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ourserendipity · 2 months ago

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“The scent may drive me half

insane, but maybe you’ll see me

then.”

Rui Kamishiro Hanahaki

part one part two

(coming soon!)

anything to say, tommie?♪

hi, guys! this is part one of a two-part series with our favorite punching bag, rui! this is very heavy, all of the resolution will be in the next part. i just wanted to get something out for you all! this IS in response to an ask, but i think tumblr ate it! i’m gonna look for it, so if i find it i’ll reply!

anyway, wow! it has been a terrible couple months!! i am very unwell. i’m sorry about me ghosting you guys all the time, but here we are! here’s my psycho-babble-bullshit philosophical thinking and existential dread in the format of an x reader project sekai fanfiction. i am beyond saving.

i’ll quit talking! just wanna let you know this two-parte is probably the last pjsk thing i’m gonna write in a while

mewnies warning𖦹

this is VERY gorey and has MANY mentions of d€4th/s3w1c1de/1llness. (sorry if tumblr doesn’t care about those words but i’ll censor just in case(looking back i’m realizing that i say it all the time in the fic anyway so idc…)) has in detailed descriptions of puking as well. reader is kinda stupid in this, but what’s new? meow!

It started with a cough.

It was subtle at first. Honestly, he had thought he’d pulled something in his chest at rehearsal the day prior. It wasn’t anything to write home about; a dull ache that could be easily overlooked.

“It could be worse,” he says, staring at the mirror. On a worse day, he’d scold himself for talking to himself, then lament at the fact he actually scolded himself, but today, he felt a little self-pity at the state of his body.

Christ, he needs to chill out. Why had he woken up so erratic?

The walk to school was more or less unremarkable. You two hadn’t coordinated walking together that morning, so it did get pretty lonely. He ended up narrating everything he was doing in his head to pass the time, something that was—admittedly—not out of character. It was a bad habit he’d have to break one of these days, he knows. Not today though, maybe next week when his chest isn’t so heavy. His chest does feel pretty heavy—the sky is cloudy today, isn’t it? Maybe it’ll rain. He hopes no snails come from the ground. He hates watching out for them while he walks. The air seems misty, though, huh?

That morning at school, he hadn’t felt great. He had this fullness in his lungs he just couldn’t get to go away. No matter how hard he coughed, the pressure just wouldn’t release. Now, he’d never been in the best health, so it wasn’t unusual for him to be sick, but you’d think he would’ve felt something the day before. He couldn’t recall feeling this amount of suffocating pain in his chest yesterday, save for when you were talking to that stupid upperclassman-

God, his chest really hurts!

He coughs again, this one curling his body over the desk and making him remember where he was. Will the inconvenience ever end?! He puts his head on the desk, letting a pitiful hand raise, begging for a pardon.

He locks eyes with an upperclassman in the hallway on accident, making his pulse quicken. He can’t believe the nerve of some people!

He catches himself, stopping for a moment. They were just walking—Whatever. He’s not himself today.

While his short interaction may have just been the most terrifying thing he’s ever done, coughing wildly in a public bathroom trumped it. Sure his voice may have cracked when he called the teachers name, and yes, everyone turned to look at him (thus interrupting their class time), but making a ruckus for other people to hear is where he drew the line. God, he really needs to get his act together before he officially has no chance with you, he’s so ridiculous.

Of course, he found it immature that his biggest worry at the moment was his troublesome feelings for his best friend, and not something of substance like grades or music, but that’s just who he is. (He’d never blame you for it.) Though the innate yearning that teenagers have for romance has been told of for years and years, he’ll—at times—stupidly talk himself into believing he’s the only one who has such perverse thoughts of others. It’s not like he doesn’t know it’s senseless, it’s just… whatever. In any case, it’s his own misfortune in of itself. (Which is not something he really needs right now, what with hacking up a lung and all.)

You’d probably think he looks so stupid right now, leaning over a dirty school toilet, kneeling on the dirty bathroom floor. You were the only opinion he just couldn’t shake. It seemed ironically fitting for a boy such as himself to be there; maybe getting sick was karma for being the way he is. He’d see later if he could try praying away his sin on the walk home. Ha!

Another cough wracks his body at the thought of your disgust, and a strange sense of adrenaline overtakes him; akin the feeling of fight or flight you get just before puking. He wracks his brain for the meaning of it all. Just why are you suddenly filling him with so much dread?—Well, more than usual. It’s conveniently almost enough to distract from the fact that he’s turning his body inside out.

Ah, too late.

The contents of his filthy stomach finally reach where he’s coughing from, pooling into a disgusting, viscose shape floating at the top of the water. He doesn’t have enough time to think about the sick, for he has continued to choke savagely on his own breath. He hacks for a while, for a moment he actually thinks this is where he will die. Will God truly subject him to the embarrassment of lying next to a dirty toilet full of bile? Can dead people even be embarrassed?—

What’s that?

His choking finally breaks, but he can’t feel relief for very long.

A small pink petal floats on the top of all the mess, he’s watched enough shows to know what it means. This may just be the first time in his life he hasn’t felt compelled to find out more. His brain goes fuzzy with understanding, for a moment he isn’t even there. He can’t reach a single image in his mind as he stares at the innocent symbol of youth and beauty.

He must’ve eaten something pretty crazy, huh? What a stupid boy he is, thinking that way. Ha! To think he’d fall victim to such nonsense! He should go outside more. Catching a rare, romanticized illness as a highschool boy? He isnt some girl. He doesn’t covet you so much as to die. He has a small crush—not even! A fondness!

He laughs for a while, running his hand through his hair as he stands up. He washes his hands just that much harder and only comes to when he notices the redness of them. When did that happen? He must’ve hit them on the desk, he can really be so careless! The automatic faucet no longer registers his hand as a humans and he curses it with annoyance. He feels so sorry he ever thought such a brain-dead idea. His anger is only heightened when he realizes he’ll have to walk back to class with pruny, red fingers. He really does hate that class, he must have another half hour-

The bell rings? But it’s only… 11? Ah, he must’ve been in class longer than he thought. He had only been in the bathroom for five minutes at most! Days feel shorter and shorter recently, maybe he’s been sleeping too much! He takes a sharp turn, his body subconsciously wandering to where you eat together with him. He doesn’t even heed the stares of his classmates, he’s stopped noticing actually, it’s not that big of a surprise, not like he’s been all that bothered much anymore. He doesn’t heed much of anything, now that he’s thinking—or struggling to think—about it.

