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choism · 2 years ago

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Jester's Game | b.tc

Captain Buggy x Pirate!afab!Reader

Genre: smut, angst, fluff (If you squint)

Summary: Trying to overtake Captain Buggy's ship leaves you asking questions, and surprisingly, getting answers

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: top!buggy, afab!reader, unprotected sex (pls dont), cunnilingus, fingering, creampie, squirting, rough sex, gentle sex (yeah wild), inappropriate use of detached limbs, spit as lube (also a no no), overstimulation, pet names (sweetheart, princess)

A/N: WOOHOO ITS MY FIRST NON KPOP FIC!! I knew I would write for other stuff eventually but I definitely did not expect it to be a recent hyperfixation. Buggy just has me bricked up okay! Anyway I hope y'all enjoy, don't forget to let me know what you thought of the fic in the tags !

It’s a rather unfortunate series of events, really. Sure, you could’ve told your navigator to sail away from the ship with the giant clown crossbones flag. Yeah, it might’ve helped if you had told your crew that they were about to fight some of the toughest pirates in the East Blue. But where’s the fun in that? As their captain, it’s your job to seek the adventure, and well, this was an adventure all right.

It started with you telling your men to approach, cannons firing, your crew hopping their ship, the infamous ship commandeered by none other Buggy The Clown. Yes, the ship your measly crew has decided to board. Listen, it was strategic! Buggy had somehow gotten the map to the grand line back, and your ship just so happened to be within the vicinity of his, so why not seek the opportunity to take it? Well that was your first mistake.

Now, you find yourself here, hands bound behind your back and kneeling with your crew in front of Buggy’s stupid, dumb throne in his stupid, dumb circus tent cabin.

“You all truly are fools for thinking you could take on my band of freaks,” Buggy lazily sprawls over his throne, seemingly unimpressed by your, in his words, ‘lackluster crew’.

“It’s funny actually, how pathetic it was, I mean even Mohji got in a few punches! Ha! Truly a fine show.” The man you assume being the Mohji that Buggy had just poked fun at, slumps his shoulders sadly at his jab. “Now, time to get to the good stuff…” Buggy trails off, standing up and taking a few strides in your direction, his dirty boots stopping directly in front of you. He detaches his hand and uses it to lift your head, pointing your chin up to look him in the eye.

Looking up, you spit and it lands on his cheek, he simply swipes it off with his attached, gloved hand. “So what if you defeated us, it doesn’t make you any better of a pirate, and doesn’t get you any closer to the One Piece.” You tilt your head and smirk. He may have overcome your crew, but he will never overcome your overwhelming ego and pride. It matches his just as equally.

“Ah, that's where you’re wrong, princess,” His grin is just as wide as yours, and briefly you’re confused, what could he mean? “Given your set of thieving skills, probably some of the best in the East Blue, I’ve heard, you’re gonna join my band of freaks, and I’m not giving you a choice sweetheart,” Buggy removes his hand from your chin, and it floats to his arm, re-attaching itself.

“Boys, throw their crew overboard, we have no use for them.” He rolls his eyes and sits back on his throne, “Oh! And go show them to their new quarters, make them feel at home.” Buggy laughs a deep boisterous laugh, one that genuinely sends shivers down your spine.

The pirates lead you into, what is actually, quite a nice room in the lower deck of the cabin, lit by a few candles, and a cot in the corner. Surprisingly, they cut you out of your ropes, and shut the door without locking it. What’s their deal? Don’t they know you can escape at any time if you wanted? Sneak out and steal one of their emergency boats, and sail to the nearest Island? Granted, you aren’t sure where the nearest Island is, you’re a thief, not a navigator.

Instead of worrying about escaping, you roam the small room, admiring your surroundings. The whole ship is clown themed, front he flags to the cabin to everything, but this room is different. Not a single sign of jester-like decorations anywhere. In fact, it’s as if this cabin was decorated specifically for you. Before you can think more of it, the door opens suddenly.

Buggy enters, and closes the door behind him. When he enters you’re sitting on the cot, legs crossed and unamused.

“Not thinking about escaping? Not that you could anyway, we are miles away from the nearest island, and realistically it would take you days to get there on one of our measly boats.” He rolls his eyes, as if annoyed by how small and fragile the boats are, before sitting backwards on the chair at the short desk next to the cot.

“So what do you even need a thief for? Why am I here?” You blurt, already growing impatient from the lack of information being given to you.

“I need you for many reasons, being a thief is only one of them, sweetheart.” Buggy grins and removes his hat, setting it on the desk. “You already have connections at the grand line, and while I know you need my map to get there, I know that you know the people I need to talk to, to gain safe entry without slaughtering half the fucking pirates there.” He leans back and relaxes a bit, observing your facial features.

“And why do you think any of the people I know would want to help you? You’re just some lowly pirate.” You spit at him, angered by his casualness. In what world would you even willingly help him? Who does he think he is?

“Ha…Me? A lowly pirate? This coming from the literal captain of a crew is hilarious! Tell me another joke, please.” He grins knowingly, he knows how to get a rise out of you for sure. You look over his facial expression, smugness overtakes his face and it makes your stomach twist, not with disgust though for some odd reason, with another feeling you don’t quite recognize.

This whole situation has you feeling all kinds of anxious. How did you just happen to raid the ship of a pirate who just happened to need you for this specific thing, and why is his presence making you feel so…weird? Something isn’t right here, and it can’t be because of your connections to the grand line. No, he’s hiding something.

“What are you hiding, clown? There’s something you aren’t telling me.”

His face drops, and he gets suddenly very serious, “Listen here, princess,” Buggy gets up from the chair and gets close to you, leaning down, your noses almost touching. “You’re gonna get me to the grand line, I don’t care if I have to torture it out of you, got it? No more questions tonight.” He gets up and suddenly grins very brightly, as if nothing ever happened. “Night night!” Buggy walks out and slams the door, then you hear a locking sound.

Fuck, he locked you in your room. You should’ve expected this, honestly. The way he reacted to your question was so strange. You knew there was something fishy, but you didn’t think whatever it was could’ve prompted that kind of reaction out of him.

***

The next day you wake up to yelling outside of your cramped room. Yawning, you get up and put your ear to the door,

“I’m sorry Captain Buggy! I didn’t know that was their ship I swear I promise!”

You hear what sounds like a kick to the jaw and a yelp,

“Didn’t know? Didn’t know?! You couldn’t tell by the giant crossbones flag that very obviously bares their symbol? I’m tired of you, someone go throw him off the deck.”

You hear screams and pleads of “No please!” and “I didn’t know I’m sorry captain!” before hearing water splash, then silence, then- oh shit footsteps coming towards your room. You scramble back to your cot and lay down, pretending to sleep. You hear a couple of knocks before hearing a feint “What the fuck am I doing, I go where I want!” Before Buggy barges into the room after unlocking it.

“Get up, I know you heard everything.” He spits gruffly, sitting back in the chair again the same way as yesterday. You sit up abruptly. Last night you couldn’t shake this feeling, of what you felt when Buggy had gotten so serious, and it’s just gotten worse being in his presence. Your abdomen feels hot, your ears feel hot, everything feels hot. It’s like butterflies in your stomach if the butterflies were armed with knives.

“Yes, I did hear, what do you mean by my symbol? I thought bumping into you was a coincidence?” Buggy smiles faintly, and chuckles.

“Yes, it was, I wasn’t informed of what ship we attacked, just that my men captured you all, oh but when I saw you…I knew.” Buggy stands up and motions for you to do the same, getting so close to you, your chests almost touch. He brings his hand to your arm, caressing down the length before gripping your wrist harshly, causing you to wince. “Do you….” he trails off, “Do you really not remember me?” He brings his eyes from your arm to your face, making direct eye contact.

You struggle to find words, what does he mean, remember? Yeah, he gives you a strange feeling everytime you're near him, but you’ve never met this man in your entire life. You think. Honestly you can’t remember anything before the age of seventeen.

“I– no, no I don’t…”

His smile fades, and he lets go of you, “I thought you would remember once you saw me, we were on Gold Roger’s crew together years ago, but you went missing after a particularly tough battle.” He pauses, thinking carefully about what to say next, “You– We– We were close, and I was devastated, I thought you were dead.” He’s being surprisingly vulnerable right now, and it’s kind of scaring you.

“I don’t really remember anything before I turned seventeen, All I know is one day I woke up on an island, a group of pirates took me in, I left, and I’ve been on my own since. The only reason I am where I am today is because I wanted to find who I was, and I figured I could find that out at the grand line.” You feel overwhelmingly sad. Why are you sad? You don’t even know him.

There’s a long silence between the two of you, it’s uncomfortable, tight, and makes you want to leave, until he says, “Let me show you.” He says abruptly, and you think you see a blush across his face.

“Sorry, I mean, please,” Buggy steps into your space again, this time his eyes flit between your lips and your eyes, back to your lips. “I’m sorry we couldn’t find you, I’m sorry you had to go through that, I missed you so much y/n” That was the first time he’s said your name this entire time, but it’s not one you recognize.

“Is that my name?” Your lip quivers, he’s so close now, your lips are inches apart.

“Yes it is, y/n, sweetheart, princess, I’ll call you whatever you want, just let me show you.” The thick air has disappeared and is now replaced with tension. Something deeper, heavier, fills the room. But it’s not a bad thing.

“Let me show you who you were to me.”

You let his face drop to yours, and your lips finally connect.

The kiss is slow, languid. It’s like his lips were meant to connect with yours. Buggy wraps his arms around your waist. Pulling you in closer, and kissing you deeper. His tongue slips into your mouth, and you let him kiss you as deep as he wants. The pace quickens and he slots his leg in between yours, rubbing against your pants and providing much needed friction.

You moan into his touch and he walks the both of you backwards until the back of your knees reach the bed. He lowers you onto it and hovers above you, kissing you again before departing. “Is this okay?” Buggy asks, brushes his hands underneath the bottom of your shirt, slowly lifting it.

“Only if you return the favor.” He chuckles and lowers his head to your neck, sucking and biting gently while riding up your shirt until your chest is exposed. You sit up briefly to take off your shirt and as promised, he does the same. He isn’t overly ripped like most pirates are, but he’s still well toned. His muscles flex as he shifts lower, kissing down your chest, down your stomach and stopping just above the navel.

“When I saw you were the one my men captured, it took my breath away,” He lifts your hips so he can remove your pants and undergarments, “I was scared, anxious, I didn’t know what to do, so I pretended I knew you for your skills, not for your past.” After removing everything, he pushes back, kissing your thighs before sitting up, taking his gloves off with his teeth and throwing them to the side. Man that was hot.

Buggy detaches one of his hands and lets it roam up your torso, reaches your neck and gives it a gentle squeeze. Before leading his fingers over your mouth, asking for entry. You grant it and his index and middle finger slip into your mouth, swirling your saliva around and coating them generously. “When you suspected I knew more, I didn’t know what to do. When you boarded I just knew you by name, not face, there was no way I could’ve expected this.”

He removes his hand from your mouth and moves it down to your center, rubbing through your folds gently and inserting two fingers, scissoring you open and prepping you for what's to come. Buggy uses his still detached hand to remove his own trousers, his cock springing free from its confines. He strokes it slowly, clearly getting off to his detached hand fingering you open.

“Buggy…” You moan, you can’t even reply or form a sentence, the pleasure too good.

“Shhh just relax sweetheart, I’ll take care of you.” He brings his hand away from your now dripping cunt, reattaching it and leaning down. You feel his breathe over your core, he kisses your clit before taking it in his mouth, lapping up your taste and fucking you onto his tongue. You can feel your orgasm approaching quickly as he flits between sucking on your clit and tonguing inside of you, but he pulls away.

“Fuck! Why’d you–”

You’re interrupted by his cock entering you and your legs being lifted by his hands so he can enter as deep as possible. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so full before. His cock fits so nice and feels so good and he hasn’t even moved yet.

