#obsessed with him does this count as boy failure | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

avocado-writing · 1 year

Text

heaven can’t help me now

White Death x Reader

Rated E, Minors DNI

CWs: Hybristophilia, Hematolagnia, Violence, Slight Dacryphilia, Older Man/Younger Woman, Infidelity

A/N: This is the filthiest thing I’ve ever written, I think, and it’s about a fucking Michael Shannon character. Thanks as always to @lady-jane3 and my friend M ❤️

Your marriage to his son was one of convenience. Two powerful mob families unified in the traditional way: the wedding of an eldest son to a daughter. The fact that you had only met enough times to count on one hand was irrelevant.

Business came first.

The White Death found it funny, you approaching the altar in white. The sacrificial virgin marched to the place where she would be offered up. Even your necklace reminded him of a slit throat: a red ruby choker cinched up tight. Your eyes were doe-wide and hands shaking, but you held your head high as you made it down the aisle. As if you were afraid of nothing.

You met his son’s bored gaze with a level neutrality the White Death found secretly impressive. He half expected you to be sobbing. It is good you understand your duty: marriage, children, obedience and support.

You were wedded under the grace of God and the White Death rolled his eyes at the awkward kiss his son planted on your mouth. You wanted it to be chaste; his son did not. But you would not embarrass yourself in front of the priest, so remained modest even when confronted with the boy’s lechery.

He watches the evening pass. You keep an air of professionalism about you at all times. You know what is expected of you. You smile, but never bare teeth: you are a gentle thing and it would not do.

What will become his obsession with you seeds itself in his heart.

His working relationship starts with you the next day. The morning after your wedding night. In a stark contrast to the stainless white you were enveloped in yesterday, today you’re wearing a well-fitted black suit. It manages to be both professional and leave very little to the imagination. He ordered the presence of his son, and doesn’t let his surprise show when it’s you who appears in his stead.

“Your new husband is not enough to keep you in bed?”

He expects you to be flustered, but you manage to swallow any embarrassment down. You speak plainly.

“I want to be helpful to this family. I might as well learn from the best. The patriarch.”

Ah, he likes that. It isn’t often someone refers to him by his actual position. But he loves the way it sounds out of your pretty little mouth.

So you learn.

He realises you didn’t have much of a chance to show your worth in your own clan. You were written off, as daughters tend to be, as marriage fodder. But you have a sharp mind and a sharper tongue hidden in your head. You’re clever - no: cunning. And ever so attentive. You listen to every order he gives and take note of it; you’re a model student. His son is a failure, his daughter desperate to overachieve; but you. You are perfect. He was enchanted at first by your demure beauty, but now he realises there’s far more to you than meets the eye.

He realises he was a fool to write you off as a lamb. There’s something lupine in you yet.

A feeling of pure disgust crosses him when he sees his son by your side. The way he doesn’t even look at you, totally ignores you as if you’re nothing to him. It’s a palpable rage he can feel building, one he can taste on his tongue - he always knew he hated his son, but your introduction into their lives has amplified it.

So he finds a reason to send his son away. A job to “prove his mettle”, as it were. Pretends it’s something of worth to the family, when really it’s just an excuse to get his him away from the compound. His son throws a petty tantrum about the fact he has to do something, but not over that he’s explicitly told not to bring you with him.

You do not seem sad your newlywed husband is leaving.

You take your place at the White Death’s desk, typing quickly on your laptop. Doing some administrative work. Unlike your husband, you don’t need to be forced into it; you are happy to volunteer your time to him.

You are the only other person allowed to sit there. You look like you are made to be there, face the zenith of concentration. There is nothing unusual about him watching you work, but now he knows his son is far away and he is made bold.

He paces over to you, as if he were a wolf descending upon its prey. You don’t seem to notice. But your whole body freezes when he touches his hand to your back, gently correcting your posture to sit up properly.

It could be an entirely innocent gesture. But from the tiny gasp you take, he knows you don’t want it to be.

He listens to the sounds of your fingers on the keyboard, and he notices when they still. His hand does not move when he sees you’re staring at a picture he keeps nearby. There’s a melancholy on your face he’s sure you hope you’re hiding. You’re not.

“Is this your wife?” you ask. Yes. His angel, now gone. She’s young in the photo, carefree, teeth showing while she laughs for the camera and for him. He wonders why you bring it up. Perhaps you feel guilt, him touching you in front of her. Him wanting you so brazenly.

“She passed when she gave birth to my daughter,” he states. His heart still hurts from it, but it is not the same pain it once was. Now it has been reduced to a dull ache. You nod, admiring the picture.

“She’s beautiful,” you confess, quietly. He hears the way you say it. The tiniest tremor in your voice. He cuts to the chase.

“And you think you are not?”

You laugh, self-deprecating, as if you say, who would?

His touch moves. He traces along your spine, up to your shoulder. Knuckles dust against the skin of your neck where your pulse beats, rabbit-fast; he cups your face.

“You are beautiful, красавица,” he states. When he swipes your cheek in a caressing arc, he sees the way you part your lips.

His eyes bore into yours. You are not frightened, though your breath hitches.

Carefully he presses his thumb into your mouth, down onto the hot plain of your tongue. You close around it and suck, and he swears under his breath.

The knock makes him retract his touch. He gives a moment for the two of you to regain your composure before he calls in the visitor (a grunt reporting on a tailing job). You leave soon after, and for the first time in years the picture of his wife is hidden away in a desk drawer.

For the entire thing, and then the night as if follows, he can’t stop thinking about the feeling of your mouth on him. The soft sweetness of it. He hasn’t known such a feeling for years, and it stirs him up inside. By the time he retires to his chambers for the evening he’s almost gone mad with it. He considers taking himself in his hand; or perhaps getting someone to hire him some company for the night - but he knows both would be a poor substitution for you. Besides, he’d feel almost like he was being unfaithful to you if he chose someone else to lay with.

The irony that he considers that while lusting after his son’s wife is not lost on him.

As he drinks a glass of something strong he hears a gentle tap at his door. He is surprised, when he opens it, to find you. Your eyes are wide, and you’ve been worrying your lip with your teeth so hard you threaten to break the skin.

He towers over you as he leans against the doorframe. A hunter whose prey has willingly come.

“You are up late,” he states. You swallow thickly.

“Can I come in please?“

He holds open the door and you obediently enter, fiddling with your wedding ring. It’s a nervous fidget he’s noticed that you do. As if your hands are looking for something to busy themselves in order to take your mind off whatever plagues it. You say nothing for a moment, instead just heading over to the window and staring across his land.

“Speak to me, красавица,” he says, voice low but sincere. He walks behind you, leaving his drink as he goes, standing so his chest is almost flush with your back. He doesn’t quite close the gap though. Not yet.

He revels in the way your breath hitches.

“I… I was thinking about how you were touching me earlier,” you eventually manage.

“And you want me to touch you again?”

As if you’re afraid to hear yourself say the answer, instead you just nod.

He embraces you. One of his hands settles on your abdomen, the other comes to clutch your little face in his hand. He buries his face in your shoulder and smells the sweet scent of your perfume. You gasp at it and keen into his touch, hips gently thrusting forward, your body betraying your poker face and telling him straight away what it is you want.

“Stay still красавица, hmm? You want this, do you not?”

Another shaky nod. He holds you close as he guides you backwards to his leather couch, bringing you into his lap as he sits. He finds his fingers creeping back into your mouth where you dutifully start to suck them. His thumb rubs your cheek and the hand that had alighted in your stomach creeps down into your waistband. You moan at the first stroke.

“Shh. You do not want anyone to hear you in here with me.”

He feels you swallow.

His hand slips down to your willing cunt, soaked already from the promise of him. The rough pads of his fingers begin to press into your clit. You gasp around him, back arching; he smiles into your hair.

“Tell me how it feels,” he whispers, mouth hot at your ear. He can’t imagine his son has pleased you like this, selfish little brat that he is. And you do so deserve to be pleased.

“It… it…” you’re already struggling and you completely lose the power of speech when he slips a finger inside. It enters you easily, the wetness allowing him access. He adds a partner to it and begins to fuck you with a come-hither motion, rubbing the pads of his fingertips against your inner wall. You gasp and buck in his embrace but a tight arm around your waist keeps you restrained against him. He will feel every second of your orgasm every way he can.

“You are so lovely,” he sighs, pressing a kiss against the exploded plain of your neck as your head rolls back. You whimper and one of your hands reaches back to tangle in his hair, just for something to hang on to. Something to ground you. Your breathing gets harder, your breath hitching as tears of overstimulation form in your eyes. Your poor body is likely unused to someone else trying to bring you to finish like this, but you can’t fight nature. You can’t fight him, nor his beautifully clever touch.

“I think I’m going to - I can’t - ”

“Do it. Let go for me, красавица.”

Your first orgasm at his hands is an explosive one. You lurch forward to ball up around his hand, letting out a loud gasp bordering on a shriek as you flood his palm with your release. He smiles as your hips roll against him, riding out the feeling, chasing it to its conclusion. Afterward you collapse sweetly in his arms, breath heavy, sweat on your brow.

“Oh,” is all you can muster.

“‘Oh’ indeed,” he agrees, pulling his hand from out your waistband and getting you to suck his fingers clean.

He does not ask you to reciprocate, not that night. Instead he sends you off after a drink of water, telling you to reflect on what you want your relationship with him to be. He’s clearly amenable to whatever decision you arrive at. He watches you trip back to your room, high on the euphoria of it all.

When you’re gone he takes the hand still covered in your come and fists his cock, hard. He in turn releases more powerfully than he has for years, his orgasm hitting him like a fucking freight train as he remembers how pliant and needy you were in his arms.

The next time he makes you come, he thinks, he’s going to watch your face to see it.

He does not see you the next day. No doubt you are mulling over his offer. He certainly doesn’t expect you to darken his doorstep that night, dressed in only a silky black robe, and place a hand on his chest before backing him into his own room.

He makes you come three times before he even thinks about letting you touch him. He wants to spoil you like you deserve. It’s worth it, afterwards, to watch the way your eyes go wide when you take him for the first time, feel him throb heavily in your palm. He’s hard from watching you write under him after all. You’re sex-drunk from your orgasms, but you’re lucid enough to realise what a size he is. He lets himself have a quiet smile as your eyes go wide. At least ten inches, and too wide for you to fit your fingers around properly.

He covers your hand with his and shows you how to fuck him with it. Your breath hitches even from giving him pleasure, and he realises what a thing to be treasured you are.

He continues these dalliances for a week, every day you continue your diligent work with nothing but subtle and teasing touches to suggest there’s anything illicit going on; and at night he touches you in just the right places to make you scream.

When his son returns from his mission, his first night without you is aching. The idea of his son lying in bed next to you is infuriating. Squandering you, taking advantage.

You should belong to him, thinks the White Death as he tightens his grip on his tumbler. Him and him alone.

The next day, when he’s certain that the two of you are alone in his office, he lifts you onto his desk and eats your cunt for the first time.

You clutch at his hands as he goes to pull your panties down over your stockings - he can only hope that you’re dressing like this for him, a present to unwrap - your eyes are wide and uncertain. But he presses a kiss to your inner thigh as if you say, trust me.

You release your hold on him, hesitant, but the moan you’re soon letting slip suggests you’re more than amiable to what’s happening.

His mouth is just as clever as his hands, and explores you to find what makes you cry out. Any attention to your clitoris with the flat of his tongue is welcome, and when he pushes it inside you grip his hair so hard he’s sure you rip some of it out.

You scratch your fingernails against his scalp, quietly encouraging. After you come twice on his face, he doesn’t object when you return the favour, sliding bonelessly to your knees in front of him and pulling down his fly. You take him as far down as you can before your eyes go wide as you gag - he wants to tell you to stop but before he can you strengthen your resolve and try again. He feels himself hit the back of your throat, the lovely wet warmth of your mouth engulfing him.

He sees the way tears prick at your eyes as your tongue works his shaft, swallowing him down the best you can. With one hand he caresses your face while he whispers what a good job you’re doing; his other comes to rest on your neck.

He can feel himself disappearing down your throat.

Tears drip down your cheeks from overexertion and overstimulation, and he comes so hard it leaks out from between your lips. You look so beautiful with your face wet; he has no choice but to bring you back to your feet and give you a searing kiss.

“Send him away again,” you beg. The White Death does not need you to ask him twice. The next day his son finds himself being shepherded off from the compound under the guise of business, leaving his wife safely with his father.

That night the White Death wastes no time in lying you down on his bed and kisses every inch of skin you reveal to him, hitching up your silk lingerie to tease and tantalise. He worships you at this altar the two of you have created. Afterwards, when you’re exhausted and curled up next to him, chest rising and falling ever so softly, he realises what a hold you have over him and you simply have no idea.

The two of you start being… bolder. Well, nobody can say anything, can they? He’s the boss around here, and if his men want to keep their tongues in their heads, they’re not going to comment on the fact he seems to have become awfully close with his son’s wife. You sit next to him when there’s meetings, a diligent note-taker and wise participant in your own right, and with a smile he rests a hand high up on your thigh. He sees the looks those assembled give each other, but nobody says a word.

The day he realises that he might be in love with you is when he sees you kill someone for the first time. There’s a leak in his organisation, someone dripping information to one of his rival crime families, and they’ve finally weeded out which of the bastards it is. He has the man in the courtyard, bound and on his knees. You watch as he’s kicked to the floor.

“Rot in our ranks. He’d sell us out and see us fail. What should we do with a man like this, hmm?” he asks, mouth at your ear. You consider this for a long moment, poker-face unmoving, before you reach to the holster at his hip and take his gun. You shoot through the traitor’s skull without blinking.

Blood sprays you, and the White Death has to be subtle about the fact it makes his heart race to see you commit the act with such ease. Later, when he’s between your legs with his mouth, drinking down the taste of your orgasm, he finds himself growing hard knowing you find killing as easy as he does.

You are perfect. You were sent for him.

He wants a piece of you to take around with him, to have in his pocket. So he walks into your bedroom one day to take a pair of your panties. You have many: lacy, ruffly things, including a few that he himself has bought you, and is taking his time picking them - when he sees your bed.

It’s perfectly made, and one of his shirts is lying on it. His favourite one, the one he’s been looking for for a while. He puts two and two together and realises: you’ve been wearing it to bed. The idea of you swamped in his clothes, maybe spread out and touching yourself while dressed in it - it’s more than he can bear.

That night, he comes to your room before you can get to his. From the lust-blown darkness of his eyes as he towers over you in the doorway, you can tell that this is the night.

So far you’ve only brought each other pleasure with fingers, hands; once when you rode his thigh while he recorded you, your breasts bouncing and face sweaty. But he feels like if he doesn’t know what your tight heat feels like around him he is going to lose himself.

He presses you down into the mattress, drinking in the little gasps and moans you let out while he kisses the length of your neck. Your body has become adjusted to his expectations by now, so when he reaches into your waistband, he finds you plenty wet already. He takes his time in undressing you, peeling off each perfect layer, growing harder with each inch of skin he sees. He will never get tired of this. For the rest of time, he could indulge in watching you, and it would be time well spent.

When he’s stripped and his clothes have been thrown to the floor with yours, he carefully parts your thighs and moves between them, taking his length in his hand and rubbing it between your folds. He begins to push inside of you, but when he’s got little further than the tip he hears the way you gasp.

It’s in pain.

He stops immediately. He could never hurt you; not unless you asked him to. He takes you in: the shaking breath, the wide eyes, the way you’re biting your lip.

“What is the matter?” he asks gently, reaching forward to caress your face. You nuzzle into his palm and its calming effect is obvious.

“I… I’ve never…” you look down to where your bodies are barely meeting, and the White Death understands.

“But you had a wedding night?” he asks, a little confused. You can’t look at him.

“He just used my mouth before he went to sleep…”

He will kill him. He’ll kill his own son for dirtying you, for taking advantage of your sweetness. A woman like you is meant for adoring, not for ignoring. He reaches down to kiss you, long and slow, not stopping until he feels your body relax beneath his while your arms slip around his neck.

“Do you still want me to?” he asks, forehead pressed to yours.

“Yes.”

“Then I will be gentle, красавица.”

And so he lays you down in your marriage bed and takes your maidenhood like his son was meant to.

He buries himself in you, inch by slow inch, stopping whenever you ask. It takes a while before he’s sheathed and you seem amazed you’re able to fit all of his surprising size inside. He fucks you with slow, determined rolls of his hips, stretching and adjusting you, never too much to hurt. Soon your noises of mild discomfort turn to ones of pleasure, tiny mewls and gasps at how thrilling penetrative sex can be. After a while he stops and pulls out, moving back down your body to your cunt, licking your sensitive vulva and tasting the metallic tang of your virgin blood there. When he’s made you come with his mouth he enters you again, a thumb on your clit keeping you high on euphoria while he fucks you harder.

You come on his cock, spasming warmly around him, and he coats you with his release.

Laying there, sweaty and exhausted, he thinks he will never be blessed with such a heavenly visage again. There is no God for him now. But there is you, an angel.

He gets you a glass of water, forces you to drink, and gathers you into his arms as you come back to your senses. He traces nonsensical patterns on your back affectionately. The first words out of his lips surprise you.

“It is your birthday soon, is it not?”

You blink.

“Yes,” you confess, shyly. He presses his lips to your cheek to prove he means no harm with his question.

“What do you want for it?”

“I don’t want - ”

“Be honest with me, little one.”

You consider for a moment.

“A party. I want a party where I can be on your arm for the night.”

He chuckles, taking your hand and kissing each finger.

“Then a party you shall have.”

It is, of course, not the only present he gives you. Perfumes, clothes, a gun designed to perfectly fit your pretty little hand. And of course a white diamond choker. If anyone were to look at it - really look at it - they’d see his own name has been encrusted amongst the stones around your neck.

And on his arm you are. He got someone with experience to plan it, of course, and it’s in the ballroom of his compound, but you seem delighted all the same. He’s invited some of the other minor families as guests, and all of them wisely choose not to speak as he dances far too closely with his son’s recent bride, your hand on his shoulder and his on the small of your back. The look of happiness on your face thaws his cold heart.

He has to step away for a minute - just a minute, no more - to talk business, but when he comes back, you are gone. He searches for you amongst the guests… and his blood runs cold when he hears that his son got back tonight.

He moves through the crowd when he spots the boy involved in animated conversation with you on the other side of the hall. He’s angry, you’re angry, but when he grabs your arm and hauls you out of the door the White Death clenches his jaw so hard he threatens to shatter his teeth.

The two of you are in the hallway. In the sparse moments he took his eyes off of you, his son has done damage. He stands over where you are sprawled on the floor, his fist red with your blood. Your lip is split and red is dripping down onto your dress. There’s scratch marks across his son’s cheek - you clearly tried to defend yourself - but you were taken by surprise. He looks to his father, thunderous.

“The whore has been fucking someone behind my back.”

The White Death’s anger tends to be a cold thing. Patient, calculating. But the sight of this engulfs him in a white-hot fury he’s never felt before.

“I know,” he replies, and he waits just long enough for his son to put the pieces together before he grabs him by his hair and drags him back into the ballroom. This is something that needs to be witnessed. It needs to be humiliating.

His son has never been a match for him physically. There are gasps as The White Death leads his son into the crowd, using the grip he has on his scalp to keep him still while he begins to beat him. His closed fist rains down on his son: he feels his nose break, his eye socket fracture beneath his blows. When his face is more blood than skin he lets him drop to the floor, the toe of his shoe finding the plain of his ribs and kicking until he hears an audible snap.

In the haze of red that clouds his vision, he manages to make out you stumbling towards him. You clutch his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

“Stop. My love, stop.”

The sound of your voice pulls him back. He takes your arms in his hands, gentle despite the fact your husband’s blood falls from his knuckles, checking over your injuries.

“Nobody ever touches you again,” he promises. The sincerity in his words is undoubtable. You believe he’d kill anyone who ever tries to lay a finger on you. He pulls you into his arms, vowing he will get your marriage to his son annulled, he will take you as his bride.

He loves you.

And he will keep you safe.

#The white death x reader #white death x reader

126 notes · View notes

sir-yeehaw-paws · 2 years

Text

Thinking about Les Enfants Terribles again and how much I’d love to do a proper meta on Zero sometime if I can wrap my head around what I think he’s like a person vs what little we get of him as a whole. Because there really is just something so incredibly sinister about that whole thing, from start to finish.

Like, the whole thing is absolutely monstrous even on a surface level, but it’s this bit here that has me thinking, repeatedly, “Wow, people, be they children or adults, mean absolutely nothing to Zero as people.” If anyone sees people as tools, then I believe Major Zero would be firmly up there.

Now granted, in another post I’d like to point out he like every other character is much more complicated than that, and I do think he has some genuine feeling towards other people, but his obsession with Snake is..something else. And unlike say, Ocelot, I can’t even explain it away with something as (far easier IMO) as romantic interest and personal obsession within that. Because while Zero does think of Snake as a friend (and says so in his own private tape), he’s ultimately so desperate to keep whatever makes Snake, ‘Snake’ the perfect soldier, the ultimate weapon alive that the consequences and body count apparently matters little in the end.

Honestly, even the project title is..hardly encouraging.

That’s one way to put it, Ocelot.

Enough so that the project was considered ‘unsustainable’ and thus abandoned, after what I’m going to assume was the creation of Solidus. We know Solidus (George) was created sometime after Eli and David were. But I’m of the belief that it takes a very..particular mindset in the first place to be so desperate for someone to, essentially, procreate, that they use their DNA without their consent, suffer the trials of multiple failed subjects and then don’t even bother to make sure that the RESULT of that project (aka living, breathing human beings) are even properly cared for and looked after.

Because no. Zero does not make sure the boys are kept safe. At all.

In varied foster homes, yes. Now I know damned well that not all foster care is bad. But David himself alludes to having something of an unstable upbringing. And I don’t understand why Zero bothered separating them to begin with, but that’s another thing.

And speaking of Eli,

When Eli disappears nobody, especially not Zero, bothers to find him. They fully, willingly left a child that they created with the express purpose of one day fulfilling the goal of the perfect soldier, and even at this point just a KID, vanishes. And nobody does a THING about it.

Eli has super strength, an attitude and speaks two or three languages. But he’s also still TWELVE YEARS OLD. Meanwhile the most Zero could be bothered was to put David in various homes in the USA, and wait until he turned 18. Knowing full well that he’d probably end up in the military.

Maybe Zero figured that if Eli survived, it’d be a testament to the project at large, and a sign of how ‘successful’ it was. But that doesn’t change the fact that he just lets these kids that only exist because of HIS desires for perfect soldiers, get abandoned.

(It’s interesting to me too that the only other people we know to be on par with this kind of belief about people is Dr. Clark, though we never hear her thoughts on it, and Huey, who goes on and on to Venom Snake about how ‘much of a loss’ it’d be if Snake’s genes ‘died with him’. That’s the kind of moral ground Zero appears to be working on.)

The most detailed information regarding Les Enfants Terribles comes from MGS4, (see here, though there are no subtitles, please refer to this video to cross reference the points I make below). We know from the description Eva gives to Solid Snake in this briefing that the project was:

Designed to create the ‘perfect clone’ of Big Boss. Whom was seen as ‘the ultimate soldier’.

There were dozens of failures.

The successful egg came from ‘Dr. Clark’s assistant, a healthy Japanese woman’.

Eva willingly offered to surrogate.

I want to put some emphasis on that as well. The woman who contributed her egg to the project is never once mentioned in game by name. Now, granted, an egg donor can choose to be anonymous, but it ends up looking like Zero cares so little about people as people that who the donor is here hardly matters, as long as the end result is his perfect soldiers.

Furthermore, I’d like to refer to the MGS Fandom Wiki’s Entry on the Les Enfants Terribles Project, for some added information, namely:

It wasn’t enough for Zero and those involved to create the clones in the first place, but they had to make damned sure that those clones would never be given the freedom or autonomy of making decisions about something like reproduction, or about the kind of life they could live where they have the ability to grow, mature, and enjoy their time naturally. Because they were essentially programmed with self-destruct terminator genes to keep them from being a threat. Zero didn’t just have clones made, Zero had clones made that would eventually self-destruct and never make children of their own, because these fundamentally are not people to him, and they never were.

Nobody even TELLS David this, mind you. Now granted Zero is fully unable to communicate by the time David learns about the existence of Les Enfants Terribles, and Liquid didn’t know about the rapid aging either. Solidus somehow found out on his own. In the end, an aging David is left with Otacon to figure out the truth for himself. Going through a battery of Dr’s tests and hospital visits until they are able to put the pieces together.

Zero created, abandoned, and ultimately completely used and destroyed three people (and destroyed the trust and relationship he had with Big Boss) all for..what? To have perfect soldiers that, in the end, never accomplished what he wanted in the first place. Which if anything else is some karma for the man.

What Zero DOES care about, is control.

His specialty is controlling information, but in the same tape he tells Ocelot matter-of-factly, that if someone does find Snake, he’ll deal with them. And the tone of his voice is enough to imply that he means violently.

Liquid is defeated by David. Solidus is defeated by Raiden and David himself goes against being a soldier entirely and turns to destroying the war economy and most if not all of what it stands for. David dies, but so do the Patriots.

I’d also like to point out that Zero’s inability to see people as people appears to extend beyond the children, and while it might seem out of place in this essay, if I ever do go into my attempted meta of Zero’s character, I think it bears some mention.

It’s how Zero talks about Venom.

THAT’S AN ENTIRE GODDAMNED PERSON ZERO!! THAT IS A HUMAN BEING!! THAT IS AN ENTIRE! PERSON!! A COMATOSE! PERSON!

It’s also VERY interesting to me how subtly manipulative Zero is towards Ocelot in this tape.

So much to think about there. Another time.

It’s also telling to me that, for all Big Boss doesn’t like the kids, he still has more grace regarding them than Zero does. He does say what they are is sick, but he also makes sure Ocelot knows he still thinks of them as humans, and wants them treated as humans.

The tone of these tapes cannot be adequately conveyed in my analysis, but at the end of the day, the entire existence of Les Enfants Terribles is one of the darkest, overarching plots of Metal Gear as a whole. Watching David in MGS4 and thinking about how a man so driven by his obsession with another man, a man who at the end of the day wasn’t even superhuman, all for the sake of..what? And the trail of bodies in his wake as a result.

I do want to analyze Zero better sometime. He’s terrifying and fascinating and while we don’t get much about him, what we are given is pretty tantalizing, and I suppose I could’ve just summed all this up as “Les Enfants Terribles’ is sinister as hell.” But I’m a windbag, what can I say? And how I was feeling bad for kid Eli.

