — will instantly make your writing more immersive. it’s a good twofer because you can describe actions at the same time (i do massively overuse adverbs!) but also it’s just a lot easier for a reader’s brain to unconsciously ‘feel’ the clench of an anxious stomach or that low-belly kick of lust when you see someone you really wanna fuck, rather than you telling them “he really wanted to fuck oscar” and the reader having to work out for themselves how that feels, ygm?

so if you contrast that quote above ^ with this one from some poor sucker at the bottom of the lake:

There’s a sort of tussle, afterwards. Lando drags him down and Oscar allows himself to be dragged, or maybe it’s the other way around. Either way, Lando ends up pinned, Oscar’s soaked gym shirt in his mouth, Oscar’s hand shoved inside his shorts. When he comes, an uncontrollable noise rips itself from his throat, and he bites down to muffle it. In the rush of sensation, he barely even notices he’s doing it.

we’re getting a lot about both of them with no direct description of what either of them are thinking until right until the end. i use quite violent verbs — dragged, pinned, shoved, rips, uncontrollable — and they do the job for me, without me having to spell it out. we can tell how they’re feeling, that they’re both half-feral and not really thinking straight, that they’re pissed off with each other as much as they want each other, the frustration and the way they can’t leave each other alone.

something else i like doing occasionally is to use a ‘thought metaphor’ (a term i have just invented, i’m sure there’s a proper technical term for it):

Oscar nods, dry-mouthed, watching the way Lando’s face sags with relief. He tips forward until he’s braced over Oscar’s body and moves his hips in a slow, muscular roll. It makes Oscar think of nature documentaries: one creature, pinned down by another.

so at the end there i could have just said “oscar feels pinned, like something from a nature documentary” and it would’ve worked pretty well, but by having him think of something adjacent (animalistic sex -> nature documentary, and then looping back round to -> THEREFORE they’re both creatures) you can kind of do something a bit more exciting that allows the reader to go OH okay, instead of just telling them. if that makes sense??

okay this is already far too long so i’ll stop now lmao BUT i hope at least something in here was useful??

ama about my fics!

[pumpkinrootbeer]

Not enough Avatar fans recognize how good of a bender Bolin is bcuz he's mostly busy being played as comic relief. But even just at the end of TLOK he's praised by his personal hero Toph Beifong and is one of 3 known lavabenders, has gone toe to toe and bended alongside Toph's talented daughters and displays similar feats.

And he's shown to practice bending seriously and improve between time jump, b/c have you noticed that he observed and mastered the Red Lotus lavabender's lava glaive trick and uses it to cut through platinum in Book 4? That and Toph said that she'd be willing to teach Bolin metalbending b/c she brags about being able to teach anyone metalbending (Toph's metalbending school comics reference yay) & in the TLOK comics Toph is shown to go out of her way to leave the swamp & head to Rep. City to hang out with her granddaughter and her future grandson-in-law, so I'm betting Bolin's been getting some tutoring in and officially become one of Toph's students.

TLDR I hope Bolin shows up in the new Avatar series and shows up how strong he is at old age, b/c half his canon appearances so far are him at 16 and he's underratedly really good.

no because Bolin is genuinely an unparalleled bender. he has sheer power on the level of avatars, see how catches an entire building dropped on a room full of earth benders before anyone else and then was the only one holding it up despite TOPH BEING IN THE ROOM? for one.

he also has the drive to be good at his bending that we don't really see with mako or even really korra in the show. sure, we see korra learn air bending but then she's just frustrated it's not coming naturally. with Bolin we see him struggle with his bending and still become the best. see how quickly he mastered an element with No One to teach him or him throwing himself at metal bending over and over. Which I'm honestly torn if I want him to learn it? On one hand, literally op earthbender which is amazing yes please. On the other, I kinda like that metal bending, something that is traditional earthbending techniques taken to the extreme, is what Bolin struggles with.

It's pretty heavily implied Bolin and Mako had no formal bending teacher and are completely self taught. In fact, the times we see Bolin do the most traditional earthbending moves are in season 4, which takes place after the 3 year jump. This is also when he's working for Kuvira and is probably the only time he did get formal training in earthbending, so it would make sense he would incorporate that more.

and ive talked about this before but, Bolin is the quickest earthbender in the entire show. he is incredibly talented in his craft and no one else in the entire show bends like he does. like, okay. This?

that move? that spin kick he's doing? That's a fire bending move.

he's doing a fire bending move with earth. kinda like iroh's move for redirecting lighting, bolin's entire bending style is this quote "when you take (wisdom) from only one place it becomes rigid and stale. understanding others, other nations, will help you become whole" Bolin is an earth bender who grew up learning to bend by watching fire bending. and that is a huge part of why Bolin is such a unique and talented fighter.

tbh I hope he never learns metal bending because the contrast between him and toph is nice. Toph is someone who excels at traditional earthbending, to the point of inventing a new type of sub-bending. whereas Bolin is so skilled at adapting and integrating different bending styles that he's able to master a volatile element that is eath that behaves like water with properties of fire at 17 with no teacher.

so yeah I agree 100% I would fucking love to see Bolin older because he would be a fucking powerhouse.

[yellowhollyhock]

Thoughts on 1987 tello?

mostly emotions tbh (I love him very much) (thoughts and nonsense rambling under the cut)

He's so dramatic, he loves singing and dancing, if he puts on a trench coat he has to narrate everything in a noir voice,

He is the most likely out of the 1987 turtles to choose violence. He becomes the Dark Turtle and goes after Shredder. He's ready to leave the punk frogs in danger (I don't remember the situation) and when Leonardo pushes that they have to help even if the frogs still try to attack them, he gives the most "well okay you're the leader" shrug. Like 'I explained our strategic advantage to you plainly and it was clearly too advanced for you to understand so I guess I'll be nice and go along with what you say"

it's not uncommon for him to split off from the group because he'll think of something and have to go get the parts for it. He also just goes off alone sometimes, like as the Dark Turtle or when his car got stolen so he stole the car thief's car in order to chase them and was then himself being chased by the police because the whole reason they stole his car was because they stole something else first and the police recognized the car they were in previously. And he refuses to explain to his bros what's going on because he doesn't want them to know the turtle van got nabbed from him after he spent so long fixing it up. Which situation leads to one of my favorite Raph and Don moments (I have a lot of those aksjfjsj)

Donatello, hanging up the phone: Great, now they guys think I'm a crook. Won't they feel bad when they find out I'm only a liar!

Later, when they find out

Michelangelo: I knew Donatello wasn't a crook!

Raphael, feeling the least bad he's ever felt in his life: No, only a liar

I love how much he wants his bros attention, he's so middle child y'all.

Another favorite moment, in the episode where Splinter becomes human for a day, at the start of it when they're all noticing he's sad (im paraphrasing the heck out of this scene)

Raphael, Leonardo, and Michelangelo: Ohh Master Splinter didn't eat his sushi ☹️ Sushi is his favorite ☹️☹️

Donatello: Well of course he doesn't want sushi, who would want to eat raw fish?

Raphael, Leonardo, and Michelangelo: Our Sensei who loves sushi is not eating sushi... this is such a travesty we must find out what made him sad

Donatello: I hate raw fish so very deeply much

He's so stupid I love him so much. And! He is egotistic and can be quick to anger and does sometimes ignore/not notice other people's feelings, but. He is also truly deeply and believably a sweetheart! He would do anything for his bros and he mostly shows his love through actions.

Like when they all wanted Leonardo to lighten up some, and he had a machine that would supposedly (and did in fact) do just that, but he insisted it was not safe and they were not to use it on him (they did anyway but that's not the point akdjsja). Or the fact that he made the health-o-meter. Or when Michelangelo is crying over the stove and he hugs him so gently and pats him on the back "I know" fjksjfj stop it 😭. Whenever the 87 turtles hug I die from the cuteness and come back to life from the cuteness. you know the saying, cuteness killed the cat but cuteness brought it back, or something like that

Or in Donatello's Duplicate where it's shown that besides his inventions he's doing a lot of little household repairs for them, which gets him frustrated when it piles up too much and is why he makes a clone, who turns out to be evil and by the end of the ep he's like 'I was so silly why wouldn't I be happy? I love fixing things and I love helping my family and I'm so lucky I get to do both!' And I definitely have some feelings about them ending the episode this way (the big donatello crossover involving a karaoke night is to address this), but it is really sweet regardless, he really loves them so much

Okay this is half-formed and mayhaps confusing but you gave me an opportunity so here's a thought that's been in the back of my mind. I like thinking about the ways later cartoons drew from 87, especially balancing it with Mirage. Because Mirage Don is the pacifist. He hates guns. In the mirage comic the 03 HATE episode was based on, it ends with a little speech from Donatello about how he feels bad for killing the terrorists, even though they saved more lives by doing it. When Raph wants to go back to NYC to face the Shredder but Leo insists they (he) needs more time at the farmhouse, Don backs Leo up saying "we aren't the keepers of society, Raph. We never were."

And that's very different from 87 Donatello. But at the same time you can see their similarities when a situation comes up in mirage and Raph (and sometimes Leo) go straight to "We gotta help!" and Donatello counters with "Do we? Can we? What if we make things worse" 87 Donatello has that same pragmatism, even if he feels deeply about a situation he's gonna look at it and say What can I do, not necessarily What should I do. (this works in the positive and the negative akdhsha)

... Anyway that wasn't the thought I was thinking of. The thought I was gonna and will now share is like this: you know that 2012 episode where they go into Mikey's psyche and meet a bunch of different Mikeys? What if 87 Donatello's psyche and the different hims are the other Dons

Because out of all of them I feel like he encompasses something from each of them

So it's like

87 Donatello: Welcome to my Mind. You'll meet all the sides of my compelling and complex personality here. This is my nurturing side

03 Donny: Hey guys! Why do you have your initials on your belt buckles lol

87 bros:

Donatello: He's usually much nicer than that. This is my theatrical side

Rise Donnie, has not noticed guests, strumming imagine guitar: past corridor B, down the stairs past the ibis tapestry--

Donatello: This is my sarcastic side. He also usually covers hormonal stuff

12 Don, tongue stuck out in concentration while he draws himself with big muscles:

Donatello: And this is the part of me that likes to annoy Raphael.

Bayverse D, slurping from a juicebox: :)

Raphael: Well that's all fine, but can you show us the Donatello in charge of all that science genius stuff so he can show us a way out of here?

All Donatellos gathered around like a fairy circle: 👁️ 👁️

87 bros:

Donatello: Oh, they all do science. It wouldn't be fair to the other guys to give it to just one.

Raphael: Of course, that makes sense (hates his life rn)

ALSO guys guys I should probably wait to say this since I don't even have a draft yet akdjshaj. But if you've read this far I think you'll appreciate this: Donatello is going to sing My Way at karaoke night 💜

[spontaneousglitterbees]

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The paper has it spelled out like sunrise over a lake; she can’t help but look at it until she has to make herself look away. Her first ‘client’, the fellow student she’s meant to be shadowing for the week, the person she is tasked with protecting if she wants to pass this class after transferring in partway through the semester is none other than–

“Ooh, bad luck.”

(Part of the TAPP AU, also on Ao3)

Ouma’s voice squeaks out from beside her upper arm so suddenly she flinches.

“Oh please, Harukawa, don’t tell me I caught you off guard. That’s like, your entire thing, now!” he sounds so jovial, without a care in the world, but his chest heaves as though he also just shuddered down to the core.

“You did this.” She states it without room for uncertainty.

“Why the hell would I do that?” he flicks his hand toward the sheet of printer paper pinned to the corkboard, the one that has condemned them for the next one-hundred-sixty-eight hours. It’s up there for the whole school to see. “It’s not even my MO to hack this school’s ancient copy machine, or whatever, I’m out for a good time. Besides, I’d like to live, thanks much.”

Maki is entirely unimpressed. “It is precisely your MO to stomp on my nerves in every way you can,” she enunciates with each step forward.

His grip tightens around the handle of his cane, still smiling. His knuckles threaten to rip themselves to shreds.

“Actually,” a voice chimes in, stern but not unkind. “It makes perfect sense, does it not? You are both in Class 79, which ought to alleviate some of the initial awkwardness.”

Silver hair catching the artificial overhead light, teaching assistant and upperclassman Peko Pekoyama overshadows the pair from behind. “Besides, as the Ultimate…” her eyes narrow, incredulous. “... Supreme Leader, Ouma is going to need a security detail someday.”

Maki glares up at her for all of a split second before dutifully lowering her gaze. It's less that the Ultimate Swordsman is intimidating than that she's so... coldly supportive. The kind of person whose praise is lined with mist and whose fury is a downpour. It'd be a shame to disappoint her, especially over Kokichi, of all people.

"Oh, but Peko-peko-chan, don't you know? Maki and I have been sworn enemies since we were kids! You'd really let that mean ol' teacher pair me up with my nemesis?! That's so cruel!" Kokichi leans in on his cane for leverage, arms crossed in front of him as he acts out the phrase in big, encompassing gestures. That's a lie. But...

Unfortunately for both of them, it only seems to reassure Peko that the path forward is clear. "It'll be a fine challenge for the both of you, then. You’ll be able to focus on two objectives at once: gaining experience staying alert, and equal experience working with difficult clients.”

Kokichi scoffs in the background, of course, but it's hardly worth arguing. He tries to get in your head and stay there, after all. If anything, being ‘difficult’ is a point of pride for him. His eye still seems to twitch a little at the admission. It’s probably just the dry autumn air.

Maki, inventing new curses in her head and keeping them there, nods sagely. "Of course, Ms. Pekoyama. I won't let you down."

She looks over to her current mark.

It's going to be a long week.

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

The week starts off innocuous enough. The worst of it comes at the beginning of each day as Kokichi pulls his books out of his locker. Literature, World History, ... Calculus II? Each slams into the floor with a resounding thud, one after another.  Some of them won't even see use until near the end of the school day, but he insists she carry them now. Spiteful little shit.

