#also in this universe it takes a little while for things to go back to normal

[sparklingchim]

game on 05 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x oc

word count: 2.9k

tropes: footballer!jungkook, fake dating, f2l

rating: pg

warning: jk flexing his abs (he is just a man😔), sleeping in one bed, mentions of oc flashing her boobs in the past (rumour created by jk), they compare their abs..😭, cuddles <3, their parents adore them <3,

summary: the hardest part so far: lying to your parents. a close second: squeezing into jungkook's tiny twin bed with his big body taking up too much space.

a/n: finished this up listening to new lorde n eating pizza at 4am oh how i love life !!!!!

masterlist

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The thing about fake dating is that it works great until you’re sitting across from both your mothers and your dad at your not-boyfriend’s family dinner table, and suddenly everyone’s looking at you like you’ve already picked out wedding venues.

Jungkook had the audacity to look normal. You were barely holding it together, one fake smile and suspiciously warm face at a time.

“I didn’t realise you two were so close these days,” Jungkook’s mum says, smiling sweetly. “I was so happy when I saw the news, but also a little hurt that I had to find out through the internet and not from my own son.” Her gaze slides pointedly to Jungkook, giving him a scolding look. “I’ve been hearing all kinds of things about you through the internet.”

Oh no. Once mums start scolding you for one thing, they bring up every mistake you’ve ever made too. One thing turns into five, and suddenly you’re being reminded of stuff you did when you were a child.

But obviously, Jungkook’s used to this – sitting in the hot seat while his mum lectures him. He doesn’t even flinch anymore. Just lets the scolding roll off and ignores the jabs.

“We’ve been spending a lot of time together lately,” he retorts, voice smooth, hand resting on the back of your chair like it belonges there. It didn’t. But now it does. Kinda? “It just kind of… happened. And it felt right.”

You are going to die here. Choke on your food and perish.

“___ didn’t say anything either,“ your dad pipes up, immediately throwing you under the bus.

“She has a lot on her plate,” your mum cuts in, quick to defend you. “At least she always makes time to call. And she visits when she can.”

Jungkook’s mum gives her son another pointed glare before her face softens as she turns to you. Her tone shifts completely, warm and doting. “How’s university, sweetheart? You’re not running yourself into the ground, are you?”

You sit up a little straighter under the attention, managing a small smile. “Ah, there’s always a lot to do. But it’s not too much.”

She nods approvingly, already scooping more rice into your bowl before you can protest. “Good. You always were such a hardworking girl. Just don’t forget to take care of yourself too, hmm?”

“And you’re joining Jungkook for the world cup?” your dad asks. “You sure it won’t be too stressful with university and everything?”

“It’s just a few weeks,” you say, trying to sound more chill than you feel. “My exams are still far away anyway, I’ll manage. Most of the work I can keep up with online.”

“The only thing I’m really worried about is the flight,” you admit, voice dipping slightly. “Being up in the air for that long kind of freaks me out.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Jungkook says. “It’s really not that bad. We’ll probably sleep the whole plane ride anyway.”

“Our Jungkook will make sure to take care of you,” his mum chimes in, beaming with full maternal confidence. “Right? You’ll look after her properly – make sure she feels safe and comfortable. Especially because she’s willing to keep up with her studies while traveling, which is very responsible.”

You nod, cheeks heating. Her approval has always felt… different. Kinder. She’s not your mum. She doesn’t have to think the world of you, but she always has. She’s been rooting for you since the days you and Jungkook used to sit cross-legged on the living room floor doing homework together.

“Of course,” Jungkook says easily. His voice is light, when he glances over at you, his eyes are all doe-like and shiny, crinkling at the corners the way they only do when he’s being extra sincere. “I always try to take care of her.”

And then, ever so casually, his hand reaches up to rest lightly on your shoulder. His fingers brush your shoulder for a second, barely there, but enough to make you feel it everywhere.

Your lips twitch with the start of a smile you’re trying hard to hide. You shyly look away.

“I wish your dad could see you two like this,” his mum says with a fond smile. She tilts her head, gaze softening even more with pure endearment. “Such a shame he had to work this evening.”

All three of you look at Jungkook and you with adoring eyes. This is probably all they’ve hoped your entire lives long.

You swallow a little harder than usual.

“I’m so glad you two found each other.” Your dad gives you an approving smile. “You’ve always looked after each other. Even as little kids.”

“Finally ___ could bring some sense into Jungkook’s life,” his mum says. “I didn’t like your behaviour at all, Jungkook.” She directly speaks to him. “It’s time to stop behaving like a young boy, hm? Stop acting reckless. You’ve got someone beside you now.”

Jungkook blinks. He probably thought the scolding was over. “Mum...”

You have to stifle your giggles. If his dad were here, the conversation would’ve already derailed into football tactics and match predictions, with your dad chiming in too. But in his absence, Jungkook’s mum is fully in charge and she’s on a roll.

“He’s been good,” you add quickly, defending him. “He’s a very good boyfriend.”

You can feel Jungkook’s stare burning into the side of your face, but you refuse to look at him. One glance and you might start laughing or fumbling your words or blushing or whatever.

You don’t say anything else. But you think he knows.

~

Somehow, Jungkook’s mum managed to trick you both into staying the night.

She started with a sweet suggestion – “Why don’t you sleep here and have breakfast with us in the morning? Jungkook’s dad will be home then too!”

Without much resistance (none), you found yourself smiling and nodding along. Because who says no to Jungkook’s mum?

This is not a regular sleepover, though. This is not popcorn and movies and matching pyjama sets. This is sharing a bed that is definitely not made for two people, in a room that still has posters of football players from 2010.

You’ve been offered one of Jungkook’s old high school football jerseys, which hangs halfway to your knees, and a pair of smallish athletic shorts you had to tie tight around your waist to keep them from slipping – both a little ridiculous, both weirdly comforting.

But even with his clothes on your body, you’ve been granted no special privileges.

Your regular resident monster is hogging the bed.

Jungkook’s broad shoulders stretch close to the edge, and his strong arms don’t exactly make it easy for you to claim your side.

And you’re just. Lying there. Eyes wide open.

Fake dating, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.

“I don’t think I could ever get married,” you blurt out.

“What? Why?” he asks, clearly startled. “You’re too much of a lover girl to be saying shit like that.” You feel him shift slightly, looking over at you.

“Sleeping next to a man for the rest of my life? Doesn’t sound appealing to me.”

“You don’t wanna to spend every waking moment with the love of your life?”

“I want to, but.” You meet his gaze. “What if he snores like you?”

He scoffs. “Rude.”

“It’s a real concern.”

“Your love would be big enough to drown out the snoring?” He fully turns on his side, moving the mattress and making you pray he won’t accidentally push you off.

“That’s your argument?”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs. “I think if you love someone enough, you’d stop noticing the noise. Maybe even become comforting.”

“That’s… actually kind of cute.” You let out a dramatic sigh. “Okay, maybe I’m not writing off marriage completely.”

“I’m always changing lives.”

“All you did was defend snoring.”

“And love,” he says, pointing at himself. “Don’t forget love.”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks feel a little warm. His face is close now, his hair a soft mess and his expression sleepy but somehow still handsome. You shift just a bit to make space.

“You can come closer,” Jungkook says, pulling you to him by your waist.

“I’ll just sleep on the couch.”

Jungkook grabs your arm before you can even try to get out of bed.

“No. Imagine my mum catching you in the living room in the morning.”

“I’ll say your snoring bothered me,” you say. “Which would not be a total lie.”

You’re concerned about not being able to fall asleep with his snoring in your ear and the very real possibility of him accidentally pushing you off the bed. The couch sounds like a dream compared to this.

“I’ll be quiet,” Jungkook promises. “But mum would immediately assume we had a fight if she catches one of us on the couch.” He sighs. “Would make us wash dishes side by side like back when we were kids and had a fight.”

“I’m so good at washing dishes now, though,” you say. “I’m thankful for her bonding strategy, honestly.”

“You’re weird for enjoying cleaning up.”

“But it’s so therapeutic!” you defend. “It’s just me, my dishcloth, and a good audiobook. I love it.”

“You’re, like, every mothers dream daughter-in-law.”

Your eyelashes flutter in a tentative, shy way. “You think so?”

Jungkook sniffs a laugh at your reaction. “Studying medicine seals half the deal already.”

“Remember when you had that injury from football in the first year of high school, and your mum called me right after you got back from the hospital to check if the doctors knew what they were doing?”

Jungkook groans at the memory. “She kept bugging me to send you photos of my meds so you could double-check if they prescribed the right thing,” he says. “Like, just because you wanted to be a doctor back then didn’t mean you actually knew anything.”

“She’s cute.”

“She’s overprotective.”

“She cares about her baby,” you retort, voice a little high-pitched as you squish his cheeks together with your hand.

“You know, I was just thinking how I strive to be more like you, but I rest my case.” His hand clutches your wrist. “I don’t want to be someone who does stuff like this.”

“Too tired to be silly?” You let go of his face, dropping your hand on his chest.

“Too much food,” he sighs dramatically, giving his tummy a few taps.