#mgs #les enfants terribles #major zero #liquid snake #solid snake #solidus snake #revolver ocelot #big boss #nate rambles #nate meta thoughts #of course this had a strong start and then just descended into disjointed madness #god i wanna analyze zero so bad WHAT IS HAPPENING IN YOUR HEAD SIR

107 notes · View notes

jadequeen88 · 2 years

Text

The Last in Line: Chapter 1 - "Heaven and Hell"

SUMMARY:

"Eddie is a force of nature, wholly taken by the music, threatening to sweep up everyone else in his path. She can only imagine how well he commands a crowd. How they would want to be near him, to touch and consume, to try and swallow down some of the magic he creates with his fingers, his voice, his entire body. Because maybe if they could swallow bits of it, they could keep a little of his talent for themselves."

This is an AU with no Upside Down that takes place in 1987. The Reader moves back home to Hawkins after a rough time living in LA rubbing elbows with rockstars. She buys Benny’s and remodels it to make it into bar. Band auditions take place and a charismatic, pretty metal head along with his band shows up. The rest is history.❤️

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

When I say this is a true labor of love, I am not exaggerating one bit. A life-long obsession with any and all 70s and 80s metal, Tolkien, and D&D is being woven into every paragraph of this fic. It’s exceptionally rare for me to find a fictional character that combines all these things wrapped up in a package of witty banter, charm, and dreamy doe eyes. I knew I loved Eddie before embarking on writing this fic, but my intense love for our “Reader” surprised me. I aim to be vague on specific things like eye color, hair color, and skin color, but there are some things set in stone. She is 30 years old (Eddie is 22), she’s a recovering addict, and she was one of the notorious groupies of the 70s who rubbed elbows with some of the biggest names in rock.

TWs (for future chapters):

Porn with Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Resolved Sexual Tension, Oral Fixation, Smut, Eventual Smut, Shameless Smut, Slow Burn, Dom/sub Undertones, Bisexual Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, accurate D&D references, Steve Harrington & Eddie Munson Acting as Dustin Henderson's Parental Figures, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Has ADHD, Dry Humping, Premature Ejaculation, Eddie Munson talks too much during sex, panty theft, Shotgunning, Praise Kink, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Eddie Munson wants to be a good boy

“Sing me a song, you’re a singer. Do me a wrong, You’re a bringer of evil. The Devil is never a maker. The less that you give, you’re a taker.”

-Black Sabbath,"Heaven and Hell"

Reader's POV

Sweat stings her eyes as it trickles down her brow, the soaked handkerchief doing little to stop it at this point. But she can’t call it a night yet. Not when she is so close to being done. An exasperated sigh leaves her lips as she starts the tedious task of placing chairs around all the small tables she just sat out carefully. Not too many close to the stage, but enough to seat hungry and thirsty patrons between sets of live music.

The stage is an area of great pride for her. She built it with her own two hands, after all. (Okay, to be fair, maybe her dad did help just a tad.) Her therapist’s voice echoes in the back of her mind as she admires the fruits of her labor.

“A vital part of successful recovery is to keep busy. A new hobby, perhaps. Or a project. Put all the energy you used to spend on substances into something worthwhile that adds value to your life.”

She can’t think of anything more worthwhile than building up her own business in a town that desperately needed what she could offer. After leaving the rehab clinic in L.A., coming back to Indiana seemed like an utter failure. All the big, scary things her loved ones warned her about had happened to her. And there were even more horrible things she’d have never imagined, not until she’d lived them. But she’s still standing, still breathing. That has to count for something, right?

“Best to not go down that path tonight.” She shakes those thoughts out of her head before they grow big enough to consume her yet again.

No, tonight isn’t about peeking past the dark curtains of her mind into the past. Tonight is a night to feel proud of herself for once.

After locking up that night, she went to visit her parents and was greeted with cake and non-alcoholic sparkling juice. Her mom insisted that since her baby was sober, the whole family would be. Even though she insisted to her mom that it wasn’t necessary, it still made her heart clench that she was making an effort to create a healthy environment for her.

Driving home with a cake-coma depletes the last of her energy reserves and she collapses fully clothed onto her bed, not even bothering to pull back the comforter. She regrets it instantly when she wakes as the morning sunlight blares into her open blinds.

Now she sits at her kitchen island, black coffee in one hand and an ink pen in the other, with the soft sounds of her record player providing comforting background noise. The backbreaking labor might be over with (mostly), but she is far from being able to rest easy. She still needs employees, and writing up an ad for the local paper is proving more difficult than she imagined it would be initially.

Another sip of coffee breathing life into her weary body, she puts her pen back to paper and continues writing.

“Generals gathered in their masses Just like witches at black masses Evil minds that plot destruction Sorcerer of death’s construction”

She sings along with Ozzy’s voice seeping quietly from her sound system as her pen scratches along the lined pages. With one last re-read, making sure there were no major spelling errors, she’s satisfied enough to move on to the next matter of business. One she was more excited about: making flyers to hang around town for auditions.

She pulls her sketchbook towards her along with her favorite calligraphy pens and gets to work. After about thirty minutes, she has a flier she is happy enough with to take to the copy shop downtown.

WANTED: LIVE MUSIC Auditions this Wednesday 6PM @ Benny’s Looking to hire performers for steady gigs Must be 21 or older

The last track of “Paranoid” ends, signaling for her to get ready and get the ad and fliers taken care of. Opting for comfort over style (which she did most days), she throws on her favorite Judas Priest tee, jeans, Vans, and heads out.

Before she gets too overwhelmed by overthinking, she walks through the doorway and out into the trailer park, determined to make this work. It had to work, after using rock bottom as her foundation. She breathes in the warm morning air until her lungs ache. With a quick exhale, she sets out to tackle the day head-on.

Fliers were hung, ads were featured in the paper, and everything was set in place by Wednesday afternoon. After finding enough odd jobs around the place to keep her busy mind occupied, it was 5:45 before she knew it. So she grabbed her pen and paper, took a seat right in front of center stage, and waited.

As expected, there were quite a few solo acts. Most were painful to sit through, but there were a few promising options. One girl with red curls flowing down her back and a big sweet smile won the bar owner over with an acoustic performance of John Denver’s “The Music is You”. The second was a couple, the boyfriend playing guitar and singing backing vocals to his girlfriend. Her soulful vocals went perfectly with “A Change is Gonna Come” and her partner was an excellent musician as well. She knew both acts would draw in a crowd.

Finding two talented acts in middle-of-nowhere Indiana was definitely something to celebrate, but she couldn’t help feeling a little let down that she didn’t get any heavier-hitting bands. She wasn’t fool enough to expect the next Led Zeppelin to be dropped on her doorstep, but she was hoping to see at least one rock band. Even if it was just a group of friends who had formed their own little garage band.

She’s just about to lock up and call it a night when she hears the crunch of gravel under tires. Peeking out the front door, it was as if the Rock Gods hand answered her prayers. It looks like an actual band has shown up to play for her. She waits by the window to see how many people would exit the white van. Mildly surprised, she notes that these guys look like they’d be more at home in a science lab than performing at a bar. However, she was the last person to judge musicians on looks alone. Then the driver’s side door opens. That’s when it all clicks into place.

With a mane of dark hair crowning his head and a flurry of ringed hands, it was apparent who the mastermind behind this operation was. They began to unload and she watches in amusement as their leader responds to one of his bandmates with a crude gesture and wide, manic grin. This night might turn out more amusing than she’d hoped for.

Before they make their way inside, she slips back into her chair at the front of the stage. One heeled foot wiggles in the air excitedly as she crosses her legs, tapping her pen on her notebook. The double doors burst open and three younger-looking guys walk in behind “Mr. Lead Man,” looking less confident than their fearless commander. With one arm carrying a guitar case and the other outstretched, he greets her with a silly little half bow.

She raises a single eyebrow and can't hide the amused grin that crosses her face. This is the first time she notices his eyes. There is no other way to describe them besides… pretty. They’re round, deep brown eyes that carry the softest expression framed at the top by rows of lashes any woman would envy. She almost loses herself in them and misses what he’s saying.

“Good Lady! Terribly sorry we have arrived so late. Our campaign ran a bit longer tonight, as one does when the treasure the party stumbles upon happens to belong to one particularly nasty Beholder,” he leers like the devil himself at the friends gathered around him as they groan.

“Umm,” she looks around puzzled wondering what on earth he could be referencing. She decides it might be better to not know. “Of course. Totally. Hate when that happens.”

He simply grins, biting down on his lower lip. It’s apparent she’s full of shit and has no idea what he’s talking about. Before Mr. Dreamy Eyes could distract her further, she redirects them back to the reason they’re here.

“Okay boys,” she clicks her pen open, readying herself to jot down some notes. “Group name?”

“Corroded Coffin,” the brown-eyed boy says proudly, puffing out his chest. She resists the urge to chuckle at his preening.

She looks up through the fringe of her hair and smirks at him. “I like it. Very metal. Can I get your guys’ names?”

Unsurprisingly, the same guy introduces everyone by their first name and what they play, saving himself for last.

“And I’m Eddie Munson. Lead guitar and vocals.”

She hums lightly, not breaking eye contact, “No shit? You’re the frontman? Never would have guessed it.”

Eddie chuckles and that gorgeous grin overtakes his face. “You haven’t seen anything yet, madam.”

Oh… well then. This kid can hold his own with her. She likes that. She might be in danger of liking it too much. But enough of that…

“Okay, hot shot. Get up there and show me why Corroded Coffin should have a spot in my lineup.”

He leaps onto the stage, guitar still in hand, and whips around to face the empty bar. “As you wish!” he exclaims, his rings glinting in the low stage lights as he flourishes a hand in the air.

After that, there’s a bit of commotion setting everything up and getting instruments hooked up. One quick sound check to make sure they were in tune and the sound system was cooperating, they began.

Eddie looks to his drummer and then to his other two bandmates. A few taps of his feet and they begin. Four chords into the song and she instantly knows what they’re playing.

She sits up straighter, waiting on the edge of her seat to see if Eddie “pretty-boy” Munson had the chops to pull off what he was about to do.

“Sing me a song, you’re a singer. Do me a wrong, You’re a bringer of evil. The Devil is never a maker. The less that you give, you’re a taker.”

Any semblance of a poker face she is trying to keep on melts away and her jaw drops. This wiry, eccentric kid from the backwoods of Indiana is singing a Black Sabbath song damn near as well as Ronnie James Dio himself. He’s less polished with a touch more grit to his voice, but honestly? He makes it work.

She’s entranced. If this guy can nail the guitar solo like he does the vocals, she’s going to lose her mind…

And of course, he actually does. His fingers fly along the neck of his B.C. Rich Warlock, not missing a single note. He completely loses himself in the music, throwing his head back, and exposing the smooth, ivory column of his throat. He commands the tempo of the song through his fingers, gradually building into the crescendo of the song. When he begins to sing again, he’s frenzied and passionate but doesn’t once sacrifice his glorious, gravelly tone.

“They say that life's a carousel Spinning fast, you've got to ride it well The world is full of kings and queens Who blind your eyes and steal your dreams It's Heaven and Hell, oh well”

Eddie is a force of nature, wholly taken by the music, threatening to sweep up everyone else in his path. She can only imagine how well he commands a crowd. How they would want to be near him, to touch and consume, to try and swallow down some of the magic he creates with his fingers, his voice, his entire body. Because maybe if they could swallow bits of it, they could keep a little of his talent for themselves.

“And they'll tell you black is really white The moon is just the sun at night And when you walk in golden halls You get to keep the gold that falls It's Heaven and Hell, oh no”

She’s sitting on the edge of her chair now, notebook forgotten. Her world is narrowed down to him. To Eddie Munson. Eddie with the big, kind eyes and the voice of a demon. And when the song ends, it takes her much longer to come back into her body than she’d ever expected to. Utter silence falls before she can speak.

Before the silence gets too awkward, she shakes some sense into herself, clears her throat, and smiles.

“Consider me thoroughly impressed,” she says, her grin stuck in place. “When do you guys wanna start?”

Eddie puts on a show of spinning around, making eye contact with all of his bandmates, and then back at her, mirroring her excited expression.

“So, this means we get to play here? Like, every week?” A finger absently twirls a strand of hair near his face while the opposite arm supports his elbow across his chest.

“Yes, like, every week.” An amused huff leaves her mouth. “Now, which night works better for you? Friday nights or Saturday?”

Eddie’s brown eyes shine with mischief and he pulls his plush bottom lip in between his pretty, white teeth. He leaps down from the stage to stand right in front of her. With absolutely no shame whatsoever, he rakes his gaze up from the tips of her black heel-clad feet to her arched brow. If his gaze lingers momentarily on the tiny sliver of her exposed cleavage, neither of them was going to acknowledge that fact.

“Whenever the good lady needs us here, we’ll be here.” It’s probably the softest he’s spoken since entering her bar.

She meets his gaze and tells him her name. He repeats it back and the way his mouth rolls over the vowels and consonants of it sends a ghost of a shiver up her spine.

“I’m thinking Friday night,” she says looking back down at her notes. The way her stomach is clenching while Eddie holds her gaze is making her feel things she wasn’t about to let a 20-something-year-old kid stir up in her. “I could advertise some drink specials to draw in locals and you guys can get the word out to all your regulars to come here on the nights you play. Sound like a plan?”

“Oh, most definitely.”

She looks back up to see his gaze hasn’t wavered a bit. Now the strand of hair he had been toying with was brought to his face, almost like he was trying to cover a shy grin. But those hungry eyes give away the fact that he’s no blushing maiden. He drops his hair and holds out the same hand towards her to shake on their deal.

Eddie’s hands aren’t huge, but they’re solid and warm. The rings and calluses that adorn them feel comforting and familiar to her. She doesn’t want to let go but does out of fear of prolonging physical contact longer than he’s comfortable with. He takes a step back and it almost feels like he’s reluctant to do so.

“Well,” she sighs as she stands and straightens her skirt. “I’ll be here pretty much all day Friday since it’s the grand opening. I have to make sure the kitchen and bar are stocked and that the line cooks have everything they need. So feel free to drop in anytime before six to set up whatever you need.”

“Sure thing, Ms. Y/N.” It almost hurts for her to look directly at his face, especially when he says her name like he was reciting a sonnet. “Pleasure doing business with ya.”

With a silly little salute and a lopsided grin, he turns to the stage rallying his troops to pack everything up and load the van. As they work, she busies herself at the bar double-checking her supply list. She still hasn’t had any luck finding a bartender, so she will be soloing it for a bit. It isn’t something she hasn’t already done before, so she isn’t terribly nervous. However, it would be remiss of her not to acknowledge the fact that since this is her business, there’s added pressure.

She’s so engrossed in her thoughts, that when a voice calls out her name from the doors, she jumps slightly. Before she can turn around fully, there Eddie is, bounding over to the bar like an over-eager chocolate lab. It’s impossible to not smile softly at him.

“Yeah?” she asks, putting aside her list and stepping closer to the counter. He reaches out and grabs one of her hands in both of his. Time stops as she watches him bow his head towards the hand he holds, shaggy brown curls hiding his face. He ghosts his lips along the back of her hand, the touch so gentle that it almost tickles.

“Thank you,” he’s looking at her now and she realizes she has stopped breathing. “Thanks for hiring us on. I promise you won’t regret it.” Then he’s gone just as quickly as he had appeared, flinging the doors wide open into the night air. Whatever song he starts wailing loudly into the parking lot is cut off abruptly as the doors slam shut behind him.

She allows herself a deep exhale that ends in a laugh. Hawkins, Indiana doesn’t know what a gift they’ve been given with Eddie Munson. Growing up here herself, she knows that all the sad, small, dull people that make up the majority of the population never will. Many probably even outwardly scorn him for containing more life than they could ever dream of having for themselves.

And those happen to be her favorite kind of people.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie stranger things #eddie munson #jade writes smut #jade's last in line

84 notes · View notes

pony-central · 6 months

Text

TV Tropes That Apply to DrugFriend

Prone to Tears - Just like many other residents of Parodies Town, DrugFriend can start crying at the drop of a hat

Agony of the Feet - when he was 15 years old, he got a nasty carpet burn on his foot. Sick Boyfriend treated it immediately

Alcoholic Hic - he got drunk once, and spent the whole night hiccuping

Prone to Vomiting - when he is seasick

Art Evolution - in the mod, he got a redesign, just like some other Boyfriend's and Girlfriend's

Art Shift - see FNF vs SpongeBob Parodies v3 and take a look at his new look

Ascended Fanboy - he became obsessed with SpongeBob SquarePants

Babysitter's Nightmare - he gets worried whenever he looks after Benjy

Embarrassing Nickname - Drugsy Wugsy

Berserk Button - Don't show him Among Us memes or make fun of him

Gasshole - due to all the Taco Bell he consumes, it's no surprise that this trope would apply to him

Catchphrase - "Hey, buddy"

A Day in the Limelight - DrugFriend and the Dooshy Dog is one for him, and also The Donut Disasters and Hypnosis can count as this too

Color Failure - DrugFriend changes colour whenever he gets sick

Big Damn Kiss - he once gave Sick Boyfriend a ten second long kiss

Ambiguously Bi - he is bisexual

Crying a River - he sometimes does this

Sir Swears-a-Lot - he swears more than Sick Boyfriend does, which makes sense since he is an adult

Disney Death - he had this in Confronting Yourself. He was revived by Sick Boyfriend's necklace

Depending on the Writer - he will sometimes get into arguments with Sick Boyfriend if the story gets serious, as seen in the discontinued "The ShrugFriend Argument" series

Eat the Evidence - every time he stole the Donut Stash, he would end up eating it. He would also lick all the crumbs off of the carpet

Lethal Chef - he once tried NyQuil chicken and underwent hallucinations. Another time the tried to make pink sauce from scratch and ended up puking everywhere

I Ate What?! - he once tried the Grimace Shake out for curiosity and threw up all over the sidewalk

Energetic and Soft Spoken Duo - he's the Energetic to Sick Boyfriend's Soft Spoken

Downer Ending - he was fired from his job due to his work "lacking motivation"

Flipping the Bird - his redesign did this at the start of Cannabis

Crouching Moron, Hidden Badass - he may be dumb at times. But he can pack a serious punch

Ax-Crazy - He ended up injuring Purity Senpai once

Art Evolution - the redesign of DrugFriend looks very different than the previous design

Seven Deadly Sins - Lust, as he spends most of his time talking about male anatomy

Rage Quit - He's not the biggest Among Us fan

Comically Missing the Point - in the deleted Three Boy Bondin Crew React to Comments and Roasts on Themselves Series, Sick Boyfriend and Prime Boyfriend were both shown to get angry at a joke, but DrugFriend didn't get it

Why Did It Have to be Snakes?! - One of his biggest fears is waterparks due to his fear of heights and seasickness. He's also scared of lightning and spiders, especially tarantulas

Trademark Favourite Food - it's no surprise that he loves fast food, especially if it's Spicy Bean Burritos from the local Taco Bell restaurant seven blocks from his and Sick Boyfriend's house

Embarrassing Nickname - Drugsy Wugsy, as he finds it so embarrassing

Potty Failure - he wets himself at the end of the Sicky Drugshine music video, much to Sick Boyfriend's surprise

Accidental Innuendo - he murmured "Can I put my pee pee inside your butthole?" at the end of DrugFriend and the Dooshy Dog while sleeping next to Sick Boyfriend

Palette Swap - in the same series, he also swapped colours with Sick BF, and screamed

Screams Like a Little Girl - he does this in DATDD once Boyfriend got back home from his date with Girlfriend

#fnfspongebobparodies #friday night funkin #DrugFriend #TV Tropes #Lists

3 notes · View notes

kyberphilosopher · 3 years

Text

Bite

Batman’s newest Robin, Jason, has strangely obsessive tendencies over one specific enemy of the Batman.

Word Count: 5690 Warning(s): reader with a personality, 2 year age gap, glorified task master villain, dumb superhero action dialogue, teenage boy does dumb teenage boy things for the androgynous villain of his dreams.

Real Warning(s): Mentions of weapons and crime, mentioned death of a r()pist.

☈ - ✮ ✭ ✮

Bruce Wayne sometimes worried about his current Robin.

Not because he was incapable, or particularly stupid. It was because Jason was a hothead. Jason viewed the word ‘final’ differently than Bruce did. Jason seemed to have a knack for questioning everything that Dick hadn’t. Jason was just... something of his own. And Bruce never had a big problem controlling this- he could’ve just sent Jason away if he really felt like he did. But sometimes he wondered where Jason would be without Bruce. He wondered what Jason would do if he wasn’t right there behind him. He wondered how Jason would behave in the dark, when nobody else could see him.

But Bruce liked Jason. And more importantly, he loved Jason. And so did Dick, and Alfred. Jason was a good Robin, and a good son. There was no reason to toss him away. There probably never would be.

At that moment, Bruce looks over at the kid. Then his lips pull into a frown, slightly deeper than his usual expression.

How old was Jason now? Fifteen? He’d just brought home his science test today. He’d gotten an A+ on it. Smart boy, sitting in front of the Batcomputer like this. Calm, still, his eyes glaring red like a sadistic maniac despite his small frame showing no signs of a threat. Even though Bruce knows he doesn’t really mean to, the corners of Jason’s lips are twisted upwards naturally, face full of wonder and patience and intuition as each criminal flickers of the screen.

Bruce pulls his eyes away from the boy, one hand pulling the Batman cowl closer to him from atop the desk.

Just keep going through intel check, Bruce, he tells himself. Jason will be fine.

“Batman?” he hears the boy beside him call out.

“Hm?” the older man replies, voice coming out in a low grumble with little effort.

“Was there ever anyone that beat you?”

“Beat me?” Batman repeats, knuckles now tightening around the cowl.

“Yeah, you know. Any of these guys who got the better of you?”

Now why on earth was Jason asking him that?

Batman blinks once, then decides to think.

“The Joker has a bit of a reputation,” his voice answers in a rumble. It’s never brought him much pleasure to think of his failures and the ones that get away. “Catwoman-” there’s a tinge of distaste in his mouth, “-uh, Deathstroke is pretty nasty. So is that Mockingbird-”

“You’ve been beaten by Mockingbird?” Jason suddenly exclaims, turning to face his adopted father.

Batman’s jaw clenches because, really- why was Jason asking him this? But also because Mockingbird had slipped away from Batman about three times. Only one of those times had Batman actually managed to confine and subdue them- at least for a short period. And then there was that one time, when Mockingbird had actually helped Bruce.

It was Batman and Deathstroke, and then Mockingbird. Batman didn’t know what their motives were for helping him, although after it definitely made him consider that Mocking may have been more of an antihero than an actual villain. Once Mockingbird had managed to incapacitate Deathstroke for a moment, they disappeared and reappeared on top of a shipping container.

“Sorry, Batman,” they said, voice majorly distorted and flickering between high and low pitches through their mask. “I’ve gotta run. Prior engagements and all.”

“I’ve still got to bring you to justice,” Batman promised in return, his voice deep and serious. “You’re not off the hook yet, bird.”

“If you say so,” they replied, pushing themselves up from a kneeling stance and into a standing one. “Keep in touch, ya fuckin’ loser!”

And then the Mockingbird had hopped out of his sight completely.

“Yeah,” Bruce pulls the bat cowl over his head. “I’ve been beaten by the Mockingbird.”

“Hm,” Jason shoots back in response. His arms bend, hands coming behind his head as he leans back in his chair and continues watching the computer. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

It was quiet for a while, but Jason was the one who broke it of course. “So like, how was the fight?” the boy prods. “Did you even use a batarang?”

He’s still on this?

Okay, what’s the bug up Jason’s ass about the Mockingbird?

“Cause’, I always thought they were a pretty low level threat.”

Bruce looks over at Jason, who’s still in his leaning back, comfy and relaxed position. “They can copy anything. Don’t ever underestimate an opponent.”

“Copy anything? Even you?” Jason questions with narrowed eyes.

A memory comes to Bruce. The one where Mockingbird punched him square in the face, and then caught Batman’s next punch like it was nothing- even though there was no doubt that Batman loomed over Mocking in both weight and height. Then they’d kneed Batman right in the groin, and stalked toward him as the great bat stumbled back.

“Going to have to do better than that, Bat.”

“Yeah,” Bruce says. “Even me.”

✮ ✭ ✮

Jason had been interested in Mockingbird after that.

He really had always assumed that they were a pretty low level, common threat. They weren’t like, as big of a deal as the Joker, but they also weren’t something Batman would’ve just ignored. When Jason had finally gotten a looksie in Batman’s intel files, he saw the crimes Mockingbird had committed for Batman to take notice.

Assault, robbery, smuggling, kidnapping, grand theft auto, murder, property damage, vandalism, gang activity- and that was just what Batman had noted. Jason knew just by looking through it there was way more than all that going on. But the Mockingbird file was short. No name, no identity, there was a picture of them in armor, but it wasn’t as usefulof who was under the mask. Batman didn’t even seem to know whether Mockingbird was a boy or a girl. He knew the crimes, the strengths, and that they possessed the ability to copy anything they saw, which made them a difficult opponent to outfight, but little more.

Jason became fascinated. Such a minor inconvenience compared to everything else going on, and yet, an inconvenience that was capable of besting even the Batman.

He’d only seen Mockingbird once before that conversation with Bruce in the Batcave.

The big guy himself had taken Jason out to investigate some suspicious activity and possibly a robbery in an abandoned apartment building. Batman hadn’t said anything, but Jason knew on the way over he was thinking about Catwoman. He’d decided to keep his mouth shut and not give his two cents on the matter, although he certainly thought it very loudly.

Once outside, with the rain pouring, and Batman motioning Robin to stay back while he investigated the door, a sudden clang! rung through the air and caused both males to look up at the noise.

“Oh,” Mockingbird had said. “It’s you.”

Upon first examination, the Robin was quick to take in the appearance of the Mockingbird. Their voice was crazy- changing pitches and tones eerily, so it was impossible to know what their real voice sounded like. Their armor was white, a little clunky, with grey accents made of something like rubber. There were boots, zippers, pockets, gloves hiding secret blades and some kind of metal around the knuckles. A white hood was draped over the back of their head and around their mask, which was also white and grey, covering the entirety of their face. There were many eyes, however, all glowing red and slanting up the forehead like a spider.

“Surprised to see me?” Batman had prompted them, putting pressure on his toes so only Jason could see he was ready to fight if needed.

