#two super obscure and unrelated things right? so me thinking there would never have been crossover art because of how niche it is was wrong

[xxrat--punkxx]

Posting my silly little zapling Vash on here as well, inspired by sol_rust on Twitter

[purplesurveys]

1678

What are three names you like that start with the same letter as your fist name? Just any variation of Rose, really. Rose, Rosie, Rosalie, Rosalia...I’m not so big on other R names.

How old will you turn on your next birthday? I’ll be 26 but I’ve got around nearly a whole year to go til then.

What are three things you like about your birth month (besides it being the month your birthday is in)? It’s the month I became ARMY, it’s Cooper’s birth month, and the Holy Week lets us have 5-6 days off work.

...and what are three things you dislike about it? IT’S HOT and I can’t think of any other reason. It just gets so unfairly hot.

List three celebrities that are the same height as you. Google tells me Lady Gaga, Ariana Grande, and Reese Witherspoon. The first two I’ve kind of known for a while, but I didn’t know Reese is so tiny?????????

Are you happy with your height, or do you wish you were shorter or taller? Why? I’m fine with being 5′1″. It’s pretty average (for girls) where I’m from, and in fact tall people are such a rarity that people would end up staring at you and pointing out how tall you are every chance they get as if you don’t already know – and I don’t want tallness to be a personality trait of mine hahahaha.

List three celebrities who have the same natural hair color as you. Idk man all the Filams, they’ve all got black hair. Vanessa Hudgens, Darren Criss, Bruno Mars.

Is your hair color natural right now, or is it dyed? It’s dyed but it looks gross now. I’ll dye it back to purple a few days before my trip so my vacation photos can turn out cute.

Which family member did you inherit your hair color from? Doesn’t really work that way with Filipino DNA. You get one choice – black, lol.

List three things in nature that are the same color as your eyes. 👀 Soil, tree trunks, mud.

Are you happy with your current weight, or do you wish you weighed more or less? I’m okay with it, I find it pretty proportionate to my height though I am prone to falling underweight every now and then.

If applicable, how many pounds do you want to lose? I’ve never wanted or striven to lose weight.

How many years has it been since you were last a student enrolled in school? 🏫 It’ll be three years this year.

What was your favorite class in high school? History :)

Section 2 - Family 

(A/N: What was Section 1...?)

Do you have kids, and if so, what are their names? No kids.

Are you closer to your mom or your dad? Dad. He’s away more, but he’s also the easier to talk and relate to.

How many sisters do you have? One.

How many brothers do you have? Also one.

If you had a twin sister, what would she be named? No idea but that’s a good question; I’d love to get my parents’ thoughts on that. How many dogs have you had in your lifetime? 🐶 We’ve had three, including the two we currently have. :)

How many cats have you had in your lifetime? 🐈 One, Arlee.

Do you prefer dogs or cats? Dogs.

How many dogs have you had that probably would have been diagnosed with ADHD had they been human? What a random question, lol. Idk probably Cooper, but only in certain scenarios. He’s considerably chilled out over the last year.

What is your favorite dog breed? Aspin, if they count.

Who in your family is or was the same height as you? Not sure. Everyone is ever so slightly taller than me LOL

Where was your dad born? The Philippines, I’m not specifying where.

Where was your mom born? ^ Same.

Where were you born? Manila.

Using a flag emoji, which country were you born in? 🇵🇭

...and which country do you currently live in? 🇵🇭

Using flag emojis, what is your nationality? 🇵🇭

Using a flag emoji, what is the origin of your last name? 🇪🇸🇵🇹

Have you ever met anyone unrelated to you that had the same last name as you? Yes. It’s not a super popular surname, but it does come around every once in a while. It’s not entirely obscure.

How many sister-in-laws do you have? Well in an arbitrary sense, one. She’s technically going to be a cousin-in-law as she’s my cousin’s fiancée, but that cousin is much like an older brother so I usually consider and mention her as a future sister-in-law.

How many brother-in-laws do you have? None.

How many nieces do you have? None.

How many nephews do you have? Also none. My generation of siblings and cousins is taking it super slow haha.

How many of your grandparents are still living? Three of them. I lost my maternal grandpa in 2015.

As far as you know, what types of cancer are in your family? No clue. My family doesn’t like talking about the disease and just refers to it as ‘c-word,’ and never goes into specifics, so I don’t actually know if it runs in the family and if it does, what type/s.

Section 3 - Talents

What are three things you are good at? Writing, researching, reading people.

Can you touch your nose to your tongue? 👅👃 Nope. I’ve tried too many times to try it again just now, but I know I can’t.

Can you wiggle your ears? 👂 No and I’ve only ever known one person who can – my uncle.

Can you lick your elbow? I can’t.

Can you do the splits? Nah. I tried to be able to do it as a kid, but the skill isn’t for me.