You frown. “There’s no food baby.”

Jungkook lifts his shirt, showing off the rippled lines across his abdomen. “Just pretty abs.”

“I have those too, you know.” You tug Jungkook’s jersey up a few inches, just enough to reveal the soft skin of your belly. “They’re just hiding.” The jersey pools around your ribs, the fabric bunching slightly in your hands.

He chuckles. Then with a grin, he reaches over and gently pokes your tummy, making you flinch.

“They shy?” he says, amused. “Gotta coax them out?”

“They’re waiting for me to pick up my Pilates classes again.” You tug the jersey down again. “I've had a defined tummy for a bit, but I'm just too lazy when it comes to working out. I have zero discipline in that regard.”

Because why would you willingly choose moving your body when you could use your free time to curl up in bed and sleep?

“Lets work out in the gym together,” he proposes. “I'll motivate you.”

“Why do you always try to get me to work out with you?”

“So we can spend more time together?”

“We’re about to spend plenty of time together.”

“It’s gonna give class trip vibes,” he beams. “So excited to be there with the boys and you.”

You’re excited too. You’ve never left the country before, and the idea of going abroad feels surreal, but you wish the circumstances were different. Is pretending going to be easy with so many eyes on you?

You pout a little at the thought, kicking off the sheets as warmth starts spreading across your body.

Jungkook frees himself from the sheets too. “It’s hot,” he mutters.

“Your room’s too tiny for two people in summer.”

Jungkook sits up just enough for his arm to bump into yours. You let out a little grumpy noise.

“Jungkook,” you huff, giving him a lazy shove. “Personal space.”

Only then do you realise he’s pulling his t-shirt over his head, the fabric dragging slowly up his torso before he chucks it somewhere into the abyss that is his floor. It’s dark, but not dark enough. Your eyes still catch on the muscles of his back, the dip of his waist, the way his shoulder blades shift with the motion.

“Personal space doesn’t exist on this bed.” His voice is a bit low, probably the sleepiness seeping through, but coupled with him slowly dragging his hand through his hair it makes it feel like more than just tiredness.

Your eyes flick to the stretch of his arm, the shift in his shoulders. It’s mildly offensive how effortlessly good he looks. Maybe even a bit annoying.

“Why are you getting naked?”

Jungkook laughs and looks down at you. “I usually never wear this much to bed.”

“You can take your sweatpants off too,” you say. “I don’t mind.”

Jungkook tilts his head. His hair falling over his forehead in little strands. “You trying to get me naked?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I don’t want to be the only one getting naked,” he shamelessly tosses out.

This absolute freak. Jungkook has to tease you every 5 minutes or else he’ll spontaneously combust.

“This is not 10th grade truth or dare strip version,” you reply, unfazed. But then the memory hits you like a brick. “Oh my god, remember that school trip? When we all snuck into Jimin’s room and someone asked you a relatively tame question, and you took your shirt off for no reason, but everyone knew you just wanted to show off?” You shove his shoulder playfully, remembering his silly antics from high school. “You literally just wanted to flex in front of Hyejin.”

Jungkook sighs dreamily at the memory as he gets comfy on the bed. “Ah, teenage hormones and desperation. Simpler times.”

“I bet you’d do the same thing right now if you had a crush.”

He turns his head on the pillow to face you, smile soft and cheeky. A quiet dimple tucks into his cheek.

“Shirt’s off already.” He raises an eyebrow and lets his gaze flick very obviously from your eyes to your mouth and back.

“Ugh,” you grumble, closing your eyes for a second. “How am I going to tolerate you for two whole weeks during the world cup?”

“Just the way you ignored me during the game when Taehyung dared you to kiss someone, and you refused my offer to just kiss me so you wouldn’t have to take off your clothes?”

You immediately cover your face with your hands. “Don’t remind me.”

“That was the highlight of the night. Taehyung knew you wouldn’t do the dare. Just wanted you to take off your shirt.”

“You said ‘if you’re too nervous I’ll volunteer’.”

“I was giving you a way out! I knew you weren’t gonna kiss any of those douchebags.”

“You said it in front of like ten people, Jungkook. What was I supposed to do, make out with you in the middle of the circle?” You shake your head in disbelief. “Do you think Taehyung thinks of us sometimes?” you ask, curiosity tugging at your words.

“Nah, he’s too busy with his influencer friends now.” He rolls his eyes as he says it.

Taehyung was such a good friend until high school ended, and everyone’s lives drifted apart. He stopped showing up to hangouts and stopped texting.

“Anyway, my offer would’ve saved you flashing your tits at everyone.”

You sit up, glaring at him. “I was not flashing my tits at everyone. I had a bra on!”

He was the one flashing his tits.

“Well then, flashing your cute bra at everyone,” he corrects. He’s got one hand behind his head, looking at you through amused eyes.

You think for a second. “I don’t remember what bra I was wearing.”

“A white one. It had little cherries all over and a little bow in the middle.”

“That one!” you perk up. You click your tongue mournfully. “Grew out of it though.”

Jungkook hums thoughtfully. His gaze drops down to your chest – though there’s really nothing to see, not with you absolutely drowning in his old jersey. Still, his eyes linger with a soft kind of amusement.

“We could buy a new one?”

“No, some things are better left as good memories.”

Without a word, Jungkook wraps an arm around you and gently tugs you down onto his chest. You let yourself go easily, curling into his side, and resting your head on his chest.

“Then I hope you’ll always think of that bra fondly.” His fingers brush absentmindedly along your spine.

You giggle. “Thank you, silly.”

When you start to shift back to your ridiculously tiny sliver of the bed – because someone (the bicep exhibit to your right) is taking up eighty percent of the mattress – Jungkook presses a gentle hand to the small of your back, stopping you.

“You can stay.”

“But I drool.”

“That’s okay. I snore.”

You consider it for a moment. “Fair trade.”

Jungkook chuckles as you settle again, placing your head right back on his chest. His hand stays where it is, comfortable and still.

You wake up multiple times that night.

Each time, you try to inch further toward the edge of the bed, desperate to escape the relentless, blaring noise of Jungkook’s snoring.

But every single time, he reaches for you in his sleep. An arm looping around your waist, a hand tugging you back in.

You stop fighting, eventually. Let the (annoying) noise carry you through the night while you’re half-draped over Jungkook’s chest, face smushed into warm skin, drooling peacefully.

[sunsetmade]

hii, can you write something about rafe with a clumsy girlfriend? (I've read the previous one that you wrote and it's the first work of yours that I've read!) like she's just soo soft and gentle, moves clumsily and always has cuts and bruises (optional), knocks things and glass is too dangerous for her:((she's so me). everyone feels annoyed with it and makes fun of her for it, teasing rafe that he probably lost his mind, making a girl like him his girlfriend. it makes her think if rafe gets tired of taking care of her? she thinks that she'd be too hopeless without him with her:(( love lots and also, you can make adjustments, with no pressure!

Thank you so much for the request! I love the clumsy reader trope!

Hazardously Yours

Rafe Cameron x Clumsy! Reader

She was the kind of girl who got tripped up by her own shoelaces.

And not in that poetic, dreamy, “life’s a mess” kind of way—no, it was literal. One minute she was walking down the sidewalk, humming to herself or admiring a cloud shaped like a fish, and the next? Face-first on the pavement. Palms scraped, knees throbbing, cheeks flushed from the sudden, clumsy betrayal of her own feet.

She never fell with the kind of grace you see in movies. There was nothing soft or cinematic about it. Her arms flailed like she was trying to fly, panic flickered across her face as she twisted midair, and when she landed, it was usually accompanied by a loud thud and an embarrassed little gasp. Stairs betrayed her. Doorways brushed her shoulders like they had something personal against her. And anything made of glass? It practically shattered in fear just being near her.

People rolled their eyes. Joked about bubble wrap. Sighed when she knocked something over or arrived with a new bruise blooming across her shin.

But Rafe never flinched.

Not when she dropped his favorite mug—his favorite—just three days into staying over at his place. She’d stood there frozen, wide-eyed in the silence that followed the crash, already bracing for disappointment. But he just walked in, barefoot and shirtless, hair a mess from sleep, and stepped around the broken pieces like they were nothing.

“You okay?” he asked, eyes on her, not the mug. “Did you get cut?”

Not when she tripped over his gym bag in the hallway—despite him moving it just that morning—and slammed into the side table hard enough to knock down a picture frame and bruise her elbow. She’d winced and hissed through her teeth, trying to blink back the sting. But before she could say a word, he was there again, like he’d felt it happen from the other room.

He crouched beside her, his hands careful as they found her arm, his touch all softness and warmth. Fingers brushed over her skin as if he could draw the pain out, like maybe if he was gentle enough, it wouldn’t hurt at all.

“Easy,” he’d murmur, low and steady, like it was instinct. “C’mon, baby. Let me see.”

And she would. Always. Because no matter how clumsy she felt, how much space she seemed to take up in all the wrong ways, Rafe never looked at her like she was a burden.

He looked at her like every bruise was a reason to hold her tighter.

Like every fall was just another chance to catch her.