“It seems you are the one surprised to see me,” Mockingbird responded. Their gloved, gauntleted fingers wrapped around the fence of the balcony in front of them. “Who’s this- another Robin?” Their head cocked towards Jason, leaning in a little as two pairs of red eyes narrowed evilly. “Come to play?”

Jason kind of liked that. It spurred him on, creating an opportunity to fight and prove himself with permission from this other party.

But Batman wasn’t done with his grit. “Did you rob this place, Mocking?”

Mockingbird’s head returned to focus on the Bat. “Hardly,” they said. “But I might know who did.”

“And that is?” Batman pressed.

Mockingbird was quiet. The rain pitter pattered around all three of them. Then they answered, “Haven’t got a clue.”

Mockingbird laughed, jumped over the railing and began climbing up to the balcony above them. Batman had already turned to Jason, who was fully ready to chase after them, when Mockingbird busted through the door and into the building.

“Do not engage!” Batman had ordered.

“He’s gonna get away!” Jason argued back, already imagining the exit strategy that villain could’ve thought of.

“Do. Not. Engage. Stay here, Robin!” Batman commanded again. And then he had entered the building himself at the bottom floor, while Jason waited outside and did nothing but think angry thoughts.

It was so stupid, too, because the Mockingbird had gotten away.

✮ ✭ ✮

Days went on with Jason’s mind trapped around the Mockingbird. On day three since the Batcave, he’d even thought to call up Nightwing and interrogate him about this mysterious person.

“Uh, why do you want to know about that?” Dick’s dumb voice had echoed through the phone.

Jason rolled his eyes before deciding to respond. “Can’t you just answer the question, Dickie? Or is a brain another thing you’re missing with your cock?”

Jason being Jason always seemed to work to get Dick to tell him things. It was like an extra super power. But it would seem Jason’s efforts had been in vain, since Dick didn’t tell him much more than Jason already knew. Well, he did find out that Dick once got his ass kicked by Mockingbird, but that hadn’t helped him learn anything.

Bruce knew what his son was thinking about. At dinner, the very idea of this Mockingbird was burned into the kids brain, even when he hadn’t said a word. It was irking the Batman by this point. Because, again, what was the bug up Jason’s ass about them? He’d never thought about anyone this much to Batman’s knowledge. Not Bane, or the Joker, or even the Riddler, who Mockingbird was occasionally seen with. Nothing compared to Mockingbird. It was like Jason had a crush.

Was it? Was it like that?

✮ ✭ ✮

One can imagine the look on Jason’s face when a crime alert popped to life on the Batcomputer, followed by real time camera footage of a figure in a white and grey suit spraying bullets left and right from an assault rifle in a warehouse.

His eyes were gleaming. A real happy smile mixed with a cruel, brash one. The boys knuckles were going white as he palmed the edge of the desk, now attentively standing up so he could drink in every detail of the grainy footage.

“What are we waiting for?” He turned to Bruce, lips curled upwards.

Bruce is a serious man. He looked at Jason carefully as he thought, and then he replied: “I can handle it alone.”

Jason shook his head immediately. “No way, Batman. Remember when they got the better of you that one time? I can help.”

“I know how the Mockingbird operates. I won’t be going in cold.”

“You knew how they operated last time too!” Jason cried. “They’re going to kill people!”

Well, Batman thought that Jason was going to kill Mockingbird. This seemed more likely than Mockingbird killing people, which Batman could never actually prove even with very high suspicions.

“I’m sorry Jason but I’m going alone.”

Oh, Bruce wouldn’t miss the look on Jason’s face after that sentence. It was kinda tinged pink, his brows furrowing like a brat. A scary brat, though. Now it seemed more like Jason was going to kill Batman. So he adds, “that’s an order, Robin.”

Dick Grayson would’ve stayed put easy peasy. Hell, Dick wouldn’t have even questioned the big Bat in the first place. But Jason wasn’t Dick. So one can imagine the only mild level of true shock that Batman experienced when his Robin suddenly dropped down next to him.

It went like this:

Batman arrives to the warehouse, full of shipping containers and blinking lights above. It’s chilly, the floors dirty, but there’s no sight of the Mockingbird or bodies until he rounds the next corner.

Said bodies are hanging from a net attached to the ceiling, but they’re still warm. Bruce can see it through his mask, and he can hear the breathing and quietest of moans.

Behind the net, standing on a container was his target. Two sets of red eyes narrowed like a Cheshire Cat when they landed on him.

“Ah, Batman,” they greet, voice going crazy as usual. “I was expecting the police but, not you.”

“Gotta expect the unexpected, Mockingbird,” Bruce decides to answer back. His eyes narrow behind his cowl. “What’s a bird like you doing in a place like this?”

“I’d expect the same thing a Bat is doing in a place like this- or a Robin.”

“Robin’s not here,” Batman snaps immediately, fists tightening with his stance. “It’s just you, and me.”

“A shame,” Mockingbird twists in their position slightly, giving them a ghostly outline of a more feminine form for a second, which Batman tries to memorize. “I like this new one. He’s got- what’s the word?” they roll their hand as they search their mind. “Spunk?”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that,” Batman promises. “Right after I hand you over the Police.”

“He can tell me that himself!” Robin announces, and then he literally falls from the air and onto his knees carefully beside his mentor.

Jason’s eyes are already on Bruce’s when they meet for a split instant. They’re narrowed, smirking, snarky, and enough to make Batman suddenly want to roar out at his adopted son. Disobeying direct orders from the Batman? Really?

“Good to see you, bird,” Jason tells the villain. “Let’s dance.”

The Mockingbird drops from the container and onto the ground sleekly, not even stopping to soothe their pointed toes as they walk towards the pair. “As long as it’s short. I’ve got school in the morning.”

Jason both loved, and felt frustrated during the fight.

He loved being close to Mockingbird, the one responsible for singlehandedly taking down the Batman that one time. Up close, he could see how fluid they were. How they moved, caught punches, received and reacted to punches with their body- everything. Jason’s mind even started to calculate their height, since this was now the closest he’d ever been to them.

But the Mockingbird wasn’t giving the Robin a whole lot of attention. They just seemed concerned with Batman, simply kicking Robin away when he got too close. Jason would’ve said he let them, but the truth was once Mockingbird saw him attempt a kick, they’d already copied exactly what to do and returned it to him like it was nothing. It was like the world’s cruelest kind of blue balls.

Did Mockingbird not find Jason that much of a threat? Was Batman really his only concern?

Whilst the Mockingbird begins gripping Batman by the collar and slamming him against a crate, Jason takes his chance. He cocks his fist back, lines himself up perfectly, and BAM! Fist to helmet, the Mockingbird dives to the floor in a heap and Batman’s pushing himself to his feet.

“Ha!” Jason suddenly booms, his hands flying into the air like he’s cheering, a wicked smile across his boyish face. “I landed a punch of the Mockingbird!”

“Robin,” Batman growls beside him, fighting the urge to chew him out in front of the bad guy. It’s a low voice, and it’s enough to make Jason’s good mood dampen slightly.

Mockingbird’s hands sprawl in front of them, slowly pushing themselves back up. When they turn to face the two, the young Robin is taken back at the sight.

Mockingbird’s helmet, right at the left side of the jaw, is cracked. A small piece is missing, revealing a hint at the color of the skin underneath. Jason only sees it as his goal- the first sight of who could be behind the mask. Batman sees it as a warning- that his apprentice may have unveiled a piece of something that perhaps he should not have.

It is quiet, Mockingbird not daring to move other than the movement of their heaving chest, until Batman speaks out. “Stand down, Mockingbird,” he commands. “There’s nothing left for you here.”

Mockingbird’s head flares between the two men in front of them, all red eyes slanted angrily and cruelly. It seems they’re in their own state of disbelief as well. “I told you I had school in the morning!” they roar, although to Jason it sounds like a sign of weakness. It sounds like submitting to humor after their fight is lost. “You’re going to let me go to school with a bruise?!”

“I’m sure they’ll understand,” Batman replies. “Robin, get the handcuffs.”

One step into the movement and Mockingbird is already gone. They jump back up a container about 9 feet, and disappear into the darkness, their footsteps disappearing with them.

✮ ✭ ✮

Jason Todd got in trouble after that.

Batman was more than displeased with his actions. Disobeying direct orders, following him, punching the target maybe a little too hard- Bruce let Jason know he’d crossed the line. And although the boy was stunned about it at first, he quickly argued back in typical Jason fashion. Bruce wasn’t having it.

He had this look of disapproval looming over his features the entire time. Shaking his head, clenching his jaw- but Jason didn’t back down. He said he did the right thing. He said Batman was being ungrateful for the help. But everything was looping back to the fact that Jason had broken rules, and that he shouldn’t have been the help in the first place. It was a circle that Bruce made sure Jason could not escape from.

At the end, Bruce benched Jason from Robin duties for two weeks. This had gained an audible “What?!” from Jason, but Bruce didn’t care. Then he left Jason alone in the Batcave, and ordered he leave his suit on the desk.

After a week, Jason had not left the house unless it was for school. Of course he’d considered sneaking out, but the anxious thought of Alfred’s ever watchful eyes were enough to stop him in his tracks before they even started.

Instead, Jason sat in front of the Batcomputer, or polished up the Batmobile, or just watched cartoons while he griped.

Who did Batman think he was? Too good for the sidekicks help? Yeah, that’s what Jason was to him. A sidekick. He’d been a sidekick to Mockingbird before he landed a hit on them, too. But not anymore. And Batman wasn’t even happy for him about it.

Batman was never happy for Jason about anything. Not his grades, or his skills, or his help. The thought alone kept Jason up at night, his face hot with anger as his hands balled into tight fists of fury.

Jason kind of feels that way now, too. He’s in front of the Batcomputer again, running intel check for the week while Batman’s off god knows where doing something that probably will never even make a difference.

“Fucking dickhead,” Jason says to himself, eyes narrowing.

To pass time, he ends up throwing opening one of Batman’s file drawers and updating them with new information. There’s not a lot that’s new, though. The Penguin is still crazy. Joker is still crazy. Jason actually thought Deathstroke was kind of cool, but still crazy. So everyone’s still crazy. Everyone’s still the same.

Although, when Jason gets to the Mockingbird file, he stops. It’s the same as the last time he looked at it- short and simple.

Taking a pencil from a desk across the cave, the boy returns to his place in front of the file and frantically begins making notes in it. S/C skin, he writes. In school (?). Teen? Armor can be broken.

And then Jason looks at a photo of them in the file. They’ve got their full suit on, in front of a brick wall. One arm looks like it’s holding the camera, the other is bent with their hand on their forehead in a salute. Jason can just smell the smile underneath their mask, the stench of slyness and cockiness that just came naturally with all their little quips. If you were to ask Batman, he’d say Mockingbird reminded him of Jason when they spoke. But Jason didn’t want to think about that, so he never did.

Jason would’ve left it alone. It wasn’t like there weren’t other villains out there running around who hadn’t beaten the Batman. Scarecrow was pretty scrawny too, and he’d won once or twice, right? Maybe it was time to move on. That’s what Jason would’ve done.

The Batcomputer begins flashing red. Pink light seeps from the computer, and Jason turns around to meet the blinking and beeping. Fate be damned, there they are on the screen. Mockingbird in action, breaking into a big warehouse, then turning to the security camera and giving a great wave. One of there red mechanical eyes winks, and they slip through the door and disappear.

Jason’s eyes widen, then narrow. Breaking and entering was one thing. Being cocky was another. What was Batman going to do about this? Nothing probably. Nobody else would either. Mockingbird always avoided arrest. Who knew what they were doing in there? Shifting things around, stealing, vandalizing even.

Jason’s hands balled and unballed in fists. He breathes through his nose, watching the screen stop its blinking but no sign of Batman appearing on the camera feed.

So he grabs his suit.

✮ ✭ ✮

Now yes, Jason was already punished by Batman. Yes, he knew he was disobeying orders. But this time it would work out. This time, it made sense. This time would be different. He’d stop Mockingbird once and for all, bring them to their knees just like last time.

That’s what he says he’ll do as he stands outside the warehouse now, cape thwipping behind him. He’d stolen the Robin suit back, too. Because while he was stupid for this, he wasn’t just plain stupid. Though, he was stupid enough to go inside without thinking, which almost immediately earned him a swift pipe in the face.

When Jason woke up, the first thing he feels is discomfort.

His green eyes hazy and groggy, he attempts to move his head around, but his chin scraps against the floor. It burns, but then so do his knees and feet. His hands are behind his back, scratching against wrist ties that hiss against his gloves.

“Hey,” a glitching voice calls out. “You awake?”

Jason only continues struggling, his jaw clenching while his teeth grind together in frustration.

“That’s not getting old, but-” a hand clasps Jason’s cape. He feels the pressure, the stretch, and he tears his body away from it at once, knocking his jaw against the floor in the process. When his face averts to peep at the figure behind him, multiple red eyes slim, a head cocks to the side, and then the white gauntlet fist clasps his fabrics again- harder.

Jason is thrown against a wall behind him, hard. His spine aches, back of his head knocking against it as he slips down tiredly. But his teeth are still in a grit, so everyone present knows he’s still up for a fight in typical Jason fashion.

“See I didn’t want to do that to you, but we both know you wouldn’t on your own,” Mockingbird says. “You’re welcome for that position change, by the way.”

Jason’s vision ceases being blurry. He looks up from his now sitting position, hands still behind him with his back against the wall to see the villain a few feet from him. They’re clad in their usual uniform, speaking in their usual crazy distorted voice changer. “Sorry about the face piping, by the way. Got ya’ good there.”

In response, through angry brows, Jason gathers a wad of wet spit in his mouth. In one swift motion, he passes it through his mouth, where it lands at the feet of the Mockingbird harshly.

They’re quiet for a while. And then, much to Jason’s dismay, they say, “I like you, kid.”

Jason’s cheeks go pink at that, and he immediately looks away, enraged.

“Oh, man,” Mockingbird tilts their head back, leaning back on their feet as they look around impatiently. “How long is this gonna take, B-Man? I got school in the morning.”

There they go about school again. The piece of shit. Jason’s already gathering another collection of spit in his throat as they speak.

“Fuck, he always takes so long.”

Jason decides to listen to them speak as his wrists struggle against the ties.

“‘Oh I’m Batman. I have daddy issues and I take forever to get places!’. So annoying. You know what I mean?”

Jason just stares.

“Okay then,” Mockingbird turns back around. “Keep your secrets.”

Then it’s quiet. Until-

“Hot in here. You mind if I take this off? Nah, you’re fine.”

Jason’s eyes widen.

Two armored hands reach up, fingers slipping and clashing against the material. The hood is the first to fall away. Then something clicks. The Mockingbird bends over, pulling the helmet from their head. Jason watches in awe as hair appears first, then the whole face.

You turn to the kid, helmet stuck between your hip and arm lazily. His pale green eyes are wide, mouth slightly agape as he looks up at you. You can’t tell if it’s shock or awe, or maybe both. Either way, his ears go pink, deepening into a rose.

“You’re a girl?” he mumbles, half to himself.

“If you say so,” he hears you reply casually, but this time in your true, normal voice. You’re a person. A real person. He’s looking at the real face of the Mockingbird. The great tyrant he’s been hunting so long. The being responsible for taking down the Batman. And yet, for some reason, you don’t even look much older than he is.

You chuck your helmet to the side absent mindedly, turning around to walk in bored circles. “Fuckin’ hate dealing with B-Man.”

Jason looks down, but a few minutes later, you’re on his ass again.

“What are you?” You say from ahead of him. “Twelve?”

“I’m fifteen,” Jason grits back, eyes angry again. “I’m old enough to kick your ass.”

“Yeah, so like twelve.”

Jason makes a move to jump, but his hands won’t give. He looks like a rabid dog instead, baring his teeth. Soon, he’s gonna get out of these restraints and show you how old he really is.

Suspiciously enough, Jason’s not putting up as much of a fight as you know he can. You’ve seen this Robin fight before. He wasn’t as good as the one before him, but impressive nonetheless. You’d made sure not to keep the restraints too tight on him. He had plenty of space to pick himself up and throw some kicks at you or something. But he wasn’t doing that at all. In fact, for the most part, the kid just seemed to like looking at you. Sometimes it was angry- usually it was angry- which was entertaining of course. But sometimes it was that shock and awe look. That prompted your interest a bit as well.

“So,” you quit pacing, arms crossing over your chest. “How’s it like working with the Batman?”

Jason doesn’t answer. From behind his pink lips, you can see his tongue prodding along the skin. He’ll probably make another move to spit at you momentarily.

“Not the talking type either? God, Dick never shut up. It was always just talkie, talkie, talkie.”

Dick?

How do you know the other Robin’s name? Do you know Jason’s? Or Bruce’s even? Well, Jason agrees with the part about Dick never shutting the hell up, but that’s besides the point. How do you know his name?

You watch the kids eyes go wide slightly, shoulders tensing as a sign of stress.

“I didn’t actually know his name,” you tell him, turning around. “The other Robin. I just heard the B-Man use it. Kind of a fifty-fifty chance. Your response tells me everything though.” Then, at the end, you throw in, “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna do anything to Dick,” because it seems like the right thing to say and you mean it.

“What’s your deal?” you hear the kid snap from behind you, venom and bile on the tip of his tongue.

“Me? I’m the cure for a sick, sad world, kid.”

Jason recounts crimes Batman once mentioned you’d committed. He picks the first one in his brain. “You pushed a man off a building.”

“He was a rapist, Robin,” you shoot back casually, as if you’d had this conversation a million times. “He deserved it.”

“He-”

“What?” you spin around to face the boy. “You wouldn’t have done the same?”

Jason would’ve done the same actually. Too many times had he yelled at his own father for letting the dangerous criminals to get away, knowing full well the number of people about to get hurt. How many times Jason wanted to sift through Batman’s files and find every pervert, child beater, drug selling shithead and beat them up himself. It made it hard for him to win the argument with you now.

It takes a while, but eventually, you hear the kid mutter a, “Yeah.” When you look at him, his eyes are glued on a point on the floor, scowling. It doesn’t feel directed at you this time though.

“You’re fifteen,” he hears you say to yourself as you turn back around so your back faces him. “I don’t know why I asked you that.”

“I’m not that young...” you hear him hiss, which makes you smile to yourself for a second.

It’s quiet for a few seconds. Maybe a whole minute.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“No. Are you ever going to escape?”

Jason’s eyebrows raise.

“Don’t be stupid,” you say as his eyes stay on your back. “We both know you can get out of this easily, kid. But if you’d really rather wait for Penguin to get here and give you an epic smackdown, then be my guest.”

“I thought we were waiting for Batman.”

“Yeah, I thought he’d be here by now.”

Jason feels a pang in his chest. Sudden, enough for him to have an instant to wonder if he’s going into cardiac arrest.

“I’ve never had it out for Bat, really.”

“Why do you always give him so much trouble then?” the kid spits.

“What? You mean like the other day?” you turn back around to look at him. “It’s not about B-Man.”

“I thought you beat him once,” the Robin continues to question, brows furrowing.

You think for a moment. “Yeah, once or twice. But I wouldn’t kill him, ya’ know?”

“Why not?” Jason asks in curiosity, though when he says it it sounds more like a grit than anything.

“It’s just Batman,” you shrug. “There are bigger issues around here.”

He’s quiet. Then he says, “Issues like rapists?”

You hold eye contact with each other for a long time. Even from your distance a few feet away, you can see the flecks in his eyes. Light green all around, with yellow and cyan in the center. The softest, most barely noticeable freckles of all time over his cheekbones. Striking black hair that somehow does and doesn’t fit him. Chapped pink lips. Boy wonder. Really only fifteen?

“Issues like rapists,” you repeat back to him in agreement.

He doesn’t break eye contact either. It stays quiet until you break it for the last time.

“Alright, get outta’ here.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” you say. “Go. You really need me to take the ties off? Come on, stand up. Go.”

Jason pushes himself off the ground slowly, watching you with both disbelief and caution. His back scrapes against the container he leaned against as a wall for so long. His knees are aching, and he really doesn’t believe what he’s hearing.

But your face isn’t changing. It’s not joking or humorous.

Still watching you, the kids hands come apart with a snap. The zip tie flits somewhere across the room meaninglessly. You knew he could get out of it so easily.

“What about... the epic smackdown I’m getting?”

“I can take it,” you tell him. “Scram, kiddo.”

Your left arm reaches out to the direction your helmet was thrown in. In a second or two, it’s zipped back into your hand cleanly, whirring like a magnet. Jason watches your face disappear back behind the white and grey mask, red eyes coming to life. “Before I change my mind,” you urge, your voice back to glitching and switching unrecognizably. He can’t believe the Mockingbird actually has a real face now.

“Babe, you really gotta’ hurry up here,” the Robin keeps hearing you urge. “You won’t get an offer like this again.”

It takes a while, but Jason is gone. He uses a side door just in time to hear the distorted voice of the Mockingbird greet a wild, “Hey there pals!” before he disappears into the night. Even carrying himself all the way back home to the Batcave, he doesn’t believe what just happened there. It’s just not believable. It’s not plausible. Why let him go? Why even give him the opportunity to leave at all? Why show your face?

It didn’t really matter at the end of it.

Jason thought about it for a long time. He thought of the Mockingbird often. Imagined your face again when he slept and when he woke up.

Mostly, he just seemed to hope that he’d get to see you again.

✮ ✭ ✮

It’s funny because when the reader tells him he won’t get the opportunity to escape from being kidnapped again, the next time he’s kidnapped he gets hit with a crowbar like a million times and then blown up lol.

anyway tell me if you want a part two cause i already have an idea for it. deez nuts i haven’t slept in 2 days

440 notes · View notes

fluffyydumplings · 3 years

Text

The Handsome Friend of a Friend

Gone - Part 4

Summary: Jiwon, the guy who had a crush on you during elementary school is back in town. And he’s brought a friend with him. A broad-shouldered fashion illustrator with chiselled features like one of the many marble sculptures that Yoongi swears his life over. But.. ties run deeper than they appear. For aside from being a beauty he happens to be an old friend of Namjoon’s and a fellow part-timer of Yoongi’s. The fun part is, they both seem to be rather fond of him. Maybe even a little more than necessary. And you can see why. He’s one charming fellow.

Word Count: 7.7k

Genre: poly!au / painter!namjoon x sculptor!yoongi x fashion illustrator!jinx traveller!reader / angst / fluff/poetry / romance

Warnings: profanity / bad childhood memory (crying)

A/N: It barely took three days. I am flabbergasted by how quickly I was able to finish this chapter. It was calming to write. And when I reread it, I felt comforted.. This chapter is like a sip of hot tea on a rainy day, a blanket draped over your shoulder..

Series Masterlist

Moodboard

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Perched up by the window like a bird waiting for its morning feed, shades of olive and forest green paced back and forth against the partly rough yet ever so smooth paper of his sketchbook. A kitty in the room next to that of his, legs tall and strong as marble is broke off slightly on the sides and front - by the help of a grinder and his stable yet skilled pair of hands.

He might not be doing what the Ancient Greeks did, with all the machines that are now available, but that does not make his craft any less demanding or valuable for that matter. It speaks in how carefully yet with great pressure he is dealing with the block in his reach. For if he isn’t thorough or thoughtful enough, days of work and countless aching of muscles will go to waste. And at night, he’ll end up embracing his tired body with frowns and even sometimes tears of failure.

You?

‘Huhhhhh!’ yawning for the fucking tenth time, you struggle to move. Your body is so obsessed with the feeling of being in bed and doing nothing, it refuses to stop.

‘What a nice day-’

*ring ring*

Struggling to open your eyes, you are startled and hit the headboard.

‘Who the fuck are you?!’ you cry and scream dramatically at the same time.

‘Hello..’ it’s an unknown number, but that doesn't stop your grouchy voice from passing through to the other side.

‘Wrong number.. I’m going to hang-’

Interrupted once again, you are ready to punch whoever this bastard is. How dare they disturb your sleep like this? You aren’t done sleeping just yet! How dare they!!

‘Ahaha..’

Holy oranges.. You know who that is.

Ahdhjffhdhfhhfhdhhjndjdbtngngntjghhhgghhghgjnnghjj

‘It’s Jiwon, baby,’ you can hear him winking (not literally.. But, still) - that cocky little not-so-little bastard..!!!

Freezes up and regrets all two decades of your life. Because damn.. Your choices in terms of friends, suck.. They really fucking suck!

Okay, maybe he isn’t much of a friend. More like, that small little boy who used to trail behind your back in elementary school. Who called you Noona and once embarrassed you in front of the whole school by declaring his ‘love’ for you..

The moment still has you flushing red like a cranberry dipped in strawberry syrup. You told Namjoon and Yoongi the story a few months ago and they both flipped the fuck out and started cackling.

‘Is my pain funny to you?’ you recall yourself grimacing.

‘Yes, honey.. It is,’ Yoongi never stops, his eyes crinkling with what he calls: ‘sunshine moons’. Whatever he says? *eye roll*

Anyway..

‘Y/N, the love of my life!’

Mouth vomit.. Your feet were squirming as you prevent yourself from screaming in cringe at what your ears just witnessed.

‘What do you want, Jiwon?’

As much as Jiwon was not your favourite person ever - 100th favourite person, he has a special place in your head. Okay... Maybe heart too.

He’s the annoying small fry, that irritates the shit out of you, but you’d never get rid of for fuck’s sake.

‘Oh.. Noona! Don’t you miss me?’

This brat! You swear, if you ever see him again, you will snap his head off. Always goofing around with you.

'As if!'

'Ahhhh... My poor heart.'

'Why have you called, Ji?'

'Oh.. Aren't you going to ask about how I am doing?'

'Oh, Ji.. Fine, Fine. Yadi ya ya ya.. How are you doing, Ji?'

'Wonderful.. as you are now talking to me, Noona.'

'Flirty Ji is back at it again.'

'Oh, yes. I've got big news.'

'Did you get rid of that ridiculous bob cut of yours?'

You remember him and his yellow duckling plushy. Sometimes you'd question whether he or the inanimate cotton stuffed animal was that of the same breed. A part of you finds him more of a duck than it was. In the way he'd waddle around and continuously act cute, he was a duck in all of his glory.

The plushy was gone once adulthood reached. However, his bob cut remained the same. When you sent him off to his new job overseas, he still wore it ever so proudly - even if it made him look hideous.

'I did. How did you know? Do you have eyes on me? Are you watching from that camera over there?'

'I can't afford that. Am I a secret agent that works for the CIA or what?'

'Oooh.. Are you?'

'Want me to show you my cyanide pen?'

The beauty of knowing someone for so long is that you grow scarily comfortable with them. You can begin a conversation by talking about global warming and end the conversation by talking about clowns.