Many of their general education classes are shared to begin with, fortunately, meaning the two of them simply have to walk between classes together for a while. It isn’t quite embarrassing as much as it is frustrating for Maki. Does he even really need a cane, or is it just a ploy to get the teacher’s sympathy? They saunter down the hallway in either case, uncaring of the actual time they arrive. Five minutes late, ten minutes, even; neither incurs a penalty, a bit of an affront to her own persistent punctuality. ‘This school is his’ indeed.

No. The real trouble starts brewing during their free periods.

"The autumn leaves are home to a variety of bug species," lectures Gonta, sitting cross-legged in the courtyard. Kokichi sits beside him, dredging through a pile of leaves; pick up, flip, sort, over and over. Maki remains stock-still and focused on defense. Peko could be hiding around any given corner, assisting a teacher lying in wait for an ambush just to make a point about vigilance. 

But it’s a bit hard to stay on edge when things are so… unremarkable. So normal. 

"As an example, early-emerging populations of Actias luna in North America lay eggs on the undersides of leaves to keep larvae and pupas safe during winter until the adults appear in March." Despite Gonta’s better efforts choosing a more palatable bug for discussion, neither Kokichi nor Maki seems to be paying actual attention. 

"Which has to be why the leaf piles make such a good crunch when you jump in'em, riiiiight?" Kokichi teases, crushing the pile of leaves he's sorted beneath the base of his palm. He throws his back into the motion with a sadistic smile. It breaks into the same mischievous laugh as usual soon after, nishishi~! 

Gonta, however, seems unalarmed; perhaps he sees the un-smashed pile, the ones with even just the potential to have 'stuff on'em'. Instead, he smiles. "That might be the beetles, they love hiding in leaves."

"Ewwww!" Kokichi wipes his hand on his pants, despite the distinct lack of bug entrails on them. "Great! Gonta, you can't just ruin fall like that! Now I'm gonna be thinking about nasty beetles when I just wanted to have some fun..." he makes a point to frown, but seeing no real reaction the expression disappears as quickly as it came. 

"I not– I'm not ruining fall, it's too hot out to be real fall. It's messing with the bugs’ hibernation cycles...."

Maki finds she's won a fourth consecutive mental game of tic-tac-toe with herself before she finally sighs. Would it be out of line to suggest going inside? Perhaps a more enclosed space will help her readjust to the objective. 

Before she can suggest such a thing, Kokichi beats her to it.

“Yeah, it’s waaaay too hot out for September, I’m beat. Harukawa-chan, can we go back inside now?” he doesn’t bother to pout, eyes going from half-lidded to three-quarters wide seeing the barely-contained irritation on Maki’s face. 

“Gladly.” She stands without hesitation, turning to Gonta. “Thank you for having us.”

“Of course, is only polite thing to do,” smiles Gonta. Kokichi is a touch intrigued.

“What are you thanking him for, I bet you weren’t even listening! You haven’t taken that scowl off your face all day.” He leans a bit to his left, accentuating the roll of his eyes.

“I knew that you wouldn’t.” Maki says simply, opening the cold glass door.

Kokichi is shocked, appalled he’d tell you, with a loud gasp! Then he shrugs a little. “Eh. I wasn’t bored, anyway.”

Gonta waves, cheerful as ever, as the door swings shut.

The foot of his cane practically skids across the terrazzo tile as Kokichi takes off down the hall.

“What’s got you in such a hurry?” Maki asks before she can think better of it; Ouma is still faster than she’d given him credit for.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Ultimate Assassin.” The reply comes quick and sharp, bitterness rising in his voice that hasn’t seen the light of day since well before the game ended.

Before she can ask ‘why now?’ or some such thing, as though there’s any logic behind what Ouma does in the first place, he’s looking at her expectantly from his perch just at the threshold of the main library doorway.

“Dunno about you, but I, for one, have homework. I’m looking for a book, silly, don’t you guys use those?” he shakes his head lightly, keeping the door open by leaning on it and waiting for her to go through. It takes a moment of the two staring at one another to determine who is going to relent; Maki walks a step inside as Kokichi beelines for the reading chairs.

Ah, the reading chairs. Only marginally more acceptable than the stiff, borderline crunchy upholstery of most of the furniture on campus. At least there’s no punishment for sitting on these. Surrounded by deep forest green carpets and a dim, subdued atmosphere one risks sinking into should they stay still for too long, the library is quiet. Starkly quiet. The sound of breathing itself seems to echo, not at all damped by the depth of archways and sub-sections of books and books upon books.

Kokichi looks idly up at the rafters, looking for something he must not find.

“What’s wrong?” Maki reluctantly asks, curiosity overpowering her better sense.

“It’s hot in here,” Ouma replies, his voice… uncharacteristically soft. It’s impossible to tell what emotion comes attached, if there is one at all.

“The air conditioning has been broken in this building all day, I hear.”

There is an awkward silence between them, an absolute vacuum of small-talk.

He takes a deep breath, only to look back over at Maki. “Welp. This place is huge, so. Might as well get crackin’, book’s not gonna find itself!” He smiles a little too wide for his face as he launches upright, looking over his shoulder and taking off into the canopy of books. “Be back in a bit!”

“Alright,” says Maki, striding over to meet him. “Where are we going first?”

Kokichi shakes his head. He’s sorely mistaken if he thinks it’ll be that easy to get rid of you. “Hmm, iunno. I’ll know it when I see it,” he chirps as he changes directions, taking a few dizzying turns before coming to a brief pause.

What is his problem? What does he get out of making this difficult for the both of you? Surely boredom can’t overtake the selfish want to do less work… yet, sure enough, he’s speed-walking away again.

Maki doesn’t need to look up to explain the sudden chill down her spine.

“Kiyo-chan! Fancy meetin’ you here,” Ouma laughs, stepping to the shelf opposite Korekiyo as Maki walks up to the two of them.

“Not exactly, Ouma, you know quite well I’ve been tasked with the maintenance of some of the anthropology department’s rarer books,” Kiyo shakes his head, adjusting his mask. “... No, I won’t be taking you to them. I was actually looking for a project on Minoan mythos in relation to pre-Hellenic…” he cuts himself off. 

Really, Maki thinks to herself, it’s hard to believe this awkward kid could have been the monster he once was. That’s the thing about monsters, though, isn’t it? In real life they don’t have horns or tails like the minotaur…. 

“Say. What are you visiting the library for? Your field is not precisely predicated on a large literary basis, is it?” 

“Kiyo-chaaaaan! No fair! Are you telling me I don’t look like I read? ‘Cuz I can read plenty, as long as it’s not BORING me to death!!” Kokichi leans on his cane, slightly swaying. “I like libraries. They’re like obstacle courses, and half the time nobody is even in them to get in the way!” he smiles. “But that’s a lie.”

“He’s looking for a book,” Maki chimes in, startling both Korekiyo and Kokichi back a few steps. 

“Oh, is that all? What kind of book are you looking for, Ouma? Certainly I could be of assistance.” Kiyo nods, possibly(?) smiling, and at the very least visibly trying to maintain a less standoffish posture.

“That won’t be–”

“Binary star formation,” the two phrases come in at the same time. Kokichi continues, “and the history of their discovery.” 

Kiyo stares at Kokichi for a moment, in (confusion? Disbelief? It’s difficult to tell, with so much of his face obscured and those piercing eyes ready to strike at any time…) before nodding. “Of course. I believe I recall where that one is, it was returned quite recently.”

Ouma stares idly into the distance for a split-second, an automaton re-calibrating on the fly. “Right. Duh, but I need it now, so.” 

Sure enough, Korekiyo is only away for a matter of minutes before returning with a single large tome. The book seems more focused on general astronomical phenomena, but must have a chapter or two dedicated to binary stars. Should have picked something more obscure, Maki huffs at the thought, if you really just wanted to cause trouble. Let me guess, that isn’t–

“That’s exactly it!” says Kokichi, who excitedly starts flipping through the pages. Korekiyo looks like he wants to scold him, be more careful, but restrains himself from doing so. Nonetheless, the two share a look; Kokichi suddenly feels like maybe he should slow down, lest unsavory things happen to his nerves. 

Just a feeling.

Things look, for once, to be going well again. Ouma is reading (or, at least, glaring at a page), freeing up Maki’s attention to better scope out the area.

… At least, until “Kiyo-chan? The text is so small, I can barely read a thing!”

Don’t get involved, don’t worry about it, Maki, you have a mission!

“Then why don’t you take it back to one of the reading areas? It’s certain to be brighter there.”  Korekiyo shrugs, back to looking at the shelf ahead.

“Can’t you read it to me, Kiyo-chan? Pleeeease, you have such a nice reading voice!”

Korekiyo stops, for a moment, glaring at Kokichi. “And that’s a lie, certainly.”

“What! You’re calling me a liar! Kiyo-chan, that’s so, s-so,,” the tears start to well up, if only slightly. Is he losing his touch with the waterworks? “Accurate, yeah, but not this time! If I didn’t tell the truth some of the time, it’d make the lies too obvious! And that’s no fun at all.”

“... Ah,” says Kiyo, uncertain of how to take a compliment.

“So?”

“Oh yes, right. Hmm. It can’t be that large of a diversion, surely…”

Such is how Korekiyo winds up over by the reading chairs, telling a dubiously-interested Kokichi about disk and turbulent fragmentations. “Where the instability and arbitrary motion cause a core to split off into multiple masses of gas and dust that collapse into independent protostars,” so the reading goes, “that are close enough to one another they become entangled in mutual orbit.” 

Maki can hardly say she’s particularly invested, even if it would be nice to have a better idea of what Kaito’s blathering on about half the time now that classes are in full swing. Still, something in her can’t help but hang on to this itch of unease, as though at any moment something will go wrong. She’s supposed to be watching Kokichi, but finds herself looking more at Kiyo than the surroundings. There is no danger there, anymore, though you’d have been more likely to get hurt than Ouma. But this feeling you can’t… no. That you refuse to name, this resentment, it takes residence in your bones and won’t let go. Is it because he’s been programmed as having been a killer? Aren’t you the very same? And when it really mattered, didn’t both of you decide to k–

The slightest sound makes Maki jump into action, fists at the ready to block an incoming blow, only. Huh. It seems it was just the weight of the book closing.

Kokichi sits up a little straighter, speaking a little louder (before, begrudgingly, quieting down, because this is a library). “Thank you, Kiyo-chan~ That would’ve been soooo boring to get through alone, you know? Nishishi, I’ll still be expecting your application for DICE one of these days! Best not disappoint,” he leans back in the chair, only to swing up to standing.

Korekiyo simply rolls his eyes, but there’s something undoubtedly fond in the gesture. If there weren’t, the fact would make itself known near-immediately; instead, Kiyo simply picks up the book to put it back on the shelf. “Is that all you needed, then?” 

Kokichi exaggerates a sigh. “Not by a longshot, but I think I left the rest in Miu’s lab,” he rolls his head back, momentarily looking at the spot where Maki has planted herself, arms crossed. “So I gotta run. Laters!”

As Kokichi is picking his cane back up (and staring at the foot for a moment, making sure he’s placed it on the correct side for now. Working on making the ruse more realistic, perhaps, Maki posits, though she dares not say such a thing aloud), Maki nods in acknowledgement of Kiyo. 

After an awkward pause, Kiyo nods back. “Miss Harukawa.”  

But the pair are off again, out of the library and en-route to Miu’s lab.

The silence between the two of them is thick. Neither is perturbed by the light traffic traveling in either direction down the hall, staying steps apart but not quite identifiable as a ‘group’. Much remains unsaid between the two. Neither dares disrupt the precarious balance maintaining a stoic facade, and the awkward silence stays.

At least, while only in the company of one another.

“Hey!” Kokichi yells, swinging open the door to Miu’s lab with reckless abandon, startling a very focused Chihiro and Kazuichi sitting at the far end of a long table. “Where’s that boisterous blonde–”

“That is the best most bodacious boisterous blonde bitch to you, ‘ya shitstain.” Miu looks up from her workbench, approaching the opposite side of the long table with a haughty laugh. 

“Mm, nope. Too wordy. Might mistake you for a nerd,” he teases, pointing up and down at a Miu dressed in her lab coat and covered from goggles to toe in smears of motor oil.

“Oh please, haven’t you figured out yet that I’m beauty and a brain?”

“And a nerd, yeah, I got that.”

The pair bicker like old friends, though it’s only recently they’ve had a chance to talk over their time in the killing game. Perhaps it’s easier for them to act like it never happened; it’d be hypocritical of Maki to judge.

Although…

“So you’ll concede she’s beautiful?” Maki tugs on her hair, wrapping it around her finger with a smirk. One sentence sparks a good five minutes of playful arguing, nuh-uh yuh-uh, and mild shoulder-punching. In terms of the assignment, it’s permissible, but on thin ice.

The perimeter seems clear in here, anyway, only the five of them. Chihiro and Kazuichi seem too engrossed in whatever project they’re working on to bat an eye at the two’s banter, and there’s no good angle for an ambush. Besides, it’d be irresponsible to initiate a confrontation with so many metal scraps and machines around. Still, she has to remain on alert.

… Though she can’t help but listen when she hears Miu launch into a small tirade: “What I’m always working on, dumbass, and a couple things besides. Picture this: you’re me, and you’re ‘getting a regular checkup’ because you’re ‘recovering from a traumatic experience’ and all that junk. And I’m sitting there, wasting valuable workable time between classes, just for them to call me up to do, like, the same three tests they always do? And I think to myself, man, wouldn’t it be genius if you could just step into a booth, or a pod, or something like that when you get there, and it does all of that preliminary stuff on you at once so you can just be done with it already? And this was like, two? Days ago? So you know I have a prototype.”