He just sits with this blank stare, naturally waiting for you, as if you had to tag him out. He can’t hold an idea in his head for longer than a second, that is, until you walk by. The world stops spinning and he’s hit with a sudden overwhelming feeling of intoxication. Lucidity hits him like a thousand bricks, he can’t help from wondering if “they” are letting out hormones causing him to feel so good around you. What are “they”? Nothing. He doesn’t care to explain to any reader what’s going on. Some can be too stupid to understand.

A rise of euphoria bubbles into his throat and he can’t help but look at you with wide eyes. His good humor is back.

“Hi,” he breathes, his trance lifted.

Now, you (completely in the dark about this whole situation) didn’t exactly know why he was staring at you so intently. It made you feel the slightest bit self conscious, so you decided to inspect him further. His cheeks were blotchy, his pupils were blown, there was this strange stain on his collar—Jeez, what happened to his hands?

“Hi?” You make yourself comfortable next to him, pulling out your lunchbox. “We can go inside if it’s too wet, i just thought it might be nice—“

“No! It’s fine!” He shakes his head fervently. He does feel the need to do something, though. He doesn’t have any homework, and it’s not like he can play with his machines from school. He bounces his knee restlessly, trying desperately to start a conversation.

“So, h—“

“Are you—“

“Sorry, go ahead,” you prompt, not wanting to pass up an opportunity to hear him chat you up while in good spirits (very good, you noticed.) He’s been a little down in the dumps recently—not that you were paying extra attention to him or anything—so it was welcome.

This, however, was preposterous to him. The mere thought of taking up the sacred time he has with you with something as needless as what he had to say was sickening—sacrilege! He waves you off, his hands hasty from the rush.

“I was only gonna ask how your day was!” He blurts, the trembling of his body growing more and more apparent. He needs to hear all about it.

On a different day, he’d be a little more reluctant to be so obvious with you, but a parasite has turned him shameless. He would make an ass of himself to keep chasing this feeling, his chest feels so light he thinks he could faint. He hears the blood going to his ears, pounding into his skull with the fragility of a hammer. The monotonous world he was just in was bustling once again. He can’t help but feel giddy when you open your mouth.

You talk about nothing of particular importance. What you had for breakfast, who was in your first period, but despite the inconsequence, he’s desperately hung on every word. His head nods hastily, agreeing as if you were delivering a speech. He was sure that you’d be thrilled to have him listen so intently, but, if anything, your uneasiness only grew with each word he wasn’t speaking.

He was oblivious to your self-consciousness, as previously stated. Yes, there had to have been a small part of him that was mortified at the way he was acting, but he couldn’t find it in his whole self to mind. It would be redundant to say, once again, how desperate he was for the euphoria you brought him, so it won’t be recorded.

“Rui, are you… good?” You break him out of his mind, making him realize that he hadn’t been listening to your last few sentences. Damnit! How could he be so stupid as to ignore you? His excitement dulls for a moment, only a moment, at the feeling of worthlessness his ignorance has created. He’s terrified to go back to the anhedonia of his day—of his life?—without you. Is that how the rest of his life will be when you’re not around? Is grey what he will see until he dies?

Why would he die? He’s not suffering from anything, his chest just feels so tight recently. He probably pulled something at rehearsal the day before. Yes, that’s it. He recalls pulling something in his chest the day before. The excitement just messed with his memory, that’s all. No need to worry—

He coughs, his body curling in on itself once again, panicking. It was one thing to be alone and choking, to be disgusting in the comfort of his own company, but it’s another to hack up blood in front of you, having you watch as his body wracks itself from the strain. He waves his hands once again, desperate. He is fine... He has a small cold… Yes, he pulled something the day prior… He’s very clumsy….

He didn’t puke this time, he merely coughed up a petal. Ha! How odd it was to do such a thing!

Your horror is a given. It would be needless to say why, but it will be explained anyway (for the sake of clarity).

You had only learned about hanahaki from a recent showing of a musical he’d taken you to a few months ago. You had—admittedly—been slightly skeptical on the idea, thinking it was just another foreign concept for people to amuse themselves, but after a long debate on the topic, you had found out that it was, in fact, real (though uncommon).

It was a great shock to you that someone as agreeable as your best friend would be burdened with an illness of unrequited love. (In a moment of self reflection you would admit to yourself that he would be, in fact, very easy to love. You’d never say those words aloud, though, in fear of him getting the wrong idea.) The thought of your friend suffering from something so agonizing and potentially fatal was enough to make bile rise to your throat, but a new emotion soon followed it; anger. How dare someone not return his feelings? The nerve of this person to not want to spend their every moment with such a wonderful person is absurd! They must be an idiot, you couldn’t imagine being so dense.

He sees the color drain from your face and he’s not so out of his mind as to be ignorant to it. He can only assume you’re going to figure out his secret, who else could it be? Once again his world goes dark and hopeless, the mania he once rode on proceeding to crash and burn before he could appreciate it was even there. Everything has become dissonant, lacking harmony, or substance. He questions what an existence is where you don’t see him. It’s truly better to die than to live that way. After you mock him, he can simply just jump off the school roof. It would be tricky, but-

“Rui…” Your coddling voice rings out, filling his mouth with a sickly-sweet taste. Save him the embarrassment and pity, won’t you? You needn’t concern yourself with trivial matters, go on, now.

“Who is it?”

He freezes. He hadn’t excepted that. Could it be you were playing coy so as to not shoulder the guilt? No, that can’t be it. As unsound as he is, he knows you better than that. You would be true to yourself, he knows that’s the kind of person you are.

He’s furious with himself and you. He can’t believe he would ever think so lowly of you as to believe you’d actually talk him to suicide. What was with him? Hadn’t he had a relationship with you at all? He knows you well—too well—so it’s unthinkable he’d mischaracterize you. But on the other hand, he hardens himself on the fact you don’t know about his feelings. As appalling and depraved as it sounds, he’d never been subtle. Willfully ignorant, yes. Your subconscious must despise him so much as to block out any possible cues to your mind. How humiliating!

A thought races into his head; how is he to answer your question? He simply cannot say that he has feelings for you, he’s better off shooting himself in the foot and trying to run away. He tries to conjure up anybody he could be believably infatuated with, and much to his embarrassment only four people come to mind.