“Fuck you’re so tight and wet for me, so fucking good huh? Letting me fuck you like this.” His pupils are so blown out, he watches his own cock pull out and start to thrust into you, it just fuels your arousal further. Buggy starts out slow, just getting you used to his size before he picks up the pace, fucking into you even deeper and faster.

“Shit, gonna cum Buggy please.” He moves your legs to prop onto his shoulders and he grabs onto your waist, pushing down and holding you in place as he fucks into you roughly.

“Gonna cum for me? Go ahead sweetheart. Cum all over my cock.” He moves his hand over your abdomen and presses down, the pressure making you feel dizzy. You feel white hot, the band finally snapping as you come. “Fuck, gonna cum soon too, gonna fill you up so good.”

Buggy relentlessly fucks into your cunt, overstimulating you and causing a pressure to build that’s unfamiliar. “Wait Buggy I, fuck I feel weird it feels good.” Soon, with a loud cry you feel a wetness rush between your legs, causing you to let out a loud string of moans and curses.

“Squirting for me already? God you’re full of surprises. Shit, I’m coming.” A few more snaps of his hips and you feel his hot cum fill you up, as promised. It feels so good. He slows down and pulls out, his load leaking out of you and onto the sheets below. “So good for me.” He whispers, leaning down and kissing you gently. He cleans the both of you up quickly and gets dressed, ready to go back to his quarters for the night.

“Wait Buggy, before you go…” You trail off and he turns around, listening intently. “If you don’t mind, can you tell me more about my- about our, past? I need to know where I came from, what happened.” Buggy smiles gently, walking up and kissing you on the forehead.

“Of course princess, later”

#buggy smut #buggy x reader #buggy the clown smut #buggy the clown x reader #opla smut #opla x reader #op smut #op x reader #one piece smut #one piece x reader #buggy one piece #buggy #buggy the clown

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fancyfeathers · 7 months ago

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i wondering how much does the boyfriend of sister!darling react to her reaction of him being in court, would he be like i will destroy it from the inside out to prove his loyalty to her or would he try convincing her it isnt that bad and shes over reacting. I like to imagine him being caught when darling gets kidnapped as a civilian ,shes tries to plan her escape or get recused by the batfam but all before that hes the one who comes save her by usingthe help of the talons and breaking peoples finger until he gets the information on darlings whereabouts.

Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling

The thing about power, when they have it they are not exactly willing to give it up. So he would be a mixture of both, he would not give up his power and try to destroy the Court of Owls but his life is completely devoted to her, his power is hers and everything thing he owns is hers.

But spoilers if you are reading for my Always Prey But Never A Bird series beneath the cut

Her boyfriend is the next Judge of Owls or Voice of the Court (if we are going by Gotham Knights terms), but he is the next leader of the Court of Owls, an heir, as much as he loves her, why would he give that up? Practically complete control over Gotham, I mean it’s a practically guaranteed way of keeping her safe. Sure the use of Talons is a bit unethical, undead lethal assassins that may or may not have been groomed since they were kids in Haley’s Circus, not to mention that’s where her older brother was raised, but it’s fine.

Now what he would do is have anyone killed in the Court that speaks ill of her, he doesn’t care if the news shows another person who is only rich because of their parents was found with a slit throat, it’s what the bastard deserved. But still he would be that perfect golden retriever boyfriend for her, literally sitting at her feet if she asked him to.

Now if she got kidnapped or something, all bets are off, he is not covering anything with a smile, he looks so crazy that he might as well be the Joker at that point. Anyone even suspected of kidnapping her or hurting her is dead, tortured, or worse. God forbid the person who hurt her was a member of the Court of Owls because he will show no mercy to them, not an ounce, by the time he is through with them they’ll be begging for death. The person will be sobbing on the floor, yelling out in pain as he steps over them, standing on their hand as he walks over to hug her, oh he hopes she’s alright, is she hurt, is she hungry, anything she wants and it’s hers.

Hell, he’ll even kill her family if that’ll make her happy, not her mother of course, not that daughter!darling would ever think about doing such a thing, since he’s fond of her and his mother is such good friends with her.

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kathlare · 7 months ago

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the race of resentment

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Lando is confronted with painful memories and unresolved jealousy during the Monaco Grand Prix.

Wordcount: 1.2 k

Warnings: just fluff

full masterlist // request over here!

May 27th, 2023 - Monte Carlo, Monaco

The Monaco Grand Prix was always a spectacle, but today it felt like the circus had come to town. Lando stood by the McLaren garage, feeling a familiar weight in his chest. The sun was high, the buzz of the crowd was deafening, and the engines of the cars reverberated in his bones. But none of that mattered. Not today.

He couldn't stop staring at Rodrigo. The guy who had what Lando couldn't—Amelie.

It didn’t matter that Lando had moved on. It didn’t matter that Amelie was long gone from his life, or that she was living her own whirlwind career. He couldn’t ignore that sour feeling in his gut every time he saw Rodrigo's face, knowing he was dating the girl that had once been his. The girl who, despite everything, had always held a piece of Lando’s heart.

The heat of Monaco wasn’t the only thing that made Lando feel like he was suffocating today. It was the fact that Rodrigo was standing there, just a few feet away, chatting with some of the other drivers like it was nothing. The McLaren team had invited him here, and now he was part of the show, in the spotlight, in the place Lando had worked his whole life to be—except it wasn’t just his career that Rodrigo was enjoying. No, he was also reaping the reward of Lando’s past. The past he couldn’t seem to shake off.

Lando had tried to forget about Amelie. Tried to focus on his racing. But no matter how fast he pushed, no matter how hard he fought to put the past behind him, it always seemed to find a way back into his life, usually when he least wanted it.

Rodrigo had it all—he was living the life Lando had dreamed of, in the most intimate way. With Amelie. His Amelie.

Lando's hands gripped the railing of the McLaren garage harder, his knuckles white. He couldn’t stop the bubbling resentment that threatened to break free. Rodrigo didn’t belong here. He didn’t belong in this world. It wasn’t just the fact that he had Amelie, it was the way he carried himself—like he had earned the right to be here, to be in this space that Lando had fought tooth and nail for.

But he couldn’t change it, could he?

The two hadn’t spoken, not even once, since Rodrigo had joined them in Monaco. It wasn’t even an option—Lando wouldn’t make it easy for him. Every time Rodrigo flashed a smile or offered a handshake to someone, Lando would turn his head, his gaze cutting through the noise of the event, avoiding him at all costs. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to ignore Rodrigo’s presence, the guy kept showing up, almost like a ghost from his past. He couldn't escape it, and the worst part? Neither of them could pretend it was fine.

—You’re staring again,— Carlos Sainz teased, his voice cutting through Lando’s tense silence. He shot a knowing glance at the younger McLaren driver, his lips curling into a grin.

Lando rolled his eyes, unwilling to give Carlos the satisfaction of a response. Carlos knew. Everyone knew.

—Tell me you’re not still salty about Rodrigo,— Carlos smirked, leaning against the garage door, arms crossed. —Mate, you’ve been acting like a prick about him since he walked in.—

Lando’s jaw tightened. —I’m not being a prick,— he muttered under his breath, though he wasn’t sure whether he was trying to convince Carlos or himself. He glanced over at Rodrigo again. The guy was laughing with Charles Leclerc and some of the other drivers, his brown eyes sparkling with energy, completely at ease in the world that Lando had spent so many years fighting to belong to.

—He’s been with Amelie for over a year now,— Carlos continued, his voice quieter now, not wanting to make it too obvious. —You’re jealous, man. We all see it. I get it... Amelie meant a lot to you, and it still stings, but you’ve gotta let it go.—

Lando hated that Carlos was right. He hated that Rodrigo had stepped into a life he thought was his to claim, just like he’d always thought Amelie was too.

And yeah, maybe he was jealous. Not just of Rodrigo being with Amelie, but of everything Rodrigo had that Lando hadn’t been able to hold on to. Amelie, sure—but also the way Rodrigo seemed to live life with ease, his charm slipping him past the cracks where Lando had failed. And now, here they were, two men who had both, in different ways, cared about the same woman—and Lando was the one left standing in the shadows.

—I’m fine,— Lando said, but it came out more like a deflection than anything resembling confidence. His gaze flickered back to Rodrigo, who was now talking to Zak Brown, laughing and nodding in agreement like he belonged there. The nerve. —Let’s just focus on the race, okay?—

Carlos raised an eyebrow, sensing the tension in Lando’s voice. —Sure, mate,— he said with a mock salute, but he didn’t press further.

Lando shifted on his feet, trying to ignore the seething jealousy and frustration that bubbled up every time he looked over at Rodrigo. But it was impossible. The guy was everywhere. It was like he was just… there, all the time, as if Lando couldn’t escape him, couldn’t escape the reminder of what he had lost.

Carlos, still watching him, finally sighed and shook his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. —You know, I never understood why you couldn’t just make peace with it. It’s been what, over a year? .—

—Shut up, Carlos,— Lando snapped, his voice a little harsher than he intended. But it didn’t matter. Carlos just raised his hands in mock surrender.

—Fine, fine,— Carlos said, shaking his head with a smile. —But don’t come crying to me when the wheels fall off, mate. It’s clear as day. You're still stuck in the past, and I’m just here to watch you make a fool of yourself.—

The words stung more than Lando was willing to admit. But he wasn’t about to let Carlos know that. Instead, he just grunted in response, pushing off the wall to make his way to the front of the garage. He had to focus. The race was coming, and he couldn’t afford to let his personal issues distract him. Not today.

But even as he stepped away, Lando couldn't stop himself from looking over at Rodrigo one last time. The way the guy stood there, smiling as if everything in his life was perfect, was a slap in the face. Lando had worked so damn hard to get to this point, and yet here was Rodrigo, breezing through it all with a charm that seemed to open doors for him without even trying.

It wasn’t fair.

As Lando moved closer to the pit lane, he could feel the tension mounting in his chest. The qualifying session was just around the corner, and he had to stay focused. The track was challenging, and he was going to need all his concentration to make it through Q1 without any more setbacks. But every time he closed his eyes, all he could think about was Rodrigo.

And Amelie.

God, he missed her. He missed the way things had been before everything fell apart. The late-night talks, the inside jokes, the little moments they shared. It all felt so far away now, like it had been a lifetime ago. He couldn’t help but wonder—if things had been different, would it have worked? Would he still have had a shot at something with her?

The sound of cars revving to life snapped him out of his thoughts. It was time to focus. No more distractions. He needed to prove himself today.

As Lando suited up, he felt a small sense of resolve wash over him. He wasn’t going to let anyone take this from him—not Rodrigo, not anyone. He had a race to win, and that’s what mattered now.

But as the cars lined up and the crowd roared in anticipation, Lando couldn’t shake the feeling that today wasn’t just about the race. It was about something deeper, something that had been festering beneath the surface for far too long.

Rodrigo might have Amelie, but Lando wasn’t going to let that define him. He wasn’t going to let his jealousy ruin this race.

Not today.

But as the lights went out and the cars surged forward, Lando couldn’t help but glance in the direction of the McLaren garage one last time. Rodrigo was still there, still standing like he owned the place, and Lando felt a surge of anger rush through him.

It was going to be a long day. And not just because of the race.

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lazuli-starlight · 6 months ago

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ATTENTION MOOTS

Yall like The Amazing Digital Circus? Yall like character exploration? Is Caine one of your blorbos, or at least you would find exploration of his character interesting? You like fics that have a focus on friendships rather than shipping?

Boy do I got the Fic Recs for You!

Therapy but it's just Zooble interrogating Caine by Sparkhearts2

The Caine Fic Ever. A fic that delves into how Caine works as an AI? How that effects how he functions and thinks? And how the Circus functions as a Computer Program and Video Game? Written by someone who clearly has a thorough understanding of these topics? Along with exploration of Caine as a person? The circus members coming to understand Caine better as both a person and a AI? W O R L D B U I L D I N G? Punches in the feels?