There was this one night—cold and blue around the edges, the kind that made the windows fog and the floor feel like ice—when she’d tried to surprise him by making dinner.

Tried being the key word.

She’d had a recipe pulled up on her phone, sleeves rolled to her elbows, and this determined little furrow in her brow that said tonight, I’ve got this. But the universe, as always, had other plans.

She chopped vegetables too fast, knicked her finger, and winced when blood beaded at the tip. In the chaos of trying to rinse it off and bandage it with shaking hands, she knocked a wooden spoon too close to the burner. The end of it blackened and started to curl, and she yelped, swatting it away just before it caught fire.

The chicken—once hopeful and golden in the pan—burned while she was distracted, the skin going from crisp to char in a matter of seconds. Smoke curled from the edges, and she tripped over the corner of the kitchen mat trying to fix it. The world tilted, and she landed flat on her back with a clatter—pan lids bouncing across the tile like coins spilled from fate’s pocket.

That was when Rafe walked in.

He froze in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, the other holding a bag of takeout he hadn’t even mentioned he’d gone out to grab—just in case. His eyes scanned the mess: the scorched spoon on the stove, the trail of flour dusted across the counter, the smell of something definitely overcooked, and her… lying on her back in the middle of it all, dazed and breathless.

She braced for it. The groan. The tired sigh. Maybe even a What were you thinking? She’d heard it from others before. From family. From friends. From strangers watching her knock into life like a pinball.

But Rafe didn’t do any of that.

He blinked at her once. Then slowly, softly, he smiled like she was the best thing he’d seen all day.

“You okay, baby?” he asked, his voice low, already moving to crouch beside her.

She sat up with a groan, cheeks burning hotter than the oven. “I think I burned dinner,” she mumbled, swiping flour off her shirt and wishing the ground would swallow her whole.

Rafe didn’t even glance toward the stove.

Instead, he gently pulled her into his lap, settling her between his legs on the cold tile like it was the most natural thing in the world. His arms wrapped around her, one hand brushing the hair from her cheek, the other steady on her hip.

“Are you okay?” he asked again, quieter now, like the only thing that mattered was her.

“I cut my finger,” she admitted in a whisper, holding it up like proof of her defeat.

He took her hand in his, turning it carefully to inspect the sloppy Band-Aid she’d slapped on. Then he brought it to his lips and kissed just beneath the pad of her finger—soft, slow, deliberate.

“You could burn the whole house down,” he murmured against her skin, “and I’d still think you’re the cutest damn thing on the island.”

And somehow, that made her want to cry more than any disaster in the kitchen.

⸻

Soon, she noticed his home changing in small, quiet ways.

The coffee table with its sharp corners? Gone, replaced by a smooth, rounded one she wouldn’t bruise her knee on when she walked too close. The tall, thin glass tumblers he used to drink from—crystal-clear and easy to knock over—disappeared one day without a word. In their place were thick, plastic ones, wide and sturdy, ones that could bounce off the floor and survive her clumsy grip.

He never said a thing about it. Never made a show of what he’d swapped out or why. He just adjusted the space around her like it was the most obvious thing in the world—like it wasn’t even a question.

And of course, she noticed. She always did. One evening, curled up beside him on the couch, she looked over her shoulder and asked casually, “Did you get new cups?”

Rafe didn’t even look up from his phone. Just shrugged pulling her into his chest more and said, “Didn’t like the old ones.”

But she saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Saw the way his eyes softened when she drank from one without hesitation, without worry. When she tucked her legs under her without wincing from bumping into something sharp or fragile or cold.

Because in a world that often made her feel like too much or not enough, Rafe didn’t just make room for her.

He built it.

Quietly. Intentionally.

Like she was worth bending the whole damn world for.

But no matter how many times Rafe assured her she wasn’t a burden the thoughts still lingered. And it didn’t help that every time they went out people noticed.

It started at a party—one of those outdoor things on the edge of the marsh, where the air smelled like salt and beer, and the ground was soft enough to ruin your shoes. The kind of gathering where everyone wore polos with popped collars, where the music was just a little too loud and the conversations blurred into one big hum of laughter, clinking bottles, and private school arrogance.

She hadn’t even wanted to go. Crowds weren’t really her thing, and uneven ground was even worse. But Rafe had been invited, and he’d said it so gently—“Just come for a little, stay close to me”—and she had.

She’d only wanted to help. That was it. The drinks were running low, and people were getting loud about it, so she offered to refill a few cups. She ducked over to the flimsy folding table someone had set up near the cooler, her arms already full of bottles, trying to balance them against her chest.

But her elbow caught the corner of the table—just barely—and the whole thing wobbled. A single wine glass, the only real one among a sea of plastic cups, tipped and tumbled before she could catch it.

It hit the ground and shattered.

Sharp and loud and immediate.

The music barely stuttered. But the laughter?

That was different.

It cut sharper than the glass.

Someone whistled low. “You seriously let her near glass, Cameron?”

Another voice, louder and smug: “Man’s got a death wish.”

“Does she come with a warning label, or?”

She froze, glass glittering at her feet, the neck of a bottle still clutched in her hand. Her heart beat too fast, cheeks blooming hot with embarrassment as the sound of their teasing rolled over her, careless and amused.

Her first instinct was to apologize. Then to disappear. She crouched down, fumbling to gather the shards with shaking fingers, her vision blurring as her eyes welled up from the sting—whether from shame or frustration, she didn’t know.

But before she could even touch the first piece, Rafe was there.

He crouched beside her without a word, his body blocking her from the crowd like a shield. “You’re gonna cut yourself, pretty girl,” he murmured, voice low and steady like he didn’t hear the people behind him.

He tugged his hoodie sleeve over his hand and carefully swept the broken pieces into a small pile, his movements methodical, calm. Like he’d done it a hundred times before. Like he wasn’t even a little surprised.

She didn’t know what to say. Her hands were still trembling, her breath caught in her chest. She waited for him to snap. To sigh and look at her like she was a problem. To mutter something like Why do you always have to—

But he didn’t.

He stood, slipping his hand around her waist, guiding her away from the crowd with quiet confidence. His palm rested firm and warm at the small of her back, thumb moving in slow, grounding circles like he was soothing her without saying it aloud.

They didn’t go far—just around the side of the house where it was quieter, the laughter and music muffled now, distant. She stood there, arms crossed tight over her chest, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

Rafe didn’t say anything right away. He just looked at her. Really looked. And she hated that his expression wasn’t angry. That it was soft. Understanding. That it held none of the frustration she’d braced for.

Because that somehow made it worse.

It would’ve been easier if he got mad. If he scolded her or joined in on the teasing. Then she could’ve curled in on herself, said I know, I know, and carried the guilt like a stone.

“I’m sorry you have to baby me all the time,” she whispered after he had started driving towards his house.

Her voice was barely audible over the hum of the car, but it felt deafening in her chest. She kept her eyes fixed on her lap, fingers twisted together, nails picking at the skin around her knuckles like maybe if she focused hard enough, she wouldn’t cry.

Rafe glanced over at her, his brows knitting together the way they always did when something was wrong and she was trying to hide it.

He didn’t say anything—not at first. Just flicked on the blinker and pulled over to the side of the quiet road, gravel crunching beneath the tires as they eased to a stop beneath a cluster of trees. Crickets chirped somewhere in the distance. The party was long behind them now, but her shame still clung to her like smoke.

He turned off the engine. Silence settled in the car, thick and gentle.

Then he shifted in his seat, turning to face her fully. One of his hands reached out, finding her bare thigh under the hem of her skirt. His palm was warm and steady, grounding, and when he started tracing slow, lazy circles into her skin with his thumb, she couldn’t help the tiny shiver that rolled through her.

“I like babying you,” he said, his voice low and calm—like he was reminding her of something she already knew but had forgotten in the haze of humiliation.

Her eyes stayed down.

“I like knowing I’m the one who gets to keep you safe,” he went on, fingers moving in soothing patterns. “I like carrying you when your feet give out. I like wrapping your ankle when you twist it. I like kissing the bandages on your fingers even when you pretend you’re fine. And I love being the first person you look for when something goes wrong.”

Her throat tightened. “But I mess everything up.”

“You don’t mess everything up,” he said, firm now, but still gentle. “You just…move through the world like it wasn’t made for soft people. That’s not your fault.”

She finally lifted her eyes to meet his. There was something sad in her expression, heavy and uncertain, like she couldn’t quite understand why someone like him would want someone like her. Someone who broke things. Someone who broke herself.

“Why?” she asked, voice cracking a little. “Why do you care so much?”

And the way Rafe looked at her then—like she was the only thing that ever made sense—nearly knocked the breath from her lungs.

“Because you’re mine,” he said simply.

Like it was the easiest truth in the world.

Like it didn’t need further explanation.

And in that moment, with his hand still warm against her skin, his eyes locked onto hers like nothing else existed, she realized something bone-deep and terrifying and beautiful:

If she didn’t have Rafe, she might have fallen apart a long time ago. She was hopelessly in love with him.