'Nooo.. Noona, Noooooo.'

'Whiny as always.'

You miss having someone to tease.

Caught in a lie~

Namjoon and Yoongi are two human beings that are constant in your life. You tease them whenever you get the chance to do so. You simply just missed Jiwon.

'So.. big news, Ji.'

'Don't tell me you are getting married too.'

You've grown into a habit of babbling non-stop. Was it because of the numbers that kept adding up every year, or was it simply because you had a lot to talk about? Perhaps it is both.

'Y/N noona. The only wedding I'll attend is ours.'

That- That- That little shit!

'Guess who's back from London?'

Holy oranges! Damn you, Min Yoongi and Kim Namjoon. One has to grow oranges and the other has to live off of oranges. What a pair! Farmer, consumer.. You? You are the fucking orange. 'We both love oranges. We both love you. You're an orange, Y/N.' Says Mr Kim Fucking Namjoon that accidentally broke his damn computer for the fucking fifth time this month. Surprisingly, it doesn't have a gigantic hole through it yet. You might have jinxed it. -ㅅ-

'Y/N berry boo blue, the love of my life.'

You're going to end up with loose teeth from all this grinding. Cringe, I tell you! Cringe!

'Is your place free?'

What the!!! Does he want to stay here? Go get a fucking hotel or motel to stay at! You don't run a resort. This place isn't even yours..

Time to pack your bags and scoot your ass out of here. You'll get a new identity, and toss your phone into the sea. Ewww.. Say no to pollution. You'll sell the phone and get money from it.

Then you'll buy a yacht. Laying down, sipping tea, two pretty and kind-hearted boys on the side, fresh air and the sound of waves crashing. Fabulous. Isn't it?'

'Noona?' pleading voice.

You are weak for that.. Your knees already ache!! fdshggfjhgfjhfjhfhvhjhhvfbhnmbhm

'Yes.. And why do you ask?'

You suck at lying.. Honesty was an aspect of a person you admired most. You couldn't lie.

'I brought a friend with me. He needs a place to stay.'

'What the!! Are you sure you didn't bring a lunatic along with you? What if he kills me?'

'No.. No.. He's a Fashion illustrator who got a job transfer to Korea.'

'And that excuses him from being a possible murderer of some sort?'

'No..'

'But still.. He's safe, I guarantee my life on it.'

They must be close. You'll consider it. 'Consider', not accept.

'Is he a foreigner? With the British accent and all?'

You can hear laughter spring deep from him. The type that has your stomach clenching and your eyes watery.

'Ahahhhaaa..' his laughter only gets louder and louder over time.

'I can't... breathe,' he really can't. By the way, his word are stuck in his throat, it is evident that he's barely breathing.

'Pure breed Korean. Can't speak English for fuck's sake. Eats Korean, inhales Korean and drinks Korean.'

Man.. He's real serious about this guy not knowing his English.

'Ayeeee!' a rather aggravated and playful voice shouts.

Yep.. Korean. That 'Ayeeeee!' screamed: "If I'm not Korean, what am I?"

'Bring him over. I'll see if I'll let him stay or not.'

You can't let your guard down. You have a profound set of trust issues. Profound set of trust issues? What the fucking oranges. (Yep.. at it again).. Trust issues towards homo sapiens, trust issues towards animals and trust issues towards objects. What?! That panda might be cute, but it can rip your face off. Oh.. Yes! Those pall point pens - they can blind you with that evily sharp tip of theirs. You are already blind.. can't risk your eyesight getting any worse than it already is.

'Are you going to interrogate him? The man's going to pee in his pants. The guy can't kill a fly.. No.. The guy starts running like superman when he sees.. You know what! Not even a fly. He starts freaking out at fruit flies. He's a scaredy-cat, and coward in one package.'

Damn.. What a fun guy! What?! He sounds fun, okay. Fun! Unlike those assholes who act strong, but are weak shit. We appreciate an honest man. Who the fuck cares? Why do men have to be strong all the time? Haven't we established that a long time ago? Fuck those stereotypes. This guy's adorable.. You feel it.. You feel it.. From your soul. And- And- And.. the oranges that Namjoon harvested this morning.

'I'll be the judge of that.’

AHAAHJAAA.. You just pictured.. You and Yoongi playing the bad cop, and Namjoon sitting there and trying to be understanding - the good cop.

'Aigo! Painters are different for sure.. Aigo!' you can hear that grumpy man fussing on and on about how kind Joon is - the grumpy old man that you love dearly.

'So.. Yes?'

'Aigo! Did I say no? Bring this friend of yours over.. I won't scare him too much.'

'Too much? The guy's ready to use spring onions to scare you away. And that's his precious baby. In his words: 'Flavour.' Go easy on him.'

'He's like the older brother I never had. When I first arrived there, I had no one. That's what I thought. Until he came out of nowhere and went: 'Do you want me to help you around.' He's pretty big over in England, you see.. He's also very much familiar with the place I'm working at.'

'He's my life saviour.. Or as he likes to call himself: the handsome angel that descended from heaven to save me.'

Full of himself.. He's quite full of himself.. Interesting.

'I'm going to miss having him around. Take good care of him.'

But if Jiwon is fond of him, you are too. Jiwon doesn't hang around with just anyone. You recall his mother suggesting he make friends with this other rather scrawny little boy when he was younger. He outright refused and cried no. That same boy then appeared on the tv one day, arrested for arson. You remember many other occurrences like this. Jiwon's got a good eye and hunch. You trust him…

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

*ding dong*

'That must be him..' you poke playfully at Yoongi.

'Honey.. Why are you hitting me? And.. Why are you pouting? I mean.. you look adorable as always. But.. Why?'

Yoongi's care for you run miles and hours and through days and nights. 525,600 minutes are in year. His love for you is beyond that. He might never name a star after you ( he probably would if you asked him to), but every day he assures you that you are his entire universe - you and Namjoon. His family.. The people he would want more than ever to spend the rest of his life with.

'Without you guys, my life would be so boring. You are like chisels that shape me into a better person every day. Without my chisels, I'm a mere marble block.' his head on your lap, and his feet on Namjoon's lap (muscular fucking thighs that Yoongi secretly loves to squeeze), he becomes all sentimental.

You tease him for that once in a while.. Any time your Yoonie is soft, your heart turns into mush. The good kind of soft fluffy cotton mush.

'He's here..' you hug onto his arm - his pretty and cuddly arm.

'I know, honey.. You told me that two hours ago.'

'We need to go open the door for him, honey... It's pretty chilly outside.'

'Okay..' you never stop holding onto him.

Even as he attempts to open the door. Yes.. attempt.. Because..

'Wu-wait! What if he hurts you?.. I don't want to hurt you,' at that he giggles.

'Y/nieee, honey.. That was why you were scared? I'll be fine. I can protect myself,' he pats you gently on the head.

His silly baby..

You might be wondering. Where in the world did sensible Ms Y/n go? Can't a person be silly for once? This is a side of you that exists. There is nothing to be ashamed of.

'I'll open the door in a count of three. Three.. two.. one..' you close your eyes, but then light shines through.

Revealing a pretty face... A really pretty face.. Like, holy oranges. So fucking pretty! jnvdjjdjjhdgjjjdjhjdvjbvdvvvbb

'Jin hyung?'

Wait a moment.. He knows him? And you were scared for a second. Forehead slap.. literally!

'Ahahahahaha. You were scared of him?' This guy used to get startled by the sound of a blender turning on.'

'And yes, I used to work part-time at a cafe. 11th grade..'

You learn something new every day. One thing for sure is, Yoongi looks beautiful with an apron wrapped around his waist. Oh, how badly you wish you could have been with him then. There's no use crying over spilt milk though. It's not like you can walk through some humongous time machine and beg him to not move away. The past is in the past. All that matters now is the fact that he is here with you.

You can now wake up every morning (except for those times where "mommy" dearest actually realises that you are missing and calls the shit out of your phone) to a kitchen wafting of bread dipped in egg and milk, pan-fried to utter perfection. The smell and thought of Yoongi's homemade french toast has your feet curling out of joy.

The best part.. Drum roll please! Yoongi wearing an apron, his morning kisses, Namjoon's back hugs and his deep yet sexy morning voice. :]..

'Yahhh! You can't embarrass me the moment I arrive here. What will Y/N think of me?' Jin's ears are flaring red.

He looks about ready to explode/run away.

'After having to endure the wrath and stupidity of countless of customers, fellow employees and employers you get an inch closer or so.'

'An inch! Yi-yahhhhhh! I'm disappointed.. I thought we were closer than that.'

So.. Is this 'Jin' guy just going to stand outside and continue with looking attractive as heck? He's going to start blending in with his background soon. With his burnt orange scarf, sweater and leggings.. He seems to love the colour. Or is this shade in trend at the moment? - whatever the kids these days say. He's a fashion illustrator.. It could be.

The leaves are pumpkin orange this month, all plummeting to the ground. To gain something you have to lose something - nature is a perfect example of that. Through the shedding of leaves, water is conserved.

Lost is a beautiful process, the trees whisper into your ear. And you admit, it speaks the truth. Lost is as beautiful just as it is painful. The last breath a person takes before they die, the struggle to speak and the sad, thankful, yet regretful smile or frown on their faces as death embraces them. The thought of such has your stomach churning, yet your lips going: 'So.. this is the beauty of life. Beauty is painful.'

But.. seriously though. That gorgeous face of his is going to start looking like a crispy orangey-brown leaf any moment soon. What are we going to do next? Grind him up into orange juice?

'You should come inside.'

You are not dragging a corpse off of your (Yoongi's) front gate. Well, technically Yoongi only inhabits one apartment in this building. Nevertheless, your house. You might not pay the bills or rent, but the fact that you consider this place home is enough. Yoongi considers you a permanent guest. What more is there to it?

‘Thank you, Y/Nshi.’

You have to admit. He isn’t anything you expected him to be. Humble and rather down to earth. Not as narcissistic as you expected him to be. You can’t judge a book till you finish it. I guess Jin will be judged according to that saying - the one you made up in a matter of five seconds.

‘I will introduce my-’

‘I think we should get you warm and cuddled up first before we get to that.’

Oh, Y/niee.. Why did you interrupt him? That wasn’t polite of you.

‘Oh- I’m sorry for interrupting you.’

‘No.. No.. No.. not at all. I should have waited till we entered the apartment first.’

‘If you say so,’ your lips meet awkwardly. It isn’t a smile, it’s an impromptu method of easing the tense air lingering above two strangers.

There are people you meet that will click with you with instantly - like Namjoon. But there will be others that you will only grow closer to within time. The puzzle pieces that once refused to meet, trimmed down to do so.

‘Go on, Yoongi..’

‘Come this way, Hyung,’ his fingers accidentally brush up Jin’s one.

Now that Yoongi realises, it would be easier this way. Thus, he intertwines his hands with that of Jin’s. Cold..

Did he eat a plate of snow for breakfast? Man.. His hands are cold. Antarctica cold~ That didn't matter though. What he was meant to do, was drag Jin’s ass inside. And that was exactly what he did.

‘Namjoon.-ah. You finished painting, Joon?’

‘Yeah...’ he nods, the mocha turtle neck he had on transforming him into the big puppy he is.

‘There is nothing to be afraid of,’ Yoongi informs Jin, patting him on the back.

‘Yahh!! I know that!’ his annoyed face is more adorable than it is annoyed.

‘Holy.. Jin Hyung!!!!’

Wait.. Wait a moment! Another one? Fucking oranges!!

Jin’s list of acquaintances never ends. Imagine Santa and his list of toys - that’s Jin and the people who know him.

Everyone seems to know him. It’s because of how friendly and loveable the twenty-year-old is. He has a lot of charm to him.

You would never accept it for the love of oranges. But.. You liked him the moment you heard Jiwon talk of him. And when Yoongi and Namjoon expressed their feelings towards the elder, you just grew to like him more. You could see the sparkles that glazed their throats upon having his name meet their lips. If a man is liked by so many, there is no way he is bad. Especially when these very people are the most heart-warming and valuable beings in your world.

‘Kim Namjoon.. If it isn’t smart cutie in the corner,’ blood trailed the corners of Namjoon’s cheeks.

‘Do you perhaps know that retired baker that now keeps on burning his bread?’

You were going to go for it. If he knew Jiwon, Yoongi and Namjoon. What are the chances of him not knowing Mr Lee?

‘Do you smell that?’

‘Oh shit.. Is Mr Lee at it again? Close the windows or something.’

‘My heart is burning for you.’

You stood there, mouth ready for birds to nest in. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!! The cringe!!!! Aghhhhhhhhhhhdbbfhhhfhfhfhfhgh!!! Hhsjdjdjd

‘Ahhhhhhhh!!’ Yoongi is the first to scream.

If anyone heard him, they would have thought the apartment caught on fire and people were trapped inside.

‘Hehehe..’ Namjoon just giggles to his heart's content.

They were the same as he remembered them as. The one that was all flustered and shy at his jokes, and the one that started screaming like crazy at how cheesy yet absurd they were.

He misses these two. He knew a lot of people, but they never meant much to him.

And perhaps there was even a time where he used to flush over their words. Okay.. there was. Namjoon was the cute guy in the corner, with dimples and pretty caramel skin that he used to gush over and take quick glimpses of. The same guy who he soon gradually got to know through a group project - the one where they had to make a 3D solar system model. (He recalls cussing at his teachers the whole duration of the project.) The same guy he lost contact with after tenth grade.

Yoongi on the other hand. He apparently had been studying with Jin ever since sixth grade, but they never gave a fuck or tried to give a fuck about each other. Then one day, 16.. 17-ish-year-old Yoongi started showing up at all of Jin's part-time workplaces. They started off with cleaning or taking orders not so comfortably by each other's sides, and the next thing you know they are standing up for each other against unfair treatment.

Everything seems to lead to a bomb of dad jokes, whether it was Joon or Yoon. After all, Jin has a great passion for them. Plus.. They make him happy.

'So.. Do we let him stay, or do we throw him out on the streets and let him starve?'

You were messing with them. Someone like Jin would be a great addition to this home. He's all cheesy and gross. Namjoon and Yoongi have been quite out of it lately. They haven't been themselves lately.. Until now that is.

'We keep him.'

...Kitty eyes, yeehaw! Yep, we are keeping him. Just keep up with those kitty eyes, Min Yoongi.

'Can we keep him?'

...Small Namu with innocent eyes. Yipeeee! We are keeping him. WE ARE KEEPING YOU, SIR JIN!

'You do realise that Yoongs own this place, right Joon?'

'Can we keep him, Y/niee?' Yoongi sits down on the sofa and acts nonchalant, despite knowing what he did to your poor heart.

'Boo, it ain't my fault if you end up getting stabbed.'

'Ahahahaaaha.. Did we just witness the 'Y/N' using the word ain't? I should have recorded this. This is a moment that deserves to be recorded down in history..'

'Jin, do introduce yourself.'

You are not letting this man expose you like this. You are very out of date, and you know that well. But.. Min fucking Yoongi, you are getting nothing out of this.

'Kim Seokjin.. 24 years old. Fashion illustrator that is in need of a home to stay. Has extraordinary cooking skills, can't sew, and enjoys listening to the sound of birds singing.'

'I'm a fashion illustrator. I only draw, I haven't got a single clue of how fabric works.'

Straightforward and hates going on and about. Nice..

'How long are you going to be staying here for?'

'Until I find a suitable place for me to stay at.'

This was starting to sound like a job interview more than anything. Scarier even.. Jin is frankly scared of you more than he was that of those snazzy fashion designers that eyed him up and down two years ago.

'You can stay..' you assure him with a smile.

A smile that made him feel accepted and welcomed. One that prompted him to smile as well. Oh boy.. What a gentle smile it was? He's adorable..

'Thank you,' he felt a sense of gratitude towards you.

He would have ended up sleeping on the streets if it weren't for the three of you. Oh, the embarrassment he would have felt if he arrived at work the next day, covered in grime. He might end up getting fired on the spot. Appearance is pretty important over in this field - or any job for that matter. No one wants a filthy rat working for them. It isn't fun having people whisper: This company hires blah blah blah.

Jin would also hate to disappoint his younger self. He loves this job, he doesn't want to lose it. Not after all those nights spent buried under his covers, studying fashion that people preferred and liked at the moment. Not after all those days spent sketching a design over and over again, simply because he isn't satisfied yet.

'Yoonieeee.. What are we having for breakfast this time?' he turns over to look at you.

'Oatmeal.. Oatmeal soaked in almond milk overnight, honey.. Your favourite.'

Ahahahhahahaa! Yaaaaaass! You love yourself some good old oatmeal. It's filling, nutritious and delicious. You'd kill someone for a bowl of that right now. A jar.. plate.. It's oatmeal either way. Who cares?

'Eat slowly. You can't choke and die just yet. You can't leave me.'

You laugh.. The future is cruel.. Life is cruel.. You were aware of it then. But you didn't know how far life was willing to drag you down. If only-

'Why?'

'Because I love you, honey.. Now, eat your breakfast.'

'You have a shift at 12:30 pm.. Eat up.'

He says it out of nowhere,

My heart set up on fire,

My cheeks red from love,

I love this man more than ever,

Oh, my love..

I'll never leave you,

I had thought then,

But I was lying,

Lying without even knowing

'Excuse me, sir.. How dare you say that out of nowhere?'

What were you? In the musical Hamilton?

'Ayee! Ayee! Aye! Eat up, honey,' evil flares up his way.

You evil man.. How dare you! How dare you-

'Uhmm.'

Well.. This oatmeal is scrumptious. Props to Min Yoongi for making this for you. And.. Kim Namjoon who grew these strawberries.

'Yummy.. You are forgiven, sir.'

'I love you Y/Niee.. Uh- mm uhmm.. This is great, man.'

Not another one! AHhhhhhhhhhh!

'What? Morning ritual, Bae.'

Stunned! Yo, Kim Namjoon. Don't 'Bae' me, focus on the bowl.. If he drops it, he pays.. Yoongi made those. They are special.

"If he drops it, he pays." As in, you both get to attack him with tickles and kisses.

'I love you, Joonie..'

You brought a knife to a gunfight, bae.. I'm sorry, bae..

'Oh..'

Backfired! Cuteness Attack... A-i-eeek-ag-i-eek-ag

'Just eat, already.'

'Huhhh,' Jin twinkles from the way you interact with one another.

This perhaps is the beauty of love- those little banters, where you pretend you are mad when you really aren't.

Sometimes the sight of their face can drown bad days with joy and make them good, but sometimes they are the reason why you end up crying on the bathroom floor all night.

Yet, you choose to stay for a reason.. Because you believe, trust, love and care too much to even think of leaving.

Maybe Jin was meant to find his way here, after all. He has a hard time believing in fate, however, this.. It contradicts his believes.

'Jin Hyung... Do you want some pancakes instead? I know you aren't quite fond of oatmeal as Y/n over here is.'

'Yeah.. sure.. Why not?'

Eating calmly as ever, you watch over Yoongi's back. People always think of a relaxing day, as one where they are laying on a folding chair, orange juice in one hand and the breath-taking see right ahead of them. Your version of a relaxing day is this. Watching over the love of your lives was more than any beach could offer.

'Pancakes.. For a Kim Seokjin.. I'm looking for a Kim Seokjin.. Pancake 120492?'

Will you look at that? Min Yoongi just grew plane wings and is now looking for his missing passenger. Plane wings made out of pancake mix, powdered sugar and maple syrup.

'I am Pancake 120492..'

'Enjoy.. Don't choke on it.'

'Yahh! Is that a threat?'

'So.. what if it is?'

'Don't fight just yet, children..' Namjoon stuffs a spoonful of food into his mouth.

'Listen to Caretaker Joonie, children.'

'Yes, mommy,' Jin nods, speaking in a rather mocking tone.

And as time progresses, they get closer and closer. So close.. you can't help but notice the way they glance at him - because it's the same way they glance at you. The: 'I love you †o the moon and back.. and so much more,’ glance. Is it so wrong of you to feel a pang of jealousy here and there, when they always will be yours?

It's your insecurities persuading you to believe so. For now, it succeeds. Because when you look at Jin, you see perfection. When you look at yourself, you see cracks.

And to fill in those cracks, you hissed at the gold that could have fixed you up instead of the glue that is now there. You avoided him... Yet even if so, he’d treat you well.

‘We ran out of rolled oats. I’ll get some on my way to work.’

‘There’s this shop I visit often.. They were displaying this cute little brown teddy bear. I recall Yoongi telling me about your love for teddy bears. So, I bought it.. Because.. Because it reminds me of you.’

‘I was cleaning around and saw that your alarm clock was set up to the wrong time. So, I fixed it for you.’

Despite his efforts and kind acts, you remain emotionless.. You were grateful though - for every one of them. You just didn't know how to say thank you. You feel bad.. Jin was too good for words. You were nothing..

I guess by how Jin stopped interacting with you all of a sudden and how Jin tended to pretend that you were never there, your theory was proven. Then again, it’s your fault for being so terrible at expressing emotions.

Namjoon and Yoongi though? You didn't have problems with them.. How is Jin different?

Maybe.. because- he’s older? You haven’t had such pleasant experiences with those who are older than you are. And now you are applying that to him. Afraid to express what you feel.. What if he steps all over you because he’s older and ‘wiser’?

What if he- What if he-

You wish you would have the courage to engage in a conversation with him and put your past aside. You wish you could clear the air and start anew.. Jin’s a fantastic person. And you care for him and enjoy his company.

For, after Jin built a dam between the two of you. You often find yourself peeking over walls or anywhere to get a glimpse of him. To see whether he bought something for you, did something for you or wanted to tell you a bunch of cringey art jokes. Some cringey art jokes you kind of miss.. Like, a lot..

And that opportunity comes quicker than you ever thought it would - you never thought it would come to begin with. Yet here you were, caught right into their traps.

'Oatmeal cookies.. Oatmeal cookies..' you muttered innocently, wandering your way through the pantry.

Your version of a garden-like utopia.. The chocolate pies, Berlandriera Lyratas that are still yet ever so alluring. The Cheese puffs, dandelions pollinated by the wind. The red packet of ramen, fertile soil that is the foundation to everything. A packet of lollipops, green grass singing along with the wind.

There is a door in and out of this garden of yours. A door that can shut close and struggle to open any fleeting moment - that moment was now. For the two guards outside were irritated by the the stubbornness of their queen, and wanted her to fix the problem she has with the newly instated knight. He is an important figure in her life, and they do not want her to regret losing him.

'Nutella.. Nutella..'

Two birds trapped into a cage they willingly entered.

*ppupp*

You were locked inside.. With him! With the one man, you tried to avoid for so long!

'I think we're trapped in here.. No- We are trapped in here.'

Face your fears, they say. You're going to tell Jin everything you've always wanted to tell him.

'Let's keep ourselves entertained.. Shall we?' it seems like you were the only one who was trying.

'Oh- Aren't you going to talk? I can't talk all day, Mr World Wide Handsome. Ah- Ah-.. My throat already hurts,' you stress out, your lips jutted out into a pout.

This was the friendliest you have ever been to him. He likes it.. He's been envious of your attitude towards the other two for a while now. You are always so relaxed and chill around them. With him.. your eyebrows contract, your face freezes up and your hands quiver. You couldn't stand him. At first, he thought it was because he was a stranger you weren't familiar with. For that reason, he tried getting closer to you. To no avail, he concluded that you simply didn't want him around. So.. he stopped trying.

When you distance yourself from someone, it only makes you want them more. You weren't like chocolate to him, you were a bowl of raspberries. You weren't an unhealthy obsession his mother would try to hide in the cabinets. You were something he needed, wanted and craved. You were good for him.

'What do you want me to say?' the heat that branched out from his lips traced over your fingers and neck.

The cabinet was small.. You were now huddled together in the dark. You enjoyed having him close by. He was always too far away.

Having him so close like this brings a rise to certain thoughts that were buried deep underground and once out of reach. Even when you barely could see anything, his eyelashes you could count and his eyes you were intrigued with. What would it feel like to have him hold you? What would it feel like to lay against his chest?

'Whatever you want? Something you want.. uhh.. you want to get off of your chest? We could die in here for all you know.. Better die relived rather than frustrated.'

'Ahahhaa.. What type of logic is that?'

There's the Seokjin you missed.. The one you drove away..

'My logic.'

You weren't wrong. He can't do anything about it.. -ㅅ-

'Nice logic,' his eyes rolled all the way back.

This guy!

'Then follow it,' you are firm in terms of sorting things out.

How does he even start?

‘Why do you hate me so much?’ his eyes are big and pleading, he was desperate to know.

‘I don’t hate you, Jin..’

It's true.. You don't hate him. It's just- just- complicated.. Extremely complicated.

‘Then why do you treat me differently?’

‘What do you mean, by “differently”..’

You understood what he meant. You just wanted to stall a little more time.

You know how stupid you are. You know the moment Jin realises that he’ll only hate you further.

‘Unlike that of how you treat Namjoon and Yoongi.’

‘Because you’re older.’

Your father and mother were mountains. Too tall to reach, and never willing to reach down to your height or even turn their backs around. You were a hill in need of attention.. Yet you only got fed with the privilege of being alive. Your height grew over time, but the confidence in you plummeted into a void of non-existence.

‘We’re two worlds apart. I’m not supposed to talk in such a way with people who are older than I am.’

He saw how broken you were.. He saw the memories in your eyes. Your cornea a looking glass he had access to. It wasn’t yours that he saw, it was his imagination reflecting his childhood memories onto that of yours. A small girl crying in the corner, the curtain that covered her tear-stained face the only comfort she could get. He saw that.

He was born the heir to a company he never wanted. The only reason to why he is where he is now is the night his father announced his retirement. The same night he dropped down to his knees and dared to stoop so low. Clinging to his father’s feet, refusing to let go. Screaming and crying for the decision to be taken back.

‘I need a few more years.. Give me four years..’

‘So you can have a taste of that dream job of yours? You know Seok-Woo can never run the company.. He’s not like you.’

‘Yes.. That's all I need. I’ll take over after the four-year mark reaches. So, please reconsider..’

‘You better keep that promise of yours. Or I’ll have to make sure you keep it myself.’

Four years is a lot, he remembers thinking.. Somehow, two have already passed by.

‘I want you to treat me like you do everyone. I’m not anyway superior to you because of my age. You can talk to me, tease me or even make fun of me. I don’t mind.’

Was he for real?

‘Is this a joke of some kind?’ shock morphed into your eyes.