Sign me the heck up!

Abstracted Identity by Royal_Knightmare

Caine has repressed trauma from prior abstractions. Its resurfacing. Also he feels like a failure and slowly losing his ability to deny it to himself. Surely this will not cause any problems whatsoever! He’s fine guys! Hes Fine!

A fic Full of Caine being Silly, Caine angst, exploring what Caine’s past may have been like, and Kinger being a Dad. You will want to give Caine a hug after reading this.

The Ringmaster's Written Reminders by The_Spam_Specialist

A fic series about FRIENDSHIP! After Caine unthinkingly tackles Pomni out of the path of a rampaging an escaped abstraction she starts seriously rethinking how she sees him. Meanwhile, Caine is made to realize that he has been forgetting things and starts keeping a physical list of important info on each of the circus members. Character development, fluff, angst and Friendships ensue.

Caine's Quirky Chronicles of Convivial Quests by GoGo_BlueDynamite

This series is less Caine-focused and more focused on all of the different characters. The stories are not really connected to each other but they are all exploring deeper into who the human cast are as people. I like this series because it incorporates the effect the characters past as humans and the effect the past abstracted characters have on the current cast. Makes the characters feel more real.

@wolftheidioticfan - tagging you cuz I at least know you are a fellow Caine fan :P

#the amazing digital circus #tadc #tadc fic #tadc fic recs #fic recs #tadc caine

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mylovesstuffs · 7 months ago

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OT13 and their Maladaptive (unhealthy) coping mechanism

A/N: Just a little reminder that no one’s perfect, and even though these coping mechanisms might not always be the healthiest, they’re pretty relatable. After all, who doesn’t try to avoid stress in their own ways? Sometimes, it's just about making it through the day. We’ve all been there!

Content: Mental health, stress, and maladaptive coping mechanisms. These topics, while presented in a lighthearted way, may be triggering for some who are sensitive to issues around stress, avoidance, and emotional management. Please proceed with caution if these topics are sensitive or triggering for you or just skip for your own sake.

This is my personal opinion and perspective. It may not accurately reflect their real-life personalities or behaviors.

Seungcheol: As the leader, he carries a lot on his shoulders. But when it gets too much, he might lean into the I’m fine routine, pretending everything’s okay even when he’s on the verge of a breakdown. He’s too proud to ask for help sometimes, and you just know he’s the type to act like he's ‘just a little tired’ when really, he’s about to crash. We’ve all seen it—his inner monologue is probably like, I got this. I got this. Who am I kidding, help!

Jeonghan: Ah, Jeonghan, the guy who might joke (he's not joking) about needing a nap, but when it gets overwhelming, he tends to bury himself in distractions. Whether it's scrolling through his phone, watching too many YouTube videos, or just zoning out in a random corner, he’ll avoid confronting the stress head-on.

Joshua: Joshua is the type to bottle everything up. His coping mechanism? Probably something along the lines of ‘I’ll just keep everything inside and hope it resolves itself.’ He might try to keep things light, cracking a circus here and there, but deep down, he’s not giving himself the time to really process things. "Oh, no, I’m totally fine," he says, and then he gets lost in his guitar for hours, hoping the music will just make everything magically better.

Jun: Jun’s a reserved one, and when things get tough, he might just shut everyone out. His coping mechanism? Silent treatment...to himself. He’ll isolate himself, retreating to his space, pretending he doesn’t need anyone.

Hoshi: Now, Hoshi might get super energetic when stressed, channeling all his anxiety into hyperactivity. He tries to push through it by overworking himself—distracting himself with activity after activity. But sometimes, he forgets to slow down, and suddenly, he’s exhausted in the worst way possible.

Wonwoo: Wonwoo's a classic introvert. When stress hits, he might go into ‘silent mode’ and avoid everyone, including his own feelings and members. He might retreat into games or other activities to distract himself. But sometimes, it’s just him avoiding talking about what’s bothering him. A little more communication wouldn’t hurt, but at least, he’s got his way of handling things—even if it’s hiding from them for a while. “I’m just...lost in this game. Nothing to see here!”

Woozi: Woozi, on the other hand, might bury himself in work—because, well, if he keeps busy enough, he won’t have to face the stress. Music, deadlines, and work are his escape route. But if he’s not careful, he’ll get caught up in his own perfectionism and burn out. He can just tweak this one last thing… and then maybe he can rest. Or not—

Dokyeom: His way of coping? He hides behind humor and positivity. It’s his shield, but sometimes, he can’t tell when it’s just a little too much. He might overdo it with the jokes, laughing off his stress instead of dealing with it. He probably has this coping mechanism "toxic positivity." It is the idea of pushing aside negative emotions or pretending to be happy all the time, even when things aren't going well, in the hope that it will eventually lead to genuine happiness. But sometimes, he just needs to let himself feel the feels :(

Mingyu: Mingyu’s the kind of guy who might try to keep everything under control by staying busy—way too busy. He’ll go into “let’s clean the whole house” mode, or maybe obsess over an odd project that distracts him from his emotions. Sure, it gives him a sense of accomplishment, but he’s not really processing anything. Just keep moving, Mingyu. The stress will go away…somehow

Minghao: He's a bit of a perfectionist, so when stress hits, he might withdraw into his art or meditation. But sometimes, he gets stuck in an endless loop of trying to make everything perfect instead of just letting things be. He might start overthinking and get lost in his work, not realizing he’s just avoiding the feelings that need to be addressed.

Seungkwan: Seungkwan’s a talker, no doubt about it. But when things get tough, he might talk himself in circles, using humor to deflect real emotions. He doesn’t always know when to stop joking around, and sometimes that keeps him from really expressing how he feels.

Vernon: Vernon might cope by immersing himself in music, movies, or media in general, sometimes as a form of escapism. He could get a little lost in these distractions, avoiding real-life stress. It’s his way of tuning out, but we all know that ignoring the issue doesn’t exactly make it disappear.

Dino: He tends to overwork himself. Instead of leaning too much on others, he might dive into practice or focus on perfecting his dance moves, hoping that working hard will help him manage the pressure. He’s also a bit of a perfectionist, so sometimes, he pushes himself too far, believing that if he can get everything perfect, the stress will go away. If I just practice one more time, maybe I’ll feel better... right? he'll say to himself every time.

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eggmode · 8 months ago

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i keep seeing takes that are like "mike didnt do anything about the abuse everyone faced in the circus because he personally wasn't abused" which. just could not be more wrong

this information isn't displayed in the event story, so i can't blame people entirely for thinking this way. but as a hullabaloo/game 8/mike morton fan of several years, let's remember this:

1. mike was the reason that murro was able to escape the circus. mike actively helped murro, his brother, leave when murro asked for help.

2. mike's bombs were actively dangerous. one of his deductions is about bernard saying filling his juggling sacks with rocks was "too hazardous." but mike did that anyway, and made BOMBS out of ACID THAT LEAVES PERMANENT BURNS (r.i.p. joker's face) to juggle. and he did this specifically to get bernard's approval and attention. if a child feels as though the only way to get impress their parent is by Actively Endangering Themself for the sake of Cool Performance Tricks... there's something deeper going on.

3. mike, unlike everyone else in the circus, was raised at the hullabaloo since childhood. we have no record of mike's parents, one of mike's deductions is a photo of "a man with a mustache carrying a young blonde boy," which we can assume is baby mike and bernard. mike knows nothing except the circus-- he has no parents or other guardians to remember. the hullabaloo is all he had. of course he doesn't realize that the abuse his friends, his family is facing isnt normal, if he knew it was happening at all!

4. this one is a little more speculation than anything else, but it's still important to note. one of mikes deductions is a diary entry about how he touched bernard's skin with his cold hands, and bernard called him "dear mr mike morton." mike notes that he would give anything to hear bernard say that again, and that next time, mike will slip his cold hands down Bernard's collar. which...

mike is clearly lacking in a comprehension of physical boundaries one should have with their guardian here. not only is it sad that the only way to get affection out of bernard is to push those boundaries, but this implies grooming behavior on bernard's part. and, more unfortunately, it implies mike may have been sexually abused by bernard. maybe im looking too deep into it, but genuinely there is No 100% Completely Normal explanation for this deduction anyhow.

so. yeah, mike didn't hate it at the hullabaloo like everyone else. but its not his fault he didn't realize the abuse, because the abuse is all he's ever known. he's the most unreliable narrator to ever unreliably narrate, among the game eight members.

that's the tragedy of mike morton. he thought his only home was great and fine, but his world was shattered when he realized that it wasn't normal. the abuse wasn't normal. the only family he'd ever had was actively suffering even before the tragedy of the massacre.

mike's facade makes u think he's well adjusted, that nothing bad ever happened to him. but u gotta look closer to see it. just like how the hullbaloo looked alright from the outside, but behind closed doors it wasn't. and lets not forget that mike's hunter persona is Hullabaloo. he IS the circus!!

in conclusion. please do not misunderstand my boy he is just an unreliable narrator in a game where unreliable narrators (orpheus, alice) put themselves in the shoes of unreliable narrators (everyone else) to figure out their stories (which are unreliably narrated because netease is. netease)

#mike morton #mike morton idv #idv acrobat #identity v #acrobat idv #grooming mention #abuse mention #game eight idv #game 8 idv #hullabaloo circus #yapmode

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avastrasposts · 2 years ago

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A Baker's Dozen - Five

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.

Hello!

A surprise early drop of part five! I didn't want this gentleman to be lost among the Christmas cheer on Sunday night so please enjoy him a couple of days early.

This man was the one that most intimidated me to write, and I think that's true for most of us. Luckily my dear friend @morallyinept is an expert on the subject of this particular Pedro boy, and beta read it. Thank you so much Jett, your encouragement makes this a lot less scary!

Please say hello to Pedro boy number five...

Series Master List

It’s not the first time you’ve seen him in your bakery. Sometimes, when you have your extra staffer in over the weekend to handle the crowds, you’ve seen him waiting in line. Somehow he always comes in when you’re not at the counter, or dealing with another customer, but when you glance out through the open kitchen door, you spot him. More than once. And he’s always watching you, dark brown eyes, curious, intelligent, carefully watching. It intrigues you, and it scares you.

He’s easy to recognise, the bright blonde patch of hair over his forehead makes him memorable, if nothing else. But the way he stands, the weight of his body on one leg, leaning forward onto it while he tilts his head and observes you through the open door with a wry smirk. It makes you think of a trickster, a smooth talker who will smile and charm you with his words while he tries to sell you real estate on the moon. Your eyes meet and he grins, holding up his hand in a nonchalant greeting. You let your eyes glide over him, ignoring his wave as if you didn’t see him, busy looking for a pan or a bowl.

He comes in the next day again, you catch him from the corner of your eye as he steps up to the counter, just as you come out of the fridge. He doesn’t see you this time you think, so you hurry out of sight and go back to measuring flour into the large mixer. Through the door you can hear him talk to the high schooler you’ve got handling the Saturday afternoon rush.

“Afternoon, may I ask after the proprietor of this fine bakery?” the man says, and his southern accent is eloquent in a way that reminds you of old films, theatrical and exaggerated, you can hear the smirk in his tone. In your mind he sweeps an old fashioned hat off his head and bows like the ringmaster at the circus. It puts your teeth on edge and you hope to escape his attention.

“She’s busy right now but I’ll see if she has time,” your highschooler says and you sigh, waving your hand no when they come into the kitchen

“I’m sorry, she’s right in the middle of something, can I take a message?”

“No bother, I’ll stop by later, I have a proposal to the lady that’s best delivered in person.”

You hear him say goodbye and then the door jingles and the hum of the afternoon rush continues as you turn on the big dough mixer, drowning out all else. You wonder what kind of proposal the man could have for you, his response was almost as if he was preparing a sale. The thought calms you and annoys you a little, dealing with insistent sales people was your least favorite activity as a business owner. There was always someone trying to sell you a new mixer or a new oven. You hope he doesn’t come back, but at least you know how to brush off a sales person if needed.