⸻

It was only after everything—the soft moments, the quiet nights, the way he folded his life around hers without ever making her feel like she took up too much space—that people still talked.

It was at a bonfire. Another one of those Kook parties perched on the edge of the water, where the flames reached high into the night and the laughter stretched even higher. Red cups glowed like fireflies, the speakers pulsed with music that was too loud to feel real, and the girls floated like they were born for it—bronzed skin, glassy smiles, perfect balance on heels in sand.

She already felt like a ghost in someone else’s movie.

But she smiled. That gentle, quiet kind she always gave when she wasn’t quite sure how to belong. She let Rafe tug her down onto the blanket between his legs, his arms winding tight around her waist, his chin resting against her shoulder like it was second nature. Pressing kisses to her bare shoulder as comfort.

And for a little while, it felt okay.

Until she stood to grab a drink.

It wasn’t anything dramatic. Just a misstep. The firelight warped the shadows, maybe the cooler was too close to the dip in the sand, or maybe it was just her usual clumsy luck—but either way, she stumbled. Fell forward onto her knees, palms skimming the grit. The cooler tipped. A stack of drinks toppled. A red Solo cup flew like a frisbee and splashed down—sticky, cold soda soaking right through her shorts.

And then came the laughter.

Loud and sharp and cruel. The kind that didn’t even try to pretend.

Someone clapped. Actually clapped.

“Oh shit,” someone wheezed. “Didn’t she trip at the last one too?”

“Man, Rafe, you’ve got your hands full.”

“How do you even function with her around? I bet she costs more in broken glass than gas money.”

The comments weren’t even whispered. No one tried to hide it. It wasn’t a joke told at her expense.

It was a performance.

Her face burned, and her hands shook as she scrambled up from the sand, trying to brush herself off and pretend it didn’t sting. But the tears already pressed hot at the backs of her eyes, and her throat felt too tight to swallow.

Then came Rafe’s voice—low, lethal, and louder than the fire crackling behind them.

“Leave her the fuck alone,” he said, sharp as glass, “or you’ll be picking your teeth out of the dirt.”

The bonfire snapped, sending sparks up into the dark.

And everything went still.

She turned, startled—but Rafe wasn’t looking at her. He was locked onto the source of the voices across the flames, his jaw clenched, hands curled into tight fists at his sides. His blue eyes had gone pale and hard—icy, detached, and cold in a way that made people go quiet.

No one said a thing.

He didn’t have to say it again.

Then he looked at her.

His features softened the second their eyes met. He crossed the sand in a few long strides, touched her face with a tenderness that cut right through the ache in her chest.

“You okay?” he asked, so soft it didn’t match his voice a second earlier.

She nodded. It was a lie. He knew it. But he didn’t call her on it.

“C’mon,” he murmured, tucking her into his side. “Let’s go home.”

When they got to the car she didn’t cry.

She kept her arms folded tight across her chest, legs curled up beneath her, her soaked shorts cold against her skin, the sting of humiliation still echoing behind her ribs.

Rafe didn’t press. Just drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting halfway on her thigh but also holding her hand, thumb rubbing slow circles into her skin like he knew she needed the pressure.

She didn’t cry when they got back, either.

Not when she showered. Not when she pulled one of his hoodies over her head and climbed into his bed, damp hair dripping onto the collar. Not even when he sprawled behind her, watching her quietly as she braided her hair with trembling fingers.

But it cracked anyway.

Her voice broke before she could stop it. Small. Raw.

“I don’t want you to be embarrassed of me.”

Rafe sat up instantly. “What?”

She still wouldn’t look at him. “I know I’m not like the girls you’re used to. I trip, and I spill things, and I embarrass you in front of your friends. Everyone thinks I’m just this… this mess you got stuck with.”

“No one thinks that.”

“They say it to your face, Rafe.”

And something in him changed.

Not anger. Not the kind he’d used at the bonfire.

This was quieter. Sharper. Sadder.

“You really think I could ever be embarrassed by you?”

She finally looked at him, eyes glassy. Silent.

“I’m in love with every single thing about you,” he said, voice rough. “You fall and laugh like it didn’t hurt, even though I know it does. You drop something and say sorry like the world might fall apart because of it. You get hurt and still tell me you’re fine—like it’s your job to make me feel better about it.”

He reached for her wrist, tugging gently until she was in his lap, knees tucked against his sides, her cheek pressed to his shoulder.

“You’re soft in a world that’s made of sharp edges. That doesn’t make you weak, baby. That makes you the bravest person I know.”

The tears finally spilled. Quiet, slow, steady.

“You think you’d be hopeless without me?” he asked, brushing one away with his thumb. “I’m hopeless without you.”

She let herself cry then. Really cry.

And Rafe just held her. Rocked her like she was something precious, something he had every intention of protecting with his life. One hand cupped the back of her neck, the other spread across her thigh like he needed to be touching her, needed to remind her she was there, that she was safe.

“You make me want to be someone careful,” he whispered. “You make me gentle.”

She let out a quiet, broken sound and pressed her face against his chest.

“You make me feel safe,” she breathed.

Rafe kissed the crown of her head, his lips lingering like a promise.

“Good,” he murmured. “Then we’re even.”

⸻

After that night, something shifted.

She still tripped.

She still stumbled into things that didn’t move fast enough to avoid her.

She still had bruises blooming on her shins and Band-Aids wrapped around her fingers like tiny flags of surrender.

But what changed—what really changed—was that she wasn’t afraid anymore.

Not of falling.

Not of the stares or the sighs or the heat that used to flood her cheeks when she messed up again.

And especially not of him.

Because he never flinched.

Even when she caught her foot on a crack in the middle of the street and pitched forward without warning, he was already there—arms like steel looping around her waist, steady hands pulling her back against him before her knees even brushed the pavement.

She’d gasped, heart in her throat, but Rafe just laughed softly behind her ear. “You really out here trying to give me a heart attack, huh?”

She grinned, breathless but safe, and leaned into his chest, not caring that people on the sidewalk were staring.

Or that one of her shoes was now facing the wrong direction.

He steadied her, then tucked her hair behind her ear like nothing had happened. Like it didn’t matter at all. And maybe it didn’t—not when he was there to catch her.

And then there was the night she fell out of his bed.

She’d rolled too close to the edge in her sleep—dreaming about something she’d already forgotten—and tumbled to the floor with a soft thud, limbs tangled in the sheets. The impact startled her awake, a confused noise slipping from her lips as she blinked into the dark.

But before she could even process where she was, Rafe was already up.

He crouched beside her, sleep still tugging at his lashes, his bare chest had marking from his hand from where he’d been lying on his stomach. His hair was a mess, and there was a crease from the pillow pressed into his cheek.

And he was smiling.

That sleepy, amused smile that only came out when he was too tired to fake anything but too in love to be anything but soft.

“Did you seriously fall out of bed?” he whispered, voice rough with sleep.

She groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “I didn’t mean to.”

He just chuckled, brushing his fingers down her arm as he peeled the blankets off her legs and gently scooped her into his arms. “You’re unbelievable,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as he carried her like she weighed nothing.

He settled her back into bed like he was tucking something fragile and sacred into place. He smoothed the blanket over her and pressed his forehead to hers.

“I love you,” he whispered, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Even when you’re falling out of furniture.”

She laughed, eyes fluttering closed as he curled around her again, his arms strong and warm at her waist.

And this time, as she drifted off, she didn’t worry about falling.

Because she knew—without a single doubt—he’d always be there to catch her.

[rhiannonsknife]

I think I am 🦌 anon…… I love h2O just add water SO much im sobbing I’ll love anything u write for it…. Also bc im such a gigantic Rikki/emma shipper its making me think about Jackie/Melissa and now I feel galaxy brain 🌌🌌 like Melissa would have way more fun giving Jackie shit occasionally and they could have fun banter… meanwhile Shauna is standing by quietly losing her mind diskjdkwjfjejeh anyways Melissa calling Jackie “princess” do you mind if I exit

— H2O JUST ADD WATER (yellowjackets au)

the three of them weren’t even supposed to end up on the island. they were meant to be out on lottie’s boat (well, mr. matthews’, technically) for an afternoon cruise, a little celebration after winning regionals & qualifying for nationals. a few jv girls had tagged along (hence, melissa) and the day itself couldn’t have been better. until the engine of mel’s boat stalled on the way back, leaving them stranded just off mako island. she pointed out they could dock and check the motor from shore. so they did and, while waiting, wandered off. that’s how jackie found the moon pool…

or: healing my inner child…let me have my mermaid moment with this guys!!