Can you bend over and touch your toes? I also can’t, unless they’re far enough apart.

Are you double-jointed? I’m not.

Can you bend your tongue into a clover? ☘️ 👅 No. I can do the U-shape but that’s it, no other shapes.

What are three of your favorite creative hobbies? Can past hobbies count? I used to do embroidery and coloring :) These days I’ve been making bracelets – I plan to give them out as freebies during the Yoongi concert and it’s been more fun than I expected! I’ve currently made 45 bracelets but I’ve got a ways to go since I actually plan on giving out 100. Maybe even more if I happen to have some time (and beads) left. But with only around a little over two weeks left before the show, we’ll have to wait and see. Are you good at taking pictures? 📸 My camera is good at taking photos, but I’m not. I never did get the hang of angles and photo editing and such.

What are three things you've been complimented on? Writing, work ethic, speaking skills.

What are three of your favorite things to do? WRITING, watching documentaries and vlogs, going to coffee shops.

What is your dream job? Doing PR for a company/brand I admire.

...and are you currently working in your dream job? Not exactly, no. It’s the same job, just not *where* I particularly want to be.

Section 4 - Religion and Spirituality

Do you consider yourself spiritual? No.

Do you consider yourself religious? Not at all.

What do you think of when you hear the word "religious"? Rules.

What do you think of when you hear the word "spirituality"? Those people who are into yoga and crystals.

Do you have a positive or negative view of the word "religion"? Mostly negative. Then again my experience has been largely around Christianity which is the main contributor to the way I view religion. I can’t really speak for how I view other religions; the topic in general is just so broad.

Do you have a positive or negative view of the word "spiritual"? Neutral with a dash of, “I really don’t buy it.” Who is the most spiritual person you know? Some celebrity I got to work with for one of my previous accounts. I once had dinner with her and she went on and on about her crystals and meditation and getting in touch with her soul, and I just had to politely nod my head and go “Ooh” and “Ahh” for like 3 hours. Don’t get me wrong lol it was a genuinely good conversation but not nearly enough to convince me still.

When was the last time you stepped foot inside of a church? ⛪️ Two Sundays ago. We attend church weekly, but I say two Sundays ago because I happened to be at a work event last weekend.

Do you regularly attend church? Why or why not? ⛪️ Yes. My mom is religious and takes the whole family to church. On my part though I ditched religion and stopped listening to the service since I was 10.

Have you ever been to a mosque? 🕌 I haven’t, but when I went to Malaysia which I believe is largely Muslim, I learned about the concept of prayer rooms and found it very fascinating. That was my biggest takeaway when we went to Legoland hahahaha it wasn’t even any of the rides or the LEGO exhibits :((

Have you ever been to a synagogue? 🕍 Nope. Judaism is relatively weak in this part of the world, so haven’t had a lot of exposure besides its ties to Christianity.

What is the symbol for the religion or spirituality that you practice, if applicable? I don’t practice Christianity but considering it’s my religion at the very least in the legal sense – cross.

What is your favorite religious holiday? I don’t have any.

If applicable, does your faith mean a lot to you? Not applicable.

Do you ever feel embarrassed or hesitant to tell others what you believe, for fear of being judged? No, I’ve never found it difficult to say I’m atheist.

Do you have the same worldview as your parents? Probably not.

If applicable, what is your favorite version of the Bible to read? 📖 Idk I never paid attention to the different versions.

Have you ever read the entire Bible? I tried when I was much younger but I got bored a few books into the Old Testament. My memory of the four Gospels is pretty sharp, though, considering we read them daily throughout elementary and high school.

...and if so, how many times have you done it? I’ve never read the Bible in its entirety but as for the Gospels I went over those every single day for like 10 years.

If applicable, what are three of your favorite Christian songs? I don’t have any particular favorites but I remember liking those where you can do a second voice just because they’re fun to do and makes you feel like you’re good at singing hahaha.

Have you ever attended a Christian school? 🏫 I went to Catholic school for 14 years, yes.

How often do you pray? 🙏 Never.

Do you own a set of prayer beads? 📿 You mean like a rosary? No.

Have you ever danced in church? 💃 I have not.

Have you ever been baptized, and if so, where and how were you baptized? 🌊 Yup, I received a Catholic baptism when I was a little over a month old.

For a church, what is your favorite denomination? I don’t have a favorite denomination. Do people have favorites for this sort of thing?

Have you ever been filled with the Holy Spirit? Uh...

Do you believe that speaking in tongues is a real thing? No. I never did know what that means.

Do you have any art on your walls that has a Scripture on it, and if so, which one? No, but we have a portrait of the Last Supper in the kitchen and a crucifix in each room.

Section 5 - Politics

How many presidential elections have you voted in? 🗳️ Twice! First in 2016, then in 2022.