He doesn’t come back until Tuesday, when you’re alone in the bakery, just before closing. The door jingles and you look up, seeing his smile as he steps across the threshold.

“Afternoon,” he says, coming up to the counter, giving you a gallant nod in greeting, “I was hoping to catch you at a more quiet time, seeing as the end of the day draws near. I hope my interference doesn’t disrupt your day too greatly and cause you disturbance.”

His smile sits fixed on his face, as if rehearsed to look polite and genuine, to sell you something.

It’s hard to press back your customer service persona, so you give him a polite smile, internally you’re gearing up to be courteous but dismissive.

“How can I help you?” you ask, and his smile widens into a grin as he tilts his head to the side and looks at you.

“I’m in the market for a special type of treat, one which I hope you’ll indulge me in making,” he holds out his left hand to you, “I’m Ezra, and I really hope you can help me, miss…?”

You take his hand and awkwardly shake it, ignoring his question, but your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. You’d been so certain he’d try to sell you something, you hadn’t considered that he’d be the one asking you to sell him something special even though special requests weren’t a rare thing.

“If it’s doable and I know how to make it, I’m sure we can come up with something,” you reply and he nods his head.

“Oh, I’ll pay, handsomely, of course,”

“What did you have in mind?” you ask, and his smile stretches even further, making his teeth show, and you balk, a tinge of unease shooting up your spine. In the back of your mind you’re reminded of the poem; ‘Will you walk into my parlour, said a spider to a fly.’ There’s a layer of something underneath that smile that unnerves you.

“A sentimental old favorite of mine, chocolate soufflé,” he says, his eyes suddenly slipping into softness as he seems to look past you, “Light, airy, rich and velvety.”

He waves his hand as if he’s conjuring the dessert out of thin air, a dreamy look on his face that’s quickly replaced by his grin as he turns his attention back to you.

“It’s an arduous dessert to master, only the most skilled bakers can create it. Are you skilled, sugar?”

You give him a scowl, you’ve heard every pet name in the book vaguely related to baking by now and none of them sit well with you.

He catches on to your scowl and chuckles, “Not ‘sugar’ then,” he grins as you put your smallest customer service smile back on.

“I can make soufflé but I won’t be able to sell them here,” you explain, shaking your head. “They’re too delicate and need to be served and eaten straight out of the oven. But I’m sure there’s restaurants who have soufflé on the menu.”

Ezra shakes his head with a rueful look,”I’m afraid I’ve tried that route, but none of the restaurants in town have exactly what I desire on the menu, and they won’t make it as a special order. So my hope lies with you, cookie.”

He chuckles again when he sees the flash of annoyance at the pet name, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his smile suddenly looking genuine, “If you’d told me your name when I introduced myself I would gladly use that instead of causing an umbridge with my embarrassing choices of guesses.”

You ignore his comment about your name, feeling even less inclined to give it to him, and instead you begin wiping down the counter for the end of the day.

“I’m sorry none of the restaurants have it, but I’m afraid I can’t help you, I can’t make the soufflé and then wait for you to come in, it would be flat and dull and I couldn’t sell you that.”

“I’m sure you observed, because I’ve observed you in turn, several times, that I’ve been studying you,” Ezra says, his eyes narrowing as he gives you a charming smile, cocking his head to the side and leaning against the counter on his left side, watching you run the cloth over the display cases.

“You’re the most talented baker I’ve seen in all my travels, all you sell here, you make with your own gifted hands,” he waves his hand around the bakery, “And I’ve sampled many of your delectable delights, nothing rivals what you can bake, cupcake.”

His words make your cheeks heat up against your will as you glare at the pet name and he smiles back at you. .

“It won’t change the physics of the soufflé though,” you point out, “it will still fall flat if it’s out of the oven waiting for the customer.”

“Well, crumpet, I have a remedy for that, I have thought of it all. You make it for me while I wait, right here, after hours,” he says, leaning forward when he sees your doubtful face. He takes the cloth from your hand, stilling your movement as he wraps his fingers around yours, just tight enough for you not to be able to just yank them away. His eyes closer to yours now, imploring you to hear him out, and you don’t fail to note that his expression shifts into something more innocent, his brown eyes wide open, forehead pulled up as he pleads with you

“Please, truly, it may only be a soufflé to you, but it really does mean an awful lot to me, to be able to have this dessert again, to remind me of better days, happier times.”

His fingers squeeze yours gently while he talks, “I lost my arm, a while back now, in a mining accident,” he says, looking down to his right hand side where you only now notice that his jacket sleeve hangs limp, “I used to love to bake, but I can’t anymore, on account of my…condition.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you reply politely and Ezra nods again.

“It’s been a while now, I’m getting used to navigating life without it,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, “But I can’t bake, not like I used to, not something that requires two stable hands.”

He lets go of you and stands up, grabbing the empty sleeve of his jacket and lifts it up, “Imagine if this happened to you,” he says, giving the sleeve a frustrated tug as his voice gains an edge of annoyance, “Imagine if you, from one cursed day to the next, not only lost your ability to do your job, but also your ability to perform the most entertaining of tasks.”

You feel your resolve slipping, he’s turned his eyes back on yours and falls silent, for what feels like for the first time since he stepped into the shop. His hand is on the counter between you, open, like he’s waiting for you to take it and shake on your agreement, and his eyes are imploring, his eyebrows raised.

Like this he looks less like a trickster, the facade has slipped a bit, or maybe he’s pulled a new one up, you feel like you can’t be sure. You glance down at his empty sleeve and make up your mind, you’d be devastated if you couldn’t bake again.

“Ok, I’ll make your soufflé, any way you want it,” you say, taking his hand, and Ezra’s face breaks into a wide smile.

“Thank you, bon bon! Your kind gesture makes me most hopeful for the future, there are still good people in this world, prepared to help a poor, armless, man.”

“Enough with the names,” you give him a small scowl, but you can’t help but smile at the same time, his own smiling, face seems genuine, honestly happy for your service.

“Such a sweet baker lady has to have a name that matches the sweetness of her produce, jelly pie,” he chuckles, “I’ll keep trying them out until I find the one that sticks.”

“If I hear one I like I’ll let you know, just don’t hold your breath,” you reply, but you’re smiling at him now and he seems less wiley with the change of his demeanor, more straightforward, as he runs his hand through his hair and grins at you.

“So when do you want to do this? And what kind of chocolate soufflé do you want?” you ask, pulling out your notebook.

“I once went to a small restaurant in France, a tiny little village, somewhere in the mountains north of Cannes,” he says, “and the chef would cover the bottom of the ramekin with caramel, sprinkle it with sal de mer before he poured in the chocolate and then finish with a little bit more just on top.” His hand makes a sprinkling movement over the top of the imaginary soufflé ramekin. “It was inspired, divine,” Ezra smiles at you, an excited gleam in his eyes, that you recognise all too well. “I asked him for the recipe and he was benevolent enough to make a gift of it to me, a small souvenir of a joyous visit and happier times.”

Something in the way he says the last words, a slight slip in the excitement, a flash of something darker across his face, makes you open your mouth. But you close it again as his eyes brighten, the smile comes back up in place and he looks at you.

“I had to translate the recipe into English of course, and now I have it memorized, from all the times I made it myself.”

“Let me make a list then, and I’ll get the ingredients for next week, how about next Tuesday night? Does that work for you?” you ask and Ezra nods.

“Any day would suit me, shortcake,” he grins and you roll your eyes, “But if it’s not too much trouble, I would prefer an earlier day? Maybe tomorrow even? And I’ll help you make it, as long as you have the ingredients?”

You glance over at your calendar, you have nothing planned for tomorrow night and you’ll have time to get the ingredients into your usual weekly order tonight.

“It’ll be tight, but I think I can make it work, if I place the order straight away. Unless there’s something special in the recipe I should have all the ingredients already, eggs, cocoa and chocolate,” you list the items on your fingers, thinking out loud, “oh, I should get some extra cream.”

“This chef used milk instead of cream,” Ezra interjects, “he said it made for a lighter soufflé.”

“Ok, that’s fine, I’ve made them with milk in the past,” you nod, tapping your pen as you think and Ezra studies you, you can feel his eyes on you as his mouth quirks up in a small smile.

“I do enjoy seeing you entranced by baking,” he says, “your attention to detail in the kitchen has kept me captivated while watching you work.”

“I saw you, and I’ve got to say, kinda creepy to be watching people like that,” you reply and his eyebrows immediately pull together in an apologetic frown.

“My apologies, sweet cannoli, but I was truly enwrapped by your work, your skill, I didn’t mean to be unsettling.” He reaches out and puts his hand on yours again, giving it a light squeeze as he leans forward, finding your eyes and searching them to make sure you accept his apology, “I truly am very sorry.”

“It’s fine, just come in and say hello next time,” you reply, “and never call me ‘cannoli’ again.” The last thing you say with a roll of your eyes and Ezra laughs.

“I didn’t think that one would stick, didn’t have much of a ring to it.”

He gives your hand a last squeeze and lets go of it, raising his own in a wave.

“Until tomorrow then, jelly,” he says and you give him a mock scowl that makes him grin wide, “Not ‘jelly’ either then,” he chuckles, “I’ll think of some new ones for tomorrow.”

“No pet names necessary, Ezra,” you tell him, but he shakes his head.

“No, no, you won’t tell me your name, now I make up my own, I will find the perfect one before we’re done. Until tomorrow, muffin.”

“Absolutely not,” you call after him, “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ezra gives you a final grin before he exits and you see him walk off down the street.

He appears again the next day, just before closing like the last time, giving you a polite nod and waiting by the door as you serve your last customer of the day. As the woman leaves, he steps forwards and gives you what feels like a genuine smile, unlike the rehearsed one he’d greeted you with yesterday.

“My sweet cream puff, I have been looking forward to this all day, I’ve been dreaming about finally eating this chocolate soufflé again,” he says, putting his hand on your arm and giving it a light squeeze. His hair looks freshly washed and cut, as does his patchy beard, and he brings a faint smell of cologne into the bakery. With his warm smile and neater appearance, he doesn’t look at all like the unnerving man you’d observed watching you the past few days, and you feel yourself relaxing.

“Cream puff?” you laugh, “Better, but still not acceptable, Ezra.”

“I have all evening to get it right,” he grins and holds up a take out bag, “I thought we could perhaps have dinner and not sustain ourselves only on soufflé, delectable as it may be. If that’s not too forward of me?” He says the last thing with his eyebrows raised in question and you shake your head.

“Not at all, dinner would be nice, I’m getting a little bit hungry already.”

“Then may I suggest dinner first, and then I get to enjoy the evening’s entertainment; watching you make the soufflé?”

“Sounds like a plan, let me get some cutlery and glasses and we can eat out here,” you say. As you walk back into the kitchen, you can’t help but smile to yourself. This strange man is growing on you, his smooth southern drawl makes his flowery language work, and you have to admit, he scrubs up well, with his curls and his bright blonde patch.

When you return with plates and cutlery, Ezra has set the take out on one of the café tables and is struggling with the knot on the plastic bag. You see the annoyance in his face as he tugs at the tight knot, digging his nails into it to get a grip, but failing as the plastic moves under his one hand. The sight fills you with empathy and you’re suddenly very glad you agreed to make him the soufflé.

He hears your footsteps as you approach and he looks up, “It would seem the plastic bag has me beat,” he sighs, “I wanted to have it all laid out for you as you returned, after all, you’re doing all the baking later, the least I could do is lay the table. But not even that is something I can manage these days with…” He jerks his head in annoyance at the empty sleeve of his jacket and sighs.

“It’s no bother,” you say, giving him a warm smile to put him at ease, and it seems to work. He smiles back at you, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners and you notice the dimple in his cheek under the patchy beard as he takes a step to the side, letting you put down the plates and cutlery.