SHAUNA SHIPMAN ⋆˙⟡ cleo

shauna keeps it to herself the longest. it’s not that she’s any better at hiding it, if anything, she’s the worst liar…(definitely writes about it in her journal, too!!) but the rational part of her just refuses to believe it’s real.

her first signs aren’t as dramatic (meaning no tail incident), it’s mostly water, acting strange: the morning after, at the sink, shauna reaches for the faucet, and the stream bends, curving away from her hand. she flinches, and it snaps back.

it takes three full tail incidents (one in her bathtub, one at the harbor, and one in the locker room where jackie has to block the door) for shauna to finally admit: “okay. yeah. so i think i’m a mermaid too.”

hydrokinesis — the ability to control the shape & volume of water. shauna is secretly practicing her powers in the tub and the pond in the park, to avoid incidents like the one time she accidentally made the water in her mom’s flower vase swirl into a spiral when she got distracted watching jackie eat a popsicle…

JACKIE TAYLOR ⋆˙⟡ emma

jackie is, for once, the unlucky one. her first transformation happens right before jeff is supposed to come over. she’s in her bathrobe, mid-prep for one of her ‘everything-showers’ she’s decided make her irresistible (comphet jackie taylor, you are real to me in every universe…) when she dips a toe into the water to test the temperature. 

the contact is all it takes. water hits her skin & she changes. jackie’s legs fuse together, and her body slumps into the tub. she screams once, then slaps a hand over her mouth in shock. gripping the tub’s edge, she’s sobbing, terrified, and somehow furious that it had to happen today of all days (omg jackie who transforms the day she was planning to “finally” lose her virginity…?? fate stepped in!!)

when jeff calls to say he’s out front, jackie, still stunned, chokes out: “uhm- i can’t hang out! i’m...sick. like…puking sick! go home.” then she hangs up and stares down at her new tail.

cryokinesis — the ability to freeze water & create ice (the concept of this being jackie’s power….). in the beginning, jackie can’t stop accidentally freezing things. she ruins several sinks and refuses to drink anything cold, afraid it might freeze in her throat. she’s definitely the most frustrated with her lack of control.

MELISSA HAT ⋆˙⟡ rikki

melissa is the first to admit it not only to herself (which, frankly, is hard to deny when her legs turn into a full-blown tail the second she touches water), but out loud: “okay, don’t freak, but i think i’m a goddamn mermaid.”

she says this to gen, obviously. gen: her best friend, and more importantly, the only person she trusts enough to show what happens when she pours water down her arm. to be fair, gen does freak out a little. “oh my god, do it again!” she shrieks “can you, like, breathe underwater now?!”

melissa tries to play it cool, as if she hasn’t been spiraling for 48 hours straight & didn’t scream the first time it happened, slipping into her pool and nearly passing out from shock. as if she’s not lowkey in love with both shauna & jackie, losing her mind about it more and more every time they mention weird water stuff…

hydro thermokinesis — the ability to heat & boil water. it starts with bathwater, then escalates to a full bottle she forgets she’s holding during an argument with shauna, which explodes in her grip. melissa is surprisingly cautious, though, taking time to practice and gain control.

[blossomcola]

theres barely any sub wonyoung, like I just wanna see her completely overstimulated and whiny and when you stop she can't help but whine again to put your hands on her. omg I need more sub wonyoung lovers out here

ps do you think like her as a dom/sub/switch?

pairing. sub!jang wonyoung x dom!fem reader.

content warnings. cunnilingus, overstimulation.

most of the time wonyoung is a soft dom because she always prioritizes your pleasure and comfort over her own. of course she also does things to satisfy her own needs, but she almost always worries about taking care of you first and then thinking about herself.

although this doesn’t mean that wonyoung doesn’t need care too! you can imagine that being a public figure like her is totally exhausting, and it’s doubly so when you’re an artist and model simultaneously like wonyoung is; the constant busy schedules that sometimes make her have more than one important event on the same day or the times when she barely has time to sleep because she has to take care of her career as an idol, having to perform at universities or promoting with her group during comebacks. basically, wonyoung has more than a constant stressful time and doesn't have any time to rest and do... certain things to take that stress off of her, but it’s good that you’re always here when she needs you most and wonyoung couldn’t be more grateful <3

she doesn’t have time to complain about her fatigue once she gets home because you’re quicker to pounce on her once she closes the door, surprised when her almost–complaints are silenced by your lips moving haphazardly over hers and your hands wandering desperately over her body 😵‍💫 In any other context, wonyoung would let out a sweet giggle and make fun of you for trying to act dominant with her when she’s the one always on top, but she lets it go at times like this where she’s so exhausted she can barely stand in those painful heels and her whole body is sore from lack of sleep uncomfortable tight clothes she had to wear non–stop all week :( then she would let it go, biting her tongue to avoid saying any kind of comment and simply let herself melt in your arms at the soft touch she had been needing during these long weeks of unstoppable work.

you wish you could tease her and annoy her for a while to make her beg and tell you straight up what she wants, but seeing those pleading eyes filled with tears and hearing that weak “please, (y/n)-ah” makes your heart feel a sharp pang and make you feel guilty for even thinking of playing with her like that when wonyoung just needs this with all her being :( all you have to do is apologize to her, but don't let that ruin the moment because you still have the task at hand, which is to eat her out!

and she lets out the cutest, sweetest sounds 🥺 wonyoung practically writhes beneath you, arching her back as your tongue makes contact where she needs it most. also she moves her hips towards your face but at the same time presses them against the mattress when she feels it is too much??? the poor baby girl is so overwhelmed by tiredness and pleasure that she can’t think coherently and ends up doing stupid things :( you just need to place your hands on her thighs and guide her legs over your shoulders to maintain a little control and not allow her to be restless, although you definitely love how she moves her hips against your face as you bury your face between her thighs to pay attention to her clit 😊 you’d let wonyoung ride your face if it weren’t for the fact that she’d give up seconds after starting because it would be too much stimulation for her...

but just as she is tired and overstimulated, she is also greedy and beyond needy! silly spoiled princess who needs attention all the time, so she would beg you for more even if she's already cum multiple times to the point that her trembling thighs are soaked with her juices, but who are you to refuse when she just needs a little attention as a reward for her hard work?

[daylighteclipsed]

I didn’t want to add to the og post bc it’s already long and not focused on this. But this post made me realize most of Sora and Riku’s softer/shippy moments do not in fact happen in the Realm of Light. KH1 takes place mostly in the Light, but the boys act as rivals/enemies. Their dynamic starts to shift after this, but CoM takes place in Castle Oblivion, which is the Realm Between. In KH2, Riku aids Sora from the dark until their reunion in the World That Never Was, which is the Realm Between. The Dark Margin talk happens in the Realm of Darkness. DDD is the Realm of Sleep… Compared to Sora and Kairi who share more moments in the Light, this trend is very interesting.

Sora and Riku’s dynamic in DDD carries over to KH3, and arguably, it’s a little more in the Light than before. No big moments (that are acknowledged in-game, at least), but I would say it’s starting to leave the shadows with Sora being teased by Donald and Goofy for finding Riku attractive and always listening to Riku, the reminders that Riku is always at the back of Sora’s mind throughout the game, and Sora’s discomfort when Kairi offers him a paopu fruit (with Riku nearby on the beach… who Sora starts this scene looking at and thinking about). Those are moments that happen in the Light. But the big ones still happen in the Dark… or are forgotten.

Sora saves Riku in the Realm of Darkness. He uses the Power of Waking to do this, which is honestly a huge deal. That’s Sora’s entire goal for most of KH3 — to gain the PoW and regain the strength he lost in DDD. It complements Riku gaining the PoW by wanting to save Sora in DDD, and it parallels Hercules getting his strength back because he wants to save Meg. But the fact that Sora’s goal is achieved here is unacknowledged in the game, to the point where it seems to go over a lot of people’s heads. It even went over my head the first time I played KH3. (Side note: I wonder if it says something that the Combined Keyblade, which symbolizes Sora and Riku’s relationship, has only been summoned in the Realm of Sleep and the Realm of Darkness so far. We’ve never seen it in the Light.)

Riku’s True Love sacrifice for Sora in the Keyblade Graveyard is in the Realm of Light, but it’s ultimately forgotten. This sacrifice saves Sora. It’s the reason light prevails over the dark and our heroes win in the end. And it’s totally unacknowledged in the game. It’s implied Sora sees something in the tunnel of light when he reaches for Riku, but that also seems to be forgotten. Not only is that in the physical dark, but we are left in the dark as to what Sora sees. It’s out of frame, outside the bounds of the story presented to us. The shadows of the shadows. As the audience, we literally and figuratively do not have the full picture.

These parts of KH3 are practically erased, almost like they never happened. Almost like they cannot happen. (The KH3 graphic novel actually does erase Riku’s sacrifice from the story.) And I do think that’s very, very interesting in the context of KH taking place in the Disney fairytale universe. Even in the Realm of Darkness, even in the shadows within this reality, there’s only so far the boundary can be pushed. A queer relationship has to remain subtext (Darkness). It can’t exist on the surface (Light). It can’t significantly impact the story. The story can’t be about that. Not in this world.

I’m sure I’m not the only one that jokes about Sora and Riku getting together in Quadratum because it’s (from their pov) Unreality. But it’s not a joke either, right, because this is a different world, made up of things that don’t exist in Disney fairytale land with all its traditional cishetero relationships and happy endings… This is a world where a queer relationship could happen. Because it’s not “real.”

Let’s take this a step further.