Emu? No, that would never work. She is much too… much. You’d never believe such an idiotic thing.

Tsukasa? Same problem. Claiming to have feelings for him would only stir up unwanted controversy.

Mizuki? Out of the question. You’ve had multiple conversations in which he’s told you how unromantic his love is for them. In hindsight, he should’ve covered his bases more. He’s so stupid.

Nene?

Nene!

It was a perfect crime. She knew about his feelings for you, so even if you did go to her, she’d have the brains to question him privately afterwards. They’re always accused of dating, they’re known for being close, she’s a very likable girl—God, Tsukasa couldn’t think of a better plan himself! Sometimes he could be a very calculated boy!

“Nene…” He rasps out, his head hung low to hide a sick smile. This is it. His hope is gone and he will die; die knowing that he was able to be saved if not for the circumstances. Everyone dies anyway, so why not now? why not yesterday, or the day before, or the year before? What difference is it to him, or to you for that matter!? If he were to drop to his knees and kick the bucket, would that change the course of the future? He’s, of course, not so arrogant to assume such! Such brainless sentiments aren’t reserved for him at the moment. And what is the future? The future has already happened! It’s over! Humans will be gone for good, the earth with explode, everything that will happen has happened. What use is one teenager’s life?

“Nene?” If he hears that name one more time, he may just vomit. He feels guilty to put the blame of his illness onto his bosom friend, but he’s sure she’d understand. Anyone who had any brain would do the same thing he has, so it’s not worth feeling guilty over.

You, on the other hand, are shocked once again. You had never expected it to be Nene. You anticipated someone more distant, far enough out of reach to warrant the one-sidedness. You supposed it wasn’t too far-fetched for him to be in love with Nene, they did spend their whole lives together. Yes, it wasn’t hard to believe when you really thought about it, but now you’re left frustrated at the state of things. Why didn’t Nene return his feelings? You’d thought for sure—

“Did you tell her?”

Great. His time would now be spent more productively if he dug his own grave, or made good of that promise to jump. Is he so inhumane with himself as to keep his this lie going before his death? No, he couldn’t… But what if… Whatever.

“I can’t.” Just shut up and lie in it. Prolonging this is inhumane, even for him.

“Why not?” You’re not helping. Why can’t you have the compassion to leave him be? You’re doing this to mess with him, aren’t you? Do you laugh at the fact he will surely die soon? You’re even worse than him. He can’t believe he loves you.

He loves you enough to die for it, he’d better humble himself.

Another cough.

“Rui! Hey, hey, you don’t need to tell me, it’s okay!” You rub his back, holding him so tenderly he starts to believe he died by some strange twist of fate and ended up in the afterlife. (Even in his suffering, his inner-monologue refused to use the word ‘heaven’. He had read in The Bible that suicide is a sin. He wonders what the perimeters are for an unrequited love gone involuntarily, yet very just, death.)

It pops into his mind that he’s still with you, and it sounds a little contradictory to say, but he’s annoyed. Not at you, no, never at you, but is it too much to ask to die at peace? (Well, as much peace he can have with the circumstances.) Must he be tortured with your face?

He stands up, his coughing seizing for a moment. He thanks whoever’s up there for letting him get through his sentences without choking. He looks down at you, still in your previous position.

“I don’t feel well,” he says curtly. What an idiotic statement! Obviously he doesn’t feel well, he just coughed up a flower. He talks to talk, what a brainless pastime! He should just walk away.

“I could’ve told you that,” you reply. “Do you want me to take you to—“

“I’m fine,” he rejects, walking away.

A worrying exchange…

You decide you need to help your friend. You can’t just watch him die.

That day, Rui walks home with the eloquence of a man on trial, trudging as if his fate had already been decided—it has. What can he do about it? He can’t even begin to imagine what death is. The thought that he will simply cease to exist, that he will just return from whence he came, no consciousness weighing him; it’s terrifying. People say “a fate worse than death” without thinking, but what is worse than death? Torture keeps you sane, mediocrity keeps you comfortable; death ends, that’s it. There’s nothing. Pain can stop, dullness can be invigorated, you cannot bring someone back from the dead! What a moronic fantasy to entertain! He’s going to die! He will die. Death, dying, and all words similar make him want to scream. Mortality is such a cruel idea. He tries to tell himself he shouldn’t worry about it, that it will come either way and should be accepted for a natural part of life, but he can’t stop himself. What is the point of anything if he is meant to die? He can’t control it.

It starts to rain, which is only another thing he has no say over. He grasps for any semblance of choice, of say, but all he finds is a pitiful snail making its way across the pavement.

He stops in horror, examining the sorry thing. They’re both alive, yes, that snail is living its only life, the same as him. He thinks of the amount of people who run their bikes over them without a second thought, he thinks of watching his peers pour salt to amuse themselves for a moment or two. They’ve probably forgotten taking lives. As previously stated, he takes better care to step around them when the air becomes dewy. It wouldn’t feel right to have such disregard for life, especially now.

He starts to think of all the bugs he’s slapped, all the stay cats he’s shooed away, all the rats he’s trapped, and it makes him feel sick. They are all dead now, their one life was ended. He should feel lucky he (at least) had a good run. He got to be a human being, isn’t that something? At least he lived 17 years, instead of a couple weeks. That snail will be dead in a few days if not caught, no doubt. Which is better; to live for as long as your body can, or die for the betterment of another? Isn’t that what his disease is… in a way? With or without meaning to, you hunted and killed him, stripping him of his choice. He is now the person in ethics questions who is tied to the tracks! Ha!

That snail has only moved a couple inches since he’s been watching…

He’s hit with a sudden wave of resentment.

Must be nice, huh? Being able to live so leisurely. The deplorable thing is surely not aware of its own existence. The more he thinks, the worse this resentment becomes. He’s so unlucky to be a human being, everything he’s stated before has been proven false. People are idiotic and dense. How braindead is it to become the only species capable of existential thought? Do we as a society benefit from such? He wouldn’t entertain the idea. Sure, other animals know they have the possibility to die, but they don’t actually grasp what it truly means. The more he thinks, animals cant love too, which is what caused his untimely death to begin with. Ignorance is bliss. Only the dumb are comfortable.