“It’s why I agreed to bake the soufflé for you, I’m more than happy to help.” You untie the bag and lift out the containers as Ezra lays the table, taking meticulous care to line up the plates and the cutlery on either side, finding a few napkins and arranging them too. You go behind the counter to get rid of the bag and when you come back, Ezra has pulled out your chair for you and is waiting behind it with a smile.

“I know this is purely a business transaction, but I have to confess, I’m very happy for the chance to spend an evening in the company of someone who shares my passion for baking”, he says.

“Thank you, Ezra,” you smile as you sit down and he slides the chair in, “I have to admit, I wasn’t sure what you wanted when I first noticed you looking, but this has turned out a lot nicer than just trying to tell another sales rep that I’m not interested in a new oven.”

Ezra has sat down across from you and now he chuckles, “You thought I was going to sell you a new oven?”

“A new oven, a new fridge, new baking pans,” you sigh, “you name it, the sales reps have been in here trying to convince me to throw out my working equipment and spend money I don’t have, on their new shiny product.”

“Well, I’m glad I could surprise you then,” he replies as he begins to open the take out containers, “But I have another confession, I came into your bakery because what you displayed looked incredible, but….” he trails off, glancing up at you with a small smile before he begins scoop rice onto his plate, “I stayed because the woman who runs the bakery is captivating.”

You feel your cheeks heat up as Ezra looks up at you again and he smiles as he sees your reaction.

“And I don’t just mean that you’re beautiful, although that is certainly no exaggeration. But your talent…your talent….” he chuckles as you give him a bashful grin, “Sweet twinkie, you kept me captivated with your skill as I watched you through the kitchen door. You have such passion for this,” he waves his hand towards the bakery’s display cases, “so much creative talent and skill, I just…” he gives a small laugh, his hand rubbing his cheek as he drops his eyes down to his plate again, his usual confident manner suddenly replaced by an uncharacteristic shyness, “I wanted a chance to talk to you, if you’d let me.”

“You’re very sweet, Ezra,” you smile, trying to contain the wide smile that’s threatening to take over your face at his praise.

“It’s only what you deserve,” he says, smiling back at you and handing you one of the take out boxes, “Please, before it gets cold, I’m letting my mouth run away from me as usual.”

It turns out Ezra had chosen a number of dishes from a local Indian restaurant down the street and you both groan as you pick your way through the selection.

“I have to remember this place,” you moan around a mouthful of korma, “it’s incredible.”

Ezra’s mouth is stuffed full with bhaji and he just nods as he chews, a look of bliss on his face as he swallows.

“The man who runs it, I spoke with him, was most courteous. He recommended his favorites from the menu and I must say, he sure does know how to make people want to return.”

“And there will be leftovers for days,” you say, leaning back in your chair, your belly full but there’s still so much food on the table.

“You keep it, my fridge is out of commission at the moment unfortunately,” Ezra says, “you’ll have the most delicious lunch for the next few days.”

“I can’t take all this food from you,” you protest but Ezra just shakes his head.

“I have nowhere to keep it.”

“Then keep it here, and come by and have lunch with me,” you suggest, “we can keep talking about baking and you can spend more time in the bakery, maybe we can figure out some things you can still bake.”

During the course of the meal Ezra had asked you about every aspect of your baking, your process behind the recipes, the techniques you used, the ingredients and where you sourced them. It had been a rare deep dive into your favorite subject with someone who shared your passion for the trade. You felt your attraction for him steadily grow while he leaned his head into his hand and kept his eyes on you as you went into the details of how to grow and maintain a healthy sourdough starter.

“You won’t grow bored of my company, moon pie?” he smiled, “And my increasingly desperate names for you?”

“No, I don’t think I’ll grow bored of you,” you smile back at him, “and your names are getting better.”

He laughs at that and pushes back his chair, “Then let me be a useful guest and clear this for us, and then we can get to the highlight of the evening perhaps?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

You lead him back into the kitchen and the plates and cutlery are soon in your industrial sized dishwasher in the back room. You get the ingredients out onto the workbench as Ezra wanders around the kitchen, looking at your equipment and making approving noises.

“I was never a professional baker like you, but I’m glad to see you favor the same brands for your pans as I do,” he chuckles, “Makes me feel less like a fraud.”

“I’m sure you’re just as good as I am,” you reply, “your skill didn’t disappear with your arm.”

He comes up to stand next to you, and as you look up at him, you see his smile fade as he shakes his head.

“No, but it might as well have, I held my skill in my right hand, my left just isn’t as steady and sometimes you need two hands.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, shaking your head, “I didn’t mean that it would be as easy as before, just that your knowledge of baking is still intact.”

He gives you a small smile, his hand coming up to rest on your shoulder for a brief moment, the warmth of his hand seeping through your t-shirt.

“I know, I just get frustrated as I’m reminded of what I used to be able to do.”

You lightly bump your hip against his and give him a smile, “Well, we’ve got three hands now, and a lot of skill between us, so this will be the best chocolate soufflé ever made.”

Ezra chuckles and smiles too, his hand slipping from your shoulder. But he doesn’t lift it, instead it drifts down to the small of your back and he leaves it there, as you lean over the notes you’ve made for the recipe. It sits comfortably against the cotton, a small, intimate touch that signals something else building between you, or at least you hope it does. Ezra is a lot more fun to have around than what you thought when you first saw him, and you’re glad he’s proving you wrong.

“Alright, I’m putting you on butter duty, I know you can do that one handed,” you say, giving him a wink as you look up at him, you want to involve him in this as much as possible, to make him feel good about baking again.”The ramekins are up on that shelf and the saucepan over there, you know what to do.”

Ezra grins back at you and gives you a sloppy, left handed, salute, “Yes, ma’am, I’m on it.”

While he gets started you set up the double boiler on your stove and start whisking the ingredients together. Ezra comes over with the saucepan and stands next to you while he melts the butter and you set up a third saucepan for the caramel.

“The whisking is the really hard part,” he says as you begin to combine the ingredients, “And even if I use a stand mixer for most things, whisking while it’s over the double boiler proved too hard, the saucepan just slid all over the place.”

“I wonder if there’s a way to maybe keep the saucepan stable?” you think out loud as you continue to stream the cream into the bowl, “Maybe a non-conductive ring, a silicone mold maybe? It wouldn’t heat up on an induction stove, would it?.”

“Maybe, that’s not a bad idea actually…” he says thoughtfully and you smile up at him.

“I can hear the cogs in your head turning, Ezra,” you laugh and he laughs with you.

“Yeah, you got me thinking there, I’ve got silicone oven mitts at home, I need to try with them first and then figure out where to get a ring shaped piece of silicone. But it’s a really good idea, thank you!”

He leans down and gives you a quick kiss on your cheek and it catches you by surprise, looking up at him and he smiles back.

“I apologize, a good deed deserves a nice gesture in return, and your cheeks look very kissable, sweet cheeks.”

He laughs at your exaggerated sigh and eye roll, bumping your hip in return as you’d done to him, “C’mon now, sweet cheeks, as far as pet names go, that one’s pretty good from my perspective.”

“Keep trying, Ezra,” you laugh, you can’t maintain your fake look of exasperation when he’s smiling at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners and looking at you with such a mischievous grin.

“Oh I’ll keep trying, biscuit,” he winks, “I’ll win you over soon enough.”

He steps away to grab a pastry brush, and as you whisk the batter you watch him coat the inside of the ramekins with melted butter. He struggles a bit at first when the first ramekin starts sliding across the workbench, but you quickly grab a kitchen towel, wetting it under the tap before spreading it out on the counter for him to put the ramekins on.

“You’re just full of bright ideas, pumpkin,” he smiles gratefully as you go back to the double boiler.

“I have my moments,” you chuckle and you feel his eyes on you as you continue to whisk the batter.

“You have more than a few moments, I think you have everything,” he says after a little while, his voice low and sincere. It’s ladened with something deeper and it makes you take your eyes off the batter and look up at him. He’s looking back at you, smiling, but there’s another layer to his eyes, like he’s smiling through a memory. A strange mix of regret and sadness flashes across his face, gone, as quickly as it appeared, and his smile grows wider, you realize it’s not reaching his eyes this time. But as you open your mouth to say something, he speaks first, turning back to the ramekins.

“What’s the next step, boss?” he asks, his voice back to the same cheerful tone he had just a few moments ago, and you’re certain you can see the mask come up this time. But you don’t challenge him, he’s hiding something, or at least there’s something he doesn’t want to share. So you consult your notes and point him to the egg whites.

“Use the Husqvarna and make the meringue while I chop the chocolate.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies and gets to work, the whisking made easy this time with the help of the mixer.

You continue preparing the chocolate batter and when Ezra is done with the meringue, you fold it into the airy egg whites, bringing them together into a light fluffy mixture. Ezra watches you as you drizzle a layer of caramel into the ramekins he’s prepared, leaving him to sprinkle a few flakes of sea salt before you scoop the soufflé batter on top, finishing with him sprinkling another few flakes on the chocolate.

“Done,” you say, "we make a good team, Ezra.”

“We do, and you’ve made this one handed fool very happy, letting him finally get to taste these soufflés again,” he says as you laugh and shake your head.

“No early victories, please! We still have to bake them and you know how fickle soufflés are.” You take the oven tray you’ve placed the ramekins on and carefully move them into the oven, turning down the heat.

“With this team?” Ezra chuckles, “I have all the faith in the world, cherry pie.”

“Better,” you smile at him as you watch him wipe down the workbench and then turn to jump up to sit on it.

“Better?” His eyebrows quirk up as he grins and holds out his hand for you, “Am I getting warm with my names?”

You jump up on the workbench and sit next to him, shaking your head, “No, I just find the man using them more agreeable.”

Ezra smiles, his dark eyes glinting as he turns to you, “You didn’t find me agreeable when I first arrived at your bakery?”

“Not…un-agreeable,” you say, thinking out loud and studying his face, the bright blonde patch of hair over his forehead curling with the heat in the kitchen, as are the unruly strands of hair around his neck, patchy beard over his jaw and cheeks, his mouth twitching up in a smile as he waits for you to continue.

“Just…hard for me to place? What you wanted. And why you were always looking at me,” you say and Ezra’s smile softens.

“I looked, because you’re beautiful.”

He says it so simply, no flourish, no fanfare or exaggeration. Just a statement as he keeps his eyes locked on yours, no smile, no grin, just his face, quietly scanning yours for a reaction.

You lift your hand and lightly touch his cheek, fingertips tracing his jaw, the short hairs of his beard, tickling under your caress as he slowly exhales.

He leans his face into your palm, your thumb soothing over the lines at the corners of his eyes as they close, and he lets a small sigh slip out, his warm breath tickling your wrist. Your thumb caresses his cheek while you study his face, the dark eyelashes casting shadows and his features soft, relaxed in a way you haven’t seen since he first showed up. He looks younger as you gently explore his lines with your fingertips and let them melt into softness under your touch.

A quiet hum escapes him as he tilts his head and lets your hand slip over his jaw and back to his neck. The curls are soft, wayward, and wrap easily around your fingers as you lean forward. The plush swell of his bottom lip is irresistible and you press your mouth carefully against it.

Ezra’s eyes fly open as your lips meet, his eyes dark and smiling. His hand comes up and gently mirrors your own, cupping your cheek as he presses his lips against yours in return. As you close your eyes, you feel his warm palm hold you steady and you part your lips, the tip of his tongue meeting yours, tasting him. His touch is soft, both his hand and his lips, making warmth spread through your body as he pulls you closer.

He kisses you like he’s trying to learn how to read you, studying your reaction to how his lips mold against yours as he tastes your tongue under his. Each moan he pulls from you makes him come back to pull it from you again, running his tongue over the same spot, nipping on your bottom lip with a gentle tug. You realize you started the kissing, but Ezra quickly takes control, his hand cupping your cheek, keeping you steady as your own hands caress his back, feeling the bunched muscles under his thin shirt, the warmth of his body heating your palms. You can feel his heartbeat against you, your own pulse thrumming under his fingertips as he pulls another moan from you when his hand slips into your hair.