Kokichi looks nonplussed, to say the least.

“Haven’t you been working on anything less… totally mundane, than that? Maybe like a shrink ray, or a portal device or a body-swapper, or something exciting?”

“Well, you know I’m building an android, but we all know how you feel about that.”

“I do not need the list of features you’re giving that thing. Nobody, needs the list of features you’re giving that thing.”

“W-W, h-hey! I’m not gonna be weird about it,” Miu pouts, voice getting soft for a moment. “That’s like, totally crossing a line…” only to pick back up. “Nah, I’m not gonna load in any kinky shit until I can ask him about it!”

“Is that finally an answer to the question I’ve been asking for like three months now? We’re going with ‘robots only have dicks upon request?’”

Maybe it’s better to stop listening, actually. Not that Maki is given the choice.

“Point is, I still need a test subject! Why not you, while you’re right here? Every experiment we’ve run so far has been demonstrably fine, quit your worry-warting already ‘ya buzzkill.” Miu scoffs, rolling out a wardrobe-sized booth on a dolly.

“But Iruma-channnn,”  Kokichi whines. His eye twitches, scanning the new device up and down, only more resolute that “there’s no way I’m gonna go in there unless it’s got AC!”

“That can be arranged,” says Miu, writing at the bottom of a spare paper. “Now, get over here so we can get this show on the road!” 

“Nnnnn can’t make me.”

“Come on.”

“Nah.”

“It’ll be fine!”

“For you, maybe.”

“You know what? Fine. Hey Maki!” Miu calls, waving to where Maki is stationed around the corner. “C’mon, this’ll only take, like, two minutes, you in?”

Great. You’ve been Acknowledged.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Maki starts to stammer, but Kokichi has suddenly lit up.

“Ooh! Do it, do it Maki!”

“I really don’t think I should distract from–”

Suddenly, both Miu and Kokichi are peering over the table, all but pounding their fists against the wood as they chant “Do it, do it!”

If anything, their exuberance makes her want to give in less, but the coast is clear, for now… Chihiro gives Maki a withering look. Doesn’t seem like they’ll run out of steam any time soon. 

“... Fine.”

Kokichi and Miu turn to one another and high-five, cheering in unison. 

“Great,” Miu breezes by, opening an entrance to the box. “Come on in.”

Maki is immediately enveloped in what at first looks like a photo booth but, upon examination, has too many blinking lights and moving parts to be one. In lieu of a screen, a plexiglass barrier shows off the dim reflections of the moving mechanics, leaving the subject to back up into position. A thermometer pops out of the front panel at the same time as a blood pressure cuff restrains her left arm, a bar descending to the top of her head to record her height. Every metric is recorded on a tiny screen on the outside of the chamber.

Experiment: success. The device certainly does its job. Whether it’s been done well is questionable, but it certainly has been done.

Meanwhile, Kokichi has been lounging in quite possibly the single Good Chair in the entirety of Hope’s Peak, talking to Miu about something indistinct. By the time Maki walks out of the machine a matter of minutes has passed.

It feels like it’s been hours. 

And Maki is not happy.

“Ouma? I need to talk to you.”

“Can’t it wait? I sorta–”

“Now. Ouma.”

Kokichi keeps his head down, but follows Maki’s footsteps.

“We’re leaving. Goodbye, Miu. Hope you got your data.” Maki states, perfectly deadpan. She turns, practically dragging Ouma by the wrist.

“Harukawa, I’m sorry i–”

“That’s a lie,” Maki helpfully completes the thought, marching out into the hallway. “You’ve been lying all day, making up any excuse you can to be as distracting as possible just waiting for me to screw up. But it isn’t going to work. We are going, to your room, and you will stay there, and it will be quiet. Do you understand?”

Kokichi stops walking. He does not pull away from her hand any further than the natural distance that comes as he stops, glaring up at her with an oddly-canted eye. 

“You think you can ground me, Child-Caregiver? All I want is to hang out with my friends, and get to do it at a decent goddamn hour, and that’s SO bad? Aww, am I inconveniencing you? What would you rather be out doing. Huh? Would you rather be hunting me down for sport–”

Maki snaps out of her shock, shaking her head. “UGH! Not everything is always about YOU, you know!” She storms a few steps ahead.

“Well excuse me if you aren’t exactly open about your hobbies,” Kokichi scoffs, jogging up a few more stumbling steps to meet her. “If you insist on making our little forced-bonding-time absolutely miserable, I guess, be my fucking guest.”

“It’s not about fun, it’s about salvaging the entirety of this semester! Out of all of us, you should understand that!”

“Oh, so there is an ‘us’! I thought it a mere myth on the breeze, oh please, Harukawa, regale me with tales of how our miserable myriad of troubled teens that calls itself a class constitutes any kind of Unit,” he coughs on the end, running out of breath. A bit of spit drips from the corner of his mouth, hastily wiped away by a hand before he makes a big swinging gesture with his cane. 

This, it turns out, is a mistake.

First, his cane clatters to the floor. In and of itself, this isn’t surprising; at least it didn’t go through a window or otherwise launch across the hall, instead dropping down at Kokichi’s side.

Then Kokichi falls down with it.

He nearly faceplants, the only buffer coming in the form of outstretched arms in front of him that immediately buckle. 

Maki stifles half of a laugh. That’s what your overly-theatrical-ass gets when you try to act larger than life itself. She holds out a hand to help him back up. Frustrated as she may be, she isn’t cruel.

… But he doesn’t take it.

In fact, Kokichi doesn’t seem to be moving much at all.

Thinking fast, she immediately turns him onto his side in a recovery position. Still breathing– heavily, at that, as it’s taking up the majority of his focus just to do that much. It’s a full minute before he starts trying to talk. 

“Mmaki’alls sumiki,” is about all he can say, saliva rolling down his face, eyes glassy. One eye moves slower than the other as he tries to look up at her in that disturbingly blank way of his.

He says it again.

She doesn’t know what to do.

In for four, hold for four, out for four.

You can’t react this way to a little surprise. Cool heads prevail, Maki, you know this.

She feels a hand on her shoulder.

“Maki? Thank goodness I was following you. Listen, both of you, I’ve called my classmate Mikan. She is a nurse. What I need you to do, Maki, is help me pick him up. Ouma, just keep breathing…” Peko Pekoyama commands, picking up the cane to carry with her bag as she prepares to pick up Kokichi.

There’s an upset indignant note from him, an ‘uh, no shit,’ that pierces through the existential terror. That’s a good sign. That means not every scrap of consciousness needs to be dedicated just to staying alive. “I ‘ust, ‘eed’an ninit,” he tries to speak again, getting steadily more exasperated with himself. Even so, he does not cry.

No matter how he may want to, he does not cry.

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

Kokichi Ouma finds himself in a hospital room yet again. Maki Harukawa, however, finally finds herself at liberty to have him out of sight as she leans against the closed door.

Now you can panic.

“Maki?” Peko asks, tilting Maki’s chin up to meet her gaze.

Nevermind.

“You did the right thing, initially. Okay? You put him in a position where he could breathe, which is probably the most important thing you could have done.”

Maki stammers, tugging on her hair with an iron grip. “I did not do the right thing, initially. That’s the problem,” she admits, shaking her head. It’s difficult to stifle the ghost of tears blocking out her vision.

“Hm? What do you mean?” Peko asks, guiding Maki over to sit in a pair of chairs beside one of the many windows on this floor. 

No matter how hard she tries to stop them, once they start the words won’t stop flowing. “I mean that it’s my fault he’s like this!”

“... Maki, I saw it, it was an accide–”

“In the game, I shot him. Twice. With laced bolts, he. He just took Kaito, and was planning, s-something, and we were all so scared and I thought he was going to kill him so I covered them in strike-nine, and I shot him. Twice! And I went for a third…”

Peko is taken aback for a moment. Class 79 tends not to talk about their experiences in the simulation, so to hear things like shot and kill only confirm every terrible rumor she’s heard about the entire debacle. She blinks, once, then twice.

“Maki, I. I had no idea.”

Maki pulls on her hair, looping it around her whole hand and it still isn’t enough. “I know, I know, I’m an assassin, Ms. Pekoyama, and he’s the only mark I’ve ever actually killed myself.”

Peko is loath to let the silence spread between the two of them, yet she isn’t sure of what to say. Still, she says anyway: “I am. So sorry, that happened between you two. I assure you, I did not have an understanding of this. History, before I suggested you be paired together.”

“A-and now, now it’s my fault he collapsed, because whatever is wrong with him started because I poisoned him, because I’m a heartless, murder machine a-and,,” Maki hiccups, a hand over her face. She hasn’t even gotten this far into the story with her therapist, yet she sees enough of herself in Peko to entrust her with this secret.

“... I know what it is like to live with regret.” Peko offers. “It is never easy to choose one life over another. I don’t think that it should be, either. You should never have had to make that choice, but you did, and you made it as well as anyone could. You wanted to defend your friends, Maki, and you did. You cannot agonize about how things might have been after the fact if you want to move forward.”

Maki just stares at her hands, and cannot scrub away the illusion they are bright, bold magenta.

“... Maki?”

But Maki is far down the hall, watching Kaito close the door to that damn hospital room, because he’s betrayed me, again. 

“... I hated him.” She takes a deep breath, and lets the words swish around in her mouth for a moment before spitting them back out: “I hated him. I wanted him to suffer. He was irritating, and a threat, and I didn’t– I don’t understand him, and I wanted him to get away from me and everyone I care about.” Deep breath in. “So I shot him, with a crossbow, and I laced the bolts with the slowest-acting poison I could find, so he wouldn’t know peace the same way the rest of us hadn’t.”

“Ah,” says Peko, surprised but without any tone of judgment. After all, it is Peko’s turn to think, wouldn’t that be hypocritical? “Multiple things can be true at once, you know. Just because some part of you wanted vengeance does not overwrite your intentions to defend. I’ve only ever known you to want to protect the innocent, Maki, and even if you haven’t always been that person, that is the kind of person you are becoming. Every last one of you was in significant distress at that time, and that includes you. You shouldn’t let self-hatred cloud your perception.”

Maki nods ever-so-slightly. 

“What you did was. Excessive, yes, and you should not have done it. But it is in the past now, Maki. The fact that you feel remorse for it proves you aren’t ‘heartless’. You made a poor decision, with a high price. All that can be done for it now is to atone in ways you can. Sometimes, remembrance is all you can offer. But you,” Peko points at the flower on Maki’s uniform, “have a unique gift in all of this. Ouma is still alive now. In this life, you can still make amends.”

Maki sniffs, then holds her breath. In for three, hold for five, hold for four, hold forever… the tears just won’t slow. “It was cruel. I, was cruel, I don’t. I don’t want to be that way, not even to him. I-I want to. Amends, I want to,”

Peko smiles. She takes both of Maki’s hands into her own. “Then you will. You’ve already started, after all.”

The more Maki thinks of it, this whole shadowing experience has shown off facets of Ouma’s personality she hadn’t seen before. He does not like bugs, but still tolerates them out of care for his friendship with Gonta. He could have been cruel and smashed all the leaves, but he picked out any that even may have had eggs on them. Kokichi could have been legitimately cruel, yet he wasn’t. Kiyo, quiet as he is these days, is willing to accept him because Kokichi has accepted him in return. Even Miu, after she tried to bash in his skull with a hammer, has come around to not just tolerating his presence, but coming to enjoy it. Enough to make a machine for the medical wing since he, her friend, is in and out of the hospital so often… so he’s claimed.

Maki can only reconcile now that at least some, possibly all of those claims of chronic pain and complications are very real. Part of her knew this all along, but didn’t want to believe it; it’s easier, after all, to lie to yourself. Hadn’t Kokichi said something to that effect, so long ago?

Despite how irritating he is, despite his best attempts to get under her skin, despite being Kokichi Ouma, he’s… admittedly, a decent friend when it counts. And, perhaps, someday they can be friends as well.

“I still. It. It’s so stupid,” she shakes her head. “I-I better not…”

“But you want to say it, right?” Peko nods.

“I still feel. Jealous? Kaito can do what he wants, of course, but ever since the simulation it’s felt like our trio with Shuichi is… different. Like he’s choosing Kokichi over us.” Over me, she does not say. Peko can see it in her watery eyes.

“That, I’ve certainly understood,” Peko laughs. “Sometimes the person you admire can be… short-sighted, maybe. But your admiration is your own, you know. You have to own it, and, if they don’t ultimately feel the same way…” She looks off into the distance. Imagining someone, no doubt.

“... Right. Right, thank you Ms. Pekoyama.”

“Just Peko is fine, Maki.”

“Thank you, Peko.”

“Of course.”

“... But maybe they do feel the same way. You. Never know until you ask, right?”

Peko snaps back to attention. “I… suppose.” 

“It’s just a matter of gathering the inner strength to ask, whether you like the answer or not. … I think you should,” Maki shrugs, drying her tears. “And maybe I should too.”

“Perhaps,” says Peko, unshaken as ever, until… she smiles, conspiratorially. “I will if you will.”

“Alright,” laughs Maki. “Deal. But I have someone I have to address first.”

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

Meanwhile, Kaito slowly closes the door to the hospital room. The cool air hits him almost immediately upon entering; the air conditioning must be turned up significantly higher than in the rest of the building. It’s a different room, this time; the slightly different decor is disorienting for a moment, while he allows it to be. There’s something far more important than misplaced flowers and chairs and abstract paintings at its center, though.

“Kokichi?”

There’s a disgruntled sigh from the hospital bed, and an equally disgruntled Kokichi hooked up to not-even-a-fourth-of the equipment he was last time, to Kaito’s knowledge, he actually had to stay here.

“‘eah. Yeah, ‘s me.” He even sounds tired, still slurring words together a touch at this point.

Kaito takes his left hand, the dominant side. The uninjured one.

Kokichi can barely curl his fingers around Kaito’s, for now.