The tip of his fingers vibrate and go numb as his body fills with unbridled fury. How dare this thing taunt him? How dare it spark this conversation? If it could hold a thought in its head, it would no longer be moving; it would scream as he is now. How lucky is it, being able to live life without strain? It could barely be considered living, actually, he’d be surprised if it had a brain at all. What a depraved, useless, insignificant, and unenlightened waste of air.

In a fit of passion, he crushes a shell and the parasite inside. He drags its remains across the pavement.

It was going to die anyway.

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ourserendipity · 4 months ago

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LOOK AFTER YOU. — rui kamishiro

Ꮺ you've begun to feel like home.

— i don't know if this is angst, fluff or comfort. lord help me.

Cold wind blowing through your hair, your shoes were now full of water as you just sit in silence, staring off into space. You'd have almost forgotten Rui was beside you if you didn't hear his shoes tapping against the wet concrete.

It was a comforting silence— one you'd relish in forever, if you could. Comforting, yet uneasy at the same time. You didn't have to say anything at all, he already knew what you were thinking about, anyway.

A shiver jolts itself into your body from the cold, your hair and your blouse was wet as well, which didn't make anything better. The blazer of your uniform discarded somewhere in the school, and you didn't want to bother looking for it.

The male beside you wasn't in any way, in a better state. And yet, you could hear his hands take off the cardigan he was wearing right now, before you mumbled that you didn't need it, mostly because he probably required it more than you did.

He knows you're spiraling again, and you knew that too.

You feel his cardigan drape around your shoulders anyway, your gaze moving to his own. The water was soaked up into his uniform, exposing his lean body oh so slightly. He ruffles his hair, trying to get the water out as he shakes his head, making you smile.

Another wave of callousness hits you once more as you shiver, now it was your time to shake your head, but this time, in disdain. An arm makes it's way onto your shoulders, his thumb running over it for slight comfort.

"Come here," You hear him say, beckoning for you to come closer, to which you do. You scoot closer to him, being unable to hold back now.

A panic rushes in you, worried, as if he'd just disappear from your side. You settle yourself in his arms, making a soft chuckle escape Rui's mouth as the palm of his hand rests on the small of your back, patting it gently.

The feel of your soaked clothes being pressed up against each other was anything but comfortable, but the feel of his body against yours was ever so. You could list hundreds of reasons for your hurting, but one reason to keep on staying.

He doesn't know it, but that reason is him. He doesn't know that he was starting to feel like home.

A place of peace where one stops crying where you can come back to you when you're tired, afraid, empty, and lonely. The way you forget everything that's hurting when he's with you, those voids of nothingness getting filled with so much life.

A home that will fill you with so much love, strength, and courage until you're ready to go out and face the world again. You'd find reasons to come back to him-- anything, just to get the feeling of jumping into his arms once more. It felt like such solace, that it was where you belonged.

A home that embraces you no matter who you have fail to become. A home that welcomes you with the warmest hello no matter how long you've been gone.

His warm embrace engulfing you in such familiarity, and so genuinely as well. You couldn't have wished for anything less, or anything even better.

Kiss his calloused hands, run your fingers through his vibrant hair, caress his face, wipe his tears away, or he'd wipe yours. Even if you break his heart into a thousand pieces, just please.

Come back to him.

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ourserendipity · 5 months ago

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;R1999 JOE - "highest of highs, lowest of lows" (1/2)

Joe x Reader 3.6k words hurt/comfort Being part of Joe's gang has its ups and downs, chaos being the closest thing you have to a stable routine, every single day full of adventures. Your friends pulled you from the rubble and into the light, you've been with them through thick and thin─and yet, as the years pass, it all grows stale. Repetitive, even. Tiring. A new era approaches. You're not strong enough to hold on and withstand the whirlwind of change, and neither is he. Even so, your faith in the dream Joe has given to all of Haight Street never wavers. You'll find a way out, together. But only if he's willing to move on.

long time no see! I've been struggling with writing and got very busy, but I also missed writing reader inserts sooooo much and got a little carried away with this one, hehehoho

it's the first half of joe's sleepy time fic, since I'm still editing the second half o7 I'll post that one as soon as I'm done with it. this also means that the comfort part isn't quite here yet LMFAO

as usual, this is written to be read as platonic or romantic, whatever floats your boat!

Just one more revision, and then I’ll take a break …

The words repeat in your mind like a mantra. This is your only way to keep your eyelids from closing shut, so heavy with sleep and exhaustion.

Numbers and letters blur together as you scan through the documents laid in front of you; there are bills and more bills, everything necessary to keep supplies coming and utilities working. It’s gotten harder to manage the business lately with the influence of the Chamber of Commerce still lingering over the neighbourhood, and every time you go outside, you notice all the stores that were forced to close, either bought or chased out of town. You think of all the people you used to know and who watched you and the rest of your friends grow up, now lost somewhere in the country, with no means to reach out to them.

Your entire life reduced to nothing but empty streets and dusty displays.

But the world keeps on moving, not waiting for you to catch up. And the atmosphere at Tang’s is the same as always─even at this hour, there are people walking in and out, with small groups scattered about in the booths, but also outside, standing under the neon lights, as if this humble diner were the hottest disco in the entirety of San Francisco. Only a small portion were paying customers, but each and every one of them was a familiar face, the friend of a friend, a soon-to-be-acquaintance.

You have your boss to thank for this sense of community, the man who united all of Haight Street under the hopeful glimmer of his metal badges, a symbol of his friendship and protection. Of course, you also have him to blame for your current situation, forced to crunch numbers and make ends meet out in the open by the bar.

Tang’s restaurant is an ancient relic with only a single office where the walls are thick and study enough to pass for an office. That is where you usually fill in all the paperwork and where Becket often goes to take a nap, it’s the perfect place to hide for a much needed break and to hold important meetings─today, similar to last week, it is being used for the latter, with Joe stepping up to the plate and dealing with every single investor interested in “supporting the local businesses.” You can’t be mad at him, even with this subtle sense of urgency and nervousness lingering in the back of your mind, you trust in the dream Joe has given to all of you. If there is a way forward, he would be the one to find it after weeding out all potential dangers.

The sudden, pulsating pain of an incoming headache makes itself known right behind your eyeballs, causing you to cover your eyes. As you apply a gentle pressure and rub soothing circles in slow motions, you allow your mind to rest from the constant stream of red on the documents. You trust Joe, you believe in him. You have to, even if reality continues to knock on your door in an attempt to wake you up from this fleeting dream.