He groans into your mouth and scoots off the workbench, pulling you with him so that he gains extra height on you. The change in angle lets him wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you in closer, pressing his lips to yours as your hands slide down his back, dipping into the waistband of his pants, finding the warm skin just under the edge.

With a groan, he pulls back, his hand still curled around the back of your neck, your arms still around his waist. You look up at him but his eyes are closed and he leans down, letting his nose run along yours, caressing your cheek, down your jaw, breathing hot over your skin, while he nuzzles your neck, inhaling deeply.

“Like chocolate,” he mutters, “and caramel. What I wouldn’t give…”

He falls silent, his lips pressing against your neck in a searing kiss that makes heat rush through your body, before he pulls back and stands up.

“I’d tell you your kisses are the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted in this bakery, but I don’t think even I could get away with that comment,” he smiles and you roll your eyes with a giggle.

“Not even you, Ezra,” you say, “although I’d say it’s a nice effort and that your kisses are just as sweet.”

“We make a good team,” he smiles, letting his thumb caress your cheek again as you nod. His eyes are still on you and you feel him studying you again, but it doesn’t feel awkward this time, just…breathtaking. Your breath hitches as his eyes slip over your lips, his thoughts clear on his face as the tip of his tongue peaks out. He’s the one who leans in this time, watching you close your eyes as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips, his thumb and finger catching your chin. When he pulls away a fraction, you open your eyes again and he’s smiling at you. The oven timer is beeping in the background and you hadn’t even noticed, his soft lips distracting you both from the insistent sound.

“I’ll get the timer, you get the soufflés,” he whispers and you nod slowly as he smiles and presses another soft kiss to your lips.

“Now, my sweet cherry pie, or we’ll have a very flat dessert.”

You smile back at him and grab the oven mitts and follow him to the oven.

This next step is crucial, carefully you open the door and slide out the tray. They’ve risen perfectly but as soon as they’re out of the oven they start cooling down and soon they’ll sink. You set the tray down on the workbench and Ezra brings over two dessert spoons. His face is beaming at the sight of the soufflés, sniffing as the warm chocolate scent fills the kitchen.

“They smell even better than the ones I made,” he grins as you slide a ramekin over to him.

“A team effort, Ezra,” you smile, “your recipe, our skill.”

“Your hands, luckily,” he replies, holding up his first spoonful of soufflé as if he’s toasting you, and you clink your spoon against his before you both have your first taste.

The flavor is rich in your mouth but the texture is light and airy, a small hint of sal de mer hitting your tongue as you hum around the taste. Ezra’s eyes are closed, his head tilted back as he sucks on the spoon, a low rumble coming from his chest as he savors the chocolate.

“My sweet soufflé,” he smiles, looking down at you through half closed eyelids, “this…this…is heaven.”

He digs his spoon in, and gets some of the caramel too, taking another mouthful as he groans again. You copy him and make sure to get both caramel and soufflé on your spoon for your next bite, and Ezra was right, the combination is flawless. You sigh around your spoon, slowly sucking the caramel off it as the chocolate melts in your mouth. Ezra is watching you with dark eyes and a small smile, his own spoon forgotten in his hand.

“I’d bake for you every day, no matter how much I’d struggle, if I could hear you make that sound again,” he says and it makes you laugh, giggling as he grins. He takes another spoonful of soufflé, smiling as he eats it, some of it catching on his mustache and you point at it.

“You got some chocolate on your beard there.”

Ezra removes the spoon from his mouth and gives you a sly smirk, “I’m sure I won’t be able to reach it with my tongue, why don’t you help me?”.

The tone of his voice, the mischief it promises, makes hot energy shoot through your nerves, your skin tingling as you put down your spoon and step closer to him. He’s looking down at you, his eyes full of mirth as you take his chin between your thumb and finger, tilting his head down towards you. He comes willingly, a small smile still lingering, and he’s so close, his hand finding its way to your waist.

“Can you reach it,” he asks in a low voice and you nod, locking eyes with him. They’re the same rich brown as the soufflé, just as warm and soft right now, as you lean in and run your tongue over the corner of his mouth, finding the errant smudge of chocolate. Catching the edge of his mouth between your lips, you lap at the sweet taste. His hand bunches up your shirt and as you run your tongue over the seam of his mouth, he parts it easily, letting you in. He tastes of the dessert and you know he can taste the same on you.

“I think you got it,” he mumbles, grinning, against your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer.

“I need to make absolutely sure, can’t let you leave with chocolate all over your mouth,” you smile between kisses.

“You take such good care of me, honey.”

“That one’s a winner, Ezra,” you mumble, I’ll keep that one.”

He chuckles, his lips pulling up in a grin under yours as he kisses you again, “But it’s too ordinary, for such an extraordinary woman.”

“I like it, especially when it comes from you, you’re extraordinary enough for the both of us.”

Ezra tugs you closer, making you sigh into him as he buries his face against your neck, pressing a kiss against the soft skin before he rests his head on your shoulder.

“What am I going to do with you,” he says, more a statement than a question, his hand caressing your back, sliding up into your hair, cupping around your neck, “What am I going to do with myself.”

He slowly begins to sway, moving you back and forth in a slow dance without music.

“I need to leave soon, but I don’t want to,” he mumbles, gently spinning you around as you let your hand rest on his shoulder, the one missing his arm, “I have to leave this warm kitchen, your tender kisses, this sweet nest you’ve built for us.”

He spins you again, moving your body slowly with his own.

“This home you’ve created for someone like me.”

Before you can ask what he means he steps back, taking your hand in his, and with a flourish and bow, he kisses the back of it, making you smile.

“I am afraid, my sweet baker girl, that it is time for my departure, I will steal no more hours from you,” he says, letting go of your hand and taking his coat from the hook by the kitchen door, shrugging it back on, the empty sleeve hanging limp by his side. The other arm he hooks around your waist and leads you back out to the shop, towards the door.

“Ezra, it’s pouring outside,” you say, seeing the rain slick street outside, the asphalt shining black under the streetlights, “Let me at least give you a lift home, you’ll get soaked. Where do you live?”

“No, it’s no trouble, honey pie, my car is parked just a block away. And unlike you, my sweet thing, I am not made of sugar, a little rain won’t melt me,” he grins.

A twinge of regret hits your heart as you see the mask so clearly come up over his face again, the dark eyes shifting into something less open, the softness fading away even as he smiles at you.

“Do you have to leave?” you ask as he opens the door, and he turns, resting his back against the frame of the door.

“The illusion has to break,” he says softly, raising his hand and running the back of it over your cheek, giving you a small wink, but the mischief doesn’t reach his eyes this time.

“What does that mean, Ezra?” you ask but he just shakes his head, leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours.

“Take care of my soufflé recipe, sweet girl,” he mumbles, pulling back and giving you a crooked smile. Then he turns and hurries across the street, the rain splashing around his shoes as he pulls his collar up and disappears into the darkness between the streetlights.

…

The bell of the front door jingles just as you’re sweeping the floor, and as you look up, you spot Barbara from the dry cleaner across the street stepping into the shop.

“Hi, you’re still open this late?” she asks, shaking out her platinum blonde box dye curls and you internally sigh, Barbara is the neighborhood chatterbox and you just want to go home, it’s been a long day. But you put on a smile and continue sweeping.

“I’m just getting ready to leave, what’s up?”

“I meant to come earlier but I’ve been so busy. I just wanted to warn you in case he comes by here too,” she says, eyes scanning your bakery as if she’s looking for someone.

“Who?” you ask and she turns back to you.

“There’s a man, you’ve probably seen him, shifty looking guy, he only has one arm, and a weird blonde patch in his hair. He’s been around to all the shops in this neighborhood. I saw him outside your place earlier today.”

“What about him?” you ask, keeping your voice neutral as you duck down and wipe a shelf that’s already been cleaned, hiding your face.

“He’s been conning business into giving him free stuff all week, food, clothes, shoes,” Barbara says, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the very nerve of asking for something for free. “Mr. Mason even gave him a haircut and trimmed his beard, how he dared to do that I don’t even know. I wouldn’t even let him into the dry cleaners, you can’t trust people like that.”

You’re listening, your hand cleaning the same spot over and over as lead settles in your stomach.

“H-how do you know that?” you ask, moving to the coffee machine, rubbing it down with your back to her.

“Mrs. Levinson told me that Fanny, you know Fanny, in the flower shop?”

“Yeah, I know here, what did she say?” you ask impatiently, yanking at the milk nozzle, and you hear Barbara scoff behind you.

“Well, apparently, this man, he told Mr. Olson at the hardware store, that he lost his arm in a construction accident, but Mrs.Saqib’s husband works at the hospital and he said this guy came in last year with a gunshot wound, all infected and nasty. And that’s how he lost his arm,” she snorts, cackling to herself.

You continue to clean the machine, the heavy weight in your stomach turning to nausea, trying to keep your breathing steady as Ezra’s warm smile floats up inside your mind.

“He told the police he got shot at a poker game and it was an accident but I reckon he’s lying,” Barbara continues, “men like that, you never know what they get up to, a real nasty piece of work I think.”

“Thanks Barbara,” you snap, “I really need to close up and get home, thanks for telling me, I’ll be careful if I see him.”

You usher her to the door as she huffs at the abrupt interruption to her gossip session but you can’t get her out fast enough, slamming the door harder than necessary and giving her a strained smile through the window as she waves.

You hurry back to the kitchen, the ramekins still on the workbench and Ezra’s spoon next to them, just where he’d put it before he kissed you no more than a little while ago. You can’t even look at it, pulling your coat off the hook, you rush out through the back door and into the rain.

Early next morning, long before the rest of the world is awake, you’re back at the bakery after a sleepless night. No matter how little rest you got, the bakery has to open, and for it to open, you need to bake. Familiar motions of the early hours, a chance to stop your mind from spinning, it feels like a small relief today. The thoughts of Ezra in your tired mind won’t let your head relax and as you walk up to the back steps you almost miss the envelope pushed under the door.

You unlock the door and slip out the note inside while you step inside. The piece of paper is folded in an uneven line and as you smooth it out you see the unsteady handwriting of someone who’s writing with the wrong hand.

I know what they say about me, the gossip, the rumors, and I confess, most of it is true. I’m sorry. I wish I was a different man, I wish I could offer you something, anything, but I have nothing to give to anyone.

I did tell you the truth in the end though. You captivate me. You will always be my most cherished memory. That will always be true.

Always yours,

Ezra

Part Six

Two links this time, one to the NYT recipe and one to the wonderful Claire Saffitz's making the souffles if you want to attempt them yourselves. I've added the caramel and sea salt though, as an extra layer of Ezra ☺

youtube

Tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3 @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn

#Youtube

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franki-lew-yo · 2 years ago

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Chicken Run 2 things I did really like:

It's a fun and small nod to irl chicken farming, but I like that the pen the chickens are kept in in Funtime Farms is an indoor pen. That's how modern poultry gets by on the "free range" excuse.

Genuinely appreciate how much and how well this movie states Ginger's awesomeness through Rocky or other people. It's not too distracting and it's earned. She is the iron chicken and it's a good way to hype up the character without telling you rather than showing you. God. I love Ginger.

Nick and Fetcher needed more scenes with Molly because them being attached and joining in just to save their "niece" is adorable and a great expanse on their characters. Good.