“Like the worst case’a TMJ you ever had,” he tries to smile, but finds the effort fruitless to try. Out of everyone, Kaito won’t mind if you don’t pretend for him. He already knows what you are. “‘Cept it’s everywhere. Mostly.” 

“Maybe you shouldn’t be talking so much–”

“Tsumiki-chan said, as long as I focus on breathing, I can do what I want. Mostly wanna not-do-things, though. Boring. What’d you do today?”

“You’re asking me?” Kaito laughs, but humors the thought. “Class, mostly. Went out to train with Shuichi, he’s actually coming along pretty well. Still has trouble keeping up with me in the real world, though, lung capacity and all. Been missing Maki, though. She’s really trying her hardest for this class, you know, she’s even talking to that Peko girl right now.”

Kokichi looks away, both eyes now in-sync as he tries to look to the tile floor. “Yeah. She’s still Harukawa, alright.”

Probably not a great time to talk about it, it dawns on Kaito just a little too late.

“What even happened, man, can I ask that? Figure I may as well instead’a dancing around it,” Kaito says, just to banish the thought. To get it out of the way.

Kokichi laughs a little under his breath. It hurts, but there’s a degree to which he can’t help it. “Ask’er yourself.”

Kaito is confused for all of a moment before looking around the–

“Ah! I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you! I-I just thought I could answer any q-questions, so Ouma doesn’t have to-o…” Mikan Tsumiki, Ultimate Nervous Wreck, holds her clipboard to her chest.

Kaito is beside himself, unsure of how to get her to calm back down. Kokichi’s hand squeezes his a little tighter. Give her a moment.

“R-Right, sorry, you were wondering about his condition, right? Ouma’s, I mean. T-There’s good news! And. Bad news, which we’ve already talked about before you arrived, or. I did most of the talking because he’s having a hard time at the moment, but you knew that– Bad news we’ve already talked about, and good news.” Mikan looks up at Kaito expectantly, straining a smile. 

“... Do you want me to pick one? Because I’m sure whatever the bad news is won’t look so bad compared to the good,” Kaito nods, resolute.

“Oh yeah, s-s. Sorry. Yeah. SO the good news is this is just a flare-up, probably caused by a mix of stress and the heat outside. He’s been doing a lot better in this building since we have a backup generator for our climate control,” she continues. “But the bad news is that if he doesn’t take care of his condition, he could end up in a full-blown crisis, mister,” a darkness casts over her eyes “and if you do you won’t be able to breathe on your own, then it’s back on a ventilator for up to weeks at a time, and I know how much you hate that.” She picks her head up. “But, hopefully it won’t come to that!”

… It’s a lot to take in at once.

“What. Exactly, is his condition? How could he deteriorate so suddenly?” Kaito asks despite Kokichi’s half-hearted protest.

“It wasn’t sudden. I’ve been feeling it all day… it just got too bad to deal with. That’s all.” Mikan looks over to Kokichi before he relents and nods. “Someone else should know.”

“It seems to be an autoimmune disorder caused by the program. Not one that we’ve seen before, but one that’s kind of unique because of how it happened. The device ‘taught’ his immune system to attack danger that wasn’t physically there, so it started attacking what was there instead. It seems to include some of the signals sent between muscle groups to get them to move, leading to muscle weakness that varies in severity. This would be a moderate exacerbation, I think, so it really could be much worse!”

Mikan is still working on her bedside manner. Kokichi huffs a little, amused, while Kaito is still processing.

“Is. Is it ever going to stop?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” Mikan sighs, a little shake of her head. The same thing Kaito had been told about his lungs. “It’s impossible for us to know, but don’t count on it.”

“So… So what can we do? There has to be some kind of training we can do to make it a little less severe, right?” The impossible is always possible, is it not?

“Well. Physical therapy might help as part of the treatment, but it’s most important he’s taking his meds regularly and getting enough sleep,” she says. “But it’s pretty near impossible to enforce.”

Kaito looks over at Kokichi for a moment, then back to Mikan. 

“Maybe, on his own. What if he had a roommate? Then we’d share responsibility.”

“You’re kidding me,” Ouma says, doing his best to sit up a little. It’s more effort than it’s worth, but that does not stop him from trying.

“It’s that, or have you check in even more regularly than you already do. Even if I have to fish you out of the dorms,” Mikan shakes her head, tsk-tsk-tsk. “It’s not a bad idea. I’ll take it up with Administration. Unless you’d rather have an aide following you around…?”

“NO. ‘m good. It’s good. Could be way worse…”

“And I’ll see if I can get you an air conditioner in your room? It is very literally medically necessary.”

“Yessss,” Ouma seems happy enough, and settles down. It’s distinctly possible he’s too tired to put up much more protest, and takes the opportunity to start to nod off.

Kaito smiles fondly, and shakes his head.

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

Several hours later, Kokichi wakes up to the creaking of his door. He tenses, finding that he can, even if it’d be too much to disengage himself from ensnaring wires and monitors. He doesn’t bother. A moment later, it’s clear enough who it is.

“... Hello, Ouma.”

“Harukawa.”

Kokichi stares upward, idly counting holes in the ceiling tile.

The silence is deafening.

“I’m sorry,” Maki starts, a meandering sentence unto itself that unravels slowly from her tongue. 

Too slowly, for Kokichi. “Yeah, alright. For what?”

“Take your pick.” The courage she’s built up is thrown to the wind as she strives to just say it,  or at least say something.

“Sure. Forgiven. Whatever. Now, what’s it you want?”

“... That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Ooh, she catches on! Maki Harukawa, how do you do it,” he laughs. It’s a strangled sound. 

“Cut it out, Kokichi, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about what happened today. I’m sorry about pushing you too far–”

“You didn’t push me too far.” he says, but it sounds… hollow. Sincere, insincere, it doesn’t seem to matter; there’s no substance to it, but it’s also packed with double-triple meanings and spite.

“I’m sorry anyway,” Maki says. 

This appears to appease him, if just for a minute.

“I’m sorry about pushing you around, and for blaming you for my own inability to properly focus.” she sighs. “… In my defense, you don’t make it easy, but. That’s not the point. The point is, I should not have done that. I got angry, and when I get angry sometimes I act rashly. So I’m sorry.”

There’s something bigger to that statement, of course. Something he cannot help but respond to with a brutal truth:

“I don’t know if I can forgive you. I want to stop being scared of you, but it’s not. Suddenly okay again.” He turns his head, half-muttering. “I’m not sure I’ll ever really be ‘okay’ again….”

The silence returns.

“... That’s. That’s okay. I mean, if you don’t. You don’t, have to. Respect is earned, and so… so is forgiveness, I think. I hope I can earn that in your eyes.”

“... Alright,” says Kokichi. “Fair enough.”

“See you around,” Maki shrugs, halfway to closing the door.

“And Maki?”

“Yeah?” she pauses.

“Thanks.”

[foxesfantasys]

Double Trouble AU: Still a C student

Life after Danny’s portal accident was anything but normal, that being said there were no problems between Fenton and Phantom. Rather the trouble came with everyone else.

Sam and Tucker were pretty freaked for a while after. It got a bit better in time but Phantom can still see they feel more comfortable around Fenton than with him. As for Jazz and their parents? Well of course Danny decided that they couldn’t tell their parents about this development, Maddie and Jack being as ghost crazed as they are, and who knows how Jazz would react to the news that he technically died.

It was easy to keep Phantom hidden from their family with his invisibility but that doesn’t mean it’s all smooth sailing. Jazz is always more preoccupied with scolding their parents to really notice anything amiss with her little brothers brother, and so far their parents have been dismissing their tech reacting to their son as software bugs.

Despite all that, Fenton can’t help but pity his ghost every time they are unfortunate enough to witness a demonstration of their parents newest inventions. He and Phantom are separate, their experiences are their own unless they choose to share it with each other, but they are still one person, still Danny. It’s clear in the way that Fenton can feel prickles of terror not his own each time their parents talk about catching a ghost. Clear in the contented warmth that gathers in his chest when it’s just he and Phantom in their room after a long day. Even in the pangs of frustration and confusion that ripple in his head when they try to work through their homework.

Phantom is ok. It’s fine that their parents would possibly end him on sight, or worse. It’s fine. Really. He’s completely fine. He knows that Fenton wouldn’t let anything happen to him, that he’s safe from their parents so long as they stay close. Fenton always does his best to reassure him when their parents get a bit too close for comfort, always makes sure he knows he’s safe, he really appreciates that. And it’s not like it’s all bad staying in the Fenton household as a ghost!

Now that there’s two Danny’s their chores get done in half the time, they even split it evenly between the two of them. Phantom does the chores that his powers make significantly easier and Fenton does the chores that were already pretty simple and easy to do. The only exception to this is when it comes to lab-related chores, which Fenton absolutely refuses to let Phantom do.

“It’s not safe with all their junk laying around.” Fenton had reasoned when his ghost insisted he could help.

It made the ghost huff in offence and cross his arms like a petulant child as he float there. “Yeah that’s exactly why I should be the one to do it!” Phantom argued, “I’m already dead, it makes way more sense that I be the one to deal with the dangerous stuff!”

But the human boy wouldn’t relent, insisting that he handle anything involving the lab filled to the brim with ghost hunting equipment. It’s the closest the Danny’s have ever been to a fight, but fortunately it never reached that stage. Neither of them wanted to figure out how to explain something like that to Sam and Tucker when they inevitably noticed something was up with their friend. Both versions of him.

So with two Danny’s on the case chores became way easier, and so did most things. Education was not one of those things. You know that saying, two heads are better than one? Well Danny does and it turns out it’s a complete lie! Ok, maybe not a complete lie. But still very misleading!

Considering there was two of them, Fenton and Phantom thought for sure their grades would get way higher, after all there’s two of them now, double the focus! Literally two heads! Yeah, no. As it happens that is not how things went. If anything Fenton would argue that their focus is even worse now and they’re lucky that they are still getting Cs.

Sam seemed to find their dismay at the revelation quite amusing. In hindsight it does make more sense that splitting one person into two would half their attention span rather than double it, but the Danny’s agree to keep that between them. No way were they gonna give the goth girl the satisfaction of being right.

Even though it didn’t seem to make much difference either way Fenton and Phantom still worked together on every test and stack of homework that got sent their way. “It’s just more fun that way,” they had answered in unison when Tucker had asked.

“Even if it’s not improving my grades, it doesn’t suck as much when I’ve got a partner,” Fenton explained when they only received a confused expression in return.

Phantom nods along with his human half in full agreement. “Sometimes it’s even kinda fun!” He adds with glee.

Both their friends share a confused look but Danny doesn’t mind, his friends don’t get it but they don’t expect them to. He thinks maybe this is something you can only understand through experience.

Danny is still a C student, but who cares about a letter anyway? He has something far better.

So chores are way easier and school work still sucks. Being separated like they are might not be helping their grades, but it has provided an easy way to get back at a certain jock.

It wasn’t exactly a secret that Danny had been in an accident involving some of his parents tech, so naturally all of Casper High knew. Amity Park isn’t exactly a big place, news travels fast, especially when it involves the Fentons and a hospital trip. Most of the A-listers took some kind of pity on Fenton because of this, everyone in fact. Everyone except Dash.

The news of the Fenton accident didn’t deter the bully at all.

Everyday Dash would corner Fenton in one hallway or another and take out some frustrations on the boy, and usually this would be all, Danny helpless to stop the daily harassment and abuse without incurring further problems. But now he has Phantom with him.

So now every time Dash try’s to corner Fenton, malice and violence on his mind, his laces might mysteriously get tied together. He might trip and land on his face. He might be chased down the hall by the floating football he had been carrying only a moment before. He might suddenly need a belt.

The different ways Phantom drove away the bully always managed to get a chuckle from Fenton, and the decrease in bruising was very appreciated.

It also inspired Fenton and Phantom to try pranking, much to the displeasure of their victims. As it turned out having two people working on it, one being a ghost, made the whole pranking thing a bit too easy.

How do you avoid an invisible pie? Sure it’s suspicious that Danny suddenly wants you to show him some of your psychology books, but the door is locked so how could there be a bucket of water ready to be tipped over your head? Surely you’re just imagining that plant moving, you must’ve forgot to pick it up before, Danny isn’t close enough to have moved it and there’s nobody else around.

Needless to say nobody was pleased with Danny’s new found love for practical jokes. But boy did the two sets of giggles that their jokes always caused give them reason to tolerate it.

It seemed like there were no downsides to this situation! Fenton got to keep living his life, maybe even better than they did before, and Phantom got to keep being Danny, as well as taking some long overdue revenge when necessary.

Everything seemed so much better now. Danny was happy, both of them were happy.

They’re still a C student, but they’re happy and that’s what matters.

[2309analysis]

HEADCANON/ANALYSIS: So, y’know how in mostly every version, Donnie is scrawnier than the rest? Kinda aligning up with Mikey, too? I think most of that kinda comes from the lack of physique he really holds. As in, his muscle mass, and, ooh, this really kinda might be tough to put into words… he’s the tallest, but clearly the less likely to punch his way through a war zone without being hurt. Reckon, alone, and just with bare fists. Due to his height and lack of muscle; he comes out as scrawny, and easier to handle than the other three. Kinda putting Donnie permanently at a disadvantage, and leaving it up to his skills and abilities to shine through for him.

Which really explains his 2018 (mostly) inferiority complex. Especially (back to 2012) when Karai points out his scrawniness and he defensively replies “hey, I’m not scrawny!” Clearly implying, he knows, and he’s obviously a tad insecure about it. Most likely why, he always aiming to impress his brothers with his inventions, so they probably won’t feel like he’ll be useless to them. Obviously due to the fact, he’s the brains, he fixes things, he’s the one to rely on when technology is the enemy.