But how long can this dream last? You all need the sort of help that cannot be gained through camaraderie: money, an investor to keep things afloat, a stable income.

Everyone knows better than to approach you tonight. That little corner by the bar is your territory, your own personal battlefield; with your disheveled and exhausted appearance, nothing but an empty cup and those piles of documents to keep you company, they all know better than to interrupt. Even so, you still manage to give a friendly wave or a nod whenever someone new calls out your name in greeting. The sound of someone pouring you a drink pulls you away from the chaos of your mind; Sputnik refills your cup with a batch of hot, fresh coffee─the scent reaches you and you thank her with a smile, one she timidly brushes off before delighting you with one of her signature, happy, little spins. And just like that, she floats away to attend the other customers. Of course, her presence doesn’t go unnoticed. Her shift ended hours ago, with no way to pay her for the extra hours or longer shifts, and yet, she remains by her own volition.

Your eyes drift to the documents and the ocean of red greets you. You wish you could offer her more than a misery of a salary. While you have friends like Pioneer who can offer good insight every once in a while, he is much too idealistic. And the rest are doers, not thinkers. The only other person who would’ve easily tackled the issue from the root …

Paulina, the little genius of Haight Street. She would’ve known what to do if she were here.

But she isn’t here anymore, and this isn’t the right way to miss someone. You need to get her out of your head.

The pleasant heat of your coffee helps drown any unwanted feelings, it burns your insides with a rejuvenating spark, the warm hits your nose and cheeks. Things might be bad now, but you are currently surrounded by the constant sound of lively chatter and the occasional round of laughter. In the crowd, you spot all of your friends; Becket and Hollick, Mercuria and Pioneer. Maich the Peddler catches your eye and raises her glass, a toast in the name of this small community and a small gesture to cheer you on. Bianca sits nearby too, perched on one of the many stools.

Seeing everyone like this is enough to set your heart at ease from these anxieties. You have all made it this far, supporting everyone in need and feeding as many hungry mouths as possible and if things go well, you won’t have to worry about living paycheck to paycheck.

What follows, however, is not a relaxing night but a series of interruptions, each worse than the last.

Just as you’re about to take another sip, the office door slams open and you feel someone rushing past the diner and towards the door. Turning around, you recognize that sharply dressed man struggling with the broken door handle as the latest investor Joe promised to take care of, the one he was supposed to make a deal with. He promised. He promised you that this man would walk out of here with a smile on his face and one less suitcase full of money in his possession, but your eyes lock onto it, that hefty suitcase dangling around in his grip as he fumbles about. In your impulsive attempt to stop him and mediate, all you manage to do is get into Joe’s way; he blazes past as well, oblivious to your presence, and knocks over the cup in your hands.

It falls unceremoniously on the bar, spilling its contents all over your clothes and, most importantly, your hard work. The papers quickly turn an ugly shade of brown, soaking in the warm drink dripping from the counter. And this goes unnoticed in favour of the screaming match between your boss and the business partner that never was, the people in the diner joining the commotion in support of their leader. You don’t even process Sputnik’s attempts at salvaging the documents, eyes glued on your best friend’s back.

“─And you know where you can shove all those fat stacks of money?!” Joe barks out, that typical and endearing cockiness turning into the bane of your existence as he severs that last thread of hope for the diner. He doesn’t need to finish, of course, the investor has left─you can hear the roaring engine of his car outside, speeding away. Your heart drops at this.

“Tch, serves ‘em right!” Someone comments, you don’t care to know who. A different person adds, “Hey, boss! You’re slacking off, took you 2 hours to scare off this one. That’s 20 minutes more than the last one.”

“... J, Is that what you’ve been doing all this time?” Even though your avoid raising your voice, shaking with something you can’t quite place amidst the tight, claustrophobic pressure in your chest, everyone hears this and the diner grows quiet.

“Hey, gimme some credit, would you? These damn suits keep gettin’ more and more annoying, this one wouldn’t shut up about─” Joe stops as soon as he takes in your sorry state. His expression softens, hands hovering over your coffee-stained clothes. “Shit. That was you I hit on the way out? … Here, let me help.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot movement; Pioneer and Mercuria have stood up, intent on helping you out of this sticky mess. But you gently shake your head at them, fearing that more people in your personal space would only serve in pushing you further to the edge. It is already overwhelming enough to have Joe pat awkwardly ─uselessly, even─at your shirt with a napkin, it is hard enough to keep yourself from lashing out at him after such careless display. Still, you manage to rest your shaking hands over his own, gripping onto the leather of his gloves like a plea for help.

“You promised me the deal would go smoothly.” Voice dropping to a whisper, you force this out without choking in your own grief. It feels silly to feel like this when Joe is looking at you like nothing is wrong. “You─You should’ve taken the deal, J.”

“We’re not charity cases, we can manage without them, just like we’ve always done, yeah? It ain’t nothing new.” The reply is firm, and yet you can tell he’s trying to find a middle ground with you, anything to keep this from escalating.

At least he knows he’s in trouble with you. Thus begins the same old song and dance.

“Maybe improvising worked the first few times, but it’s not going to work forever.” You push forward, still attempting to regulate your breathe. Joe pulls his hand away from yours and continues to dutifully rub the stains of coffee away, a feat both of you know is futile. “We need the plan B before shit hits the fan, not after.”

He pushes forward as well, brows furrowing and avoiding your gaze. “C’mon, and let those rich suits look into our lives so they can feel better about themselves? To brag about how they help the poor and needy? Let them try to change the way we’ve always done things?” A scoff. “As if. Tsk. This damn stain won’t go away─!”

“They can pretend to be Mother Teresa for all I care, as long as we get to keep the diner and pay the bills.We’re not doing well, it can’t be any worse than what will happen if we keep things as they are, Joe.”

Joe, not J. This detail causes him to momentarily flinch, and he finally gives up on this useless task of cleaning you up. It’s only when he slams that used napkin on the counter that he notices the rest of the mess. Joe searches for something in your eyes, he doesn’t find it─or you won’t allow him to─and only then you gain the upper and the right to truly escalate the fight. Unbeknownst to you, the rest of your friends have begun to clear out of the building─they know better than to get involved. One had to match Joe’s own temper if they wanted to be truly acknowledged by the blacksmith. He might’ve learned how to bend the metals to his will but those close to him learned how to fight fire with fire rather than walk around eggshells around him.