If we’re interpreting Darkness as a metaphor for subtext in a story while Light is what’s on the surface, that makes Reality canon stories and Unreality the opposite. Ideas that never make it past the conceptual stages or drafts, that are never published or coded, for whatever reason (like how Verum Rex seems based on Nomura’s Versus XIII, which was cancelled irl)… or existing stories and ideas that are so forgotten/lost to time that they may as well have never existed (like Strelitzia and the Lost Masters). Unreality is the other side of creation.

On a textual level, Sora and Riku’s relationship in DDD carrying over to KH3, with increasing moments in the Light, is a queer relationship starting to be consciously realized by both characters. On a metatextual level, it’s a queer relationship starting to be made more explicit by a creator… before it’s hit by censors, sentenced to the limbo of what could be. From this perspective, it would be extremely meta for Sora and Riku to get together (or for romantic feelings to be confirmed, at least) in a universe that represents unrealized/lost ideas while their relationship struggled to exist beyond subtext in a universe that represents what’s “real”/canon.

What the Master of Masters says about Light and Darkness is also interesting from this perspective. Light and Dark are not supposed to reach Quadratum, but they do. Reality is not supposed to touch Unreality, but it does. The line between what’s real and what’s not, what’s canon and what’s not, is blurring. Versus XIII lives through Verum Rex. Sora (“real”) meets Nameless Star (“unreal”) in the Final World. Sora and Strelitzia, stuck in Unreality, are characters from a “real” story that haven’t been completely forgotten. Riku (“real”) has dreams about Sora (“unreal” atp), and Riku crosses from Reality into Unreality to find Sora while still remaining “real” (not erased from Reality/canon).

I actually think Strelitzia kinda represents when a beta/draft character is replaced by the final one. Ultimately, Ventus takes her role in the canon story, and she is erased from it. But that beta/draft character was still created, so it still “exists” even though it’s not in the story. And the bonds you, as the creator, imagined them forming with other characters if they were in the story still exist (Strelitzia is remembered by Laurium, Elrena, and Ventus). It’s also not lost on me that Strelitzia is, technically, a queer character because she’s in love with the UX Player regardless of gender. So it feels like she is erased and replaced specifically due to censorship/executive meddling in this allegory for the creative process. But I digress.

I do think it’s significant that the Final World rests on the edge of Sleep and Death, and that Riku reaches Sora in Unreality through the Realm of Sleep. Dreams and Unreality are pretty similar. Both are made of what you hope, imagine, wish, want to be real. The biggest difference is dreams are subconscious and Unreality, I think, represents conscious ideas that are never made real or are forgotten. A world of lost dreams and desires, brimming with possibility and potential… Moving from the allegorical subconscious to the conscious-but-not-acted-upon reflects the evolution of Riku’s feelings in particular. He knows how he feels about Sora, but he does not believe his feelings could ever be reciprocated. So he’s in the world where dreams remain fantasy. For now.

If Sora and Riku represent a censored queer relationship, then I think them getting together in Unreality (and presumably making it back to their own world/Reality in the Light) would be like saying you can’t erase what’s already in the story, what’s already real. You can try. You can downplay, ignore, dismiss, censor, try to forget, but those moments still happened. Those feelings still exist. That bond still exists. Nothing can change that. KH3 sure dropped some big Sora/Riku moments that require follow up to make narrative sense. There’s no taking those back.

KH is also really big on the idea that reality is subjective. Nomura said in an interview about KH4 that Yozora’s world is fictional to Sora, but Sora’s world is fictional to Yozora. What’s real to one person is fantasy to another. And in the end, it doesn’t really matter who’s right, because if you believe something is real, that makes it real. So I think you can also see “soriku canon in Unreality” as like meta commentary on fanfiction too, from this perspective. It’s not “canon,” but it’s still “real.” Obviously, it would be canon because all of KH is canon, but in this allegorical take, as long as the boys are in Unreality, it wouldn’t represent “canon.” Does that make sense? My head kind of hurts.

Of course I’m not claiming this reading (Darkness is subtext, Reality is canon, etc.) is intentional. It could be, but either way I think it’s really fun to view KH through a meta lens like this.

[the-fishh]

I really enjoy the implications that WD Gaster in Deltarune was a therapist before whatever "incident" instead of a scientist like in Undertale. Both being doctors of different kinds, It fits with the full 'similar but different' narrative where characters present in both Undertale and Deltarune have similar occupations to their counterparts.

Because going with the theory that Gaster is the entity behind each tree, you could make the assumption that the Chapter 4 egg room was a distorted memory of some kind.

We know Kris was kind of troubled as a kid. The receptionist recognises Kris when they enter and greets them by name both in the egg room AND in the real Hometown hospital.

In the egg room, the receptionist talks about the patients waiting for Kris, the people waiting being the man behind the tree and So-Sorry the mini-boss from Undertale. Afterwards the Receptionist asks who the patient was, even after previously implying it to be Kris. This is definitely confirmation that things are not as they seem.

(I want to try connect So-Sorry's appearance to the other theory that instead of Undertale's Goners and Amalgamations, Deltarune has missing people that I think are being sacrificed to sustain the distortion of Dess as the knight - But that's just a summary and would fit better in another post.)

Anyways, having Gaster study Psychology and Sociology would be a great fit for what little we know in theory about Deltarune's version of Gaster. Assuming he is also the entity that makes the first connection, making a person with hopes and dreams and personality would better suit a version of Gaster that studied Anthropology. On the flip side, creating the Core and Determination Extractor, Working on experiments and taking Photon Readings matches with the known fact that Undertale's Gaster studied the practical sciences as the Royal Scientist.

This would also maintain the connection between the Dreemurr family and Gaster before his disappearance as Kris' Art Therapist, likely disappearing slightly before Dess. I also think there is something to be made of the Chapter 3 egg room that takes place inside a green videogame setting. the area is called "MANCOUNTRY" by one of the photocopied and coloured in Rudinn's. It ties in with the whole Art thing for one, but it also is a direct parallel to how a Rudinn in Castletown will refer to it as "[Playername]town" connecting it all back to that meta-gaming experience that makes these mysteries and theory's so interesting.

So I think that's all I have gathered in my brain so far, but there are still many many questions. Was it the same incident or two separate paralleling incidents that happened to the Gaster's? Did the two Gaster's combine consciousnesses to create one super doctor with multiple scientific doctorate's full of knowledge of both Anthropology and the Engineering Sciences? Are Deltarune and Undertale Gaster connected in universe or just meant to serve as parallels to each others stories? NOBODY KNOWWWWSSSS!! Except maybe the Deltarune team. But sometimes writing a mystery is more fulfilling if you don't have the solution in mind while writing it.

[envys-tma-rp-blog]

"Alright." Myra took a deep breath.

"I was told by a friend that I should submit my experience to your institute. As you can see, I have gladly taken the opportunity, but I can't help but feel as though it somewhat disrespects both the nature of my experience, and that of your organization. You see, I view what happened to me as a religious experience more than anything else.

I suppose I'll explain. I've felt very deeply connected to the Earth for a long time - being raised in an animal-rights household with pagan undertones will do that. Call it Gaia, if you want. It's what saved me, I think - the beauty of the universe, of sprawling fields and the crashing sea and the wide open sky, it's so perfect. How could I succumb to nihilism when there's all those miles and miles of endless beauty all around us? You just have to get somewhere high enough, and then you can really see just how big it is, and all for us, for me. Some people find that overwhelming, but I don't.

On the actual experience itself, I was hiking last week - Sunday, I believe. I could never actually go mountain-climbing, in the wilderness, but there are some tall hills one can get to the top of fairly easily. And that's where I was when it happened, on a cliff close to the top of one of those mountain trails. I'd taken my lunch and supplies up to one of the trails I hadn't yet been to, planning to do a little prayer ritual.

I remember setting up my candles and food a safe distance away from the ledge, maybe fifteen feet away. For all I talk about how beautiful the view from these places can be, I'm actually quite scared of heights, and something about the place felt odd. The clouds that day were in that odd formation where they mottle the sky simultaneously dark and light, and it smelled like a storm even though I'd checked the forecast three times before making the journey to confirm it would be dry.

I don't know why, but I zoned out somehow. The next thing I knew I'd abandoned my half-finished prayer circle and was standing much closer to the edge, perhaps five feet away. I didn't know how I'd gotten there, and it unnerved me for only a moment. I could feel my feet moving, dragging slowly on the ground, but I was not moving on purpose. I felt slow, but also… Calm. And all of a sudden, I knew exactly what was going to happen, what could only happen.

I jumped. Well, fell was probably a better word. I simply walked off the edge of the cliff, and I still maintain that it was the best decision I had ever made. I fell, eyes closed at first, and oddly enough I didn't feel afraid, or at least not to the degree one normally would - it felt muted, like it wasn't really that important. I dimly wondered if this was the end, but I wasn't cognizant enough to fully comprehend that thought. I only felt a vague sense of sadness for it.

But it didn't end. I opened my eyes after a while, and it seemed for all the world like the ground was just… gone. All I could see were clouds, endless clouds, forever. Sunlight seemed to still illuminate them, but I couldn't see where it was coming from. I swore I saw a glint of water for a moment, but it was soon gone again, and besides, there had been no water anywhere near the hill I was climbing. I should've been scared, I know I should've - but I wasn't.