Although, I think that fuels his ‘ego,’ but a huge inferiority complex, and how agile his flexibility is. If he can’t hurt, he can dodge and find other ways to make use of his fighting. While, his weapon is pretty symbolic to that fact, that he just knows he can’t and won’t do near the damage his brothers, (especially Leo & Raph), he can at least be useful when it comes to ingenuity. Hence, the Bo Staff being the weapon of choice and tactical advantages.

He’s also clearly more on the defensive end of fights; making sure that he doesn’t lose ground, keeping his front open like Raph and Mikey are forced to. Like Leo, he’s quick, and has most advantages when it does come to tactics, perseverance, ingenuity, and, most of the time, field. He can easily, and I mean, just easily, use the staff for higher grounding, fling it around others to knock them off of their feet, and send a Gatling of attacks thrown at the head with a wooden (or uranium (I think?)) stick! Kinda referencing when 2012 first fought Shredder, and Donnie basically got knocked in the head, 5+ times by his own weapon. (It humors me to this day)

Unironically, proving the concept of his inferiority complex on the field. (Lowkey don’t even get me started on how in the 2020 RotTMNT film they sorta imply he’s even physically falling behind Mikey). He almost has to reply on his tech to even, well, keep up, and make sure that if he can’t fight, he’s not useless, completely. It also adds onto the stress, and extreme pressure, he’s also the only one who can do most of the high staked missions and routes. Which, supports the popular headcanon, and I’m stealing it just for this glorious purpose of the headcanon, he barely ever sleeps. Like, in a week, he can coherently sleep for barely two nights, if two, at all!

In short, I also don’t think, no matter how hard or much he does train; he’ll ever be had buff as his brothers. I also don’t necessarily think he wants to, either, he’s definitely the one who’d slack off any chance he gets just to work on other things, that are “to more importance.” (Mf definitely says that as an excuse to Raph or Leo because he’s so petty, and I love him). Besides, he’d definitely find training just as boring, and gets most frustrated with the reasons his brothers excuse him from his room to train. If it’s Splints, he’s trap is shut, but in his head, the training is pointless, and if they want more battle experience and tactical advantages; fuck around and find out. (Basically go fight the baddies yourselves, and learn their movesets). At least, that’s his train of thought for battles, (especially first-times). Most of the reasons he finds it pointless, is because he feels he doesn’t grow from it. Sure, he’s tough, and strong, but not invincible or powerful like his brothers.

This is so late and repressed I just ended forgetting to post it. Yippee

[age-of-moonknight]

Hi! It's me again.

In light of the upcoming Ultimate Black Panther 2024 coming out in Feb, "In the wake of Ultimate Invasion", in which Khonshu and Ra are doing things and then are the bad guys.... I thought it a good theme to explore Moon Knight in alternate universes. ....To which I actually know very little about. But I bet you know stuff!

I've seen Moon Knight explored in things like Arachknight (love that outfit) and alternate timelines where he's imagined in different outfits, but what about in actual Marvel time lines like the Ultimate universe or 2099 (which he is also going to be featured in briefly).

How much has he shown up in those lines and can they even be called Moon Knight or just some guys in a Moon outfit?

Thank you so much for sending this my way, because oh ho ho this is something I'm so excited to answer! :D You hit the nail on the head though in regard to how "Moon Knight" is only sometimes our beloved system of Jake, Marc, and Steven and other times it's more of a title. Interestingly, I've noticed anecdotally that many non-616 continuities choose to invent an entirely new character as opposed to doing an alternate interpretation of our favorite guy. A majority of the time, however, they still maintain key facets of the Moon Knight mantle (devotion to Khonshu, for example, being prevalent). I'll break down the major ones (and some of my favorites) under the cut, because there are some really great ones imo. :D

Ultimates (Earth-1610)

I started here not only because you mentioned it specifically, but also because it's the non-616 continuity with the most Moon Knight material and it's possibly the closest parallel to 616's Moon Knight.

Ultimates Moon Knight appears in Ultimate Spider-Man (Vol. 1/2000), #79-80, #82-85, #107-110 and Ultimate Spider-Man Annual (Vol. 1/2006), #2.

He also makes some cameos in the Ultimate Fantastic Four (Vol. 1/2004), #52-53, Ultimate Origins (Vol. 1/2008), #5, and Cataclysm: The Ultimates' Last Stand (Vol. 1/2014), #5.

Sometimes I just think about this dude, because he's very recognizable as an analogue for 616!Marc Spector, but there are some major differences that receive frustratingly little expansion due to him only being a secondary character guest-appearing in a Spider-Man comic. One difference right off the bat is that it seems in this iteration the Marc and Steven identities are swapped, with Marc being the debonair millionaire frequently used as a cover identity and Steven as the scruffy operator.

[Ultimate Spider-Man (Vol. 1/2000), #83.]

The other big change, in my opinion at least, appears to be an attempt at more purposefully incorporating in and acknowledging the system's DID, whereas 616 pretty notoriously meandered its way through "nah, they're just cover identities" to "he contracted 'multiple identities' after doing those cover identities Too Hard" (???? Yike?) to finally landing on something a bit more understanding and respectful. The success of 1610's attempt at mental health representation probably depends upon your opinion on Brian Michael Bendis as a writer. An honest attempt was made, but it's definitely not free of the now very dated term "multiple identity disorder" or of stereotypes, with one headmate being a little girl and the whole system being threatened by an encroaching "evil" alter developed as a cover identity (which happens to be "Ronin," another wild little element of this universe) and subsequently going off the rails.

[Ultimate Spider-Man (Vol. 1/2000), #108.]

Markedly, I don't recall catching a reference to Khonshu during my read-through of these comics, which is inline with Ultimates' more "grounded" approach to characters, ig. In any case, almost all of 1610!Moon Knight's background is jampacked into a single panel (that consequently frustrates me to no end hahaha):

[Ultimate Spider-Man (Vol. 1/2000), #108.]

While some of this makes sense for Ultimates' whole deal of updating characters (Gulf War vet and Navy SEAL being more relevant to the 2000's than the very 70's background of globe-trotting mercenary selling his services to any insurgency that will pay,,,,although I shall keep my opinions on SEALs to myself asldkfij), from what I recall, however, they NEVER bring up the fact that this guy is a failed super soldier ever again? Nor the Roxxon connection??? But he (or rather Ronin) does drive a bus into Peter Parker's high school, gets domed by Kingpin's goons, survives (naturally), and is quite helpful in the case to take down Kingpin, so there's that. He's also responsible for some of my favorite panels of all time.

[Ultimate Spider-Man (Vol. 1/2000), #80.]

[Ultimate End (Vol. 1/2015), #5]

(technically that last one's from Earth-61610, a fusion of Earth-616 and Earth-1610, but it's the panel I always think about whenever trying to parse out how Ultimates and the main continuity came together hahaha)

2099

The other continuity you mentioned by name and an interesting one because apparently there are multiple continuities associated with "2099." None of them have a "Marc Spector" (may that be because he's resting in peace after dying of old age aslkdfj), but there are some other options. Something that fascinates me though, is that none of these options come from Miguel O'Hara's home continuity of Earth-928 and most of them are women.

Moon Knight of Earth-96943

I did a post on her character here and personally I think she's rather neat. She only really pops up in 2099: Manifest Destiny (Vol. 1/1998), #1, but she beats up opportunistic capitalists on the moon and tells the Watcher what's good, so again, I think she's pretty cool (and I love how all of her speech bubbles have crescent moons).

Tabitha, Moon Knight of Earth-TRN590

[Spider-Man 2099 (Vol. 3/2015), #14]

Otherwise known as Tabby (!), this "2099" Moon Knight actually got to meet Miguel and appears in Spider-Man 2099 (Vol. 3/2015), #14-16 (similarly, I expand upon her character here). She's another case of a character fairly firmly relegated to the "supporting" category, but when she does get some panel time, it's a lot of fun, as she has that pretty classic Peter David wit and a big ol' sword that she uses to exorcise a demon out of Doctor Strange (and subsequently banishes it to the moon).

[Spider-Man 2099 (Vol. 3/2015), #14]

Moon Knight of Earth-2099 (....not to be confused with Earth-928)

[Spider-Man 2099: Exodus (Vol. 1/2022), #3.]

This one is an....exceedingly interesting case, more thoroughly detailed here. After making a one panel reference to the Moon Knight temple guardian of Earth-96943 (and implying she died RIP sounds fake but okay), Spider-Man 2099: Exodus (Vol. 1/2022), #3 and Spider-Man 2099: Exodus Omega (Vol. 1/2022), #1 establishes this new Moon Knight as the leader of a new team of Avengers. But you have to watch out, because this Moon Knight is also just straight up Khonshu animating a corpse.

[Spider-Man 2099: Exodus (Vol. 1/2022), #3.]

Those times when the timeline got kind of screwy (so 616!Marc,,,,kind of????)

There are some instances where 616!Marc got caught up in those kinds of situations where everyone gets thrust into an alternate time line or a timeline that was erased for whatever reason, his involvement in which pretty much solely being due to him being an active Avenger at the time.

House of M (Earth-58163)

Marc is technically in House of M (Vol. 1/2006), #3-7, but he's only there to stand in the background of group shots wearing a fit so generic even I have worn it. BUT, however, it turns out House of M: Avengers (Vol. 1/2008), #1-5 fleshes out his character's background in this reality and explains why he gave up the iconic white threads.

[House of M: Avengers (Vol. 1/2008), #2.]

[House of M: Avengers (Vol. 1/2008), #1.]

[House of M: Avengers (Vol. 1/2008), #5.]

(imo, I mean, look I know it was the 2000's and simple/leather jacket "costumes" were in, but the reason provided was NOT good enough for putting him in the most boring fit possible, but that's just me alskdfj Further note, looks like I uuuuuh missed the House of M: Avengers comics on my initial readthrough so I shall probably loop back around to those some point soon)

Age of Ultron (Earth-61112)

Found in Avengers Assemble (Vol. 2/2012), #14AU and Age of Ultron (Vol. 1/2013), #2, #4-5, the mental health representation isn't always the greatest, but otherwise, there's a lot I'm fond of in these issues. Natasha Romanoff is much more firmly "the main character" with Marc supporting her, but you will definitely get no complaints on that on this here blog. This reality basically boils down to "Natasha and Marc are a criminally underrated duo that could probably destabilize juntas if they chose to do so" and it's great.

[Age of Ultron (Vol. 1/2013), #2.]

[Age of Ultron (Vol. 1/2013), #2.]

Other Continuities (Where Marc Actually Shows Up)

Earth-X (Earth-9997)

This one haunts me???? Because it's one of the earliest examples I can recall of really digging into the irony of a Jewish man serving an Egyptian god as well as artfully discussing that unique tension within Marc of "alive but only just/not really" AND gives Marlene some fascinating development....all within the pages of a special event the plot of which I honestly couldn't explain to you if I tried.

[Universe X (Vol. 1/2000), #6.]

But if you want to check it for yourself (and see if your reading comprehension is better than mine hahaha), this Moon Knight shows up in Universe X (Vol. 1/2000), #0, #6-7, #10-11; Paradise X Special Edition (Vol. 1/2000), #1; Paradise X (Vol. 1/2000), #0 and #11; Paradise X: Devils (Vol. 1/2000), #1; Paradise X: A (Vol. 1/2000), #1; and Paradise X: X (Vol. 1/2000), #1 (and if you're wondering, yes, I did lose a few braincells typing all that out).....but this guy does get a cool color inverse suit!

[Universe X (Vol. 1/2000), #6.]

Battleworld (Earth-51910)

Or at least, I'm pretty sure this is Marc although we only get the last name of Spector. Anyway, amidst the Beyonders’ and Doctor Doom’s shenanigans in Secret Wars Journal (Vol. 1/2015), #1, Spector here lost his faith in "Baroness Khonshu," but at least his design is dope as all get out.

Also, he's a werewolf.

[Secret Wars Journal (Vol. 1/2015), #1.]

Heroes Reborn (Earth-21798)

The "Marc Spector" who is presented in Heroes Reborn (Vol. 2/2021), #5 and #7 as the sort of Hush and Two-Face to Darkhawk's Batman frankly sort of leaves a bad taste in my mouth, as he's straight up described as a "schizo who worshipped the moon" and is generally just a violent criminal who ends up in Ravencroft (...not great in the slightest, all around honestly). Accordingly, the only redeeming quality of this alternate is the DOPE costume he gets when he ends up on this continuity's equivalent of the Dark Avengers.

[Heroes Reborn (Vol. 2/2021), #7.]

Deadpool Kills the Marvel Universe Again (Earth-TRN664)

Oh goodness, please don't make me talk about this comic again; thinking about it Hurts Me. Fairly well executed but so incredibly tragic. Mr. Knight is fantastically sympathetic and a brilliant detective and it all ends horribly. If you want to read Deadpool Kills the Marvel Universe Again (Vol. 1/2017), #1-3, godspeed.

[Deadpool Kills the Marvel Universe Again (Vol. 1/2017), #2.]

Other Moon Knight Variants

These are some honorable mentions that I'll just have to link my posts for, because I unfortunately have pretty much hit the image limit RIP.

Mariama Spector of Earth-818

Battleworld Frank Castle as Moon Knight

And finally, since I loved the phrase you used of "just some guys in a Moon outfit," I present the ultimate "just some guy in a Moon outfit":

Friggin "Moonwing" of Earth-9602

When Moon Knight got the Amalgam comics treatment, he got mashed up with Nightwing of all characters in Bruce Wayne: Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. (Vol. 1/1996), #1, as detailed here. Basically, they just gave Dick Grayson a past in the CIA and DID, leaving the whole moon motif a bit of a mystery.

(Amalgam Comics Trading Cards, #8.)