Rocky was a great dad and way better written than the original but still very much Rocky. That's how you do a 'wrote a potentially problematic love interest 20 years ago now here's them updated for modern ''wokeness' standards,' PIXAR. I liked him being both a hinderence and an accessory to Ginger. Shows why and what I like about them as a couple. I especially like how, without even showing you, that Rocky was the one to tell Molly what she needed to know but did not expand on just how traumatized Ginger really is from her ordeal. That's both in character and a believable thing a parent would do when their kid is simply prodding about their past, rather than directly asking their parent. Also, given it's Rocky and he already didn't have a perfect sitch going on as a circus animal, he probably didn't hype it up as perfect but more or less leaned into how adventurous he and Ginger were.

Ginger and Molly and their whole plot of not understanding each other was fine. Ginger being an overprotective parent who never wants to leave the island now and is enforcing her flock never to leave works better here than in contrived direct to video movies like Lion King 2 or Little Mermaid 2. The annoying thing about these kinds of stories is, simply put, the audience is screaming at the parent to just better communicate with their kids, especially when it's not like Ginger is too haunted to talk about the farm to other characters. What was needed, I think, was real establishment that Molly knows her mom escaped from a farm but doesn't truly know what a farm is and what would happen to her on one. Maybe also have it clear that Ginger is so set on being a "free chicken" she refuses to even talk about her past with Molly- somehow thinking that her old life before was beneath what she is now, even though she was the one who escaped from it and was always worth the lifestyle she deserves. Would be a great call forward to Ginger's slight (understandable) apathy for chickens outside her flock that would come full circle to her being the character she always is and is best at. Over all I liked her, Rocky and Molly a lot. I just wished I could have heard Julia Sawahla instead.

Pacing actually moved decently for once for a modern animated kids film. That's impressive, especially for a sequel.

Mrs. Tweedy saying she "gave Ginger everything a hen could ask for" was really illuminating for her character. Really, much as I wish this wasn't the same character, I love Mrs. Tweedy wanting revenge on Ginger. On a chicken. Her dialogue revealing that she thought the life she gave the chickens on her old farm was "good" for them tells you so much about her and how she sees herself as a good farmer only if she's a successful farmer.

Haha the ending shot is perfect.

Okay one thing about this movie- this may be actually be a bad thing depending on your diet choices -this movie makes me actually really hungry for chicken and chicken nuggets. This whole franchise isn't inherently vegetarian or trying to be anti meat, granted, but that is the take away from the character's perspective given that they are the chickens. To put this a different way: the first movie makes eating chicken really unappetizing from the beginning with the "roll call" scene and the pies the chickens would potentially turn into, over the top as it is, also unpleasant. You definitely don't get anything close to the "roll call" scene in this film. A chicken does die but it's all so offscreen it has no impact, so when she's cartoonishly instantly turned into nuggets that Mrs. Tweedy eats, you don't feel anything...you kind of wanna eat the nuggets. Apologies to any chickens reading that. Here, have some happy chickens to counteract the pain:

youtube

#chicken run #chicken run 2 #dawn of the nugget #aardman #franki's features #Youtube

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homielander · 1 year ago

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i don't quite understand why ryan and homelander are back to the pre-4.05 status quo? ryan is once again being funneled through the vought media circus. he can't even get in touch with homelander. i am trying to follow this progression: homelander accepting firecracker's offer at the end of 4.06 represents more broadly that he can't quash the part of him that longs for love, try as he might. okay, sure. fine. but clearly this is not incompatible with his goal to take over the country, which he pursues throughout the episode. and he's grimly accepted that the realization of this goal also means that supes will "no longer be beloved celebrities . . . but wrathful gods." so why is ryan still being forced to play to the cameras? wasn't homelander over public adoration before he renounced humanity, anyway? what happened to homelander's promise that ryan could do whatever he wanted? this shift didn't even warrant a brief onscreen conversation?

i understand the larger contrast being illustrated and even like it -- homelander can't escape the rut of doing everything he does in service of vought, surrounding himself with yes-men, engaging in an emotionally hollow relationship likely to end violently, so on and so forth. meanwhile ryan breaks from the mould, refuses to let himself be puppeteered (literally), mirrors his father's live breakdown from last season but embraces his humanity by talking about becca and the values she instilled in him, rather than declaring his superiority over everyone else. it works, but the execution leaves a lot to be desired.

i just don't like how consistently miserable the depiction of their life together is. episodes 1 to 3 were full of expository and stilted dialogue as though they'd been living together for a week rather than six months, and the reprieve in episode 5 may as well have been skipped over considering it hasn't been resolved at all. i also just can't wrap my head around why homelander, who does love his son and craves domesticity, would be absent for their first christmas together. i am okay with the general direction of their relationship i guess, but i really wish we had gotten a more nuanced portrayal.

#been feeling this since start of season but cautiously hoped we were getting somewhere after ep 5... guess not #homelander #ryan butcher #ryan & homelander #the boys #the boys spoilers #this really is the ryan and homelander show to me i have like no thoughts about anyone else rn

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pompous-old-windbag · 2 years ago

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What We Can Infer About TADC's Outside World:

I've been pondering The Amazing Digital Circus some more, and it's hit me that we can deduce a small amount of information about the real-life circumstances of the people trapped within.

1. Nobody's starved to death. This implies that their physical bodies are either being kept on life support, or ENTIRELY detached from their consciousnesses. The fact that we see no body at the computer in the end of the pilot implies that either Pomni's body was moved the moment she put the headset on, or her body was destroyed. Either way, not ideal...

2. Nobody is coming to save these people. This may seem obvious, but clearly the outside world is unaware of TADC and the people trapped within. Pomni appeared to have no idea what the headset was before she put it on, after all, and a single missing persons's investigation would likely uncover a long string of disappearances. Either someone on the outside is covering up these vanishings, this happens so infrequently that SOMEHOW nobody's put the pieces together, or nobody cares.

3. The building is still getting power and people are still finding the circus. The monitor hosting the circus appeared old and abandoned in that final shot, however it was still running. That means someone is paying for its upkeep, which implies intention. Likewise new people continue to get periodically trapped within it, which implies that whoever's maintaining the game is either not very diligent, or more likely actively has a hand in getting people trapped.

Theory Time!

While it's WAY too early to say, here are a few possible explanations based on the info above:

1. Nobody within the circus is actually human. Instead they're a duplicated consciousness scanned from someone who used the game and then left. This'd explain all the stuff mentioned above, from a lack of outside concern to detachment from physical bodies. As far as anyone outside is concerned the game is still working fine.

2. Leaning into this and taking it a step further, Caine could be completely alone within his world, and having not seen visitors for decades, has created these "humans" to stop himself from going mad. "Abstraction" could simply be what happens when the AI remembers what it actually is and returns to its original "all seeing eye" form.

3. Time within the circus could move at a different speed. So it feels like years when really its been like 5 minutes. The string of people showing up dispersed over years instead could be people all plugging in over a matter of seconds/minutes. To quote Stephen King's Jaunt: "It's Eternity In There"

4. C&A is actively trapping people in this game for some reason. They're covering up the disappearances and maintaining the game while ensuring nobody tries to free any of the captives. This is in my opinion the least interesting answer, but it IS an option.

5. The people "trapped" within the Digital Circus intentionally did so to escape whatever life they had outside. They actively chose to wipe their minds and live a new life in this digital world, unaware that doing so would make them continuously desire physical reality.

#regardless things don't look good for them gang #all roads lead to Bad Timesville #the amazing digital circus #tadc theory #tadc headcanon #TADC #tadc caine #caine #tadc pomni #pomni #the amazing digital circus pomni

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the-s1lly-corner · 1 year ago

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Hiii! Could you possibly write some headcanons for Ragatha with a s/o that has the form of a fluffy sheep within the digital circus and is always kind of sleepy?

They only ever wear pajamas and always hold a blanket with them for emergencies snuggles and seem pretty nonchalant about the whole...being trapped thing as most of the time they just nap!

(Possibly some angst about them using sleep as escapism and to not have to confront with the reality of the situation..)

Ragatha x sleepy!sheep!reader

bro im so itchy!!! i hate it so so so much!! grrrgrrrgrrr notes: reader is gn cws: brief talk of unhealthy coping mechanisms

diving right into the angst before i have a chance to forget: she can understand why you sleep... you want some time where you're just not aware of whats going on in the circus. she gets it. ragatha herself internalizes her feelings about... a lot of things... as her form of coping and moving on

but she understands that neither of your mechanisms are healthy, and that kind of prompts her to try to find a solution where you- perhaps even both of you- find better methods

its going to be hard, and it may actually make things far worse in the beginning but as long as the two of you are rooting for each other maybe you can make it out to the other side?

carries you on her back if you get too tired to move or really do anything after an in house adventure... shes tired herself but she knows youre going to end up sleeping on the ground if she doesnt carry you

makes you a custom blanket to sleep with, if you give her enough time she might make you other bedding or even sleepwear

there is some... level of... hurt? is that the right word? she loves you a lot, but you sleep so often that it doesnt leave that much private time for the both of you to spend time together

she wants to bring it up, but she doesnt know how to say it without making you feel bad for neglecting the relationship

she does try to put in more work to make things... function.. but its going to take a huge toll on her

circling back to the first bullets, it might actually make her internalize her feelings more and pretend its all fine because it just feels helpless- really it depends on how stubborn you are in regards to trying to find a better solution to your predicament

#tadc x reader #tadc x you #tadc imagine #the amazing digital circus x you #the amazing digital circus x reader #the amazing digital circus imagine #ragatha x reader #ragatha x you #ragatha imagine

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loco-warehouse · 10 months ago

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Mini TADC Theory

Okay, I'm not much of a theory person but since watching episode 3, I've been pondering a couple details. (Spoilers below)

I truly don't think there's gonna be a happy ending for the characters trapped in the Digital Circus.

I don't have too much evidence, but from previous statements from Gooseworx and the little bits of world building outside the circus, I believe we're gonna get a similar ending to, "I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream."

I'm sure most of us have familiarized ourselves with the connection with the two pieces of media-- group of humans trapped to be played with by an AI higher being.

At the end of IHNMAIMS, the humans killed each other besides one, and the only known way out the Circus is abstraction, which is basically a death sentence (or so we believe at the moment.)

But, episode 3 showed something really interesting that I feel needs to be taken a lot more into consideration.

The one person you don't want losing their mind, is the higher power AI God who literally controls and keeps everything together.

Yes, the humans there can abstract from losing their sanity, but you're talking about people who have complex range of emotions and comprehension. Caine does not have that as an AI, but doesn't mean he isn't capable of losing it, as we have seen within' the episode. There's a sense that, yes, Caine himself can abstract, but it's not him that's abstracting, but the environments that he has created. So, for him as the Ringmaster, to have continuously do what he has been programmed to do for how ever many years, to be told suddenly one day that the one thing he believes he's good at, is actually bad-- that is all its gonna take for the whole world to start crumbling around our protagonists.

And due to this not being a official essay, I refuse to go through months of notes that the creator has said so I'm pulling a cheat card of slamming down the wiki pages.

This part is less on the show and more based on its inspirations, and Gooseworx's previous works.

Stanley Parable is a game with many interpretations and meanings, but there is a gist of deconstructing game play and storytelling, which leads into a more philosophical route based off player choices.

And basing it off the obvious, with episode 1 being heavily inspired by the game, the same is happening within' the series for all the humans. While their breaking points aren't a choice, Zooble has already been shown as a shining example of continuing to not play Caine's adventures, even if its for different reasons relating to their body/identity versus philosophical video game tatics. Pomni has made the choice to bring Gummi-Goo back, even if that choice was taken away from them in the end.

Runmo is a short animation based around our protagonist trying to get extra lives to finally be able to reach the other side of the obstacle, even if it meant cheating on gaining those lives. Which, ironically, results in their efforts being nothing, as there was no further platform on the other side of the spikes.

And Darly Boxman...well, I can't fully say, mainly because its less a story and more like a concept. Personally, the short animation feels more in tune with Gooseworx's bleak, dark comedy and slight hints at something bigger going on without giving too much away.

Anyways, the reason I'm mentioning these pieces is mainly to prove that Goose's work has a track record of making fun of the horrific, while also not indulging into viewers sense of happy endings and cutting it short in a dark manner.