It was beautiful, you must understand, like the very inside of my soul had been taken out and splattered all over the canvas that was reality. I'm not ashamed to say that I cried as I was falling, partially for the beauty of it, partially for my sense coming back to me and reminding me that I was still going to die when I inevitably hit the ground, and partially for the cosmic cruelty that was the fact that I was a guest here, in this beautiful, impossible world of endless sky.

I'm not sure how long I was there, falling and falling. I don't know how long I cried with fear and love and yearning and the traitorous fear again. I cried out to the sky, to the world, to take me into it properly, to make me an angel or something equivalent, to let me stay forever in the beautiful embrace of nothing. But it said no, not yet. It said I couldn't, not right then and there. I wasn't ready yet.

And somehow, somewhen, I woke up lying on my apartment building’s rooftop. I have no idea how I got there - nobody saw me climb, and I certainly have no memory of it. I climbed down and went to ask my roommates what had happened. Apparently I had been gone for seven hours, which left four of them unaccounted for in my memory. But, here I was, so nobody saw any reason to make a big deal out of it.

I want to go back. I cried myself to sleep that night and dreamed of that endless sky, and I have no doubt that I'll dream of it every night until I find a way to go back. I haven't slept in weeks, I only just showered and changed to be polite coming here. My partner has been very protective over me since I confided this in him and our friend group, and won't let me go near any ledges. But I feel different now, in a way I can't quite quantify - especially when I look up. "

He seemed to go into a daze for a moment, just staring off into the distance. Then he jolted back.

"Er, yes. Thank you for taking my statement. I apologize if it's not quite what you usually look for; my friends wanted me to report it, even if it's not really spooky at all. I hope you can make some use of it nonetheless. I believe one of your associates told me it might have something to do with some sort of… deity of open spaces? I really don't know. I hope it's useful, in any case." He cleared his throat. "That's it, I guess..."

There was a knock on the office door. A young man in his early twenties stood outside, with fiery red hair in a ponytail and a perfectly pressed polo shirt. "Are you the Archivist?" he asked, hands clasped behind his back. "I'm here to give a statement, if you have time." His tone was calm in an unreadable, slightly ominous, yet generally amicable way.

@envys-tma-rp-blog

"That would be me.. did you get a visitors badge from reception?" He hummed. He was on edge but he didnt immediately seem too startled. He'd seen a lot already.

[teratomatica]

you always land on all fours

[gods-perfect-idiots]

❤️💛

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

SiirrrrRE

MILES AXELROD GET THE FFFUCK

OUT OF MY WORKPLACE GARAGAGE MOTHERFUCKGIJTBT GOD DAMMITTT!!!!!! AWEERRHAAAAAAAAAAHAHGYG

All it cost me was my glasses and the massive grime and grease stain across my forehead now. I swear I'm not beyond-fucked insane when I say that the damn oil smelt like brown sugar what was that. Think that was the messiest I ever got fixing a car cause magically I did not care about anything anymore.

I uh. Hit the tag limit but I'm sure this will still pop up if I search his name in my blog search feature.

[pineapple-lover-boy]

Listen I know it was forever ago but what if after lesson 16, whenever the brothers mention how much MC reminds them of Lilith Mc is like, “Who?”

They’re grateful for what she did and honestly I love the thought of them being the only one to see her ghost and they’re besties but like

This is to piss the brothers off and stop them from comparing. They can talk about her. But not compare. Lilith supports this and does not want her greatx70 grandchild to be a walking memory.

[klutzytomb]

Old Taylor drawing I actually really love

[sincetheducksleft]

S3E6 "University": Sympathetic characters and intergenerational trauma

Tracee burning her son with a cigarette because her mother held her hand on the stove is like the entire fucking thesis of this show, even more so because it specifically undercuts Tracee as one of the most straightforwardly sympathetic characters we've seen.

(800 words; spoilers for all of season 3)

I'm currently rewatching The Sopranos with my mom, and one of the first things she mentioned (not as a complaint, just as an observation) is that there really are no purely sympathetic characters on the show. By the end of the first episode we've seen our main character commit acts of extreme violence -- but it would be misguided to say we're supposed to root against him, because the mafia-aligned characters who oppose him are usually just as bad, if not worse.

Rather, I think The Sopranos is supposed to make us question what makes a character sympathetic or villainous, and how this relies on narrative, perspective, and arc (or the lack thereof).

Tracee enters this episode as something close to a purely sympathetic character -- a single mother, presumably a former teen mom, baking bread to thank Tony for helping her son. It's a specifically feminine/domestic act, both motherly and naive, that also positions Danny (the son) as a priority in her life. She almost represents the mother figure that was so missing from Tony's life, except that we're also supposed to see her as a naive child, making her tragic instead.

Speaking of tragic, we find out quickly that she's in a relationship with Ralph, which stops your fucking heart if you've been paying attention and know he's straight up violently insane. (Not to say that the escalation of his behavior in this episode isn't supposed to surprise us -- just that it's an escalation of existing behavior, not an introduction of a new trait to his character).

But right as we find out Tracee is pregnant, presumably setting us up for the tragedy of her death (which, yes, is exactly what ends up happening), we also find out that Tracee has a history of abusing her son to the point that a social worker got involved. And we also find out, in the exact same breath, that the social worker and Tracee herself believe she burned her son with cigarettes because her mother held her hand on the stove when she was little.

It's such a perfect parallel to the overall theme of intergenerational trauma and the cycle of abuse and dysfunction, and also to Tony specifically as a product of his own father, and it completely undercuts the simplistic, arguably stereotypical depiction of a helplessly naive little girl we've seen in Tracee.

Although she's generally being used as a highly feminine, mother-adjacent victim in the context of Tony's story, there's another story out there (Danny's story) where she's the abusive parent who fucks him up for life, and another where she's an abused child whose mother fucks her up for life. She's both a source of pain and someone forced to absorb pain, and it's like a perfect microcosm of how the human condition is portrayed on The Sopranos.

Every character has the potential to be a main character, every character has depth and complexity that is revealing of the human condition. Everyone has the potential to be sympathetic or villainous, and how we see them in this story relies heavily on how they're used in a narrative sense, but if there's a truth at the heart of that narrative it's that everyone is both.

Even Ralph has his moment of sympathy in this episode, reminding us (again) that he had to drop out of school in 11th grade. Unlike Tony, Ralph actually was forced into this life.

And it's just so fucking typical that Tracee, who's apparently just starting to gain some insight into why she abuses her son and starting to do better, would have her story abruptly ended as a minor plot point in the story of some other asshole's unresolved issues and childhood trauma.

Tracee's story may be profound and revealing, but that doesn't mean it will be told in full. That life will treat her like more than a side character, that the people around us care about our own narrative satisfaction. That's not how The Sopranos works because it's not how life works.

It's not a profoundly meaningful tragedy that leaves us reeling at the end of this episode. Rather, it's the fact that Tracee's story ends abruptly, in the middle, without resolution or satisfaction, that leaves us empty and cold. Wondering what the fuck just happened to Tracee, and what the fuck is going to happen to us in our own lives, and whether we'll get a chance to put meaning to it before the big nothing.

Everyone we meet has enough depth and complexity and narrative power to be a main character, to have their story told in full with an arc and a meaning and a true profundity of purpose, and most of them never are.

[seventeendeer]

as a fat person who's always clamoring for more interesting fat characters in media, I honestly think one of my all-time favorite depictions of a fat character is Jumba from the original Lilo and Stitch - both visually and personality wise

from a design perspective, even though he's an alien, he has so many little anatomy quirks that make him a more believable fat character than many fat human designs in other media. I love the realistic sag and layering of the fat on his arms, the lack of neck definition, the rim of chub around his face and upper back, the way his back is rounded. his clothes pull taut and pinch in anatomically accurate places (e.g. shoulders are firmer = smoother outlines, the sides and back are squishier = bumpier outlines).

and he's stylized so well! all these great details boiled down to some simple shapes and pen strokes. IMO the Lilo and Stitch art style is extremely appealing - it's warm and clean and visually pleasing, but every character is super unique. Jumba isn't supposed to be pretty, but even though he's a very large, very fat, bald older guy who spends most of the movie in crop tops, the way he's stylized and staged makes it clear the audience is supposed to find him interesting to look at, and variably intimidating/cool/powerful/capable. he's often funny, but the physical aspect of his comedy is derived from being so hefty the other characters struggle to prevent him from barreling ahead and doing whatever he wants; being fat makes him come off more in control of the funny situations he gets into, not less. also, because the art style is what it is, a lot of his character acting also just makes him look kind of cute ... though that's universal across the cast