Naturally, there are some variants I didn't mention here. Moon Knight pops up in quite a few non-616 continuities, but most of the time he's just in the background of large group shots and/or action scenes and doesn't have any lines or contribute anything to the plot. Accordingly, I attempted to include just the iterations with the most material that were expressly from different timelines (which is why I didn't include all of the historical Moon Knights from the 2019 Moon Knight Annual or Moon Knight Ravonna who are also from Earth-616). But yeah! I hope this is of interest to someone out there or at least somewhat vaguely answered your question hahaha thanks again!

[gayleviticus]

there's a song we sing at church sometimes called 'come all ye unfaithful' and i kind of hate it, not cus of anything in the song itself, which is fine (though not musically my taste) but it just kinda feels ironic against this christian culture of like. 'we're all broken and nobody's perfect and we should be open about that, but also the ways in which you express that imperfection is very restricted.'

like. idk. it feels like just another way of co-opting the discourse a lot. it's OK to not be OK, but only in very specific and prescribed contexts, and we have to make sure you extract some kind of theologised Gospel message from it in the end.

people can't just be struggling, it has to be like, 'oh this struggling is an opportunity for you to realise that you don't have to be perfect for God's grace is sufficient.' it's not that i don't think theology and faith can speak to these times, but it feels like an approach that is always trying to load more onto people. it rejects the easy answers of ignoring people's brokenness only to immediately invent new easy answers like 'we're all sinners' 'God's grace is enough'. idk. hard to put into words.

the psalms in general feel like they have an honesty this church culture often doesnt, but i particularly like psalm 89, because it starts as any other psalm praising God for his goodness, power, his covenant with David. "His line shall continue forever, and his throne endure before me like the sun. It shall be established forever like the moon, an enduring witness in the skies."

and then suddenly - it shifts: "But now you have spurned and rejected him; you are full of wrath against your anointed." It's almost like the psalmist's set a trap for God - buttering him up with all the usual praise and flattery and then turning the tables. If you made this promise, LORD, why have you betrayed us? Why have you abandoned us?

But at the same time, this very thing shows a depth of faith. If the psalmist had truly lost their faith in God, why appeal to his promises? Why appeal to the sense of goodness, or justice, or integrity of someone you think is fundamentally wicked - or non-existent? It's the psalmist's faith in God's love that pushes them to call God out for this seeming betrayal.

Other psalms (and the Prophets) often blame this betrayal on the sinfulness of Israel, and there's certainly a place for that. But Psalm 89 doesn't - and I think it's important not to read it through that lens. The Psalms give us language for our relationship with God, and it models for us how to feel broken and angry with God.

The psalmist here is still reverent - being angry with someone you love does not justify abuse - but they don't hold back in their criticism. "You have renounced the covenant with your servant; you have defiled his crown in the dust."

Anyway. Idk. that's a bit of a digression, but i think in some ways it would be less frustrating if churches dropped the whole pretence of 'yes, we love being open and honest about our brokenness' if really there are still very specific socially-acceptable ways of expressing that brokenness. (and tbf, part of this may be itself an expectation that people should be open about it with everyone - I think there are ways to process and express struggles openly in a community of trust, but said community of trust will not always be your church or pastor or small group ig)

[octoagentmiles]

octonauts ATLA au 🤲

Barnacles is an EXTREMELY powerful waterbender from the North Pole, with a strong love for icebending—he defaults to it most of the time. He can use all subforms of waterbending, but they're a bit harder.

Kwazii's the Avatar, but he's still a pirate AND he's a natural firebender, so he still has that "scary and dangerous" reputation. He's afraid of using his firebending, because he hates it. Barnacles is teaching him waterbending, and he's pretty good at it. So far he sucks at earthbending, and his airbending is okay, but if he gets worked up it can accidentally come out as fire... which, yeah.

Peso is an airbender, and the first one in his family. He's not very skilled at bending, and he can't fly very well, and sometimes wishes he was a waterbender, like Barnacles. That way he'd be "stronger", and could utilize its healing abilities. He has an epiphany later on in the middle of S3 that makes him realize how powerful he really is, and he learns to fly :)

Tweak is an earthbender, which she inherited from her dad (maybe*). Like Barnacles, she has a love and preference for a specific subtype—in her case it's metalbending. She's very good at it. It's how she builds GUPs so fast.

Shellington is a waterbender. He doesn't use it very much, mainly because he's Not Great at controlling it—so you'll either end up getting lightly spit on or completely drenched in a tsunami by accident.

Dashi is a non-bender (with water tribe ancestry), which puts her at a disadvantage during some missions. However! She has all of her skills from the Canon Universe, plus the extra adaptiveness seen in non-benders in ATLA (Sokka, Suki, etc).

Inkling is also a non-bender, but he has studied the elements and different bending techniques his whole life. He's Kwazii's Monk Gyatso but with less dying.

Octoagents! 👇

Calico Jack is Kwazii's Uncle Iroh. I needn't explain further. His main goal is to teach Kwazii to be less afraid of his firebending.

Natquik is a waterbender, who taught Barnacles everything he knows. He got his penchant for icebending from him. He pretty much invented it. He survived Antarctica by ✨ Becoming One With The Ice™ ✨. He doesn't just study icequakes, he can make them. He can probably spiritbend.

*I'm TORN between making Marsh be an earthbender or a waterbender. If he's an earthbender, then he can't metalbend like Tweak can, but he's still very strong. Like, scarily strong 👀. IF HE'S A WATERBENDER, then he's a swampbender, full stop.

Tracker is an airbender, mainly because of how he's clearly paralleling Peso's arc in AnB. He was the only airbender in his Polar Scouts troop, and he got picked on for it a bit—but Barnacles thought it was cool as heck, and that's how they became friends.

Do I need to explain Paani being a waterbender? No I do not. He's probably VERY powerful, but very chillax about it. He successfully freaks out everyone who witnesses him bend every time. He can part the seas like freaking Moses.

Pearl is a waterbender like Shellington; she's not super strong, but she has a LOT more control over it than he does. Peri will be a waterbender as well, but he hasn't unlocked it yet. He's trying very hard because he wants to be like his mum and uncle SO badly.

Min could easily be a bender of any kind and it would make sense, but I kinda wanna say she's a non-bender. Just cuz ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

Earthbender Ryla. That's all. It makes it a lot easier to get out of caves when she's stuck. She's very casual about it. So casual, that most people either forget or don't even realize she's a bender until it comes up. Then they're like "oh yeah." as she literally moves mountains.

Airbender Pinto, who has no clue how to control it. Whenever he gets frustrated with himself, he accidentally creates small tornadoes. He can also fly! He likes to brag about it. a lot. mainly to Peso.

Waterbender Koshi, who hasn't discovered that about herself yet. She's in for a fun time when she figures it out. Remember how happy she was when she got her Octowatch? Yeah :) 10x that. I also imagine their family is full of late bloomers, but because of Dashi she has pretty low expectations for herself right now.

[simon-x-billy]

Simon x Billy

Chapter 11: What is my hand doing?

[Gif not mine]

Prompt: Secret relationship reveal

Masterlist || ao3 || start || prev || next wip!

RECAP: When last we left our lovers, Simon was still stuck in Brooklyn for career purposes, but at least he got to tell his besties that he is A. on a panel at Comic Con for reasons; B. moving to Italy; and C. talking to someone there. That would be Billy, but the besties think it’s Billie — so that’s fun. Billy, on the other hand, has not been told about Simon’s decision to move. But at least he finally has been told when Simon is coming back to see him — in two days. Today is not that day. Tomorrow is. Until then, the pair are inventively and intuitively making use of technology to come together again. But before we can get to that, the plot thickens/deepens/moves forward. TW: Phone sex written by someone who has never had it. If this is a hideously awful embarrassment to phone sex-havers everywhere, please leave a comment, DM, whatever. Why should they have bad phone sex when they can have better phone sex? Seriously, I ask you.

Chapter 11: What is my hand doing?

———/Simon/———

Ugh, Brooklyn. (Blasphemer! I’m calling myself out and I am a-shamed.) But it's true. Brooklyn is ugh to me right now. At least the wait is almost over. Kelly finally arranged to have me sent back to Italy tomorrow night. Like a- Well, like whatever kinds of objects get sent back to Italy.

Wait.

I rewind that thought back to where I said ‘tomorrow night,’ and this time think it with a bullhorn. TOMORROW NIGHT! Hallefrickinlujah.

The fear is that she’s probably made all the arrangements necessary to have me air dropped from a moving helicopter to get back at me for announcing I’m abandoning Brooklyn. She is truly angry at me. It became particularly apparent when I asked for help with the real estate stuff. That might have been exactly the wrong thing to ask for her help with. This will require a fitting gesture of my undying admiration, and my amazement at her next level ability to put up with me. She levels up every time I breathe in her general direction.

I’m calling Billy without even realizing it.

“Hey, man,” Billy answers. “Howeyeh?” I can hear him smiling.

“Do you have plans tonight?” I ask. “Beyond sleeping, I mean.”

“Just sleepin,” Billy replies with curiosity. I can hear him yawn at the other end and it feels endearing in my stomach. Which is weird, but pleasant. “What did you have in mind?” I can hear his smile change to a sly smirk all the way from Italy.

“I want to fall asleep listening to you fall asleep,” I admit, and immediately die of cringe. Hello, creeper. It’s too late, and I can’t take it back.

“Now, see, yeh can’t just go round sayin beautiful stuff of that sort. It’s unfair, that’s what it is. Say it again.”

“I want us to fall asleep together,” I repeat. “Even if we can’t exactly be together when we do it.”

Billy makes a noncommittal sound. “Time difference is a heartless bitch, Simon. How early can yeh manage fallin asleep?”

“Well,” I pause in frustration cuz I hadn’t thought about that at all in my internal fantasy of hearing him sleep. (Creepy? Romantic? Romantically creepy? Don’t know, don’t care.)

I offer an alternative. “Wake up just for me, then go back to sleep?”

Billy snorts right about the time I realize that that’s actually kind of a tall ask. And again, possibly creepy. Or romantically creepy. “Am I creepy? Or romantically creepy?”

“It’s more romantically presumptuous, really. But I’m setting my alarm, nonetheless. Now let me alone so I can finish prepping the zeppole. Hot pillows of sweetness sent by the Lord himself.”

“Like my own hot pillows of sweetness?” I giggle. I’m giggling.

“Er,” Billy begins. After a moment’s consideration, he clears his throat. “You bake?”

———/Billy/———

“Will yeh be wantin a tour guide and a driver for Pompeii, then?” I ask the pair before me, tryin not to yawn into the late afternoon sun as I count out the change for their beach chair rental. No less than 70, if they’re a day.

“Why? You think we can’t find our way ourselves without them? We’re more than capable, young man,” says the missus. I can see she’s just windin up for a tongue lashing. Grumpy in the mornings, could be.

Grumpy.

I head her off at the pass, picking up the beach bar’s ancient phone with a finger poised to dial. “Not in the least, not in the least. But I guarantee you’ll get more out of it with a guide to show you all the secret corners, peek inside the archaeologists’ tents, tell yeh the local lore and the wisdom of the ages.”

She relaxes. Guaranteed it was the ‘wisdom of the ages’ bit what did it.

“Ah, go on. Let me call the front desk. They’ll arrange for everything.”

“I can arrange for everything my-” she begins, pugnacious as ever.

“Martha,” the man says softly with his hand on his wife’s back. “Let the boy do his job.”

Bright eyes, big smile, Delaney. Simon would be proud of my Guest Services face, and then demand I’m lying about never attending theatre school. I hmmm inaudibly to myself.

Shocked am I, the whole thing is managed entire without another objection, and the mulish Martha and her man are sat there happily installed on their beach loungers.

Oh, Lord. Here comes trouble. “It’s to be that sort of day, is it?” I grumble.

At the very least, I have fair warnin as I can hear the trouble comin. The soft tinkle of bells at her toes announces her arrival. “Well if it isn’t the lovely and mysterious Sabina. Docked the barge, have yeh.” Land ho.

“It’s Billy, isn’t it.” Not a question. Lovely.

“More a ‘he’ than an ‘it.’” Get your pronouns right, miss.

She doesn’t deign to acknowledge my comment. I’m to be ‘it,’ then. Is she offensive on purpose, or does it just come naturally? Perhaps she’s simply gifted that way.

“To what do I owe the honor, my dear?”

“Instructions,” she says with a coolness that verges on frostbite. “For a party next Saturday night. You will come out to the boat as my guest,” she informs me, and tips her head to the side as she gauges my reaction.

Is she- I mean, she wouldn’t be- askin me out? Never.

“Bring Simon as your +1.”

“He’s the +1?”

“You be the +1 if you like that position better.” Her monstrously oversized sun hat casts shadows across her tip to toe, straw letting through tiny, bright dots of light that shift as she shifts. Just as the day I made her cheerful acquaintance.

Has it really only been two weeks? Really? That can’t be right.

“Greta will text Kelly the details, technicalities, all that,” she informs me. Kelly is Simon’s PA, so I’m assumin Greta’s her own.

“Kelly? You know Kelly.”

“Of course. She’s Kelly. People know this about her.” She waves away the question as if it’s both beneath her and boring.

“Sabina, has anyone ever described you as a piece of work? I’m meaning a work of art, acourse.”

She lowers her sunglasses and without cracking the slightest smile, winks at me. Well fuck me sideways.

“How did you know?” I ask, takin my opportunity where I find it. “It’s been botherin me ever since your show. You well knew the party was at a pan club. Why us? Tellin the two of us to come. What did you see in Simon and me that told you somethin would happen?”

Ignoring my question, she floats onto a barstool and flips her curtain of glossy, black hair behind one tanned shoulder.

I put back on my Guest Services face. “Something to drink? Might enjoy an espresso, biscotti,” I offer.

“No. I will not eat,” she informs me.

“Then what can I do for yeh, my dear?”

“Come next weekend. Another birthday party. They happen every year,” she says, lackadaisically. “The house. The boat. You know how it is.”