“You’ve rejected every single person who offered to help. Sooner or later, there’s gonna be no one left to give a shit about us, and we’re already in the negatives!”

“If shit hits the fan, we ask help from others.” Before you can deliver the perfect rebuttal at his hypocrisy, he interrupts as if seeing your intentions from a mile away. “Help from our friends─not the government, those gangs, those rich assholes or the Foundation. People we know we can trust.”

“Fine. Then what happens when no one else can spare a single bag of groceries or a single dollar for us? What happens when none of them can put their livelihoods on the line anymore because we all have damn bills to pay?” You extend a hand towards the papers, already dissipating. “How many more favors can you cash in before we run out of changes? We’re not getting by just for us five or six anymore, there’s a whole damn group that depends on us now! You heard the sheriff! Everyone carrying these little things? The people they don’t like seeing out in broad daylight? They’re our responsibility now, you’re not a rebellious kid playing around in the streets anymore!”

You tap on the metal badge pinned to his chest with a little more strength that you intended, this small act gets under his skin because the next time he speaks, he’s screaming. “You think I don’t know that? That I need you to remind me?!”

“Someone has to with the way you’re acting.”

“Look, I’m sorry that I bumped into you and ruined the whole thing, but if you’re mad about that, then just say it. Don’t bring up other shit just to pick a fight with me.”

“You’re trying to pick a fight to get out of the fight I’m trying to have with you right now, what are you, five?!”

“Funny you say that! ‘Cause I sure wasn’t the one who decided to have this argument out in the open!”

“You’re being stupidly stubborn.”

“And you’re being stupidly paranoid. When have I ever failed us, huh? Name one time.”

One? You can name more than one, you could name as many as the wounds and bruises he’s earned in the name of protecting this community. All the days he’s spent in jail, all the beatings he’s taken, all the meals he skipped so that someone else could eat, all the dangerous stunts done in the name of pride─to you, someone forced to look on as the entire weight of the world is placed on his shoulders, these are all shortcomings. Things that could’ve been easily avoided if he simply listened. But here he is, looking down on you, playing the role of hero because it’s all he’s ever known. But he can’t keep doing this, not to himself, not to you or the rest.

If she’s not here to stop him, then you will.

“The day you let Paulina go.”

It takes everything in your body not to cry the moment those words leave your mouth, hitting their target with a hint of resentment you didn’t think you had in you.

Joe staggers backwards, his expression shifts; he’s no longer the savior of Haight Street, but your bright-eyed and impulsive neighbour, the tallest kid in the block bragging about his latest feats, the kid in trouble failing to jump over the tall, metal fences, the nosy teenager getting involved with the wrong crowds. An arcanist born in the wrong place at the wrong time. Vulnerability paints his features in a way you recognize, the same pain you’ve experienced throughout your life. The subtle quiver of his bottom lip, although imperceptible to the rest of the world, claws at your chest and knocks the air out of you.

It hurts more than any punch, any insult, any slice of the knife. It feels cruel to steel your gaze after dropping something like this out of the blue, with Paulina’s departure still fresh in everyone’s minds. But you tell yourself that you have to, if only to prevent anyone else from disappearing on you like that. You can’t handle it, not knowing when will be next. One more business closed, one more child abandoned, one more friend missing. Doesn’t he get tired, too? Isn’t he tired of this happening over and over?

“That’s unfair. No, that’s … that’s messed up. What is wrong with you tonight?!”

“Did you even listen to her? Or did you just decide that she was wrong from the beginning and ignored everything she had to say? Isn’t that why she refuses to even pick up the phone? Or even answer any of our letters?”

“She has nothing to do with us anymore, there’s no damn point in bringing her up when she’s left us for a bunch of stuck up─”

“This isn’t about how you feel about her new life.” When you stand your ground, taking a step forward towards him, he does the same.

“Then what the hell is it?! Why would you even bring her up in the first place?!” When he pounds his fist on the counter, you do the same.

“Because it’s the only way to get you to fucking listen, J. It’s about the way you act, how you keep throwing away every chance we get at making things better because it always has to be your way! You go on and on about asking each other for help, but when was the last time you actually listened to me, to Hollick, to Pioneer, to any of us?! If we can’t even feed ourselves, then how the hell are we going to feed everyone else? You told me to run the numbers, I ran the damn numbers and this is the shitty hand we’ve been dealt.”

Suddenly, Joe’s shoulders begin to shake as half a smile, half a grimace settles on his face. He laughs at you, bitterly, mockingly. The type of laugh that can only carry a single message─I know better than you.

“Those investors, they’re only here because they smell the blood in the water! Can you guarantee that they won’t pull the plug once they see an opening to take everything from us? When you sign those damn contracts, it’s over. That’s how they get trap you. That’s how they take advantage of good people like us. I’ve spent the past few weeks doing nothing but talk to these assholes, and not a single one of them gives a shit about this restaurant or the people here. Wanna know what they all wanted to talk about? Bulldozing the entire thing down. Getting me to convince all our friends to give up their homes and businesses, just so these fancy jerks have all the space in the world to play with.”

You know he’s right, it’s an awful truth you have to acknowledge in the midst of the argument─the Tung Ch’ing Chamber of Commerce did the exact same before, it’s stupid to think that others wouldn’t follow the same pattern as well. And yet…

“Then throw Pioneer into the damn room when someone else comes to do business with us! Let me, Becket and Hollick be there with you too, damnit J! You have the entire fucking street cheering for you and all you want to do is fix everything on your own! If you weren’t so stubborn, maybe we could even call Paulina and ask her for help, but you’d rather sit here and argue with us about the same damn issue! You’d rather look at us in the face and say that Paulina looks down on us, when you don’t even have the balls to call her! Is that how you want things to be? When I can’t keep paying rent, when I have to hop on a bus and end up who fucking knows where, is that all you will say about me?”

Silence settles. The hesitation lingering in the air hurts more than anything he could’ve said to you.