I also really like the fact that his size clearly gives him both realistic advantages and realistic disadvantages. along with having a stronger sense of agency in the comedic scenes, his size in combination with his impulsivity also makes him a more intimidating antagonist. you never know what he's going to do, and his size makes it difficult for other characters to stop him when he's made up his mind. at the same time, it seems to take him longer to catch his breath, he sometimes grunts when moving around a lot to imply it takes more effort, and he clearly struggled to find clothes that fit him when putting together his disguise. I think it's awesome that the character's size impacts how he interacts with the world so much, and again, in relatable ways

and personality wise, it is ALWAYS great to see fat characters portrayed as intelligent - not only is Jumba an accomplished scientist, he's also crafty and witty! a few quiet scenes imply a philosophical side, as he ponders on Stitch's existence and feelings as a living weapon. with Stitch explicitly being made in his own image to an extent, I'd argue there's even room to interpret some of the things he says about Stitch being hints to how he sees himself; we never learn much about Jumba's past, but it's clear he's a social misfit and strongly defiant. I don't think it's a stretch to assume some of what he said to Stitch about being a monster who can never belong anywhere was intended to read as projection (which makes it all the more heartwarming when both of them find a place to belong on Earth)

it's also a nice twist that toward the end, Jumba is the one who is unexpectedly compassionate toward Nani, while Pleakley tries to urge him to ignore her. again alluding to a level of emotional depth and intelligence that is often missing from even well-intentioned depictions of fat people. his character isn't even fully explored, and yet he's one of the most dynamic and interesting supporting characters in a movie full of fantastic characters. the audience is expected to find him fascinating and even sort of mysterious, and he is!

the sequels and spinoffs were more merchandise-driven franchise fluff for kids than the artsy direction of the original movie, but even so, I remember Jumba went on to become Lilo's lovable, amoral uncle figure, which I also thought was so fun as a kid. I love that they committed to the fact that he was more caring and compassionate than he seemed. not only was he a cool evil mad scientist character, but he was also eventually ... a friend ...

and he was even gay

[orangeocelotmartyn]

Impulse's adventures in Tumblr

Scar: You get too deep in Twitter it gets scary. Impulse: I got too deep in Tumblr, I had to back off. Scar: (surprised) Ooh. Impulse: I started going down a-a little—Gem saw! Gem saw it happen. Gem was helping me with Tumblr and—and I started going down and she's like, "nope, stop. you gotta do a filter for that one." (he laughs) Scar: Uh oh. Impulse: I got a little too deep— Gem: Yeah, but seriously. You guys, y-y-you want to be on the Tumblr, but you don't want to be on the Tumblr, because—you don't have the right…attitude about the Tumblr! If you're gonna be on the Tumblr, you're gonna see the fandom stuff. And if—then you gotta be okay with seeing the fandom stuff. If you're not okay with seeing the fandom stuff, then you gotta let me set up your Tumblr! (beat) I'm personally okay with it all, I don't really care. Scar: (sounding like he's far away) What's the fandom stuff? Impulse: Like the shipping, and…stuff. Scar: Do they get into like, the rates on shipping these days? It's crazy.

Impulse: A-U? What do they call it, A-U? What's A-U stand for? Gem: Just, Alternate Universe Impulse: Alternate Universe, okay. Some of the alternate universe, I read some of those things, they're actually pretty cool. Gem: You shouldn't say that out loud. (Impulse begins laughing) Impulse: Oh, my bad. I'm not supposed to be there, sorry, safe place for you guys, I'm back out—I'm out. I-I didn't— Scar: I never venture to Tumblr. Impulse: Reddit was-Reddit was slow! Okay? If—listen. If Reddit's gonna be slow, I need an outlet for—(laughs) for my—(getting quieter) reading. Stuff. About myself. Gem: I'd be-I think Tumblr's fine, you just have to have the correct mindset. And you also shouldn't be talking about it on stream— Impulse: Yeah, my bad— Gem: —because it freaks them out, and then they start being weird. Tumblr's much better when they're just-they're just normal. Impulse: There was-there was plenty of normal stuff. I just-you can't go down the rabbit holes, I learned. (pause) And then people-people take—they take screenshots of me when I'm standing weird. (He holds up a picture to the camera) Scar: (starts laughing) What, wait what? Wait, hold on— Gem: Oh, wait, we can-we can tell about this. There-there was a Tumblr post that was, that was-that was pointing out all of the times that Impulse stood (Scar exhales a laugh) and-and-and yeah. Yeah, they-they were pretty pretty princess Impulse? Impulse: (talking over her) I stand so macho, what are you talking about (he laughs) Scar: I'm so confused, I-can I get a— Impulse: I literally had to work on my—stance, before Sunday because I saw something Saturday night and I was like, oh— Gem: It's very cute, it's very cute. (Impulse laughs) Scar: Can I see a photo? Impulse: I was pretty princess. Here, I'll bring it up again. Do you have my stream open? Scar: I wanna see it. Impulse: I'll find it again. Scar: Can I just say, can I just say real quick while he's doing that? Impulse—really swoled out. He looks like he could pick-pick up an ox. (Impulse laughs, clearly pleased) I really noticed it, like, Impulse-I see those guns, I was like, "this man could pick up an ox. If I fell on the ground, Impulse, one hand, could pick me up." Impulse: Thanks. Scar: O-oh my god, I just pulled up your stream, except there's an ad, so I just see it up in the little tiny box at the top— Impulse: Oh shoot—c'mon ads! Scar: —so it's even funnier. Oh, there it is. (he laughs delightedly) Little princess. Gem: Tumblr's so good, though, cause you just get to see funny stuff like that, and don't have to scroll through all the politics and crap that's on, like, X. Impulse: Mm. Scar: It's so bad, Gem. Gem: And Reddit. And is dead. It's just nice, I like seeing the fandom at it's purest form, please don't ruin it by telling them that you're on there. Impulse: Okay. Nah, I-I was just on there 'cause I, y'know, I was excited about the event. There was so many things being posted and stuff, I wanted to see—everything that was being said, about w-how people thought about the weekend, and favorite clips, and all that kind of stuff, I wanted to see it all, so I dipped into Tumblr. Just a little bit, just-just to dip my toes in, just a lil bit. I'm back out, I'm fine. I'll be alright.

Scar: But was it nice? Impulse: It was alright. Scar: Because it feels like Reddit, they just nitpick the smallest things, like— Gem: I don't find the Tumblr to be nitpicky at all. Th-they're more like a celebration of the fandom. Whereas the Reddit is like…hates the fan—hates-hates us, a lil bit. Lowkey. Scar: A little, there's a little there, there's a little there, it's—there's an enjoyment of nitpicking. They find the nitpicking more fun, and then Twitter, they're just confused over there. They don't know what's going on. (Impulse laughs) Gem: Tumblr definitely doesn't nitpick half of the—every now and then I'll come across a person who's like. A bit…odd. But you could just block that one person and it normally goes away. Impulse: I didn't understand Tumblr about—cause you can't see when something was posted. At least not on just the scrolling through, it seemed like. I didn't see anything that was like, "this was posted x amount of hours ago." And I'm used to that. So that felt weird to me. And then I didn't quite understand how, like, replies and stuff work. There's something about notes? And then I click on that and it got weird, and, I dunno. Gem: Oh, I can teach you, I can teach you that. Impulse: I just didn't get it. Gem: I didn't think you were going to be getting into like, actually posting. Impulse: I'm a boomer when it comes to—Tumblr. So I think—I'm okay. N-next time we hang out you can help me with my—filters. Gem: I think you should just pretend that you don't use it. Cause— Impulse: Yeah, just, I'm not gonna get on there ever again. (Windows error noise) Say what you want. Uh oh.

[livinghalfway]

Brothers, Aisle Six

Danny was having a terrible day, or more like a terrible week. His parents had discovered that he was Phantom, and had immediately attacked him. The only reason he had managed to get away through the portal was Jazz holding them back as she shouted at him to run.

Once in the ghost zone Clockwork was instantly by his side leading him to Far Frozen to help with his injuries. Once the worst of it was over Clockwork told him that to help keep him safe he was sending Danny far away from Amity; to Gotham. Whether he agreed or not didn't seem to matter as in a blink of an eye Danny finds himself standing in an alleyway with nothing more than what he already had.

The next few days were hard, and Danny was really trying not to let that get him down too much. So it only makes sense that the universe would take that as a challenge to do worse by raining.

When walking aimlessly in the grocery store to escape the rain he was absent mindlessly picking things up, reading them, and putting them down. That seemed to be a problem for some people though as in the next moment an older woman is grabbing his arm, and demanding him to put back what he was going to steal and asking where his parents are.

The woman doesn't even give him a chance to respond though before she is shouting at and pulling Danny towards an older teen (Tim) who is also standing in the aisle and now staring at them with wide eyes as they approach.

"You need to keep a better track of your little brother! I caught him trying to steal while you were over here looking at your phone!"

The older teen makes eye contact with those words. Now, Danny will admit that while this guy and him did look oddly a-like they weren't brothers, or at least he hoped that was the case. He would know if he was adopted right? Probably.

"Yes," Tim reaches out and pulls Danny out of the woman's grasp; tucking Danny into his side, "I'll make sure to do that thank you."

The woman obviously wants to continue talking, but before she can Tim is already walking away from her with Danny right next to him.

Danny is so thankful that Tim was willing to not correct the woman that he doesn't even notice when Tim plucks a couple hairs from him.