“Do I?”

“Maybe you don’t.”

She never answered my question, and I’m of a mind to persist. “We’ll consider it, if yeh answer me. Why did you tell us about your show in Naples? What did you see in the pair of us? How could you have known, when even we didn’t?”

“Billy.” She places her hand over mine. I use wiping down the bar as a reason to casually free it again. Watching my reaction over her absurdly large sunglasses, she gloats almost imperceptibly. “Make me a bellini.”

Sabina taps her fingernails on the bar top and takes the opportunity to study me as I pull out the peach purée. I add the sparkling prosecco and place the drink in front of her, giving her an arched eye caterpillar.

She tips her head toward me and says, “All right. I’ll tell you. Simon, you know he’s from New York.”

I nod.

“We know the same people,” she says as if that explains anything.

“And?”

“And from the cafe I saw Simon Lewis sitting in my marina.”

“Your marina?”

She bats the question away. “Of all the times Simon and I have wound up at the same parties, I’ve never seen him look at anyone else the way he looked at you.”

Fuck me.

She continues, “He wanted me to go away, deeply. Who could make Simon want such a thing? So I thought I’d have a little experiment. Nothing outrageous.” She smirks. “You couldn’t take your eyes off him. But he practically pissed a circle around you.”

“Not at all. He spent the whole time dealin with you, my darlin. And if anything, it was me as was sat there doin the pissing. I didn’t much care for the way you spoke to him.”

She laughs low. “Your expression gave you away, you know. The kiss was a test; a simple one.”

“Then what if we hadn’t been, I don’t know, swept up in the whole thing that night?” I challenge her. “What would have happened then?”

“Does it matter? Were you? Swept away? The right music at the right moment can make anything happen.” She dismounts with the tinkling of tiny bells, bellini untouched.

Before she reaches the hotel elevator, Sabina calls back over her shoulder, “Oh and Billy. Dress for Capri.”

Ah. Understood. I take a deep breath. “I’ll do the best I can.”

She nods, and departs without a word.

“Lovely to see you, too,” I mutter.

———/-/———

It’s Wednesday? I thought yesterday was Wednesday. Fuck me, an extra day. Life drags on at a snail’s pace.

Opening photos, I realize Simon’s face was the last shot I took that wasn’t of my genitals. It’s of him in the tunnel, moments before we entered the club. All bold, confident, and full of excitement, with not a clue of the direction the night would take.

When I look at him, I’ve no idea who I am anymore. I’ve never really been that certain to begin with, in all honesty.

For a man without a rudder, I’ve never needed to know who I am. Just all the whos I’m not. Not a father, not a son, not a brother, not a bother.

Alfie tells me I’m the best of friends. Cheers, mate. Nice to hear, but I’m not sure I believe it overmuch. Not when I’ve never stuck round long enough to be a good friend to anyone.

I’m a nomad. And I hate it.

I’ve only just realized that I hate it. Before Italy, before this glorious place, I’d have described my life as Freedom. Carefree, exciting, mind-broadening, instructive, adventuresome, even a right good time. But as I feel all these words strung together in my mind, I realize they’re all empty and meaningless, when it’s clear I’m the one who’s strung together. Like stringing lights about a Christmas tree. Invariably there are big holes crying out to be filled. Gaps with nothin big enough to fill them. That’s me — gaps big enough for a man to fall through. Never to be heard from again.

For certain, not a sole Delaney has ever noticed I’ve gone. Isn’t that just grand. All the times I’ve lived under one roof or another, time done for what? Some stories told over a pint at Christmas. And not the funny kind.

“Remember that cousin Billy?”

“Oh sure’n let me see now. He was the one as had the curly hair, yeah? Nice fella.”

Or the older generation? They might say, “Oh that Billy, he always was such a helpful young man to have round the house when somethin needed seein to. So helpful. Can’t remember the sound of his voice or the colour of his eyes, but he sure was helpful. Cryin shame we never had a good place to put him when it was our turn.” Sure’n that’s what they’d say.

Oh, shit. Must remember to ring Shazza and wish her a happy birthday.

———/-/———

“Vittorio, buongiorno,” I say as I enter his office.

Rosalina has just been to fetch me from the kitchen, where I’d been losing myself in the mundanity of prep work.

Problem is, I’ve also been gettin lost in too many mental images from the weekend. Just couldn’t clear my head. All good, so good.

It was all so good until Simon’s phone lit up like a christmas tree, and everything hit a wall. Just bam! Face first. A wall. (Shaped like a woman named Kelly, presumably somewhere in New York.)

It’s his career, Delaney. Quit thinkin what yer thinkin. It’s just God punching us in the nads with fate, as Simon would surely say.

Thing is, I do feel as though I’ve been punched in the testicles. I do. And I’m not sure what’s makin me feel worse — the testicles or the fact that we said goodbye immediately after my life was rocked on its foundations.

Am I bi? Never figured I was before. Does that mean I’m not? I love makin love to a woman. So, not gay per se. But not entirely straight, neither. How could I be?

So, bi?

Bein bi would explain Simon’s sudden appearance on the short list of people who’ve ever made me come that hard. Does that make me bi?

“Beelee!” The hearty voice of Vittorio greeting me snaps me out of yet another reverie. With that big-loving smile, kisses to the cheeks, an arm round the shoulder, he makes me feel welcome, and he knows how to make me feel useful. Helpful. Good at what I do. And like I contribute to this little family he’s built in his kitchen.

My smile stretches wide. Not just because I feel like smilin, but more because he deserves all the smiles. “Vittorio, you are a gentleman and a scholar.”

He laughs with a boom. “Si, certo!” Yes, obviously.

“Certo,” I agree, and indeed it is obvious. He’s wise, and kind. I hate getting attached. But I’ll hate saying goodbye to Vittorio. Ah, fuck. I’m attached. It’s too late.

“Come, Beelee. You will sit with me,” he says, opening the doors out to his private garden patio, and motioning me past. He picks up a sweating pitcher of the homemade lemonade they call limonata, made and bottled here in one of the orchard’s outbuildings. If sunlight had a taste it would be Vittorio’s limonata.

“Beelee,” he begins, once we’ve settled in. He looks out at the view and sighs. “The year you are with us is coming near to end,” he says with the most marvelous Northern Italian accent. “You are considering this with much thought, yes?” He leans back comfortably and sips his limonata in a motion he’s likely developed over decades in that chair with this view. Quite a place to talk business and no mistake.

His words finally penetrate my addled brain. “Have I thought of movin on?”

“Si,” he nods.

Movin on.

No, I have not been considering with much thought. But maybe I should. He’s right. It’s only a couple months off, innit. I’ve barely kept an eye on the goings-on in the culinary world since I arrived in Sorrento. And that is curious.

It’s curious, as every other country I’ve been I've always seen as a gig. Workin to live, yes acourse, but livin to expand my ability, my craft, my creativity, along those veins. Finding the joy in learning the tempo of life in each place. I have loved almost all of my gigs, and enjoyed the environs as much as time allowed. And yet I’m always counting down the days, weeks, and months, months, weeks, and days, well before the end for each city. Until now.

I love Vittorio. Adore him. Both as a mentor and as a man. He is a good man. Solid. Steady. Fiercely loyal and protective of the hotel family he’s built. He may have been born in the North well away from the water, but after all this time he has come to be a man of the South. Its cliffs, the sea, the vertical living with stairs to get anywhere. This is his home. Yes, he was born in Siena, but he chose to live his life in Sorrento. He chose this place to plant his roots, and settled in to live his best life.

I long to live that dream somethin awful. Some sort of permanence in this temporary life of mine. A life I could build, myself. A place of choice. A family of choice. Finding my tribe. And holding on to them. Holdin on for as long as I’m allowed to keep ‘em.

Vittorio looks at me with those intuitive eyes of his. “Qua cosa? What thing is so bad to make your face is falling?” He pretends his face has fallen to his lap to illustrate. “You are having sadness?”

“I haven’t thought much about leaving, to be honest,” I admit.

“You fall in love with Italia, I think. In you I see this, each day a little more, a little more. I am thinking the thoughts that you I should send to Firenze. You learn to cook in the North. It is, come se dice, how you say, molto bene very good y diferente with the Campania kitchens of us here.”

“Si, si, I’d like to learn the northern cuisine.” I can barely get my mouth to shape my next words. “Before I leave Italy.”

“Si. O posso Venezia. Pero non sera ristauranti che va bene.”

I laugh at such a sweeping statement of negativity from this man. “There are no good restaurants in Venice?”

“If there was good ristaurante, I send you to there. But Roma.” He rolls his r with gusto and passion for the eternal city. RrrrrrrOmmmmma. “Roma? Si, son ristauranti with the goodness I demand for to send you to there.” He nods thoughtfully. “Stefano, si.”

“Stefano Rossi?” Jaysus, good enough?

“O in Toscana, to Rodolfo.”

“Rodo Molinaro?” For serious?

“Si.”

Before I can bleat about these two utter gods of Italian cuisine, he interrupts me. “Or we take you from Italia and make you in France. Parigi - what you are calling Paris? Provence? You stay on the Mediterraneo you try Nice, la Riviara Franca.”

At least the French Riviera is just down the coast. (And that’s my first thought? How close I’d be to here?)

I try to interject, but he continues. “O in Spagna. I am having the very strong thought of Barcellona. O Siviglia. O to where you are calling Switzerland — Lucerne. You like Lucerne?”

“I’ve never-“

“You think with deeply careful thought of these places. I have thought very strong and with time that is long and full of care. These are the places you consider.”

“Vittorio. You are a dear, dear man and I cannot think of a suitable way to show how very much gratitude I have for you.”

“But your face is not a face of a man is happy,” he observes. “You are disappointing with these choices I give you?”

“No! Never, Vittorio. Not ever. I would joyfully live in every one of these cities! Florence, Rome. Paris, Nice. Barcelona, Seville. Lucerne. All of them.” Or none.

————/Simon/————

“I’d be in the air already, but I have to fit in one last fake fight with Kelly before I go. I promised to take her to brunch so we could fake-fight in person.”

“Let me guess, ‘It’s kind of your thing.’ Seems to me I’ve heard that one before,” Billy snarks into the phone. He sighs in defeat. “I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but I think I’m jealous.”

“Oh yeah? Why? Literally dying to know the answer.”

“How long do I have to wait?” he asks, sounding greedy.

“For what?”

“Before I can have you again,” Billy growls, in a tone he’d surely describe as naughty. Or at least I would describe it as naughty.

“With your moans in my ear, breath hot against my throat,” he continues. See? Naughty.

“Billy.”

“Simon.”

“Billy. What are you doing?”

“Hearing that sound you made when I licked a stripe up your neck, still salty with sweat from the club.” His voice is all gravel, low and rumbly.

“You don’t fight fair,” I whine. But in an appealing, sexy way.

————/Billy/————

I like that impatient sound. “I wish this was your hand,” I say, trying to keep the grin out my voice.

“What? W-what is my hand doing?” I hear Simon swallow at the other end.

“That twist you did — it’s like you read my mind: How to wank Billy Delaney.”

I don’t have my hand anywhere close to my cock. I just love gettin to hear him all flustered.

“Uh, um, Billy? Are you having solo phone sex right now? Is that what you’re doing? Cuz I gotta tell you-“ he breaks off.

“What do you have to tell me, Simon?”

Silence.

“And make it good,” I rumble.

“Jesus Christ, Billy.”

“No, just Billy.”

“Funny,” he responds dryly. Which acourse makes me smile. It’s the combination of exasperation, frustration, and libido all fighting for their turns to spring out his mouth.

“Is it? I thought we were gettin someplace, Simon.” I pitch my voice as low as it will go. “Someplace good.”

He lets out a whimper, then all I hear is rustling. Something clatters on a hard floor. Simon gasps, “Shit!” followed by, “Oh, thank God,” then somethin else falls with a thud. I hear shuffling in the background and angry muttering.

“Simon?”

“Wait, wait, hang on just a-“ I hear a jingling of bells, and then the sound of street traffic. People in conversation getting closer and fading away. Sirens. Loud sirens. I hear the tell-tale sound of his Converse slapping on pavement, accompanied by rapid breathing and some mumbled curses. “Come on come on come on!” I hear him whisper.

“Ey! I’m walkin here!” he says loudly, away from the phone. Followed swiftly by an angry, “Yeah, fuck you too, buddy,” under his breath. I feel as though I’m listening to every film about New York ever made.

“Hang on, just a sec,” he huffs faintly, as if the phone isn’t at his ear. I hear the jingling of keys. Everything he does is suddenly amplified, all with a strange, hollow ambience. A few loud, echoing footsteps later, and again I hear the sound of keys scraping into a lock.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“Closer to my bed than I was five minutes ago,” Simon answers. “Not there yet.”

“Where were you five minutes ago?” This is pure gold.

“The bodega on the corner.”

“Serious?” I laugh. “Why’d you turn round?”

“Fuck you, Billy.”

“Not yet.”

I hear him trip over something. The phone clearly just went thud on carpet, and I hear a distant voice, swearing, “Where are you, fucking bastard.” His voice gets closer and closer. “Oh thank fucking Christ. I thought I broke my phone. Oh my sweet baby, an angel at one ear, a devil at the other.” He pauses as he shuffles whatever’s in his hands. “Billy? You still there?”

“Oh, I’m here, Simon.”

“Ok, start talking dirty again.”

I blink.

And we’re both laughing. “I like that you make me laugh,” I tell him.

“I like that you talk dirty. Can we go back to that please?”

“You tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine?” I tease.

“What does that even mean?”

“Where are you, Simon?”

“Standing at the base of my bed.”

“Naked yet?”

He chokes, “What?”

“Just wonderin. Set the scene for me, Simon.”

“Theatre school, I’m telling you, theatre school.”

“You’re thinking about theatre school at a time like this.”