Is that all you are to him? Another naive mind, a nagging voice devoid of any worth? He would rather say goodbye to you and allow the distance to slowly chip away at your friendship, than listen or consider any of your suggestions and ideas. Your arms drop to your sides, suddenly losing every ounce of strength in your body at this sudden realization. The shock on your face must’ve been something if it causes Joe to flinch in surprise.

You’re tired, so very tired of living in uncertainty; never knowing when you will have the chance to eat, never knowing when your friends will disappear off to greener pastures or silently deported. So tired of fighting for scraps, of living in shadows, of being so close to making a change for the better but having it all ripped out of your hands by a government that doesn’t care. You’re tired of fighting the world and your friends.

You’re so very tired of being so insignificant in a world that refuses to make space for you, no matter how hard you try to claw your way out of the rubble and poverty.

And so, you retreat.

Maybe it’s the last remnants of pride keeping you together, maybe it’s the debilitating exhaustion permeating your bones, but you manage not to stumble and fall over as you brush past him and make your way outside.

The pair of siblings which you had grown to love so much used to share a dingy room within the diner as children, back when Tang ran the place. And then, one day, you moved right across the street. Throughout all of your childhood, you believed this to be a gift, being able to rush over to play with them as soon as you woke up, and to wave at them from the balcony of your apartment at night. Your best friends, your new family, your new home, all within reach.

Now, you cross the street knowing very well that there is no place for you to hide from those piercing blue eyes of his. You don’t want him to look at you, not like this. Not as an obstacle and a burden.

If only you could run far, far away. Just like Paulina did.

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ourserendipity · 6 months ago

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I bought some fan merch of my husband, J~ 🥰🥰🥰

I bought postcards and later, I got a Keychain and a button of my man~♡

The postcards are beautiful!

And I put my photo of him and his sister in my ita bag. XD

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ourserendipity · 6 months ago

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THE Joe Character Analysis. Part 2: Individual Choice vs Collectivism.

"How does Joe fit in the overall 2.0 story?"

An important thing to consider when conducting a character analysis is the relationship of the character with the story they are a part of. In Joe's case, what is his relationship with the 2.0 event, Floor It! To The Golden City?

After rewatching the entire 2.0 event and taking notes, something came to my attention when I watched Chapter 9: Snake in the Grass.

"Two bags of gold in a cave"

To give background to this scene, Matilda receives intel from one of the arcanist vendors which can help in fighting the cult but may endanger Mercuria's life since she'll intervene. The dillemma: Should she tell Mercuria or not?

As pictured above, Matilda goes to the bar and asks Pioneer for advice regarding her dilemma by an analogy: two bags of gold in a cave. There are two bags of gold in a cave and the dragon will consume more and more of it the longer you don't take action. You can only grab 1 bag and your friend can help you with the other, but your friend helping you WILL endanger their life. Should you let them?

Pioneer responds with this:

It didn't immediately click for me until I connected it with a later part of this chapter. When Mercuria performs for the crowd and dances outside of the rhythmn, Matilda questions this.

Pioneer tries to show Matilda another perspective.

THEN WAIT! What was that?

This was when it first clicked to me that the theme of 2.0 may be heavily based on the concept of individual choice which is consistently contrasted with the collective community that they find themselves in.

Other than J, the other playable character from this patch is Mercuria. Unlike J, her work in the story was more in the sidelines. Regardless I should note that her actions heavily changed the plot because Mercuria literally foresaw everything that happened in 2.0 and served as a catalyst for the happier outcome.

Going back to this line:

Throughout the story, Mercuria has been fundamental to changing the views of Legers and Gio regarding their families and themselves. It may have even been possible that she foresaw how much Matilda was going to change J's life (which may explain how the inciting incident of Joe getting to know Matilda happened in Mercuria's tent). Mercuria represents the themes of freedom, individual choice, and self-reflection.

I argue that Joe (protagonist) and Legers (antagonist -> ally) represent the other half of this: community, brotherhood, and collectivism. Specifcally, both men are the considered the big figures of their respective gangs, highly respected in their communities, and have a deep interpersonal conflict that has to do with their siblings due to differing paths in life.

Another interesting thing to note regarding culture, both men come from cultures that are family oriented and collectivist. Legers is an Italian from Sicily, just like the Greco sisters, Schneider and Marian. I am pretty sure that Bluepoch is aware of this cultural effect.

As mentioned before, I suspect that J has Mexican descent (a culture known for being family oriented and collective). Other than that, it has been explicitly stated in his storyboard that his friends and family are a valuable to him. This is also what motivates him.

When it comes to indivualism vs collectivism, I do not suggest that one is better than the other since both have their place. It's important to have a balance of both, a community that supports their members in their self-development and living their good lives as well as the members doing the same for others in their community.

Going back to Joe and Legers, both men begin in the story lean into the collectivist point of view. They believe in their community and most importantly they are motivated out of the love for their family. But this love can lead them to do things that may not necessarily benefit their loved ones or themselves.

In Legers' case, he sold himself out to the Order of Enlightenment in order to find a cure for his brother (betraying his principles).

But his brother made those choices in life in order to give Salvadore a good life in the first place! By trying to prolong his brother's life, he was violating his brother's will. It was only when Mercuria gave him back his consciousness that the real Legers was able to speak out and tell his brother this.

This becomes the turning point of Legers' character when he begins to reflect on his dream and what he can do moving forward.

"You might do things which you think benefits the one you love, but is that what they really want?"

In the end, he becomes the head of both his gang and J's gangs. He ends up taking over the restaurant, making positive changes in Haight Street, and becomes the new beacon of change. Because he was able to improve himself first, he was able to positively effect his community.

Just like Legers, J is motivated out of the love for his family. This leads him to disapproving Paulina's choice to join the Foundation out of a well-founded fear of her being used. Not only does J protect Haight Street, he also represents every aspect of this: whether it be the positive (community and brotherhood) or the negative (being part of the cyle of violence). So when Paulina wanted to leave Haight Street, he saw this as her haughtiness to be associated with him and also her cutting ties with him.

Regardless of what J thought, Paulina wasn't motivated to join the Foundation for these things. Despite the risk of sacrificing her life, she dreamed of helping other people and making a difference in the world. Instead, the rift that she had with her brother was due to the flaws that he had before.

You see, the J we know in 2.0 and the J we see in the flashbacks greatly differ.

Due to the death of his parents, he had to serve as the guardian/parent of Paulina when they were both kids. This kind of responsibility really fucks you up.