Do you support the First Amendment? (The First Amendment gives us the freedom of religion and freedom of speech). The what?

What is your country's flag? The Philippine flag. White side triangle, three yellow stars and a sun, blue over red.

Would you ever consider going into politics? Kind of. I very briefly considered becoming a lawyer before I realized how much I hate debating and how I’m not likely to survive recitals and regular humiliation from law professors.

Do you engage in political discussions on social media? If I absolutely give a shit about whatever issue is at hand, yes. I’ve gotten into discussions with cousins with whom I didn’t necessarily agree.

Are you happy with the current state of your nation? The current president is the son of That Dictator, I could never be happy about it. But apart from him, the country has long been rampant with corruption anyway so there was never anything to be happy about in the first place.

I have a friend who thinks the government is going to kill us all. Do you believe the government is going to kill us all? I believe they are very well capable of doing so. They have done it in the past, what’s going to stop them from doing it again?

Section 6 - Health

How many different medications do you normally take daily? 💊 I don’t take any.

What is the worst side effect or withdrawal effect that you've ever experienced from a medication? Feeling like death after each of my Covid vaccine doses and boosters. I felt like my skin was glass so I couldn’t move for like 12 hours.

Which medication(s) do you hate the most, and why? I never really hated any that I’ve had to take.

Which medication(s) do you feel have helped you the most, and why? I remember when I had my UTI in 2020 and the first doctor I went to (also a family friend) prescribed me medicine that did not do JACK SHIT, and I continued feeling like a corpse in the 2-3 days I was taking the medication. Angela’s mom who’s a pediatrician was worried sick about me and went ahead and gave me a different prescription, which worked in LITERALLY like half an hour. That was the closest to magic I’ve ever felt lmao; I continue to feel so grateful to her for the help.

What health conditions (that you know of) do you have? Scoliosis.

What are you allergic to? Grass, if anything. My skin feels irritated by it in the most random scenarios.

How many different primary care doctors have you had in your lifetime? None. I always go to different ones.

Have you ever received a dismissal letter from a doctor's office? Nope.

Is your current doctor a male or female? I don’t have a main one.

Do you prefer male or female doctors? Why? I don’t care for the most part.

Have you ever been refused treatment at a doctor's office or hospital? 🏥 No.

What is the most significant health issue you are dealing with right now? Probably my scoliosis.

What, if any, are some health issues you've had in the past that you don't deal with anymore? None. Most of my issues have been short-term, like when I had low platelet count and had to be admitted overnight.

How is your mental health? How has it been lately? It’s stable, to be generous about it. I’m just relieved to be no longer experiencing breakdowns and panic attacks which used to be an everyday thing.

[crusherthedoctor]

Sonic Villains: Sweet or Shite? - Part 15: DR. EGGMAN

There are some villains I like. And there are some villains I don’t like. But why do I feel about them the way I do? That’s where this comes in.

This is a mini-series of mine, in which I go into slightly more detail about my thoughts on the villains in the Sonic the Hedgehog franchise, and why I think they either work well, or fall flat (or somewhere in-between). I’ll be giving my stance on their designs, their personalities, and what they had to show for themselves in the game(s) they featured in. Keep in mind that these are just my own personal thoughts. Whether you agree or disagree, feel free to share your own thoughts and opinions! I don’t bite. :>

Anyhow, for today’s installment, it’s finally time for him. The bad doctor himself. Gather round ladies and gentleman, for the spotlight is on the arch-villain that shines above them all... Dr. Eggman.

The Gist: It's the dawn of the 90's. A little company called SEGA had an ephiphany. They wanted to make a video game juggernaut that could rival the quality and iconic appeal of the then-unmatched Super Mario Bros, and their current star, Alex Kidd, just wasn't doing it in the way that they hoped. They promptly set about starting anew, as a worldwide phenomenon wasn't going to make itself.

So a gentleman named Naoto Ohshima created a selection of design concepts for this brand new mascot. One of these concepts was President Roosevelt in his pajamas.

Seen here with his catgirl body pillow.

The response to this character was “This is good, but we think kids would prefer kicking the shit out of him”, and so he was given an antagonistic role instead. In the meantime, after juggling the rest of their ideas, they eventually settled on a rabbit hedgehog named Sonic for their main protagonist, knowing his Mickey Mouse-like aesthetic would help endear him to the audience, and the franchise as a whole would have an easier time gaining a DeviantART fanbase later on down the line.

Initially, the character of today's review was but a mere lackey among many, seemingly little more than one of numerous minions working for Sonic's originally intended main villain, the Nonspecific Goblin. He was also dressed as a bee for some reason.

Which is the least weirdest thing in this image.