‘What the oranges?’ ‘Oh my!’ ‘Really?’ he could see it swirling in the corner and hanging onto your eyelashes. You tried to hide them, but passion fueled your gazing tool. He could read your thoughts..

‘The thought of speaking against someone that was more advanced in age than I was scared me too. Then I woke up one day and realised that it was nothing. If someone is wrong they should be corrected. Even if they are older. Humans are either wrong or right. There is no in-between.’

‘I’ll try.. I can’t promise you anything though.’

‘You don't have to promise me anything.. Just be yourself.’

You sit there, legs touching and hips attached. You could hear every breath and every gulp he took, just as he did you.

‘I don’t hate you, Jin. I quite like you actually.’

‘Hahhahaa,’ he bursts into laughter, the windows outside being wiped clean not as loud as he was.

‘Why are you laughing?’

‘I like you too..’

You smile. You are glad that he does.

You were a plain white dress buried and hidden among a pile of clothes. He picked you up and glued flowers where he thought you needed them. You are now no longer a plain white dress. You are a gown elegant enough to belong in a fashion exhibit of some sort.

‘I love the teddy bear you bought for me.. I love teddy bears.’

‘I know.. That's why I bought it, silly.’

‘Don’t call me silly,’ you pout excessively.

‘But you are silly..’ he has an evil glint and smirk sewed on his face, ‘Do you know what else is silly?’

‘What? What else is silly, Mr World Wide Handsome?’

‘My love for you.’

‘Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!’

‘I knew you would react like that.’

‘Tell me more?’

What a weird person you were..

‘I’m sewing you for how beautiful you are,’ his hands reenacted the sewing of fabric, stitching slowly across the surface of his shirt.

‘You can’t sew..’

‘Ayeeee!! That’s beside the point of my clever joke.’

This man and his self-esteem. How does one become so confident in themself? You ought to ask him that..

‘How are you so self-assertive?’

‘We’re all imperfect pieces of shit. If we don't accept ourselves.. Who else will?’

‘Y/N-ah.. How long are we going to be stuck in here for?’ he pulls you close to his chest.

He loves the way you smell.

‘What type of shampoo and lotion do you use?’

‘I- what?’

‘You smell nice.’

It would take even the visually impaired only a few minutes to spot the red on your cheeks.

He was so close.. He too smelt nice.. He looks so pretty.. His voice is beautiful.. He’s Jin..

You were this close to falling asleep when the door creaked open.

‘Ahaaa!! Our plans worked!’

‘Yahhhhhhh!!’ Jin is the first to scream.

‘You bastards,’ and you are the first to yank on their ears.

‘Honey, owieee..’

‘Noona.. Ouch..’

‘Don’t go owieee or ouch at me you two.’

‘Yeah.. don’t. We could have died in there!’ Jin backs you up.

Your cheeks hurt.. Oh, how happy you are to have him back.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You'd think pumpkins would disappear by the time November reached, but fall wouldn't be complete without one. The carved faces and bright lights might have gone away, but pumpkin lattes and pies were everywhere. The sweetness invading bakery windows and your way home. They were enticing, orange and comforting.. It was about time you picked one up.

'One pumpkin pie and two cinnamon rolls, please.'

You strolled back with great pleasure. Opening the door to a scene you soon were to treasure. They were all asleep on the couch, a bowl of a quarter-finished popcorn left dry and cold on the table nearby.

You are to cherish them for a minute or more. After.. They are to wake up.

'Pretty boys.. Wake up! Choppidy Chop Chop! Today's campfire night. Remember?’

Would anyone be angry to have to wake up to such a sweet voice? If you were being productively deep into sleep, you would. Sweet or not, some people need their sleep.

'Uhhhh! But, Yoon Yoon needs his sleep.'

'Ewwwww.. Did you just call yourself, Yoon Yoon? Ahhh- where's my Yoongi? Bring him back!'

'Ayu..Wady, yu call me - uhhhh.. Yoongi Boongi and Yunniee.'

'Nam Nam is sweepy tooo.'

'Jin-' your hands fall on his lips.

'Wood Choppidy Chop Chop, gentlemen!'

'Alright.. Alright..'

And so they began hacking down pieces of wood, as you help of course. Candidly, you were never good at this.

Namjoon wasn't any good at it either, Jin might have went off track upon the arrival of the insect kingdom, Yoongi got distracted once or twice by the kitty hiding by the trees. The camp-firing life wasn't for you. Is it for anybody though?

As the fire illuminates your faces that glisten with sweat, the moonlight casted beautifully onto the lake's surface. Embracing your tired bodies with its hovering presence. Was the fire worth building? The warmth that bubbled from your inner soul would agree.

'Jin.. Tell me one of your jokes. Because I'm about to get all sentimental,' you manoeuvre your way next to him, leaning against his head and sharing his blanket.

'I'd tell you one about the moon, but that joke is full of holes.

'Now.. proceed with what you do best, Ms Sentimental.'

'Time passes by so quickly, Jin.. It feels like I've only met you a few days ago. Yet, in reality, a year has passed by.'

'We met in October of last year. It's November of the next year.'

'Is this when you confess to me?'

Aggaagagagaaggag!

'What?!'

'Honey.. Isn't it great that no one can hear whatever the hell we say here?'

'Yeah.. it is. I can curse at my boss all I want, and he wouldn't know.'

‘Me.. too.’

'Yoon, Joon.. You don't work for anyone.'

'Yeah.. we are shouting at our work-selves.'

'Yahh! I should be the one who's doing that. I have an actual boss.'

'Go ahead, Mister..' Namjoon urges.

'Okay.. I'm shouting now! If I burst your eardrums, I take no responsibility.'

'MR JEON! I FUCKING HATE YOU! FUCK YOU, OLD MAN!' he reacts with his whole body, jumping up and down insanely.

'Yoons, is he okay?'

'Bae, he is.'

'Ewwww... You learned that from Joon. Didn't you?'

'Sorry Bae.. It isn't me.'

'Sure, it isn't Juan..'

'Ayee! My name isn't Juan.'

'Haha..'

'What do you want, Key?'

'Yahhhh!'

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It's always the unexpected that meets with a surprise. Today marks the second year with Namjoon. Just because another ending is approaching, it doesn't mean that there is no room for new beginnings.

Closing up the flower shop, you soak up the flavours of the night.

'Here..' you were soon gifted two flowers.

One a daffodil and another a rose.

'What are they for?' you eyed your boss suspiciously.

The sweet old lady, the parent you've always wanted.

'What do they mean, Y/N dear?'

'Daffodils.. new beginnings.. roses.. love.'

'Here..' you were gifted a bouquet, a white card hanging loosely on top.

'Travel postcards and stamps?'

A bouquet of fucking travel postcards and stamps!! Hdjdjjdjf!!!

'The handsome fellow dropped by months ago and begged me to make it for him.'

*opens card*

Dear, Y/niee.. ._.

I discussed it all with Namjoon and Yoongi yesterday. They said they wouldn't mind me be being part of your relationship. They would love for me to join actually.. That's what they said.. (Is that too straightforward of me?)

We have known each other for quite a while, haven't we? Don't tell Namjoon and Yoongi this. But.. I've always had a crush on them. (pinky promise).. That's far from what the point of this letter is.. aishh! I don't know how to say this.. eek.!

I like all of you. Love.. actually.. (Is it too early for that?). It's true though. I love all of you.. Namjoon and Yoongi seem to like me in such a way too (romantically). I'm really happy they do.

There's one person I haven't asked out yet. And.. that's you..I was really nervous. I know we didn't start off well. But.. Here goes nothing. I hate how I can’t say this in person. One, because I’m busy. Two, because I know I’d turn red and up running away. And three, I'm allergic to pollen.

I wanted this to be special.. I would love to see your face right now, Y/N love. Are you smiling or are you disgusted?

Uhhh.. Y/N, will you be mine?.. (I'm so bad at this)

- Love, Jin

*holds card to heart*

'He was sneezing horribly under that mask of his. He came over to see how everything was, yesterday.'

'You can leave now, dear.. I can close the shop by myself.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yess.. yesss. I am sure! Now go!'

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

'Are they okay? My boys.. Are they okay! YAhhhhh! Where the fuck are you, Jimin!

‘Woah.. Woah.. I was busy alright.’

‘Are they okay?’ your eyes haunted him, submitting him into feelings of empathy and sorrow.

‘I can’t tell you. Those above me forbid me to do so. You'll know once you view the next window.’

‘What is the next window?’

‘You already know what it is.’

‘The future?’

‘Mhmmm..’

‘The future..’

Menu Time!

142 notes · View notes

puto-el-que-lo--lea · 2 years

Text

The psychology of Eric Cartman (character analysis)

I found an interesting video from a psychologist who has a YT channel dedicated to analyzing portrayals of mental health in media, in which he analyzes Cartman. He talks about his possible mental disorders and more aspects of his personality. It's very well thought out so I thought I might translate it since it's originally in spanish but worth sharing.

Disclaimer: I'm just translating word for word what he says in the video, but I might comment on it in parenthesis and put images as examples.

I also don't think he watched the entire 23 seasons just to make this video so take it with a grain of salt, plus since Cartman is a fictional character it's impossible to diagnose him so it's all up for interpretation or author intent. But you'll find that his conclusions tie very well with the recent specials, especially the ending.

anyways here we go, it's gonna get LONG AF so i'm gonna put it under a read more. general content warning for sp-level dark stuff.

Main traits

Eric T. Cartman is a 10 year old boy whose main character traits are being evil, obsessed, angry, self-absorbed, inmature, destructive, sarcastic, conceited, curt, sluggish and mentally unbalanced.

He's ill-spoken, r/acist and stereotypes every single person/group he sees. He's also portrayed as a kid who lacks a general sense of moral responsibility or social awareness and seems to enjoy schadenfreude (suffering of others) and lacks empathy towards other people, except for a few counted occasions.

Roots of his problems

Despite the gravity of his actions, these could possibly be an emotional defense mechanism against his big insecurities and potentially, his confused s*xuality.

However this defense mechanism is not bulletproof, as in more than one episode we've seen it fall apart.

A quick judgement might be to label Cartman with an antisocial disorder, and even though he meets several of the requierements to diagnose him as such, in this analysis we'll try to understand that his aggressive and inmoral behaviors might be a result of an upbringing lacking in genuine affection and /or affirmation, generating a very low self-esteem.

Motivations and inferiority complex.

It's been shown that he harasses and intimidates people in his school and as a result most people in the show despise him.

Cartman however does not consider himself a bully who messes with people to generate pleas*re from it, as a matter of fact he seems to completely ignore what's good or bad or simply doesn't have a concept of it and seeks to get through stuff/ahead by any means necessary; That would be the biggest evidence of him having an antisocial disorder as this is one of the most significative traits.

Cartman's motivational drive comes from his need to affirm superiority over other people, not as much from personal benefit; And it's this quest for harassing and submission of others that shows Cartman's low self-esteem and inferiority complex, possibly disguised as a superiority complex.

In other words, Cartman is visibly affected by the triumphs and virtues of those who surround him, perceiving them as an attack on his perception of himself. Said perception is poor, pessimistic and weak, so everybody else's failures represent a relief for him as he no longer feels alone in his frustrations and own failures.

This low self-steem hides well behind dictatorial and d*minant attitudes from him that are also part of his personality, showing aparent security and firmness in delicate topics such as xenoph*bia and antisemitism, reforced by his strong ignorance, which will be further explored next.

People Skills

Ironically, despite, or, perhaps as a result of those qualities, Cartman is a natural leader capable of using an overpowering charisma and rethoric to earn the obedience of big groups of people in any given moment. For example, he seems to be inherently aware of the mafia mindset and directs people towards the achievement of his own goals, as it has been evident numerous times in the series.

Matter of fact other people seem to voluntarily look for his guidance and trust in his leadership skills when they're used for good or for the sake of a common goal.

Deviance

This is specially interesting because Cartman is probably aware of this and acknowledges his potential to influence other people but he prefers to mantain a rebellious stance that goes against the mentality of the rest of the people, generating constant friction between his acquaintances and friends because Cartman has built his identity from hate and rejection. Meaning, Cartman SEEKS this rejection.

That's why he adopts an extremist and dangerous mentality, all in order to attract this negative attention towards him and show himself as someone strong, dominant and self-confident, since if he adapted the mentality of the rest of the people his low-self-esteem would show through and he'd be left in a position lower than his peers Stan, Kyle and Kenny.

Bigotry and se/xism

Even though Cartman is a child, he discriminates people a lot; He's s*xist, ra/cist, xenoph/obic, hates all kinds of different groups. He verbalizes that he's ra/cist because minorities "will take over the world some day", but in reality he seeks to reject everything that is different to him because of his self-ha/tred.

How does that work? Well, if Cartman subconsciously feels hatred towards everything that represents his own self, to hate, discredit, belittle and hold contempt towards everything different to him, in a bizarre way it helps him reconcile with himself.

If he finds in what is different to him what he perceives as a flaw, it will provide him with an illusory security. When he shows se/xist attitudes towards the opposite s*x it shows his fragile masculinity and attempts to divert the attention by discrediting them.

His s/exism is also verbalized in the series in repeated occasions through his hatred of women, however this is due to him being se/xually confused. This contempt for women that reaches the point where he believes they are inferior to men is just a projection of cartman feeling like he is weaker/stupider than everybody else.

It also reached the point where he made his own mother his own personal slave that pampers him and responds to his demands. This is evidence of the excessive need to feel that he is superior to others and that he's getting enough attention, when in reality he feels weaker than the rest.

Antisemitism and repressed se/xuality

Cartman is extremely antisemitic and a big part of his intolerant actions and behaviors are geared towards jewish people, specifically towards his friend Kyle, who he openly hates and considers the lowest of the lowest due to his faith.

He verbalized he admired H*tler as a role model (Tom Brady now lol) , on top of regularly attacking racial, religious and ethnic minorities and of different incomes like Kenny, but it is really interesting to try and interpret the hatred Cartman has towards the jewish community and, specifically, towards Kyle who is his greatest rival, as an actively aggressive behavior that tries to hide a liking or appreciation towards Kyle.

In other words, Cartman admires Kyle to a such a high point and holds him in such a high esteem that it probably edges on an emotional liking from his part towards him.

By hating and harassing Kyle he's able to repress his real emotions of admiration and appreciation towards him, although these behaviors are subconscious and Cartman might not know this information on a conscious level and intentionally seems to hate Kyle and everything that he represents as a defense mechanism.

There exists a defense mechanism called Reaction Formation in which the person transforms the energy of an emotion perceived to be unacceptable or anxi*ty-inducing into the complete opposite direction as a form of repressing while releasing it.

That is to say "Since I'm in love with you I act in a despicable way to express how much I 'hate' you."

Speaking about hate, Cartman's most passionate hatred is directed towards hippies, though he uses this term for liberals in general. His allergic reaction towards liberals could point out that Cartman is a conservative as a manner of generating negative attention towards him for his extremism and differentiating himself from the rest.

In several episodes Cartman has been shown to have emotional and behavioral problems, anger management problems and violent tendencies when upset.

Possible mental disorders and addictions

Even though he's a child he has the profile that would indicate that eventually in his teenhood or young adulthood he would suffer from Antisocial Personality Disorder, without being able to discern right from wrong and harassing, damaging and deceiving the people that surround him for his own benefit. Although this wouldn't be the only mental disorder that child Cartman would be exposed to, he could too potentially develop:

Narcissistic Personality Disorder

Histrionic personality disorder

Borderline personality disorder

Addictions like ab*se of alchol, s*bstances, gambling and others.

Ignorance and disconnect from reality

Cartman is often ill-informed, naive or ignorant in comparison to his peers. Example of this is how he believed dolphins lived in igloos or his general lack of knowledge of se/xual topics like not knowing how a woman gets pregnant or believing girls have b*lls just like boys. The security he shows in being ignorant tell us of his need to seek attention rather than showing his knowledge.

It's also worth noting that Cartman is completely alienated from the fact that the others kid hate him and assumes they're joking even when they openly declare it to him.

An even worse thing happens when in episode 201 upon learning that he had previously cooked his father in chili and fed it to his half brother, Cartman completely ignores this fact and is more preoccupied with him being half-ginger.

This disconnection with the real world tells us about a level of emotional repression and narcissism worthy of a possible psychopath, by unlinking his own emotions to a very extreme point to avoid suffering. However a psychopathy diagnosis would entail other specific variables so for now it's just another possibility.

Anxi*ty disorder

Cartman also shows a pathologic grade of impatience when forced to do things he doesn't want to do or when he has to wait to get something he desperately wants. (Ex: when he freezes himself to wait for a wii) to a point where he could sustain an anx*ty disorder or at least present many of its symptons.

It's also possible that Eric has mor/bid child obesity as a consecuence of his anxi*ty, low self esteem or self-loa/thing. (And his mom constantly giving him food to make him happy, I'd say)

This possible disorder can be observed in his constant preoccupation for maturing or maturing more than his friends which often ends up in him acting inmature. Knowing that his satisfaction comes mostly from seeing other people unhappy, when Kyle once congratulated him for winning a bet, this ruined Eric's egoistical satisfaction for humilliating him.

C/S/ A

Cartman also sees disturbing imagery everytime he closes his eyes, but says he doesn't think much about it.

These images in his head could be a result of different factors, but a probable cause is that Cartman might have suffered from se/xual ab*se from a family member when he was younger

(OP note: There's actually proof for that, he yells "Uncle Jesse no!" in his sleep, and he has been se/xuaIly ab*sed by some of Liane's clients , Ben Affleck and a man in an alley, there's also the fact that Liane makes no boundaries to separate her se/xual life from eric and se/xuaI humilliation from her part is even implied)

this would explain part of his hatred and disregard of women, along with the constant repression he does of his own se/xuality, and the aggression he wants to take out on family and friends.

He also shows less interest in se/x than his peers, which is a normal behavior in children who have gone through ab*se.

(I put this image from Cartman's journal from the FBW game here because although it also hints at his se/xuality, I find the graphical depictions of s/ex and vi*lence disturbing for a child his age, even though in this game he's still ignorant towards basic se/xual education topics, such as not understanding how babies are made, he still has a clear understanding of how the act of se/x looks and based on the fact that the people depicted are people he likes to humilliate -Butters and Kyle mostly- it's a manifestation that he thinks of se/x as some sort of punishment.)

___________________

Aaand that's the end of the analysis, and though it was very long I'm sure that was just scratching the surface with Liane's parenting, which alone might be deserving of its own post.

anyways, sorry for any translation or spelling errors this might have, i'll put the source video in a reblog if you speak spanish and want to watch it.

#south park #eric cartman #south park analysis #south park meta #eric cartman character analysis #feel free to discuss or add stuff

98 notes · View notes

lsholland · 3 years

Text

𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄 (𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈 - "𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠?"

Word count: 3.7k

tw: addictions (alcohol, drugs), swearing, disease, murder...

genre: psychological thriller / suspense / drama

Synopsis: Tom Holland is Hollywood's #1 celebrity and is adored all around the world. But this rise to fame hasn't been easy for him. With fame comes his own demons: addiction issues, a relationship that's about to end and...he doesn't know it yet, but he's about to kill an innocent woman. How is he going to get through it?

You can also read it on Wattpad.

Reblogs and comments are appreciated :)

"Tom! Tom!!! TOM!!!" shouts a woman in a black hoodie among a hysterical crowd of young boys and girls trying to get this man's attention. "PLEASE!!! I love you so much" her voice crackles, she's sobbing in despair.

He stops walking and stands right in front of her, a sharpie pen between his fingers and an unnatural grin on his face. Even though these people claim they love him, he's tired of them. It's something with the drama, the screams, and the perpetual inconsideration that drains his energy. His straight face says it all, if only they weren't obsessed with his looks, he'd be pleased to spend time with them. But he knows he's just an object of their fantasies. He forces a smile, or something close to it, and accepts to take a picture with her. He stands next to her, his arms in his back, his fingers intertwined and shakily holding the pen, glancing at the camera lens, lost in his thoughts. His body is present in the moment, but his mind is thousands of kilometres away in the universe that is his brain.

And she's so happy to finally have that precious picture that her smile shows all her impeccable teeth; she's sweating and rapidly breathing and laughing with the same high-pitched voice as everyone else; she's just a typical fangirl. All her friends gather around her and whisper as if they were hiding a secret from an alien.

And onto the next one. Same hysteria, same cry for help, miserable for his attention. She hands him a picture of him in a Spider-Man suit and asks for an autograph while she's filming the scene with her brand-new iPhone.

It has to do with the way they treat him. The way they pretend he doesn't notice their weird behaviour. The way they simply believe he's not a human being. That he must be good-looking, happy, nice, and funny all the time.

"We've gotta go" says his assistant as he presses his shoulder with his hand. Tom looks at him with relief and closes his eyes for a second. He lets out a sigh as a soft smile appears on his angelic face.

"A'ight, I'm sorry guys" he apologises, but that's not enough. Many of them start crying and push through the thin barrier to get a hold of him; like monsters that haven't been fed, like addicts when you can't provide their usual dose of drugs. They look so disappointed and hopeless; leaving now would reduce all his efforts to dust. Keeping a good image and reputation is the key. He doesn't want to be hated.

Guilt rushes through him like a thrill; he glances at his watch and gulps. He gives them another 5 minutes for pictures, autographs, and hugs. Even if he's late. Even if he's going to miss his interview. Because he owes his success to them; or at least he thinks he does.

And when he goes into the back seat of this huge black SUV with no registration plate, he slams the door shut and . . . Peace. Finally, the moment he's been waiting for. The pressure leaves his body like a bubble burst. He sighs and relaxes his muscles, his head falling back on the seat. His eyes are closed; he doesn't say a word for the whole ride. His time alone is so rare and valued.

And when they arrive in front of that gigantic building to pass this final interview, Tom prepares to show his usual bright smile and pretends he's happy. Nobody notices what's hidden in his gaze. But his eyes are telling the truth. His eyes show how hopeless he is. But nobody dares looking into his soul. They only see the superficial layer, the mask he puts on every day. Because nobody knows who he is. Nobody cares about him.

It's so much simpler to ignore sadness in other people. We just tend to believe only good moments are worth sharing. We just pretend we're happy all the time because that's what everyone else does. And why would he show his sadness anyway? He has it all: a girlfriend, loads of money, a caring family, success . . . What can he be sad about?

The interview is done, Tom is in the car, cruising in the city. He's finally going home after a long, tiring, and stressful day.

He unlocks his phone and checks his text messages. They're plain and all related to his fame or his work. All his conversations are so self-centred. What are his plans? What does he like? And what's his opinion on this subject? He, he, him, him, again and again!

He's so tired and wants to be entertained. This empty space laying in his heart and brain becomes bigger and bigger. It's become harder to ignore it, especially when he's alone like tonight. Besides, he's too used to entertain others that he almost forgets what it's like to be passive and watch people do things. As if the world revolved around him.

Here we go. Instagram. The most toxic of all social media platforms. He scrolls through pictures of his friends. The famous ones on red carpets or photoshoots; the anonymous ones a drink in their hands. They're all so superficial. All the same. And the algorithm showing him pictures fans have taken of him earlier today . . . Icing on the cake. Why would he watch this? He doesn't need it. But he decides to read what the fans say, because he's curious. Or because he's obsessed with what people think of him. He needs to be known, loved, remembered, at the centre of attention – adored. He wouldn't need to sell his soul to the devil because it's already in him, and he's now paying the price of this sin.

The fans he met earlier, who were so happy to finally see their idol, were bullying him on social media. They aren't even aware of it. All these people objectifying him, posting pictures of his family – invading his privacy – and saying he can't 'write' or 'walk' or do anything properly because he's just human. They say they are joking except it's not funny. Tom's feelings are hurt, again. He should have written 'you're' instead of 'your', he should have noticed there was a hole in the grass and not trip . . . These images are roaming in his brain like a car's spinning wheels when you brake at 60 miles per hour; the pressure of the tyres scratching your mind, and the intrusive thoughts that can't be stopped like the wheel. Ever. And you eventually hit the wall.

He glances at the rear-view mirror and see his driver focused on the traffic lights. He glances around to make sure no paparazzi is watching and takes a flask out of his back pocket. His trembling hands poorly hold it, but he needs to drink something to feel better; to feel energised. He spills his boose on the leather seats and sighs with annoyance. Grabbing his hoodie feels like lifting the weight of the world; he manages to wipe it off and savours the sweet taste of vodka. Just one sip can't hurt.

That's how you know it's too late.

"Do you really need it?" says the assistant in the front passenger seat who caught him.

"It's just a drink" Tom replies instantly, frowning his eyebrows.

"I'm just worried about you, you know" he adds as he turns around and looks at him in his eyes.

"There's nothing to worry about," Tom mumbles as he feels relaxed "I can stop if I want to."

"If you say so . . ."

And even the people surrounding him day and night aren't trying to help him. Everyone's aware he's slowly getting addicted and is wasting his potential, everyone but the fans. Everyone pretends to love him, but nobody truly cares. They're just after his money, power, and fame . . .

It's like watching him tiptoeing on the deck's edge of a ferry and being shocked when he eventually falls off in the unforgiving cold, dark sea.

He smiles when the car stops in front of his London house. That's the only place where he feels like he can truly be himself. Or the last of it. After all, who is he really? Spider-Man? An actor that pleases 13-year-old girls? A failure? An impostor? Or no one at all?

What happened to the young boy who was excited about everything and anything? What happened to the one who used to laugh more than he'd breathe?

He is torn. He can't love anymore. He's had many girlfriends, each one more famous and beautiful than the last, but they couldn't bring him back to life. He truly loved them though. He felt good with them and always thought they were a match until he messed up. Making up a behaviour so they'd leave him because he's not strong enough to quit. Because he is just like this. A kid who can't handle success.

He currently has a girlfriend. Everyone loves her. He thinks she's too good for him though. Too beautiful, too clever, and maybe too famous. He feels like she's achieving much more than he is and that scares him. He can't even make love to her without feeling like he's not worth it. So, he ignores her calls, takes days to reply to a text, becomes cold as stone, distant, and unstable. This is how cowards break up. But she holds on to him.

Once he gets home, he sits on his couch and starts watching TV. His stomach is empty; he hasn't eaten all day but the only thing he wants is to drink more. It's like a voice in his brain that takes control of his body. He sees everything but can't do anything about it. The smell, the thirst, the mind that can't think of anything else. His hands are shaking, breathing becomes uneasy, he's uncomfortable in his own skin; he's a stranger to himself until he drinks. He's desperately waiting for someone to help him. But they're all too busy with their own problems.

He tries to drink from his flask, but it is empty.