This forced him to grow up early on and take charge as the head of his household. But just like a stern father, his word was the law (at some points even controlling). When he disapproved of something like Paulina's dream, he withheld the papers from her and even barred her from leaving (it is implied that he broke the bike so she has no means to get out).

Overall, Paulina can be justified in her feelings of being caged in Haight Street. Nonetheless, this was not the reason for their rift.

Other than pursuing her dreams, Paulina saw the cycle of violence in the crime-filled streets of Haight Street and wanted to end this cycle. Although J serves as the protector of Haight Street, he isn't immune to becoming cruel himself. Although he has a point, he didn't properly communicate this to Paulina by guiding her and respecting her choice. Instead, he imposed his own will.

Going back to the present!

After Mercuria confirms that Paulina is dead, J begins the journey of reflecting on his views. To push this even further, right after recently grieving the news of his sister's death, Matilda comes into his life during this time. He is initially amused by Matilda and takes great pleasure in teasing her...

but his views shift when she starts feeling familiar.

Ever since this moment, J began to see Matilda as a sister figure and became protective of her. Due to her similarities with Paulina, not only in manner but also in ideals, this allowed J to actually reflect on Paulina's dream and realize why she actually left.

(To be continued)

Link to the Ultimate Joe Directory:

https://www.tumblr.com/lifegoesonevenifeverybodyisgone/771822786973958144/the-ultimate-joe-directory?source=share

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ourserendipity · 6 months ago

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The Ultimate Joe Directory

Due to the amount of content I planned to make regarding Joe Brown from Reverse 1999, I think it's best to save all the links here.

THE Joe Character Analysis Series:

Part 1:

Part 2

(more to come)

Part 3:

Part 4:

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ourserendipity · 6 months ago

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THE Joe Character Analysis. Part 1: The Greasers and J's Mexican Heritage

Merry Christmas, especially to the dedicated Joe fan, @barbieb0y! After torturing myself by recapping and taking notes of the entire 2.0 event, Joe's character story "The San Francisco Kids", looking at his storyboards and comic, getting Joe to 100% bond, having him as my main in the Series of Dusks, and reading + re-reading all of his voice lines/mini stories/descriptions; I can confidently say that I have gained more insights about his character and formed theories of my own that we shall tackle today.

While looking at J's character storyboard I noticed something interesting about his fashion style.

J's fashion style is inspired by the Greaser's aesthetic. Considering that Bluepoch pays attention to character details and their outfits, this is an intentional choice. By briefly looking at the Wikipedia page for the Greaser subculture, I noticed that the most prominent adopters of the style are Italian Americans from the North and Hispanic Americans in the South (including places like California, in this case, Haight Street).

This brought to my attention that J, in fact, could have Mexican heritage. Specifically, he is a mixed White-Mexican American.

Why so?

J's paternal side is the legendary arcanist family, the Waylands. The last name Wayland derives from the Norman French word Wēland, which may also derive from the ancient Germanic words wēla-nandaz, which means "battle" and "brave." This means that his father is most likely a typical White American.

Since J is a mixed arcanist, I would assume that his biological mother is a human Hispanic considering the significant percentage of San Francisco's Hispanic population and also due to J's identification with the Greaser subculture.

A mixed child has a higher chance of learning their mother's culture especially if they grow up around other maternal family members or people of the same culture. I noticed that my mixed-race cousins whose father was an American, identified more with their Filipino side especially since they live in the Philippines. I identify more with my mother's ethnic group due to the same reasons.

Besides his tanned skin, his love for Mexican food and drink and his mastery of cooking the cuisine may suggest that he is of Mexican descent.

Examples:

The most telling of these examples is J's cooking ability NOT his preference for Mexican food. In the first example, he managed to make a hot sauce AUTHENTIC enough that Centurion, a CANONICAL Mexican-American character, was taken back to her hometown. This is a big deal considering that in the 1990s, there wasn't Youtube or online sources that could spread authentic recipes for Mexican food! Due to the limited educational resources in that era regarding cooking Mexican food, this means that he most likely learned it by being taught by someone who could make Mexican food, which I conclude is his biological mother.

Tang Ji, the chef who raised J after his father died, is a Chinese immigrant so it's unlikely that he knows how to cook Mexican food from the get-go. J himself also knows how to cook Chinese food because of this. There is a chance that one of the Mexican immigrants could have taught J how to cook Mexican food but due to his tan skin color (that he had even before he began blacksmithing) this leads me to assume that my conclusion is the more likely option.

But why? I am led to believe that his mother passed down her recipes to her husband and son just like how some of my mixed family members exchange recipes and traditions amongst each other. A fast way to connect to one's culture is by knowing how to make food from THAT culture. Since J lost his mother at a young age (but not too young as not to remember her), I think it is his way of remembering his mother and connecting to his culture (since he cannot speak the language I assume).

So going back to the Greaser subculture that J identifies with, it emerged amongst lower-class teenagers and young adults. The Greaser subculture was associated with motorcycle gangs, their attire, their greased-up hair, and their rebellious attitude.

This is reflected in J's fashion:

(His hairstyle is a more tousled version of a flop)

(His jacket seems to be a modified Perfecto Motorcycle Jacket)

(His jeans are Levi's dark blue jeans that are inspired by the 50s with the cut of the jeans being a bit wider near the end to make way for boots)

(His boots are partially hidden by his jeans but it is a Winklepicker boots which are characterized by their slick body, pointy toes, and straps)

(The Greasers were oftentimes bikers and were fond of the hot rod type of bikes. "Hot Rod" is a way of modifying classic vehicles by stripping them of their parts, which exposes insides like the pipes, to increase speed.)

The original Greasers were from ethnic minorities like those from the Mediterranean, Mexican, Puerto Rican, and Italian. They felt united in the feeling of being left out of the post-war economic boom and also experienced discrimination and poverty. The theme or main philosophy and ethos of the Greaser and the cultural aspects of Mexican-American culture are essential in understanding J, his understanding of the world, and his background in Haight Street.

In three posts, I will discuss the three themes that explore 1) collectivism vs individual choice, 2) masculinity, family, and community, and 3) J's philosophy regarding blades and metals (and how it connects to his views of imperfection and culture). I will also be comparing and contrasting him with characters like Legers, Argus, and Isolde. I will reblog these posts when they come, so sit back and enjoy!

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