There's so much to the show than what I'm saying and showing, but my prediction within future episodes is that the cast is gonna make Caine lose his mind, which may result in them having to hurt/kill Caine, and the rug is gonna be pulled under them where they're (or one of em, probably Pomni like I Must Scream,) in a more broken, haunting version of the Circus and still unable to escape.

Or I could be totally wrong about all of this! Which is fine, I just enjoy speculating and would like to hear other theories and thoughts, or even counter-arguments! Anyways thanks for reading my very first theory ever have a Gucci day yall

#the amazing digital circus #tadc #theory #tadc theory #I've never done a theory post before so hope I did semi okay!!#text

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tarisilmarwen · 1 year ago

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RobStar Week 2024, Day 2 - Power Swap/Role Reversal

(So I have a whole lore dump/backstory for this but the tl:dr is basically that Starfire escaped the Gordanians and crash-landed on Earth the same night Robin's parents were killed leading to a bit of a switcheroo where Batman left the circus early to attend to the crash/invasion and found and took in Starfire and the Gordanians, desperate for something they could bring back, snatched up lil' baby Robin instead and he got liberated by a Tamaranian rescue sortie led by Galfore, who later adopted him. There's a whole big political negotiation that happens between Tamaran and Earth and the The Citadel, facilitated by the Justice League blah blah blah anyway it leads to the kids getting to be placed on a team together eventually.

With all that out of the way, onward!)

---

"Will you please take this seriously?" Starfire complained, exasperated.

Grinning, her human boy companion rolled out of his nonchalant handstand and flipped back off the top of the air conditioning unit to the rooftop.

"Where's the fun in that, Princess?" he teased.

She rolled her eyes and sighed long-sufferingly. She couldn't begrudge Robin, really, he had been raised by her people, his happiness was infectious and reminded her of herself, in her own childhood. Before the mask. Before... everything.

Still, she reached over and tweaked his ear, earning a yawp from him.

"May I remind you we are not here for 'the fun'?" she said, then grimaced at her own idiosyncratic slip. All of Alfred's grammar lessons and her head still couldn't quite untangle English. "This Slade is very dangerous."

"So they say," sniffed Robin, but he sobered up enough for her to get a good reading on her T-communicator without distractions. The boy watched over her shoulder as she held up the device to the abandoned warehouse.

Her scanner beeped. Satisfied, Starfire opened the channel to their other teammates. "There is no sign of the chronoton detonator here, Cyborg."

"Not here either. I've checked the whole east side of the docks. Starting to think Slade might be sending us on a wild goose chase."

Starfire frowned. "We should keep looking. I do not wish to call his bluff before we have solid proof."

"Raven and I are almost finished with the wharfs," reported Beast Boy. "We'll keep our eyes peeled."

The line clicked off. Silence reigned for a moment, uncomfortable and oppressive.

Starfire bit her lip, staring off vacantly into the distance, trying to think the problem through.

A soft hand met her shoulder, and she blinked out of it and looked over at Robin.

His bright blue eyes were comforting. "Hey," he told her sincerely, "we'll stop him. Whatever he's planning to do."

She sighed. "That is just it, though. What is he planning to do? Why announce his plans for the chronoton detonator at all? Why not just simply set it off?"

Robin dropped his hand and shrugged, adjusting his utility belt and checking the contents—small Tamaranian throwing knives, colorful poppers, a traditional warrior Tag'rok stave that he had somehow modified to be collapsable. "Some villains like the thrill, like watching their enemies scramble. Like feeling clever, like they've outsmarted their opponent."

She accepted his logic, giving a small nod. The thing that was bothering her the most was that her nose was completely fine, not a single itch or sniffle. The main component of a chronoton detonator was a metallic chromium core, which she as a Tamaranian was allergic to. (Bruce had found that out the hard way, when he tried a new alloy for her wrist bracers, trying to find something that wouldn't melt under the heat of her starbolts.) If the detonator was anywhere in the docks, she should be able to track it. It would be miserable, but entirely doable.

She explained that to Robin, thinking out loud.

"But then if Slade is sending us on the wild chase for the goose," she mused anxiously, "what is his real plan?"

"Now that would be telling."

The new voice, low and dark, put them immediately on alert, both their heart-rates spiking as they scrambled to see where it had come from. Robin gripped her wrist with one hand, a fistful of throwing knives in the other, and Starfire pulled out her own staff—a simple steel bo—holding it out warily in front of her.

Slade stood there on the rooftop ledge, having somehow materialized there when they weren't looking. His single eye was staring straight at her, with an eerie gleam she found... uncomfortable.

"I'm impressed," he said, stepping down from the ledge. The two teens each took a reflexive step back. "You figured out the ruse much sooner than I expected." His gaze was raking her over, appraising, approving, like that of a proud parent. "But then you were trained by the world's greatest detective."

She bristled at the witheringly sarcastic tone Slade had used for her adopted father's title. Mouth dry, nerves fluttering with little tingles of fear across her arms, she hefted her bo into both hands.

"What do you want?" she demanded quietly.

He was still staring her down, and her stomach fluttered with discomfort.

"I've been watching you for some time now. Testing you." His words were as ominous as his looming form. "I'd heard the Bat had taken on an apprentice—an alien princess no less—and wanted to see for myself what he saw in you."

"Did I disappoint your expectations?" Starfire shot, brows narrowing angrily, gripping her staff tighter.

That creepy, proud, almost parental look again. "Exceeded them," Slade breathed. "The way you fight, my dear... it's magnificent."

Her eyes widened with fear and surprise and that was when Robin stepped between them, letting go of her wrist, that arm out to shield her.

"I think you should back off now," he growled, protectively.

Slade paid him a brief disdainful glance. "I'm not here for you, boy," he dismissed. "So don't get in my way."

Robin's eyes flicked back to Starfire, questioningly. She firmed her features and gave a tiny nod.

The boy whipped his head forward again, throwing his handful of knives.

Slade put up his arms to block, the metal nicking and bouncing off his plate armor, but a moment later caught an unexpected popper in his diaphragm, knocking him back.

"Ungh!" he grunted. He raised his guard just in time to catch Robin's fist in his chin, snapping his head aside.

Starfire rushed forward then, sweeping her staff in a wide underhand blow that knocked the man a-kilter. He stumbled back several paces on the rooftop, surprised by the joint attack.

"Sorry, we're a matched set," said Robin, all serious, flexing his wrists in preparation. "You deal with both of us."

He shot them a glare that was cold and chilling.

"Have it your way," he declared.

He straightened up and charged.

Starfire met his attack head on with a series of thrusts from her staff, then drew back, letting Robin get in close to throw a few blows. His Okaaran martial form was unpolished, but decent enough, Slade was held briefly at bay by the attack. Starfire moved in again, taking Robin's place, aiming for weak spots in Slade's armor.

Back and forth they tested each other's defenses. Slade was very strong, powerful blows whooshing through the air, quicker than he seemed for his size and weight.

He caught her unexpectedly in the face and her vision whited out, head flashing with pain.

She let out a muffled grunt and fell back, skidding on the rooftop, losing her staff. She hit the ground. Her head rang for several painful minutes; she could hear Robin's furious shout of, "Leave her alone!" and struggled to blink, to move.

She had to get... back up...

Robin gave a cry of pain. Blinking furiously to clear her head, Starfire raised herself up from the ground, hands flat as she pushed up.

She saw Robin's wrist clutched in Slade's grip, looking small and human and breakable. She watched him twist it around and down viciously behind Robin's back, almost bending the boy over. Robin's face was screwed with bald pain, he was gasping from it. Slade's other hand had him by the throat, black-gloved fingers gripped around a fragile neck and squeezing.

Righteous fury bubbled up inside her, hot and searing. Bruce had always told her to hold back her Tamaranian powers, keep them in reserve to catch her opponents off guard, but they shoved to the forefront now, all of his lessons and admonitions disappearing into a haze of pure Tamaranian wrath.

She held onto enough of her training to direct the blazing energy through her body. Focusing it. Sharpening it.

It splintered up her spine and into her head instead of down her hands, which surprised her, but she narrowed her glare at Slade, pinning him with a hateful look.

The heat grew behind her eyes, whiter and whiter until—

"Hrraaaaauggh!"

She screamed wretchedly as her eyes lit up bright green and burst forth twin beams of flaming starbolt energy, streaking straight across the distance, pinning Slade in his collar right above where he held Robin pinned.

He was thrown back from the force, releasing Robin at once, pushed all the way to the edge of the roof and Starfire kept pushing pushing, pouring on the energy streaming from her eyes.

Slade disappeared over the edge, her starbolts having pushed him clean off.

The eyebeams faded and Starfire was left panting, head reeling, shocked by what had happened. For several long moments she sat there dazed.

Reaching up to feel the singed edges of her mask, she groaned softly. Batman was going to read her the riot act for this, she thought.

She stumbled to her feet, scrambling up, falling, tripping her way to Robin, who had collapsed to his knees after being let go.

"Are you okay?" she asked waveringly.

"What..." he asked in a daze, "...was that? Your starbolts come out of your eyes now?" His blue ones glimmered with awe at her.

Grimacing, Starfire peeled off her ruined mask, taking a closer look at the burn damage. "My eyes have been itching whenever I summon my starbolts, since my Transformation," she confessed. She shook her head. "But I did not know this was going to happen."

Robin glanced anxiously towards the edge of the rooftop. "Slade. Is he—?"

He left the question unfinished as they both scrambled up to gain the ledge and look down, peering into the dark alley below.

"I do not see him," Starfire said. She didn't know whether to be afraid or relieved about that. The villain would not have been the first one she had accidentally injured with her powers but Bruce would have never let her live it down, he had always cautioned her to hold back more, trying to keep her from shattering spines and skulls with her superstrength.

"Blast!" Robin cursed. He stepped back from the ledge. "Well whoever he is, he's gone for now. Think he's still got that chronoton detonator somewhere?" he asked.

Starfire narrowed her eyes soberly. "No," she determined. She pulled to her feet and took out her communicator. "Cyborg, Raven, Beast Boy, call off the search. Slade was testing us; he does not have an actual active device."

"Greeeeeat," Beast Boy groaned over the line. "Another false lead. How many times is this guy going to yank our chains?"

Starfire didn't answer, standing numbly for a moment and watching the shadows in the alleyway.

The encounter had... unnerved her. Slade seemed to be intimately acquainted with her career and impressed with her abilities. It almost felt like he was... scouting her? Was that the word?

She shuddered. "Be safe. He escaped before we could apprehend him," she cautioned the rest of the team. "Starfire out."

She flipped the screen closed, her emotions roiling. For a moment her self-control and training didn't exist and she was hopelessly vulnerable, needing to express her fears freely without inhibition, according to her natural Tamaranian nature.

She whirled and flung arms around Robin, breath shaking.

If he was startled by her move he didn't show it, gripping her back fiercely even as he grimaced from her hard grip.

"Hey, hey," he called. "We're okay. I know that was scary but we're all right." If anyone on the team understood her, it was him, and he hugged her back just like she wanted—needed—right now.

Regaining her composure, Starfire inhaled and withdrew, arms still trembling slightly. She let herself recover for a heartbeat or two.

"I should report this to him."

"Your k'norfka?"

She smiled at his accented pronunciation of the Tamaranian word. She nodded. "He would want to know," she said.

Robin nodded too, then began checking through his belt. "And I apparently need to train a lot more," he quipped. "Galfore would be so disappointed I let that clorbag get the drop on me."

A giggle escaped her, that she quickly stifled.

"I would be only too happy to help you," she promised.

Reaching for his hand, she let a joyful thought lift her feet, floating them over the rooftops and starting the journey home.

#robstar #robin #starfire #slade #cyborg #raven #beast boy #Teen Titans #robstarweek #fanfiction #prompt fics #yeah so this was my favorite to do this year

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