He groans. "One more isn't gonna hurt" he whispers to himself as he walks towards the kitchen area. He opens the fridge and grabs a cold one.

And another one.

And another one . . .

The saddest thing about the situation is that he truly believes in his excuses. He doesn't realise he desperately needs help.

Now, the fridge is empty. But he still doesn't feel it. He doesn't feel the uninhibited state he wants to reach. He's still a victim of his thoughts; the sadness, the anger, the feeling of being trapped in a never-ending game.

He glances at his 80,000 dollars Rolex and decides it's time for him to go to a bar. He grabs his phone and calls his assistant. No answer. He calls his second assistant then. No answer.

"It's only 2AM, come on!" he grunts.

Only?

He thinks for barely a second and grabs his keys and gets into his car. There's a night bar in Kingston that he absolutely loves, and he knows he's always welcome there.

As a celebrity he's obviously welcome everywhere. But he noticed the way people looked at him with pity when he spent an entire night drinking without speaking to anyone. Alone in his thoughts that only he knows. It's different there, the barmaid usually talks to him and entertains him. And she just doesn't care he's famous, which is rare nowadays.

He's been caught drunk driving many times, but he was always released without a word because he's so famous. As if all the police officers have daughters who worship him.

Maybe his problem is thinking he's above all. He who used to be so humble, kind, and generous.

He parks in front of the venue, but the lights are off. He rolls down the window and squints to read the paper sticked to the door.

The bar is closed for annual leave.

"Fuck it!" he shouts. He checks on his phone if another bar is open tonight. Miss Jackson is. It's not the bar he usually spends his time in, but the beers are good and it's not too crowded for him. He absolutely wants to avoid fans tonight.

Most of them are underage, it's dangerous for him. One mistake and he'd become a paedophile. That's why he swore to himself to never do anything with a fan, no matter how hot they are. It's harder to respect this rule when he's drunk though.

"Let's go then" he says in a lazy way, the alcohol slowly taking control of him.

His eyes are red, everything he sees is blurred. He can't keep his thoughts straight.

He starts the car and puts some music to lighten his mood. He needs this to feel better. If something bad happens while he's drunk it ruins his mood. And when this happens . . . he starts having very dark thoughts. The kind of thoughts you better keep to yourself if you don't want people to be scared for you. Where your life is on the line, and you don't care about tomorrow because you just want to stop it . . . The sadness; the anxiety; the constant fears. Because the only moment you feel happy is when you sleep, as if you were dead. Tom feels like this all the time, and he hides it well.

But now he's focusing on the moment. The boose allows him to feel better. He listens to this pop song and its energy is spreading in his body. He's pushed by the music; the excitement and adrenaline take control over his body. He's ready to go.

He quickly backs up the car. He's so excited to go to the bar to finally drink some more and—

BOOM! His car abruptly stops, it sounds like a crash. An alarm is wailing, echoing in Tom's ears, making him feel dizzy. The shock was so intense he hit his face against the airbag of his steering wheel leaving his skin half-burnt. He passes out.

Tom startles as he wakes up, "what the fuck just happened?" he hisses. He stays still giving time to his brain to proceed the information and checks his rear-view camera. It's been disconnected.

He jumps out of his car and checks what happened. He collided with another vehicle. A much smaller car with a crushed bumper. Tom's car is damaged as well, but he doesn't care, he walks over the small Fiat 500 and scans the surroundings. His heart is pounding; air isn't traveling down to his lungs. He suffocates as if he were trapped in a cage down the ocean. He doesn't control his shaking fingers rubbing against his sweating forehead. His lips are parting, gasping for air, while his eyes are wide open looking straight to the ground.

For a second, he realises that he can be in big trouble if anyone knows about this. This can be enough to be fired by the Marvel Studios and ruin his entire career, his life. No one wants a drunk superstar to ruin a movie's reputation.

He hesitates. He wants to run away. He faintly grabs his head in his weak hands and is heavily panting. He can taste iron on the tip of his tongue. He rubs his forearm against his mouth and feels wobbly at the sight of his own blood.

What is he going to do? Has someone seen what happened? And if he leaves, what happens to the unconscious person in the car? But if he helps them, what guarantees him he's not going to be prosecuted? And lose it all? But what if he leaves and this person dies? What if they die and someone knows he killed them? Each scenario is getting worse and worse.

There's only one viable option for him.

"Hey, are you alright?" he says as he approaches the fuming car.

He glances around, but the street is empty. That's the reason why he usually loves this place; because it's so quiet.

"Are—Are you okay there?" he stutters.

He opens the door and see blood. Dark, thick, red blood. An unconscious woman with blood all over her face is lying on the steering wheel. Her car is so old there is no airbag. The shock must've been tough for her. She might even have a brain injury.

Tom places his hand on this woman's neck to check if her heart is still beating. It's weak. She needs help or she'll die because of his stupidity, because he's a drunk who can't even check his surroundings before backing up his car. Poor woman whose life is on pause for his mistake. She'll die because of him.

He dials 999 on his cell phone and repeats what he's going to say once someone picks up the phone.

"There's a woman—she's injured! Car accident!" he cries. He doesn't even try to make sentences; he just wants this to be over. "Please come quickly"

"What's your name, sir?"

His body is wavering, tears are streaming down his face – it's absolute chaos in his mind. He can't tell his name; he'd rather die than publicly suffer from the consequences of his actions. He needs to fly away; he needs to escape from this nightmare. He needs to leave, and now.

He hangs up in a hurry. No one can know he is drunk, and he almost killed someone. He walks back to his SUV and catches one last glimpse of this woman's body before closing the door and driving away.

As soon as he leaves, he regrets his decision, but sticks to it anyway. His soul is crying for him to go back there and help this dying life, but his cowardice tells him to hide and wait until this is over. He's reaching his lowest point, and the only person he wants to see now is his mum. When she holds him in her arms, the weight of his problems is bearable; he can even feel relaxed. And he wishes she'd be able to do it tonight. But it would kill her to know what monstrosity her son just did . . .

He's home, all alone. It's been a few hours since the incident happened, and Tom can't think of anything else. This woman's face, her blood all over the windshield, her crushed car.

Why didn't she see him? Why was she driving so fast in an empty street at night? So many questions roam in Tom's brain, it's slowly eating him alive.

He's sobering up as the morning lights glow on his face. It's already 6AM and he hasn't slept at all. He watches himself in his bathroom mirror and only see dark circles, pale skin, and the features of a monster. The broken blood vessels in the white of his eyes give him an evil aspect. He raises his arm and see the pink burnt skin, another scar for life. How on earth could he leave a dying woman?

He doesn't only feel remorse; he doesn't recognise himself. He's lost and wonders what happened in his life to be so miserable he considers his career more important than someone else's life.

He firmly rubs his face with the palms of his hands and takes off his clothes in a simple sweep. He crawls onto his bed and covers his body with a weighted blanket. He's almost trying to forget he exists when he squeezes his eyes shut and stops breathing until his lungs pressure him to open his mouth. Nature has done a wonderful job preventing us from suffocating on purpose. What a bummer for Tom; he would be dead already if he could just stop breathing . . .

He takes his phone, his only friend and his worst enemy, and checks the local news. Maybe they've mentioned the accident and he'll be able to know what happened to his woman. Not many articles have been published since last night. He keeps scrolling until he finds what he's been looking for.

25-year-old in coma after accident in Southeast London, fugitive remains unfound

Tom's heart skips a beat; this article must be about her. For a second, he apprehends and hesitates to read the article. But his guilty mind needs to know everything about what happened since he deserted.

As he reads the article, he gently places his hand over his mouth to stop him from crying out loud. The woman was so heavily injured they needed to put her under artificial coma to keep her alive. She was on her way to meet her dying husband, in the same hospital she's at now.

Such an emotional shock inflicts a profound pain to Tom's heart. He sobs in silence and passes out due to sleep deprivation. He's finally at peace; no thought, no nightmare. His mind is off, and his body is fully regenerating. His brain is solely focused on keeping his body alive. His soul is resting for a few hours until his cell phone starts ringing.

Tom wakes up with a start and answers his phone without checking who's on the line.

"Tom, what are you doing? I've been knocking at your door for the past 10 minutes," shouts his brother "what happened to your car? Dude what are you doing? You've gotta get ready for GQ!"

"Wh—What?" he mumbles.

His brother knocks at the door. Tom gets off his bed and walks down the stairs with difficulty. When he opens the door, the lights blind him, it's too sunny outside. He'd rather stay inside for a few more hours.

His brother checks him out and sighs. "Have you been drinking? The photoshoot is in less than an hour and you look like shit"

Tom remains silent, trying to process the information.

"And what happened to your car, man?"

And here it is. Every memory comes back in his mind like fireworks and his feet are failing, he can barely stand still. He grabs his brother by his shoulder and holds him tight in his arms. He's the only one who can really help him feel better. He wants to tell him everything that happened, but he can't admit he's got a problem.

He's lost.

* * *

Thank you so much for reading! What do you think so far of the story? Tom is in a very bad situation, I wonder how he's going to get through it?

Please like this post to be in the taglist.

#tom holland #tom holland series #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fic #tom holland fiction #tom holland imagines

43 notes · View notes

skater-brain · 2 years

Text

✨︎ finally posting my notes about Beat’s life that have been in my drafts for years. in effect it's basically a verse list for Beat at different ages, so if anybody ever wants to do anything with older/younger Beat there’s a little guide for what he’s doing and what his mindset is at whatever given age.

baby | 0 - 5

a very loud, curious, energetic little boy. is often told that he is destined for great things, though he is needy and often exasperates his parents. loves everything in the whole wide world (especially his baby sister), but is extremely sensitive and prone to tantrums. is briefly enrolled in pre-school piano lessons before his parents decide he is unsuited for it -- it’s the first time he truly feels like they are disappointed in him, and it will be far from the last.

child | 6 - 11

performs poorly in school, drawing more ire from his parents. quickly begins to associate his failures with the lack of attention he gets and is desperate to earn back his parents’ love by kissing up to them as much as possible. despite his best efforts to be an ideal son to his parents, often acts out in jealousy now that Raimu is the one receiving all the praise, and gets himself in trouble often. gets tested several times for a variety of learning and behavioural disorders, but none of the diagnoses stick -- he has no excuses for not living up to their expectations, so his parents invent the narrative of him being an incorrigible problem child in case anyone would blame them for their parenting.

young teen | 12 - 14

100% buys into the idea that he’s incurably stupid and difficult, and decides that it would be easier to give his parents more reasons to hate him than to keep trying to make them love him. stops trying, period. fails a grade. starts picking fights. is kicked out of extra-curricular sports (the one thing he excels in) and uses skateboarding as his only outlet. invents the moniker ‘Beat’ to separate himself further from his parents’ ideal. 'Rhyme' gets renamed for the same reason, because he can only justify associating with her when she’s not their darling. unfortunately, he’s still often too busy resenting her to remember how much he loves her.

immediate pre-Game | 15

depressed as hell but it comes out as anger. self-defeating, considers himself an unlovable loser with no future and does his darnedest to convince others of the same. actively rejects Rhyme’s company and pushes away anyone else who would get close. incredibly self-destructive and reckless, with no apparent regard for his own well-being. fights with his parents and runs out of the house constantly, but for some reason he always comes back.

immediate post-Game | 15

slowly adjusting to his new perspective on life and having friends he can count on. ridiculously appreciative and protective of Rhyme, and only slightly less so towards Neku & Shiki. has faint hope that maybe he’s not worthless and makes a sincere effort to improve academically and be less antagonistic towards his parents. figuring out how to live for himself, though he often doesn’t get it right.

older teen | 16 - 18

Neku and Mr H disappear, and the trauma is profound; experiences waves of guilt for losing Neku and periods where he obsesses over searching for him, to the point of recklessness and not quite taking care of himself. the absence of half of his support net leaves him lacking in a lot of the help he needs to address his insecurities and issues at home, but he makes efforts to (very slowly) better himself regardless. is a mediocre student in high school but works actively to keep his grades up, takes up track and field when he’s allowed to participate in organized sports again, finds himself willing to make friends and wanting to be someone they can depend on.

young adult | 18 - 20???

life briefly but substantially improves following his second Reapers’ Game, having Neku back and several new friends who count on him. unfortunately has no means to move away from his parents following high school, and caves into pressure from them to pursue a business degree in order to avoid getting kicked out. miraculously passes the entrance exam at a top school and performs much better than expected, greatly improving his relationship with his parents and making life at home much more civil, but he hates his classes and feels unfulfilled. spends a couple miserable years biding his time in university, flitting from job to job in failed attempts to become financially independent of his family so he can abandon the path they chose for him.

failing adult | early 20s

eventually finds gainful (but dead-end) employment as a security guard and drops out of school completely, ending the peace with his parents and getting himself more-or-less disowned. strikes out on his own but quickly realizes he sucks a whole lot at being an independent adult. starts smoking and gambling in excess to cope with renewed doubts that he has a meaningful future. fears disappointing Rhyme and his friends or being a drag on them, and so sometimes isolates himself. has no passion for his job, but on the bright side it forces him to develop conflict-resolution skills and some restraint; makes large strides in maturity and self-discipline, without even realizing it.

hopeful adult | mid 20s

fulfills lifelong dream of owning a dog, outlook improves considerably. incidentally has met a lot of musicians and tech crew at the venues he works at, and through them discovers an interest in audio mixing; with his friends’ encouragement, finds the confidence to pursue it as a career. DJs his way through vocational school and loves it, finally starts feeling like life is coming together and is excited about the future, has a dream. as a requirement for one of his classes, at long last redeems his pre-school failure by learning to play piano.

boring adult | late 20s+

gets hired by a major record label after graduating, gains a reputation as a talented audio engineer. finds his chill and settles down like whoa. makes amends with his parents. gets married. learns to drive. buys a house. quits smoking. has kids. plays golf.

#♠︎ ♥︎ ♦︎ ♣︎ hc #♠︎ ♥︎ ♦︎ ♣︎ wish #not sure it's worth like officially putting all this into a verses page but like. these are basically my Beat's canon verses #haven't talked enough about Beat accidentally being excellent at business school and hating every minute of it smh

6 notes · View notes

hiccanna-tidbits · 3 years

Note

okay, okay but hear me out!

Hiccanna, Moanida and Jackunzel (and maybe someone else if u want) going on a holiday trip together (it could be sea or lake or just swimming pool).

And that three couples playing "chicken fight game"~ When u have to sit on partner shoulder or ridding piggy-back and knock down or separate the other couple!

sksksks just imagine the fun and the chaos!! hahaha

Okay SO I recently watched Palm Springs so I’m just imagining The Gang going to like…a fancy pool resort in like Arizona??? SURE LET’S GO WITH THAT

I’m imagining the only resort the gang could afford to stay at is someplace out in the middle of Arizona or something

It takes a LOT of persuading to get Jack to go, because he haaaaates deserts. Rapunzel basically has to beg. Moana finally managed to bribe him with really good homemade ice slushies. (She’s used to making smoothies for Merida, so how hard can slushies be??? Just throw in some ice!)

Rapunzel offers to help Moana with the slushies, since she gave Jack SO many puppy dog eyes to get him to come. Since they’ve got two people working on them, they’re REALLY good slushies. Jack approves.

Anna also tries to convince Elsa to go, but the perpetually-single Elsa is just like “Um, deserts? Sunburns? Being indefinitely stuck with gross couples doing gross couple stuff?!? Yeah no thank you”

Hiccup tries to wake everyone up at like 6 am to go hiking because "that's when the desert iguanas are out guys!!! C'mon, we have to go!!!" Anna is only persuaded to go after Hiccup makes her coffee--she really wants to make her bf happy, but also mornings can suck her dick. Rapunzel is more than happy to go, because she loves mornings anyways!!! And oh my god, IGUANAS!!! Jack, Merida, and Moana are like "oh FUCK no" and put the pillow back over their head, shoo Hiccup away, and go back to sleep.

On their hike, Hiccup just goes "!!!!!!!" about every reptile he sees. Snake, lizard, horny toad, literally anything with scales will send the boy into an excited frenzy. Rapunzel has similar reactions. Anna could not love both of them more.

At one point, they stumble across a gila monster sunbathing, and Rapunzel is overtaken with the unwavering desire to adopt him. She gets Hiccup on board, and he tries to lure the lizard over with a dusty piece of a snake carcass he found (Anna tried to tell him he really shouldn't touch that, but he was not to be swayed and Anna ended up figuring he could just wash his hands really well when they got back). Anna finds herself in the unusual position of having to be the Voice of Reason, having to be like “hey uh I think this might be illegal and stuff??? Also aren't they poisonous???”

(I know what you're thinking. Bold of you to assume Anna knows the difference between poisonous and venomous.)

Rapunzel literally CANNOT stop gushing to Jack about all the wildlife she saw when she gets back! Jackrabbits! Kangaroo rats! Roadrunners! Peccaries! Centipedes! Jack has only mild to moderate interest in desert ecology, but loves hearing his gf gush so he listens attentively anyways.

Anna and Rapunzel definitely hit up the gift shops in the resort town at some point, and go ABSOLUTELY BATSHIT HOGWILD buying gifts for everyone. They probably max out their credit cards. It's embarrassing, really. But Anna gets Hiccup an absolute shitton of those little wall lizard things and he nearly cries tears of joy when he sees them, so it's all worth it, really.

Moana will not leave the pool like. The entire time. The girl is just obsessed with being in the water, honestly. She gets restless, though, and can't just stand in the pool and vibe--she needs to constantly be moving and swimming around or she'll explode. Merida is more than happy to indulge her by hanging out in the poor with her, but Merida is also constantly challenging her to swim races--a very dumb idea, considering Moana is on the high school swim team and water polo team. Merida, naturally, is an extremely sore loser and is not above excessive pouting, splashing, yelling in angry Scottish, and dunking her girlfriend in revenge. It's at least entertaining for all of their friends to watch.

Jack keeps fucking taking huge buckets of ice from the ice machine and dumping them in the pool. At first he only does this because he keeps griping about the pool not being cold enough (this boy will accept nothing less than sitting in the goddamn arctic ocean), but after her figures out that it pisses off his friends, he takes to pouring said ice directly over their heads. Merida has threatened to murder him several times for this.

Hiccup and Anna's main pool activity is just lazing around on their pool floaties (Anna has a duck one, Hicccup has a dragon one because obviously), sipping cocktails, and just generally vibing. Through some ungodly mixture of pure charisma and a fake ID that Rapunzel helped photoshop, Jack manages to talk his way into getting the whole group access to alcohol. Hiccup is a sangria or Moscow Mule kinda guy while Anna usually gets a Pina Colada or a Sex on the Beach (she's aspec, so she literally will not stop joking about the irony of this). Merida makes a game out of attempting to tip over their floaties and dunk them. Jack, chaos gremlin that he is, puts aside his usual rivalry with Merida to join in. They have a surprisingly strong dunking alliance.

Hiccup and Anna try to form a syndicate of their own, and try to lounge on the same floatie so that they can protect each other while fighting off Jack and Merida together. Unfortunately neither of their floaties were made to hold 2 peoples' weight, so the one they're on ends up tipping over, spilling their cocktails everywhere and dunking them anyways. Jack and Merida consider this a Win By Default.

Moana of course loops everyone into playing water polo at some point. Unfortunately some idiot decided it would be a good idea to let Merida of all people pick the teams, which means of course that they are incredibly rigged. It's Moana, Merida and Anna vs. Jack, Rapunzel, and Hiccup, so basically The Jocks vs. The Nerds (although admittedly Anna is more of a softcore jock--she's nowhere near on Moana or Merida's level, but she's still more naturally athletic than Hiccup, Rapunzel, or Jack). Naturally, Jock Team absolutely whoops Nerd Team's ass. Jack gets salty and demands a rematch. ...Jock Team kicks Nerd Team's ass again.

Throughout all of this, no one thinks to just...rearrange the teams a little. Merida was counting on this. All according to plan.

In the titular chicken game (yes, I remembered, don't worry!), it's Merida on Moana's shoulders (Moana swims and has a lot of upper body strength, what can I say?), Hiccup on Anna's shoulders (I mean...Hiccup's a twig, and Anna HAS to have a fair amount of upper body strength from throwing busts around and punching men off boats and such), and Punz on Jack's shoulders (Jack's pretty lithe and good at keeping his balance while jumping around, so he's their best candidate for not just falling over).

Jack and Rapunzel actually manage to stay in the game longer than anyone expects--their primary strategy is “be good at dodging and staying out of the way while Merida and Hiccup duke it out.” And it works! As limber as Hiccup is, Anna's not nearly as coordinated as Jack and is no match for Moana's sturdy footing. Also, neither Anna nor Hiccup are prepared for how goddamn ruthless and determined to win Merida is. Even though they really, really should have been. I mean...have you met Merida???

When it comes down to Merida-Moana and Rapunzel-Jack, Mer feels a little bad for having to go up against Pure Sweet Punzie. Unfortunately, Rapunzel turns out to be a very hardcore fighter when she puts her mind to it, and Merida is much more evenly matched than she initially thought and realizes she must use her Full Power. It definitely helps her snap out of Going Soft when Jack starts brutally roasting Merida in particular (as per usual). Merida gets a rage-fueled Second Wave, and finally manages to knock Rapunzel over in one foul swoop. Merida and Moana are victorious!

Moana and Merida basically always shower together after a day at the pool. They claim it's because they both know how to handle curly hair in chlorine, and just like to wash each other's hair, but the rest of the gang is pretty sure that's not all that's going on in there.

One day, Anna hits up the resort town alone to buy some kind of secret gifts for her friends with what little money she has left (this girl seriously has no chill when it comes to buying presents). She goes past this huge, fancy ice cream shop and she's like “!!!! OMG!!! I'm gonna surprise all my buddies with pints of their faves!!!” She just gets super hyped and buys everyone ice cream, getting so caught up in the thrill of it that she forgets that she'll have to like. Drive all this back all the way back to the resort in the rental car. In like. You know. 110+ degree weather.

By the time she gets back to the resort, the ice cream is, of course, goop. Poor Anna, feeling incredibly dumb and like an utter failure of a friend, just kind of bursts into tears. Like damn. This is too much. She was gonna make all her pals so happy, and all for naught! Jack just kinda shrugs and throws all the melted ice cream cartons in the freezer anyways. Once they're (partially) re-frozen, Rapunzel and Moana make slushies with them. They actually come out pretty decent. Anna is substantially cheered up.

Moana prepares some tropical fruit platters for everyone to snack on. Rapunzel tries to “improve” them by adding chocolate sauce and nutella to half of them. Sometimes it works (I mean...bananas and strawberries with chocolate and/or nutella is pretty solid). Other times it just tastes...very weird. Merida gest frustrated and yells at Rapunzel for “ruining all of her girlfriend's good mangoes.”

Jack just thinks this whole thing is so funny, and decides to swap the chocolate sauce with barbecue sauce to cause further chaos. Absolute mayhem ensures. Everyone has a bad time. Except for Anna, who apparently is just a freak who enjoys eating pineapple slices dipped in barbecue sauce.

At some point, Merida gets really drunk on appletinis or some shit and signs the entire group up for a local archery competition. Much to everyone's chagrin, it's no refunds. Naturally, basically everyone sans Merida does terrible. Rapunzel and Hiccup very nearly shoot themselves, while Jack and Anna come very close to accidentally shooting a group of referees (although Jack might have done this on purpose). Moana gets the farthest, if only because Merida's taught her how to shoot a bow at some point. Merida actually ends up winning--although unfortunately, the prize is $20 and a very cheap plastic trophy (which Merida STILL manages to find a way to break before the trip is even over).

The rest of the group is much more amicable to the concept of going on hikes when said hikes are in the evening. Hiccup and Rapunzel are still excitedly chattering about the local ecosystems the entire time, and Jack and Anna are just kind of looking at their nerdy SOs like “<3 <3 <3″ Moana and Merida, meanwhile, are just kinda vibing in the back, passively listening in and watching the desert sunset.

Rapunzel manages to capture Mer and Mo's interest and gets them to participate more with geology, of all things. Merida just thinks rocks are cool (especially when they can be thrown at people bothering her!), while Moana likes learning about the physical history of places--how water can carve out landscapes, and all that. Hiccup and Jack just kind of exchange a look like “I had no idea that they were into rocks, but...the more you know, I guess???”

Jack makes fun of every reptile they see, mainly to piss Hiccup off. Unfortunately it has the opposite effect, and Hiccup can't help but be entertained--mainly because Jack's insults are so weirdly specific and over-the-top that they loop around to being hilarious. Seriously, he keeps saying shit like “Those are the lamest scales I've ever seen. Absolutely drab, and not nearly shiny enough to prove that nature is beautiful. 0/10.” and “Ohhhh, this fucking rattlesnake think's he's so scary, with his dumb percussion instrument tail!!! I could be more intimidating with a mean look and a large pair of maracas!”

At some point, a bunch of tourists riding donkeys pass them. Anna, Rapunzel, and Merida just absolutely lose their shit fangirling over how cute the donkeys are, thus exposing all three of them as the unabashed Horse Girls they are. Hiccup, Jack, and Moana find this extremely amusing, and definitely aren't above teasing their girlfriends about it. Hiccup asks if next time they take a couples' vacation, the Horse Gang (as Moana insists on nicknaming them) would like to go to a ranch instead.

Anna gets like. Obsessed with palm trees. Like they're just so pretty and exotic and tropical!!! OMG!!! And they definitely don't have them wherever the gang is from in this AU. (Also if griping about Elsa not having "tropical powers" is anything to go by, she DOES canonically like the tropics!) She has to take a picture of like...every palm tree on her phone. And considering the gang is in Arizona, that means Anna is stopping to take a picture like...every 2 minutes. Rapunzel catches onto the fact that Anna likes them, and paints her a picture with some when Punz has the time. Anna definitely cries when she sees it. Hiccup can't do nearly that good, but he does buy her some little plastic figurine ones in a gift shop that she can put in her room. Anna also cries about this. She just cries whenever any of her friends indulge her random fixation on palm trees. Surely she doesn't deserve such niceties!!!

Rapunzel is just. In love with the desert landscape tbh. Like the huge funky cacti!!! The shrubs!!! The desert wildflowers!!! The mesas!!! All of it!!! So of course she needs to pull out her easel and paint it. Jack walks by one day and sees her working on it and, partly just to troll her, he's like “put some snow in it!” As he walks away, Rapunzel just stops like “wait...that'd actually be such a great idea for a surrealist-type fantasy piece!!!” After she finishes the main landscape, she adds an overcoat of little puffs of snow on top of everything, and has some clumps falling off of the cacti. When she shows Jack, he just about cries tears of joy, but frantically tries to hide it. She gives the painting to him as a present at the end of the trip. He hangs that shit front-in-center in his room and cherishes it forever and ever.