“Not even a little, when you sound like this. Jesus, Billy.”

“Where are you now?” I keep my voice fluid.

“Oh! Um, not where I was a minute ago the last time you asked. No, not still there,” he says.

“Naked yet?” It all started out as a gag, but I’ve become increasingly invested in his answers.

“Shoe-less. But I’m working on it.”

“Let me hear you take off your shirt.”

“Okaaay. How?” he asks in confusion. “Shirts aren’t loud. Am I supposed to rip it?”

“You like the shirt? Cos I want to hear all the buttons popping off.”

I didn’t think he’d do it, but I clearly hear the sound of buttons set free, pinging off every surface.

“Button fly again tonight?” I ask, thinking back to how easily his jeans came undone with just a flick of his hand.

“Not tonight.”

“Let me hear the zipper when you pull it down.” I hum as I hear the zzzzzz.

“Did you hear it?” he asks, voice turning gruff.

“I didn’t think I would, but that was hot.” I thought I was teasing, but now I know I’m not. “Let me hear the material slide down your legs. Slowly, Simon. Don’t rush it.”

His phone amplifies the rustle of fabric sliding over skin as though my ear is right there. My eyes slip shut. I can picture the material being pulled slowly over his hips, revealing the V of his muscles there, then catching on the swell of his arse. Sliding over that magnificent arse. Fuck, when he runs, I bet it bounces. And the image makes me groan.

“Mmm, that sounded good,” Simon nearly purrs. He’s gone from 1 to purring in under 3 seconds. “Did it feel good, Billy?”

“Yer man’s got game then, has he?” I challenge him.

“You haven’t answered my question, have you, Billy.”

“Is the secret just to work my name into every sentence? Cos I’ll be honest with yous. It’s doin it for me.” I need more than this. Without preamble I switch us to FaceTime.

“Rude!” he squawks.

“Are you offended, Simon?” I set up the angle for him to watch. He’s gone silent. Turns out I’m clothed enough for some suspenseful stripping of my own. His face is priceless.

————/Simon/————

Merp.

—————/Billy/—————

I watch as his eyes go dark, and his expression turns unselfconscious. Hungry.

I’m more’n likely to show him whatever he wants to see, though it can be hard to actually ask for it. “What and where, Simon?”

“Mmhm that sounds nice,” he says absently.

“Nice.” That’s not what I’ve been goin for. Seems his thoughts are a mite preoccupied. “Do you know what I want to do to you the minute I see you?” I challenge.

“Um. No?”

“I am going to strip you bare after Customs if you stop for any reason except to walk straight to me.”

“You’ll be there at the airport?”

“And I will strip you bare. Right there at Customs. Don’t test me, Simon. After you’ve landed? If I see yeh doing anything?” I prompt him.

“I’ll come straight to you,” he says on a whisper.

“That’s right you will. And the moment we reach the car, I’ll press you against it, undo your jeans, and wrap my hand round you, with just enough firm pressure.”

He whimpers.

“What do you like, Simon? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.”

“What I-“ His eyes go blank. “Merp.”

So I continue. “Then I’ll tell you what I want from you when I get you back to the hotel.”

He whimpers again.

“I want you to strip me slowly, make me impatient. Because I’ll be dying to have you fast. I’ll have been waiting for you, wantin to take you in that tiny car, wanting to feel all of you, and lay you down. But-“

“But she’s too small,” he whispers, getting into it a bit more.

“I’d bend you over the bonnet, but you won’t let me.”

“I won’t?”

“No Simon, you won’t. You’ll tell me the fuckin luggage can wait, and you’ll drag me to your room.”

“I’ll be dragging you?” he asks, sounding confused.

“Just go with it. You’re breaking my flow.”

“Sorry,” he whispers with a grimace.

“Shhh.”

“Ok.”

“Shhh. Hear me. I’ll want to drag you to bed instantly, but you won’t let me. You tell me to slow down. Take my time.”

“Take your time? We’ve gone a whole week without each other. How much more time will we need? Are we even naked yet?”

“Shhh, Simon. See it. See me in agony, desperate for every second I can have with you again. I’ll start at one end of your body and work my way to the other. Those runner’s legs, God. All that skin up, up, following my hands with my lips, lettin the hair slide across my mouth between kisses. Show me where my lips are, Simon.”

His breath catches. “Jesus, Billy.”

“Do you want to see how close my mouth will be? I’ll show you. Watch where I start, Simon, just here. See me.”

He lets out a high puff of air. His breath rate has picked up. So has mine.

“I’ll stop and kiss here.” I circle the spot. “I want my mouth on you, Simon. The soft, warm spot behind your knee you’ve never thought about until I became the first person to tongue you there. Or here,” I whisper, drawing my hand up my inner thigh. I have one thought and one thought only: get this next shot right.

I bring the camera round, laying back to give him the long view up my body.

“Mmmfm, you have a wet spot in your briefs,” he says in a huskier voice. He’s finally getting out of his own way.

“Do you know why, Simon?”

“Why?”

“Because all I can think about is running my lips over all of this skin,” and I draw my fingers slowly up to where my thighs meet. He lets out a high breath. “Show me, Simon. Show me where my lips are.”

The image on the screen swings wildly around, showing bits of lightly furred leg, the color of his sheets, confusing body hair, and the paint on the ceiling. He grunts as he repositions himself. Suddenly, the image is swinging around to show me the path up his knee and I get an eyeful of the long view he’s giving me.

“Mmmmm, do you know what I see, Simon?” All that flesh leadin to the sight of a cock and balls from below, snug in a pair of boxer briefs, lookin monstrous huge from this vantage point.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Yes, I know ex’ex’exactly what that l’looks like.”

“Draw your hand up the inside of your thigh for me. Let me watch it, your phone followin behind the whole way up.” I give him an example to inspire him. “Tell me when to stop, Simon.”

A high moan escapes him. “W’when do you want to stop?”

“Never.”

He groans. “Take off your briefs, Billy,” he instructs me, feeling bolder. “Now.”

I smile to myself. That’s the spirit.

“For you, anything, Simon.” And I realize I actually mean that. I probably would do just about anything he told me to.

“You liked that, didn’t you?” he asks me. “The wet spot just got bigger.” He sounds terribly proud of himself, and continues with more confidence. “Oh shit, your cock just got bigger, too. God, I can see the tip peeking out of your waistband.”

I steadily reveal every millimeter until he can see the full head. “Oh God. Billy.”

“I want you naked and fucking your hand, Simon, now. Let me watch.”

Simon whines.

“Naked, Simon. Then hand.”

Again, his high puffs of breath turn into a whine. But the moment I fist my cock, Simon’s voice drops two registers — as if he knows this is the moment we really get started. He’s saying, “I want to see the tip poke out of your fist, see you drawing the hood back as you stroke.”

“Fuck yes, Simon.”

“Closer,” he demands.

I moan at the thought that he wants to see it up closer. That an eyeful doesn’t send him runnin for covers. But no, he’s enjoying being in control.

“What does your other hand really want to be doing?” Simon rumbles. “When it’s not holding the phone, what’s it holding? Or fondling? Or sliding over. Show me, Billy. Show me what you do when you’re alone.” It’s a command, not a request.

I let out a long stuttering breath. “Simon, I think you might be quite good at this. Given some more practice,” I say, as I try in vain to get my phone under control. I need a place to prop it so I can use both hands. Finally, driven by the agony of frustration, I set the phone against a pillow at the right angle and kneel with knees spread wide.

“Oh fuck shit fuck,” comes straining out of him, and he’s fully stroking himself in earnest. “Nhhhh, Jesus Billy.”

What’s he on about? I look down at myself and visualize the view from that angle. Oh God. “You, too,” I grind out. “Want to see you too.”

He gives me what I want. Lord, that is a filthy fuckin sight from that angle. My hips punch my cock through my fist and I cradle my balls.

“Fuck yes,” he moans. I look down and find just how much precome I’m dripping. I hitch my hips closer to the camera and splay my legs wider. “Oh Jesus Billy fuck,” he gasps at the sight.

“Show me,” I tell him. He takes a screenshot and turns the phone round to show me. “Show me on you, Simon.”

“Oh, right,” he breathes.

“Faster,” I tell him. “Let me hear you.”

“What makes you come, Billy? Mmmmmfffwant to see it up close,” he groans.

I reframe the phone, but the sight from this distance has got to be brutal.

“Oh Jesus, Billy,” he huffs, then “Oh God,” comes out with an urgent tone. I’m flyin in and out my fist, yet somehow he can see it all.

“No, don’t stop,” I complain as his hand stutters to a stand still. He puts the phone down on the bed below him, and squats just over it. It’s an intense view. “Oh God, Simon. That is obscene.”

“Now you,” he instructs. “I want to see both hands better.”

I try to angle more carefully so he can see more cock and less balls.

“Oh fuck,” he says in surprise. “Right there, yes. No, too far, bring it back, bring it back - stop! Perfect. Show me.”

“That’s,” I grate out, “my line.” Oh God, I feel the sensation begin to build. “Simon- Si’ nhhhh, I’m- are you-“ I can’t think.

“Yes,” he grates out, followed by a strained, “Fuuuuuck!” I’m glad he’s as close as I am. I want to see him tip over the edge while he’s watchin me do the same.

I’m fucking panting, every breath I force out comes back in gasps. “Oh God yes,” I whisper. “Simon.”

“Me, too, me, too, oh fuck yes fuck. B’Billy?”

The look on his face is all shock and awe, then all I can see filling the screen is the head of his cock pulsing spurts of come landing somewhere outside the frame.

Ho shit. Fuck fuck fuck, the heat blooms throughout my body in warning. “Oh God, fuck Simon, fuuu, can you see? I want you- watch-“ I call out nonsense. I can only focus on the rush I feel throughout my body. I come in full view of the phone and my knees buckle.

Rolling to my back and still panting, I try to remember my name and country of origin. But “Simon,” is the only word I can find.

————/-/————

Masterlist || ao3 || start || prev || next wip!

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[pagesofkenna]

pspsps tell us about your vanishing of ethan carter opinions please

so unfortunately I can't talk about how much I loved The Vanishing of Ethan Carter without also mentioning how much I didn't like What Remains of Edith Finch. I went into EC feeling constantly reminded of EF - the titles are similar, the graphics are similar, the gameplay is similar, and I was really worried the experience would be the same as well

without spoiling much about Edith Finch, my main feeling about it is that the developers thought they were making a touching and bittersweet anthology of family deaths, but what they actually made was a whimsical light-hearted horror story of a family killing each other through negligence and obsession. I think I would have loved it if it had committed to being a weird horror story, but instead it just felt disappointing and tonally confused

Ethan Carter is pretty aware from the start that it's a whimsical horror story. the second puzzle in the game is a murder you're trying to solve, and theres more murders from there; a later puzzle includes a jumpscare portion, which I skipped entirely because I was playing at night, only to learn that this was one of a number of puzzles required to finish the game, and the game even included the ability to auto jump back to that puzzle so I wouldn't have to backtrack (I don't know if I would have had to fore-track - I really didnt want to do the jumpscare puzzle, so I ended up just watching a youtube video of the ending of the game lol)

mechanically the game was fun but could have used some work. they were very intentional about the game 'not holding your hand' which just meant that some portions were confusing and tedious (there's a loooooong stretch between the Astronaut puzzle and the Puzzle House where the game lives up to the genre title Walking Sim). i used a walkthrough to make sure i wasn't getting distracted by red herrings because I am an adult with a full-time job and video games are supposed to be fun. I think without a walkthrough I might've gotten frustrated by the game and the impact of the ending might've been less satisfying - or it might have been more satisfying, the world will never know

narratively the game really delivered. i'll save spoilers for under the cut below, but basically i went in expecting one kind of story, then the game slowly shifted my expectations and delivered a really satisfying gutpunch of a conclusion. by the time I entered the mines I had figured out that something wasn't quite what it seemed, and the payoff of that was the actual heartbreaking, bittersweet finale Edith Finch hadn't managed to capture.

you don't play as Ethan the way you play as Edith, you play as a paranormal investigator coming into town to discover what happened to Ethan, and learning about Ethan from this outside perspective made me really invested. he likes writing! his family is pretty awful! he had written to this paranormal investigator guy, not even directly asking for help, but the guy had come to help him anyways and I desperately wanted to find out what had happened to Ethan! and the ending made me tear up, which is the hallmark of a good game for me

spoiler additions:

what really made me tear up the most was the shots of the family (mostly just the parents though) trying to save Ethan from the fire. I think I figured out around the Church scene or the Mine scene that the 'Sleeper' wasn't literal; there were some narrative inconsistencies (the brother got killed up by the bridge, and yet was with his parents in the mines, which meant the bridge scene happened later but that wasn't making sense to me) and at some point the VO said something that made me think 'oh, he's not a paranormal investigator; he's Death'

that wasn't exactly right, but that means I went into the final scene expecting to be leading Ethan into death somehow, so the reveal that everything had been a story invented in the mind of a dying child didn't come as a shock to me. (I've seen some comments from people feeling like the 'its all a dream' reveal was a cop-out, but the eerie tone of the game never gave me the sense that this was a fantasy, just a fantastic interpretation of events, so yeah of course it wasn't real.)

like, in his dying moments this small child imagines the abuse of his family to be tenfold and the hero of his own invention to come and save him. like, damn, i can relate to that?? who can't relate to that?? maybe what hits so hard for me about this game is that i'm also a would-be storyteller. his family never actually tried to kill him anymore than there was actually an astronaut running around the woods; his brain had four minutes to reinterpret events in a way that made cohesive, narrative sense, which is definitely what all of us try to do to understand our own lives but it's really highlighted in the mind of a young, imaginative child

so anyway yeah, i teared up a bit, and i thought about ghosts and souls and how stories are true even when they're not factual, and thats kind of all i ever want from a horror story, and it was good