At some point, Jack gets the ingenious idea that he's going to prank Merida by catching a tarantula and leaving it in her room. It's one of the harmless ones--Jack fact-checks this by offhandedly asking Hiccup and framing it as a casual interest in local etymology. Still, Merida screams far louder than is at all dignified, and also probably loud enough to wake a neighboring country. Rapunzel later has to physically hold Merida back to keep her from absolutely beating Jack into a pulp. Rapunzel also manages to get the World's Largest Sheet of Cardboard and the World's Largest Cup and somehow manages to get the damn thing back outside.

#rotbtd #rotbtfd #rise of the brave tangled dragons #the big four #jackunzel #hiccanna #moanida #jack frost #rapunzel #merida #hiccup #anna #moana #headcanons #hcs #vacation au #my askbox

26 notes · View notes

demigoddreamer · 3 years

Text

Addressing Batman’s Abuse

Damian: I killed someone

Bruce(and the rest of the batfamily but mostly bruce): It’s ok it’s because of your childhood, you were raised to be an assassin as long as you didn’t murder anyone innocent and do better next time

Dick: I killed someone

Bruce: well i saved them didn’t count bye

Tim: I killed someone

Bruce: Seriously Tim? ok I’m kinda disappointed but i’ll be ok in a little bit(actually idk cause I can’t recall if tim ever killed someone)

Jason: I killed someone

Bruce: HOW DARE YOU BREAK THE NO KILL RULE YOU LITTLE PIECE OF **** WE HAVE MORALS YOU’RE JUST ANOTHER CRIMINAL, A MURDERER, A MONSTER YOU LET THEM WIN IF YOU KILL

Alright enough with the jokes let’s get serious, let’s talk about the abuse. I have a lot to unpack and if you’re like me who doesn’t have the patience to read long things if they don’t matter then i’m sorry . I can read school stuff but fanfiction more than like 30 chapters irritates me which is stupid because I love to read but the human brain is A FUCKING ANNOYING HYPOCRITE. I love the batbros with all my heart and we hate to see bad stuff happen to them. but Bruce...he can get away with hurting the people who he should see as sons and who in turn consider him a father figure. He is essentially taking advantage of their love for his cause. Because the most important thing is batman and the mission which he will hold above his own children, the people in his life who care about him and support him in his insane crusade. Batman is someone who is consumed by this darkness that causes him to sacrifice everything for the mission. It is stated multiple times that his Robins are supposed to be better than him, they’re not needed as assistants in the battlefield but rather emotional support as they bring a little light to Bruce's pain and vengeful darkness. The Robins become better people than Bruce.

There are obvious examples of Bruce’s abuse such as his second Robin now Red Hood Jason Todd. Now I may be biased as he is my favorite but I love all the robins dearly so FREAKING much. Jason is constantly remembered as Batman’s greatest failure. Why is that? we are led to believe it’s because Bruce didn’t save him but really it’s because Jason didn’t fall in line with Batman’s code which is where we see the flaws in Batman’s philosophy. Why doesn’t Batman just kill the Joker? Jason makes some very valid points saying that all Joker does is cause pain and he keeps breaking out of prison and causing more pain and it’s a vicious cycle, a revolving door that Batman refuses to end. Joker and Batman are almost obsessed with each other. But Batman refuses to kill Joker saying if he does he can’t come back and Joker will win. It’s a war between numbers and moral high ground. But in reality who cares if Joker wins? It’s vague what does it even mean? Joker keeps on killing and if he was gone the world would be safer? It doesn’t matter if he wins as long as people live. Jason Todd is someone who is constantly hurt by the people who are supposed to love him. An example of this is Batman choosing to save Joker rather than his own son in the Under the Red Hood storyline. Jason is clearly heartbroken over the fact that Bruce refuses to kill the person who MURDERED HIM saying “I thought I’d be the last person you ever let him hurt” Jason obviously has lots of trauma PTSD depression and he probably just wants to feel safe pleading with Bruce to just kill Joker that’s it saying “doing it because he took me away from you” which Batman refuses just saying I can’t.

Now there’s other instances that make my blood boil such as Batman and Robin #20. Damian died in Batman Inc. and obviously since Bruce can’t ever deal with pain in a healthy constructive way, he goes full dark and rage and sadness. He becomes desperate to bring Damian back, being abusive to Tim even when Batman tried to experiment on Frankenstein to bring Damian back and Tim blew the lab up. But Jason...oh god...Bruce wants Jason on a mission in Ethiopia to bring the people who tried to kill Damian justice . (Talia put a bounty on his head) and then Jason agreed, excited at the chance of working with someone he considers a father again. Jason has ceased his killing he has calmed down from when he tried to hurt them all, his mind was damaged by the lazarus pit and he went insane with pain and rage. From my pseudo psychologist perspective I think he thought hurting them would make his pain cease if he tried to hurt the things that caused his pain it would fix him. Anyway Jason is on kinder terms with them but it’s still rough. They’re not all that kind with him sure he’s made mistakes but they all have and he’s really sorry about it. Anyway after taking those bad guys down they talk about family and trust and faith. Then...Bruce does it and reveals the real reason why they came to Ethiopia. Bruce wanted to bring Jason to the place he DIED. WHERE THERE IS A BUTT TON OF TRAUMA. Jason is just so shocked at first he stands there looking numb. He isn't even angry yet. He stands there feeling the pain of that horrible day saying”You lied to me. this wasn't about taking down those mercenaries. You wanted to bring me here..to the worst place in the world...and here I was starting to believe all your crap about trust and faith” He sounds broken which he is he’s been broken by so many people and now Bruce who isn’t supposed to break him just did by taking advantage of him and bringing him to somewhere of horrible trauma. Bruce reveals that he brought Jason here so he could figure out how to bring Damian back to life explaining “Those killers were the mission but this was something else something I couldn’t ignore I thought bringing you here could jog your memory-maybe retrieve a buried buried deep in your subconscious that could help piece together how you came to life so I” and Jason finishes this saying “-could apply it to getting Damian back. Yeah I get it. Did it ever occur to you I might like keeping whatever the hell happened to me buried deep?”Obviously, Jason doesn’t want to relieve his trauma, he doesn’t want to deal with what happened to him a second time. He just wants to move on but Bruce won’t let him. Bruce doesn’t seem to acknowledge Jason’s trauma nor does he seem to care for his well being. “If you cared about me, you wouldn’t want me to dredge up the one thing I've been trying to forget. I don’t want to remember the most horrific day of my life, all right? You may like wallowing in your tragedies but I’m done looking back” which is true all Batman does is sit in the pain of his parents death and he can’t heal like and he spreads pain to others at this rate the dead parents excuse gets a little old. BUT THEN BRUCE HAS THE AUDACITY TO SAY “If you cared about me and what I’ve lost, you’d want to dredge this up! Don’t you see-there’s a chance you can help me erase one of the worst days of my life. You can give me the greatest gift of all and help me figure out how to bring my son back!” Here he uses a lot of pronouns referring to himself, CARED ABOUT ME, I’VE LOST, HELP ME, MY LIFE, GIVE ME, HELP ME, MY SON. Yes Bruce, make it all about you, cause we definitely want you too. You’re a grown ass man and Jason is the more mature person here, honestly all the Robins learn to process grief and heal and grow and they’re just generally better people. Bruce is basically saying I care more about Damian than I care about you and my needs are greater than yours so screw your feelings, your feelings don’t matter. He really only seems to care about himself and he wants to erase his own pain. He doesn’t even seem to consider what Damian would want and what being brought back to life would do to him. Jason knows what it’s like, the pain of it, he’s probably the only person who would understand why someone wouldn’t want to come back. After All of this Bruce doesn’t even apologize and makes some half assed promise for unconditional truth but Jason still accepts this and helps Bruce get Damian’s body back from Darkseid even though he didn’t have to.

Also there’s battle of the cowl which I desperately try to ignore but what I can tell Bruce *cough* died *cough* at this rate whenever Bruce dies or some crap I’m like ARE YOU SURE ABOUT THAT??? But sorry back to the topic. Bruce had a message for Jason for everyone else was just like I hope you’re doing well I love y’all live your life for JASON HOWEVER. He was all like you’re a failure not because I didn’t save you but because I don’t like how you turned out. Also you have problems, you’re mentally ill(I know but don’t have to be so awful about it)and there’s a secret I shouldn’t have kept and bye. And he suggests help but WHY DIDN’T HE GET JASON HELP WHEN HE WAS YOUNGER HMMMMM? It’s so obvious Jason’s childhood is full of abuse of course he has bad mental health and all that jazz. Also he puts Jason in Arkham where the Joker is 5 DOORS DOWN. I don’t think I have to say anything but they could literally put him in ANY OTHER PRISON. Why this one idk?

Bruce beat Jason and was probably about to kill Jason in RHATO #25. All beacuse Jason shot penguin and since Red Hood is a criminal blah blah blah Bruce has to do something. Actually he doesn’t as he just assumes Jason killed him which he didn’t also he didn’t seem to consider mind control or clones or whatever and he thought it was a good idea to beat the crap out of his sons. Jason even points this out”You are a character, I’ve never seen you beat Joker that hard and you hate him”...Bruce is beating him harder than the Joker. BRUCE IS BEATING HIS GODDAMN SON, SO HE HATES HIS SON MORE THAN JOKER??? Here we see how Bruce constantly chooses Joker over Jason.

Let's also talk about Dick his first son (I love my circus boi). After Jason died *sob*(i’m gonna cry) Dick is pretty darn sad and Bruce didn’t tell him shit so he’s obv like hey what’s the deal and BRUCE HAS THE AUDACITY TO BE MAD AT DICK. and he tries to kick Dick out of his life and be like leave your key get outta my face and he punched Dick LIKE BOI YOU DIDN’T TELL HIM ABOUT THE FUNERAL OR THE FACE THAT JASON DIED. We already knew it was bad because Bruce and Dick argued like my parents argue which is pretty bad. Lo and behold Bruce doesn’t apologize.

Also Nightwing #30 after Dick was outed as Nightwing and fake died on telelvision. Bruce used like WAAAAAAY excessive force. They were sparring but it got real violent real fast. And Nightwing wasn’t in the right mindset he was traumatized and Bruce totally took advantage of him by asking him to work for Spyral which Dick obv didn’t want to do but Bruce fucking FORCED that crap onto him after something as awful as that and he probably knew Dick would give in eventually that bastard. No, Bruce doesn’t apologize either.

Most recently Batman #71...now see this is Tim’s turn and I love my big brain boi Tim... and when you love a fictional character you know something bad is gonna happen. Bruce’s abuse, it’s kinda worse cause he’s a fucking KID. now Bruce be like let’s meet and shit so most of them are there and some evil villain is doing their thang and Tim is tryin be nice comforting Bruce, telling him that Tim will always be there and that Tim will help AND BRUCE FUCKING PUNCHED HIM. HE WAS JUST TRYIN BE NICE AND HELP YOU FEEL BETTER YOU POS. Now do we see Bruce apologize? NOOOOO. What did you expect? Honestly it’s not that hard it’s a simple sentences even a dumbass like you can manage it

Now I’m not totally familiar with any abuse on Damian but it’s there. Bruce is allergic to emotions, and it’s hard for him to be emotionally supportive and show any affection whatsoever. Showing any semblance of pride to Damian is like me trying to do pushups it’s FUCKING impossible for Bruce to show any compassion toward his son whatsoever (seriously though push ups are a pain in the ass I’m not athletic whatsoever why do you think I waste my time venting on tumblr the only thing I’m good for is being the smart kid in school and even then some people outshine me in that.)...sad but I’m not here to complain about that. Anyway Dick is a BAMF and openly shows Damian hey i’m proud of you and I love you. IT’S NOT THAT HARD BRUCE.

Bruce can’t ever be happy, he doesn’t let himself be happy because he can’t move on from that tragedy that happened to him. And he doesn’t allow anyone around him to be happy either. Shown as when Dick is like hey I can be in love with someone and we can be long term we can be happy together. BRUCE BE LIKE NUH HUH VIGILANTES CAN’T BE HAPPY WE HAVE TO SACRIFICE FOR THE MISSION. Let your son be FUCKING HAPPY. I know I sound like I hate him and maybe I do a bit but I don’t think he’s like completely Joker evil and irredeemable. I just can’t deal with how DC handles abusers like Bruce and having characters enable this behavior. We need to know that Bruce’s behavior is not ok and his children are completely numb to it, it’s normal to them and it’s disgusting. Bruce needs repercussions and he needs to know that he can’t do that to kids who love and trust him.

LINK TO PART 2:

https://demigoddreamer.tumblr.com/post/639314330465222656/addressing-batmans-abuse-part-2

If a loved one is hurting you reach out and seek help. You deserve the world

#batfam #jason todd #dick grayson #damian wayne #tim drake #red hood #nightwing #red robin #robin #bruce wayne #batman #dc comics #abuse #it's not ok #if you're in this situation reach out #bruce wayne is a bad parent

123 notes · View notes

skateurgency · 2 years

Note

oh jenizah?? :o hope it's still okay to ask. 2, 3, 4, 14, 15 (if applicable), 16, 18, 19, 40, 44, 45, 48, 53, 54, 56, 65-69! i'm sorry for asking so many questions, i've just never heard of jenizah and i'm curious! you can choose to answer as many or as little as you'd like i just 🥺 love ocs

Thanks for all the asks!! Jenizah is the current DND character I'm playing, a dark elf necromancer cleric who follows the Goddess of pain Loviatar. I've been playing them for about a year and a half now and I love them dearly. I have some art pieces of him on my page if you're interested in what he looks like! Should be tagged as Jenizah or Jenizah and Count Everett.

2: Do they consider themselves an optimist? Pessimist? Realist? What are they like in actuality?

He considers himself a pessimist for sure, and in all actuality they're somewhere between a pessimist and a realist. He's the one to bluntly shut down plans if they're not going to work out well, but will also try anything he can to get the result he wants.

3: How do they carry themselves around strangers? Friends/Lovers? Family? Jenizah is pretty much the same around everyone. Loud, flamboyant, limp-wristed, and with a dark sense of humor. He has a bag of holding full of corpses and it doesn't matter if you just met him, he will let you know. Luckily, necromancy is legal in the country. There is a certain individual that Jenizah is romantically interested in, and their personality is subdued around them, as they're a more reserved person and he tries to be respectful of that.

4: If your character was a work of art, how would you describe them?

An oil painting that's in a gilded frame in a museum. Most likely a portrait, as they're a little vain and full of themselves. Large brush strokes and texture. One of those paintings where you can see the layers of shadow and highlights on top of everything else.

14: Does your character value promises? Are they good at keeping them?

Extremely, promises are like blood vows. He tries his best to keep them, but sometimes other things get in the way. He helplessly watched his lover die, and breaking that promise and vow definitely changed him. He can be a little obsessive about it now.

15: Describe their ideal date.

There's a certain vampire count that Jenizah has his eye on and really anything involving him. Something fancy and classy though, Jenizah has expensive tastes.

16: What keeps them going?

Desire. Currently, it's romantic desire. He sees something he wants and he fights with his whole self to achieve that goal.

18: How does your character act when they want to seem inviting?

A little coy, definitely more smiles and open body language than the normal brooding boy he is. May flash some coin around to get somebodies attention.

19: How does your character act when they want to seem threatening?

Oh, he will pull out the skull of a vampire lord he keeps in his bag, or threaten to kill you, bring your spirit back to talk to it to get the answers he needs, and then maybe resurrect you if he's feeling generous...

40: Describe a corruption/redemption arc version of your character.

Jenizah already balances on that fine edge. I've joked that if my DM doesn't let us play out the romance we've been having, Jenizah will murder and dismember his love interest in that standard "yandere" style. He's obsessive, and doesn't form healthy attachments to people. He also has a fear of abandonment and being left behind, and that could be pushed to an extreme.

44: How do they hold onto people?

Tightly, with their nails digging in hard enough to leave a scar.

45: What would they never forgive themselves for?

If they watched any of their friends die again. They're the party healer and ressurector, it's their job to keep them around and failure won't be tolerated.

48: What do they want to leave behind?

The ghost of their former lover. Although we just found out he's now been revived and is working with the enemy so I doubt that will happen any time soon...

53: What does freedom mean to them?

The ability to make the choices he wants. Not in a "no consequences" way, but in a "nobody can stop me" way.

54: What is something they currently look forward to? What is something they dread?

Any time with the vampire Count Everett. Jenizah counts down the hours until sundown each day, hoping he receives a message from him. He dreads the quest that their on, the crushing weight of a world needing saving.

65: Adoration or Intimidation?

Both. Intimidation through overwhelming adoration.

66: Outward Passion or Quiet Rebellion?

Outward passion, and it burns very brightly.

67: Selflessness or Self-Preservation?

Self-Preservation, except for very, very close friends.

68: Objective or Subjective?

Subjective, easily.

69: Journey or Destination?

Destination. He's working for his end goals.

#thanks so much for sending these!!!!#I need to work on fleshing out all of his characteristics and this helped a lot #jenizah

6 notes · View notes

whet-ones-write · 3 years

Text

Fixing Kai - a Overhaul x Fem!Reader

First posted on my AO3 and forgot to post here- lmao Whoops! Anyway Enjoy! Warnings: 18+ NSFW / Surgery mention / Binding - Being Tied down.

Word Count: 3446

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

“You know that’s not very nice.” You said as you looked up at the masked villain above you. “I fix your arms time and time again, and this is how you treat me?” You sigh, shaking your head. “Glad to know i’m appreciated around here.” Rolling your eyes up at the figure above you as he got up with a grunt.

“Now Kai, you need to sit and get your rest. I know that’s something you don’t want to do but you tore yourself up pretty badly.” And as much as you knew it, he probably would not listen to you again, which is why you used your quirk to make sure he stayed in the bed he had already stained crimson with blood. “If you keep moving you could re-open the wounds I've stitched up and don’t even get me started on your bones.” You growled quietly as you shifted your stance. “Still, there’s no need for these bindings eh Angel?”

“You could be a good boy and stay put.” Even with the scolding it did not change the fact that you did not budge or remove the bindings. “I know you better than that.” He smirked as you took a seat at your desk, hunching over and looking over his charts. “The moment I let go, you’ll go for your knives and try and hurt me for tying you up like this, even if I am your precious Angel.” You mused, clearly unimpressed with his attempts of flattery.

“And such a special Angel you are.” He sighed happily as he lay back watching you. “You don’t break like anyone else and you’re oh so useful to me. You take care of me like no one else does.” He offered charmingly.

“Yeah and no one fixes your messes like I do eh?” Rolling your eyes you leaned back in your chair. “If it weren’t for me you could be bleeding out right now. Not only that, getting you out was hard enough; having you imprisoned like you were. Still, you need to take at least a week's rest rather than getting into fights.” You started to explain much to his dismay.

“Your arms are rather fucked up, but I'm getting close to making a break though.” You informed him. Glacing to you, it was clear you had his interest. This meant you could let the bindings go and like the good boy was going to be, he could remain as you explained.

“I’m close to getting your new arms compatible with your quirk. We know that you had to touch someone for you to use it, so naturally even though mentally you wanted to use them you couldn’t, something was missing.. With your blood samples I have been able to determine that not only mentally do you need to be willing to activate it but it also lies within your nervous system. Although you have robotic arms which you can use, we know from practice that you can’t use your quirk just yet and because of the lack of connections.” Scratching your head you flipped the page as he continued to listen to you clearly excited for the possibility to be back to normal.

“So I’m going to need you to be in top physical condition so I can perform the surgery needed to make sure you can use your arms and quirk to its fullest again. I can’t give you any anesthetic at the time of the surgery because if I did, I can’t be sure if your arms will be connected to your nervous system as well as your brain realising you have your limbs back. They’re just a few days away so when your bones are healed we can give it a go, you should be able to help cure the world again should it all go according to my plan.”

“I knew I could count on you, my Angel. I thought I had lost all hope when I was trapped in that God forsaken prison.” He stated as he glanced over at you. “It was so bright and so lonely there by myself. I couldn’t even feed myself at the time. They forced me to have a pump to my stomach for it to be filled with food, I had almost missed chewing and tasting food.” He admitted thinking back on the several months he spent there. “Then again I suppose it was also my own fault over the fact that I trusted the bastard Shigraki but still, he will get what’s coming to him for double crossing me.” He smiled at the thought shutting his eyes as he relaxed back. “He will be one of the first ones I cure. He’s such a sick little boy isn’t it? Always scratching, so dry and flaky. Yes, he shall be the first to be cured once I am able to. Give him some moisturizer at that.” He mused as he opened his eyes to you.

He wasn’t one for feelings too much, he didn’t have time for them unless he was trying to get others to help him, he could pull at other’s feelings but rather not show that particular weakness himself but there was something about you that just made him sick. Love sick that is, and he knew there was no cure of this illness but he did not mind. Sometimes you have to be sick in order to get stronger, and that’s how he viewed this situation. It was not often you were in trouble but when you were he would always be there to help. His sickness made it so your protection and safety was more important than his own. On top of that you believed in him which is why you gathered other’s to help him break free.

Even though all that though you never gave up on him, and what was his dream soon became the both of yours. You were the one that built his very first arms, and something that he would always treasure before he was able to get into contact with some people that could really make a difference for him. After all in this day and age, a loss of a limb should not keep a sick human down, so why should someone like him that doesn’t suffer, be handicapped.

“Well it still won’t be for some time yet.” You explained as you rubbed your temple. “You still have to heal as much as you can while we wait for your arms to come in. I will have to make some adjustments to your shoulders, neck and head and it will be risky but the pay off? It’ll be life changing that’s for sure.” You mused before leaning back and looking at him. “You’ll have cybernetic arms, that has your blood flowing through them and on top of that you’ll be able to use your power to cure again.” Smiling at that statement, you got up to turn off the lights. “So rest well sir, the sooner you heal up, the sooner we can get you all better.” Smiling as you left him alone in the room so he could think it over.

Yes you were so beautiful in your working uniform. A plague mask much like his own but pure in white, to symbolise your cleanliness, the light in the darkness of his goal, as well as matching your white lab coat, announcing to others you were his own private doctor and he’ll be damned if the black trousers you wore got him all hot and bothered. Still a temporary cure will come to him soon enough for his love sickness. He can and will show you just how much you mean to him and how damn sexy you look in your uniform.

~ ~

When the time came for the surgery you were more nervous than anything. What if something went wrong?. What if you were not quick enough and ended up having him bleed out? You did not have anyone to assist you if something went wrong, because anyone else would just get in the way of what you were trying to do. It seemed simple on paper what you had to do but working on an actual body was different. On top of that you had done some test runs on some animals to try and help them get back to what society saw as normal and after a few attempts, things looked up for the better but the failures still weighed heavy on you and even Chisaki could see that.

You were stuck scrubbing your arms as you mutter to yourself about the process, what you had to do to an obsessive extent before your trance was snapped, bringing you back down to earth and looking at him.

Having placed a kiss on your cheek gently, he looked over you with a small sigh. “Do not fret. I do not die so easily.” He smiled at that, leaning in and kissing your forehead. “I am all healed and ready for this. I know the risks. I know what might happen but Angel, I trust you like no one else.” He explained as he took a seat on the operating table “You’ve been there with me right from the start. Through thick and thin and you have been there healing those in need. The children I've brought to you as well as my fellow colleagues that needed treatment. You are the best that I trust and you have the best equipment we can afford. You’ve looked over your plans obsessively to the point I'm sure you’re speaking them in your sleep. You’ve got plans for every eventuality, there’s no one I love and trust more to do this then you. You have this, just stay calm, relaxed and I’ll be happy to talk the entire time. After, if I stop talking I might just be brain dead, and I’m sure you don’t want that now hmm?” Teasing, you sighed in response, shaking your head. He was always like this in tense situations between you both, just trying to find the light side of life with smiles and laughs.

“Even so, if you’re ready I am, and we can begin.” You stated, waiting for his go ahead. Letting him remain sat up, it meant you could work around his back and shoulder completely so you can get to exactly where you need to be.

“Of course Angel, lets begin.” He smiled, keeping his eyes open as he watched the door behind you as you began your long and painful work.

“Okay Kai, I’m going to go collect the shopping that we need but I want you to remain in bed.” You tell him as you step around the room; laid on the soft and clean bed, Kai was still resting post-op some time ago.

“I ain’t going anywhere any time soon.” He replied, letting out a low sigh as he shifted in the bed. Even though no anaesthetic could be used during the operation, you had given him some after; he needed time to recover and relax after all.

However you knew what he was like, you knew what would happen if you left him alone for more than a handful of minutes. With a slight tap of your chin with your gloved finger, you made your way over and gently placed his new wrists into the restrains.

You had all of them fastened before Kai realised what was going on, quickly fastening the last restraint over his chest and tightening it enough that he could not move more than he needed to.

“Hey! What’s the problem! Unfasten me! I said I won’t move okay!”

“I know that Kai and I trust you but, you know what you’re like. Plus if you move more than you need to it could cause damage to your new limbs; irreparable damage. I would be negligent if I let that happen. I’ll only be gone for about half an hour at most. Just… Sit tight okay?”

With a soft sigh, Kai looked away; pouting like a child as he grumbled a “Fine” under his breath.

“Don’t worry. I won’t be long. I tell you what, I’ll bring you something nice.” Winking your grinned as you shut the door behind you letting him get the rest he would need still.

~ ~

You ran back as fast as you could, how could today have been so… so… He was going to kill you! You knew it!

You just could not get away, every time you were due to get away from someone you were once again dragged away; you couldn’t exactly tell them that you had one of the biggest criminals tied down in one of your off the books surgeries could you?

Busting in through the door and dropping the bags you were carrying, your eyes landed on the empty bed and the removed restrains. “Oh no…”

“Oh no indeed.” A voice spoke from behind you and quickly spinning on your heel you were face to face with Kai.

“Oh thank goodness Kai, I am so sorry, I don’t know what happened and-” Your words were quickly cut off when you were pushed back onto the bed.

“Oh yes, you will be sorry. Five hours, FIVE FUCKING HOURS I was left on the bed!” He turned his head slightly and gritted his teeth under his mask.

“Please Kai, I’m sorry. I tried to get away and they kept…” You began but could not finish as you were pushed back again. As you fell back on the bed, Kai gripped your wrist and began to strap the restraint over it.

“Oh you’ll be sorry. We’ll see what you can do to make it up to me for this.” He grinned under his mask and walked around the other side of the bed, quickly grabbing your other wrist. In a panic you kicked and yelled but he was much stronger than you, even with his new arms and post op recovery.

“Kai… Kai… What are you doing? Untie me. Please.” You begged but he just towered over you at the foot of the bed.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you Doc, I’m just going to make you regret keeping me tied up for five hours.” He leaned forward and tapped your foot. “Just sit tight okay?”

The breath in your chest hung as you thought what he could do, the punishments a villain like him could put upon someone; you had seen him seriously hurt many people. He wouldn’t do that to you would he?

Closing your eyes tight as he leaned over, you were surprised by what he did first.

Laughter burst out of your lungs as he began to tickle your feet, under arms and under your kneecaps. Why did he know exactly where to tickle you! Stretching up and pulling at the restraints you laughed hard, coughing and choking as you tried to breath. Finally begging to stop worked as he stepped back. Circling the bed like a vulture in the desert with its prey in sight, Kai stopped behind your head, leaning over he looked at you and pulled his mask away slightly before removing your own for you.

“Don’t worry Angel, I’m not going to kill you, or hurt you. Why would I? I’m just going to make you wish you’d never locked me up.” He grinned and gave your forehead a soft peck.

Staring up at Kai, you were speechless, a hot flush running along your cheeks at the kiss off your forehead.

“Look at you, all red and flustered, you’d think that you had a crush on me.” Kai grinned as he towered over you. Your eyes quickly turned away as he mentioned it.

“Yeah… that would be silly.” You mumble and Kai let out a loud laugh.

“I’m not stupid you know Angel, I know you like me; I mean…” He reached out and flicked his finger; a loud gasp left your lips and you looked down at your body to see you flushes stained cheeks. “You really like being tied up don’t you Angel? Have you ever tried it?”

Nervously you nod. “A few times… but…”

“But what? You’ve never been with anyone for long?”

You nod slowly and bite your lip.

“Me too.” Kai replied and sighed. “Look Angel… I… I might be a bit of an arsehole but… I appreciate everything you do… and… I… I kinda… like you too.”

The two of you were silent as you stared up at him and he stared down at you. “Well… you… You have me here…” You mumble and then could not believe you said it. With a surprised smile Kai looked down at you.

“Oh really now? For such an innocent doctor you really are needy aren't you?.” He laughed and grinned, slowly one hand went out of view and your vision went dark as something slapped you on the face. Warm, musky and… and… Wide eyed you stared up at Kai as you realised what was on your face.

“So… if I was to put my dick here, what would you do?” Kai asked and you breathed slowly, nervously, you turned your head and opened your mind. The grin on Kai’s face as he stepped back slightly and thumbed his tip to your lips.

“Good doc…” He purred and slowly began to slide inside your own lips. You’d never done this before in this position but already you wanted more. You were pretty skilled at this without your gag reflex and as Kai grunted, he reached out and put his hand on your bulging throat. With several slaps of your face with his balls, you could feel him tensing and getting faster.

The warmth and suddenness of the act left you coughing and for once; gagging as your airways were filled. Stepping back and accidental slapping and dribbling over your face, Kai panted as he held himself up by the nearby wall.

“Damn Angel… you… you’re…” He panted and after managing to cough and swallow as much as you can, you whimpered the words quietly. “Please… fuck me…”

Kai stared over at you as the grin on his face began to grow. “As you prescribe doctor~.”

Now laying on your front, the slap against your rear stung but… felt so good. You had dreamt of this in the dark nights and late work hours when you were alone, now it was going to happen and here you were; tied to a medical bed. This was not exactly the romantic night you expected; no dinner and no dancing, no long cuddling and foreplay; unless you classed the teasing as foreplay.

‘Oh god, that had been foreplay.’ You thought as you tried to look back at Kai, the way you were restrained meant you couldn’t turn your head very far. You saw his shoulder and his arms moving, grabbing something from the cupboard before turning back to you. A soft splurge noise and then a cold feeling down the crack of your rear. A soft gasp left your lips as you shuddered at the feeling.

“Oh don’t be such a wuss Doctor, it’s only a bit of lubrication; unless you want me to go without?” Kai asked with a teasing tone to his voice.

In a soft squeak you found your voice whimpering out. “N… no…”

“Alright then.” Kai whispered and let his hand drop his cock down onto your waiting hole. You felt the heavy weight on your cheeks, the warmth passing through the cold lube and to your now chilled rear. The air in your lungs hung deep and you had to think hard to remember to breathe.

“Ready Angel?” He asked in a soft tone and you nodded, letting out a soft whimper as you did so.

The first bit of pressure began and you closed your eyes, soft breaths and relaxing thoughts as you tried to loosen your body. The only issue was it did not stop, you tried to relax but the pressure built and built; when would that damn head pass!

When it did, the feeling of the pop through your body and the sudden half-thrust brought a loud gasp from your lips.

“You sound so cute there Angel, you enjoying it?”

“Hmm hmm.” You manage to reply.

“Well let's let you relax and get used to this, because I’m going to give you this and then I’m going to wreck you. You want that?”

“Hmm hmm.” You manage to reply again. Kai let out a soft chuckle and began to buck his hips.

The night could not last long enough.

66 notes · View notes

riddledeep · 3 years

Photo

Foop’s Full Character Profile

Slight Riddleverse ‘fic spoilers. Your mileage may vary.

(See also, Hiccup’s full character profile. It’s up next.)

OVERVIEW

Full Name: Anti-Poof Nebula Anti-Cosma-Anti-Fairywinkle

Title(s): Count / Prince / Väika / Heir to the High Count seat / Youngest anti-fairy in the universe (Temporarily) / Poof’s counterpart / The Green Samurai

Preferred Form of Address: Foop (Childhood); Anti-Poof (Adulthood)

Alternate Forms of Address: Nebula / Hiccup / Angel

Born: Summer of the Frozen Planet

Zodiac: Love Breath

Birthday: June 13th, 2008 (Spring Cleaning)

Hometown: Luna’s Landing, High South Region - Raised in the Blue Castle near the Anti-Fairy capital city (When not raised in Abracatraz)

Came Into Adult Wings: 149,720 (Earlier than average)

Age During Frozen Timestream: Mentally 7-12

Age As of “Live For the Moment”: 147,425 (Mentally 13)

Age As of Devil’s Backbone: 163,254 (Mentally 14)

Race: Fae (Unseelie Court)

Species: Anti-Fairy

Ethnicity: Mostly common anti-fairy (Faeumbra fae); ¼ anti-will o’ the wisp (Faeumbra lepidoptera); ⅛ anti-brownie (Faeumbra mundus)

Nationality: Hy-Brasilian (Obtained at birth); recognized as Jakokërian in Twilight Point (Hawthorn Haven)

Patron Bat: Tadarida brasiliensis (Mexican free-tailed bat)

Gender: Foop is genderfluid. For most of his youth he goes by he/him pronouns, but being Angel is his escape from reality and he goes by she/her pronouns at those times. They/them pronouns are also used frequently, especially later in life. Foop will be referred to using he/him pronouns in this profile, but she/her and they/them are still valid. Foop’s alternate personality, Hiccup, is also he/him.

Mindset: Pilot

Counterparts: Poof/Foop (Equal core sync) > Poppy

Core: Searchlight

Core Color: Yellow

Core Trait: Vengeance-seeking

Primary Fairy: Sport-loving hippie celebrity

Fairy Refract: Anime-obsessed pop diva wannabe

Stats:

Power: Below Average | Average | Above Average

Endurance: Below Average | Average | Above Average

Wisdom: Below Average | Average | Above Average

Adaptability: Below Average | Average | Above Average

Charisma: Below Average | Average | Above Average

Openness: Below Average | Average | Above Average

Conscientiousness: Below Average | Average | Above Average

Neuroticism: Below Average | Average | Above Average

Crown Lift: ~7 in_

Fagiggly Color: Blue

Preferred Shapeshifting Form: Scent hound

Signature Tactic: Fairy Backstab - Poofs immediately behind his target and whacks them once with all his strength while their back is turned.

Wand Type: Obsidian

Kept in sheath on right side of body (A second wand is kept on the left side of his body for Hiccup)

Family: Nobility

Creed: Vihaku sõsi milaska pra - “Friends who fight are overtaken quickly by a common enemy.”

Caretaker Spirit: Her Glory Laelaps (The scent hound)

Permanent Residence: Blue Castle, Luna’s Landing; Anti-Fairy World

Lives in the school dorms for much of the year - Rooms with Poof, Sammy Sweetsparkle, and Finley Hammerfall

Also has a cell reserved for him at Abracatraz

Occupation: Heir presumptive; student; high school TA / tutor

BACKGROUND

Self-Perception: Extremely intelligent mind trapped in a body much too young and pathetic. An evil genius only playing nice and biding his time for now. They’ll see. They’ll all see.

Alignment: Chaotic Evil -> Lawful Evil

MBTI: INTP

Deadly Sin: Envy

Heavenly Virtue: Diligence

Love Language: Words of Affirmation

Reinforcers: Groveling, praise, whimpers of fear

Personality: Foop grew up in Anti-Cosmo’s shadow, constantly being compared to his father while struggling to assert himself as anything but. Anti-Cosmo is a social man who doesn’t feel complete without someone to bounce his thoughts off while introverted Foop sees collaboration as frustration and assistance as an insult. Where Anti-Cosmo is impatient and quick to throw half-formed plans into action, Foop is grounded and rarely acts without finalizing his calculations. He’s easily frustrated when real life deviates from his careful outline. While not prone to throwing fits in public, he’s stubbornly petty and releases his feelings by devising cruel revenge plans. His paranoia often keeps him from putting these plans into action, especially when he’s older and feels judged by all of Fae society, but it helps him blow of steam without hurting anyone or damaging anything.

Work is Foop’s passion. He loves taking initiative with his projects, doing his own thing, and talking endlessly about what he enjoys to someone who follows along- even if that means spending hours tutoring someone he’s not too fond of. He loathes being yanked away from his passions and is hardly interested in Anti-Fairy traditions and social etiquette, which he considers to be a bunch of useless, stuffy niceties. While Anti-Cosmo adapted to that proper world of charm and dignity because it was expected of him, Foop rarely sees value in keeping quiet about activities he dislikes. He struggles to articulate his feelings and is extremely self-conscious about sharing his deepest thoughts, but you’ll always know when he’s annoyed.

Aside from the struggle to form emotional connections (and lack of emotional stability in general), Foop’s main folly as a leader is his analysis paralysis. He’s much more of a perfectionist than either of his parents and often gets too bogged down in details to act until too late, then loses his patience and blames others when things don’t go his way. For Foop, the worst-case scenario is always being caught and punished. Most Anti-Fairies accept prison time as a necessary cross they have to bear, but Foop finds jail absolutely humiliating (and anxiety-inducing) and will do all he can to avoid it. Usually that means bailing on a plan halfway through and taking off for the hills, then lying low for a few decades with his nerves permanently on end. A far cry from Anti-Cosmo who treats jail time as a vacation free from worry until being cooped up makes him restless. Foop would rather improve his job resume than his criminal record, at least for now. He wants to be well known in the history books, but wants it to be for an impressive reason.

Though he may be mature for his age, Foop is still young and dealing with fluctuating hormones, political expectations, and school drama on top of his actual classwork. He exhausts himself very easily, yet continues to push himself further and further because his self-worth is tied to his achievements. Genius is everything. Failure is weakness. Struggles are shame. No matter what the media says about him, his harshest critic will always be himself. His emotions are complicated and fragile, but he’s far too nervous to let anyone close enough to truly understand what he’s thinking. Even his therapist and romantic partners are constantly surprised by what he does one day compared to the next. Anti-Wanda is his sole confidant and he tells her everything. Foop doesn’t show it publicly, but at his core he’s an absolute mama’s boy; Anti-Wanda isn’t bright, but she is loving and offers him the stability his father can’t. She’s his tether. Losing her trust would absolutely shatter him.

Special Note - Dissociative Identity Disorder: Officially, Foop and Hiccup (and Angel in Identity Theft) are multiple personalities in the same body, referred to collectively as “the Nebula system.” Foop is considered the original personality, and suffered a lot of trauma in his youth that he can’t quite recall since those memories are blocked. Hiccup is the protector who slips in control when life stress becomes too much for Foop to handle- he holds the trauma memories, but doesn’t like to talk about it with anyone besides his pixie therapist at Wish Fixers. In their younger years, Foop and Hiccup flipped control rapidly. In their older years, they sometimes go for days at a time without the other personality switching back.

In his youth, Foop’s goal was to integrate Hiccup back into himself. He eventually gave up on this and now strives to cooperate with Hiccup, whom he grudgingly considers a twin brother. The members of their immediate family, as well as their roommates at school, acknowledge Hiccup as a separate identity from Foop. Their extended family and most of the media have their doubts.

Hiccup firmly sees himself as his own person. He describes himself as being “stuck in Foop’s body” and frequently makes comments about how “This isn’t what he really looks like.” He suffers from body dysphoria and desperately hopes to master magic well enough to adjust his looks... though Foop is quite happy with their looks staying as they are.

Education: Attended classes at Spellementary School, Frederick Shinesworth Middle School, and Carl Poofypants High School when he wasn’t getting into trouble otherwise.

Spellementary School: _

Middle School: _Did well academically? Poorly? Sports?

High School: _

Further Education: _

Favorite Magic Subject: _

Least Favorite Magic Subject: _

Favorite Non-Magic Subject: _

Least Favorite Non-Magic Subject: _

History: Here we have one of those kids who constantly has too much on his plate and yet never seems to have enough to do. He’s extremely efficient at getting things done (mainly achieved by cutting out his social life) and has a wide range of interests that he prefers to pursue alone. Such interests are further complicated by the fact that since his youth, Anti-Poof has always been afflicted with dissociative identity disorder, and flips regularly between his two personalities: Foop, the bitter and blunt one who harbors a fascination for biology and horticulture, and Hiccup, the gentle and giggly romantic who enjoys cooking and has a blatant streak of savagery.

Yet somehow, they seem to be getting along okay. Their love life is a mess even without including the politics, but since the two personalities have known each other all their lives, they’re used to compromise. One wonders how much longer it will be before their patience snaps._

Notable Likes:

Goals:

Juggle his wants against Hiccup’s.

Unlock the secrets of Fairykind biology.

Take over the High Count seat from his father (even if it’s in the boring traditional way).

Work out politics with the Ghosts and Beasts.

Find a balance between what he wants and what his parents want for him so he doesn’t hate life.

Beliefs:

Favors Daoism over traditional Zodii teachings

Everyone is a moron except for him

Fears:

Vicky

Falling from roost and landing on his head

Spending his life rotting in Abracatraz

His own death

Upsets:

Being directly disagreed with

Getting tossed in prison

Comforts: Kelly Clarkson songs, Skullbeary, pajamas, research articles, retreating into the mindspace and letting Hiccup take the wheel

Indulgences: Black licorice; alone time in his lab; tasty poisonous spiders; sensual back rubs

EXTERNAL

Verbal Notes: Mostly straightforward and lets you know how he generally feels, unless he’s lying. He does a lot of lying. Very guarded with his true emotions and will allow you closer layer by layer, but absolutely shut you off before the last level (unless you’re his beloved mother, and even then it’ll take an hour of conversation to crack him).

Foop is very curious and interested in learning new things; if you can keep telling stories, he’ll keep asking questions. While he doesn’t want you messing up one of his projects with your “collaboration,” he doesn’t mind studying alongside you and will quiz you if you want him to. He lacks tact and has a direct way of speaking, which is very unusual in Anti-Fairy society. His long-windedness and dark humor make friendship a struggle. Overall he’s quite verbose and unsentimental.

Language: Fluent in Snobbish, speaks some Vatajasa, speaks some Milesian, speaks some Gaideliac

Physical Notes: Very thin and not endowed with the muscles even the average Fairy would have, but he works out regularly since he’s on the saucerbee team.

Handedness: Left-handed

Body Language: Usually stiff even around those he’s comfortable with. Movements are softer and less jerky than Anti-Cosmo’s. Keeps his chin up and shoulders back, and often walks or floats with his hands clasped behind his back. Famous for pacing in circles to burn off his frustrations. Those who know him well can usually tell when he’s fronting in the body by his tense, guarded posture (Hiccup tends to be gentle and open).

Hair: Thick black curls that inherited Anti-Wanda’s sleekness rather than Anti-Cosmo’s scruffiness. He has a bald spot in the middle (just behind the two big curls) due to having a scent gland there, like a sugar glider.

Teeth: Has a snaggletooth that pokes over his bottom lip.

Wings: Foop has conversion disorder- He limps slightly on his right side while floating, even though there’s no physical reason for him to do so (Hiccup doesn’t do it). Anti-Fairy pups are born with “imprints” of their parents’ minds on their own, and Foop simply inherited the part of Anti-Cosmo’s brain that limps. Foop hates this detail about his body, but he can’t change his instinct.

Pilot Freckles: _Average dusting on face and throat, light dusting on back of shoulders, heavy dusting on upper arms.

Iris Virus: Inherited

Scars: Scar on neck courtesy of Cavatina

Style: Dresses properly for an Anti-Fairy of his status; strives to be clean and somewhat elegant without straying into tuxedo territory.

Regular Clothing: Black undershirt, black pants, blue sweater vest with purple trim, belt with a skull-shaped buckle, pointy shoes

Casual Clothing: May wear his black shirt or a dark blue one without his sweater vest and without the belt buckle. Usually goes barefoot when in casual clothing.

Nightwear: Often wears purple silk pajamas decorated with little skulls.

Ceremonial Clothing: A yellow leotard designed like a ruffled shirt with gold sequins and a low-cut neck. White cummerbund, white shoes, white bow tie.

Other: He wears a black lab coat while working in his lab. This coat is long and almost always kept open unless someone else points out that he forgot to button it. There are two pockets low on each side with a fifth pocket over his left breast.

Height: 3′6″ (Average for a fae)

Hygiene: _

Morning Schedule: _

Typical Day Schedule: _

Evening Schedule: _

Sleep Schedule: _

PERSONAL

Relationship Status:

Publicly courting Anti-Coriander Anti-Windskimmer; Anti-Marigold Anti-Goldenglow is his secret mistress.

Ideal Relationship: Definitely interested in brains and needs a partner he can banter and scheme with. _.

Sexuality: Sexually attracted to both Seelie and Unseelie Courters; aromantic

Attractiveness: To a degree, Foop is considered attractive in Anti-Fairy society. He’s seen as intelligent, graceful, and clean, which are desirable traits in his culture. However, his patience, tact, and wisdom are lacking, so he loses points in those areas. His temper and pettiness don’t help. Foop is also out of touch with traditional Anti-Fairy culture and tends to rub people the wrong way. He is often judged for choosing to sleep laterally more often than hanging upside-down and criticized for not worshiping in the Zodii temples as often as most Anti-Fairies feel he should. Furthermore, he did not inherit Anti-Cosmo’s large fangs. Kissing is extremely intimate for Anti-Fairies, so they pay a lot of attention to mouths. Foop’s fangs are notably undersized thanks to his will o’ the wisp heritage; some of his peers tease him for “still having his baby fangs.” On top of this, the fact that he has an alternate personality makes many people wary.

Foop is not terribly attractive by Pixie standards for one obvious reason: Pixies value order and he embodies chaos. And also for further obvious reasons: every pixie loathes him after [REDACTED; see Prompt 130, “Final Stand”]. He would not normally be considered attractive in Fairy society either due to his light weight and thin body. Strength is valued more than brains in Fairy culture and he’s lacking in that department. However, his magical strength is indicated by the height his crown floats even if he lacks full control of it. Foop holds high rank in Anti-Fairy society, which contributes to his perceived dominance. Arguably, he’s considered more attractive by the general standards of Fairy culture than by his own, so he has a reputation for being the one anti-fairy his schoolmates would ever consider getting with (Mostly admitted in games like Truth or Dare and Kiss, Marry, Kill- not in polite conversation where such hypotheticals aren’t welcome). He either doesn’t know this or doesn’t care since he has his sights firmly set on Goldie, but Hiccup takes advantage of their good looks from time to time.

That said, Foop is a luz mala: a magical being brought into existence through magical means. His magic is highly unstable and not easily contained; his emotions can radically affect the world around him in ways that unnerve those who utilize wands. Traditionally luz mala have been extremely looked down upon in Fae society, though Poof and Foop themselves have started improving that view thanks to their celebrity statuses. They’re both very open about being luz mala. Poof tries to make luz mala seem less scary while Foop presents himself as more powerful than most, so they’re still at odds with each other, but they’re getting by.

Intimate History: Considers his first sexual experience to be with Anti-Marigold (whom he passed the iris virus to) shortly after he became a legal adult. He considers her his mistress since he is also courting Anti-Coriander, the girl the public expect him to marry and rule alongside someday. Hiccup has gotten around while in control of the body, and Foop has a few scattered memories of those events, but doesn’t consider them to be his own experiences and is uncomfortable when Hiccup’s past partners talk to him as though he’s Hiccup and remembers such things.

For Foop, sex is an absentminded thing. It’s more about scratching the itch his urges fill him with than either emotional bonding or achieving physical pleasure. If he does feel like he’s bonded or enjoyed the experience once it’s over, that’s a bonus but not normally his goal. The way sees it, he has lustful hormones that distract him from his work, so he satisfies them the same way he fills his stomach when it alerts him he’s hungry.

Turn-Ons: While Foop does his fair share of body admiring, he’d never chase after anyone if he wasn’t strongly attracted to their brains. He knows he’s into curves and playing with hair, but with him, foreplay consists mainly of conversation (and bragging). He knows a few physical tricks to excite others, but considers such things predictable and ineffective on himself. Stimulating conversation is the key to his soul, which is why he finds Anti-Marigold more sexually attractive than reserved Anti-Coriander. You... can’t have a short encounter with Foop. He’ll talk your ear off, and if you don’t have the mental stamina to keep up with him, he’ll quickly lose interest.

Kiff-Tie: Not currently tied to a nature spirit, but it’s expected he’ll tie with Winni, the spirit who represents Breath on the Fairy zodiac, when High Count. He is not looking forward to it and plans to avoid it if possible despite literally all of Anti-Fairy society expecting him to be the spirit’s champion in the mortal world.

Honey-Lock Partner: Anti-Marigold Kelsia Anti-Goldenglow

Father: Anti-Cosmo Julius Anti-Cosma (née Anti-Lunifly)

Grandfather: Anti-Robin Anti-Cosma

Grandmother: Anti-Florensa Anti-Lunifly

Uncle: Anti-Robin “Anti-Schnozmo” Anti-Lunifly

Notable Ancestors: Anti-Ky Anti-Braddocki (The first anti-brownie); distantly related to the von Strangle family

Mother: Anti-Wanda Venus Anti-Fairywinkle

Grandfather: Anti-Dusty Anti-Fairywinkle

Grandmother: Anti-Kylia Anti-Swiftspark

Aunt: Anti-Wendy Anti-Fairywinkle

Notable Ancestors: Shylinda Coppertalon (The first High Countess of the Anti-Fairies); Anti-Ilisa Anti-Maddington (The first anti-will o’ the wisp)

Alternate Personality: Anti-Poof “Hiccup” Anti-Cosma-Anti-Fairywinkle

Met in youth

Brother: Anti-Dusty Smoky Anti-Fairywinkle-Anti-Cosma

Met at age 1,007

Girlfriend: Anti-Coriander Cleo Anti-Windskimmer

Met at age 141,266

Mistress: Anti-Marigold Kelsia Anti-Goldenglow

Met in youth

Crush: Goldie Kelsia Goldenglow

Met in youth

Other Important Relationships: _Chloe, Kevin, Caudwell

TRIVIA

The name “Foop” is of Genie origins and translates to “Wolf which runs across the blue moon.” A foop is a magical wolf with a pelt that mirrors the sky, so in “Fairly Odd Fairy Tales,” Foop was quite literally a big bad foop.

Foop is typically associated with plant imagery while Poof is associated with animals.

Like all Anti-Fairy drakes, Foop has a scent gland on his head. He rubs his head against things he considers “his” (such as the door to his lab, his favorite bookshelf, and Anti-Wanda). He doesn’t use it for marking lovers much, although his alternate personality does.

Inherited black hair from his grandparents, but some people speculate he’s illegitimate since both his parents have blue hair; some suspect his true father is Anti-Juandissimo while some suspect his true mother is Anti-Cosmo’s ex-wife, Anti-Saffron. Anti-Cosmo and Anti-Wanda were alone during the pregnancy and birth, after all... It’s a mystery to the public.

Pretty much spent Spellementary School covering Anti-Marigold’s butt, then spent his older school years pulling Poof’s weight. He’s a TA for a reason... He can’t resist correcting answers.

Hates roosting upside-down.

Melts into the sensation of fingers scratching in his fur.

Actually enjoys taking walks; it relaxes him. He’s one of those people who will go out walking late or early in the morning all by himself.

I believe Foop appears in more 130 Prompts than any other character, and rivals H.P. for most appearances total (assuming each Origin of the Pixies chapter is not counted as an individual appearance).

APPEARANCES

Riddleverse Classic Timeline: “No Absolutes” > Identity Theft > “Yellow Flower Number 9” > “Snips and Snails and Puppy Dog Tails” > “Bells On Bats’ Tails” > “Whenever Possible” > “Let’s Speak Vatajasa!” > Hawthorn Haven > Devil’s Backbone

130 Prompts Timeline: “Think Positive” > “Shouldn’t Have Survived” > “Hidden” > “It’s On Now!” > “Not All the Same” > “Lucky” > “Hate Mail” > “Who Am I?” > “Second Chance” > “Naptime” > “Teaming Up” > “Evolution Hopeful” > “This Is a Box” > “Step Back” > “Take a Break” > “Name” > “Final Stand” > “Unwelcome” > “Tools of the Trade” > “Opinion” > “Shadow” > “Live For the Moment” > “Watch and Learn” > “Temptation” > “Mind Your Manners” > “All I Ever Wanted” > “A Family Matter” > “Whisper” > “Forever” > “Revenge” > “Inside > “Trance” > “No Refunds!” > “Piggyback” > “Little Wonders” > “Not Like You” > “Voice” > “Bubbles” > Daddy’s Girl” > “Revenge” > “Can’t” > “Reality Doesn’t Work That Way” > “Reflection”

AU Appearances:

N/A

#RD Foop #RD canon characters #RD character ref #RD profiles #RD AntiFairy stuff

7 notes · View notes