At some point however, they all got together and decided that actually, the guy with the moustache was the only one worth shit, and so he was upgraded to the role of main villain himself. With a spiffy new attire of red and black, he was given the bold title of Dr. Eggman, because with a shape like that, what else are you gonna call him?

“Funny you should say that”, laughed SEGA of America, as they rebelled like an angsty teen and named him Dr. Ivo Robotnik instead. While this name does make equal sense for the character, as he is indeed a hard worker who also happens to like robots, the reason for this name's existence seems to have been mainly because they thought Eggman was too out there of a name for an egg-like man. Whatever the case, this would confuse a lot of fans for years, and remains a point of divisiveness to this day... Unless you're like me and your first game in the series was Advance 2, in which the manual clears it up right away, and you accept the idea of a character having two names and immediately carry on with your life.

He would have aimed it perfectly if it weren't for the Sonic Heroes Parrot distracting him.

And that was that, really. It didn't take long for them to come up with his characterization, which was that of a cackling fiend with an ego to end all egos. This guy was the Narcissist Alpha, more king than actual kings, no strings attached. Other villains would build statues of themselves, but only Robotnik would deface Ancient Egyptian monuments to improve them with his face. Other villains would think “Nah, refacing all four in Rushmore would look silly”, but only the Eggman, the Eggmyth, the Egglegend, would go “Well fuck you, I'm doing it anyway.” Then he'd do it anyway, and proceed to address to the entire world that he did in fact do it anyway.

It also didn't take long for them to develop his primary schtick. With the dynamic of Sonic VS Eggman, you had a classic rivalry between nature and technology. Interestingly enough however, this turned out to be executed more tactfully than your typical Amish-abiding examples in similar media. Never was technology itself regarded as a corruptive influence that you should never utilise no matter what. Rather, it was only as good or as evil as the person using it, with it just so happening that the villain loved machinery only slightly less than he loved himself, and it was countered by Sonic’s best friend being a techno wiz in his own right anyway. Anyhow, with his machinery, the doctor would make a name for himself among video game baddies by confronting his enemy as the boss of nearly every zone in each game, rather than hide away until the endgame.

And all without a driver's licence.

In his soon-to-be-30 years of activity, he has largely remained the same since his inception. Other characters have been introduced, other villains have came and went, but Eggman has remained THE villain of the franchise, and he's remained a vital part of the Sonic the Hedgehog universe... with a slight redesign along the way.

The only ad I don't want to skip.

The Design: Eggman's design may be more simplistic than the likes of Bowser and Ganondorf, and he may not look as openly threatening at first glance, but it's still a very iconic look no matter what look it is. His original appearance was devised so that kids could have an easy time drawing him, which only makes me feel worse about not being able to do it as a grown adult without it looking like a Sexy Legs Kirby.

Still, it's a classic for a reason. With his to-the-point colour scheme, contrasting heavily with Sonic's blue, and his capelet collar resembling walrus tusks, it was an instant winner and made everyone goo goo for g'joob.

The Emeralds he’s juggling are a metaphor for the divided fan community.

And when it was time to give the cast an update for Sonic's first real 3D adventure (or at least the first one that didn't get axed for being a magic eye seizure), Eggman got a respectable change of his own. He was taller, his getup was militaristic, and his body was more legitimately egg-shaped rather than basketball-shaped. He also gained a pair of goggles that he never uses, except in scenes where he puts them on and then never uses them.

“How do my chicken legs not collapse under the might of my gluttonous mass? Find out in an unrelated tie-in novel that you have to pay additional money for.”

There was also that one redesign from 2006, but...

Be it Classic or Modern, I've always loved his design. Before he even says a word or does anything, you know from his appearance that he's a bit of a clownish sort. But he also has a subtle creepy vibe going on, with the way his glasses often obscure his eyes, and how this only makes the pearly-white, unnecessarily wide grin on his face that much more empty and unsettling. This little bit of eeriness hiding among his cartoonish physique reflects the full extent of his character pretty accurately, as we’ll delve into soon enough.

If nothing else, it's more effective than him having no eyes at all.

GRRRRRRRR FUCK YOU BUNNIES THAT I CAN'T SEE

The Personality: If you've seen my villain reviews, then you'll have gathered that Sonic's rogues aren't known for having much in the way of personality. There are exceptions, but they are indeed the exceptions. More often than not though, whether it's an alien conquerer, an ancient monster, or Dan Green the Recolour, they can be summed up thusly: They're evil, they want to destroy the world, and the heroes stop them because they're evil and want to destroy the world. If they're feeling particularly daring, they might go for a second colour.

Luckily, as if to counter all these cardboard drawings, the central adversary of the franchise makes up for these voids of personality by actually having one. And what a personality it is.

The writers of SatAM looked at this and thought “No, this won't do, there's no character to work with here.”

He really is brimming with comedic charm. Every moment that he's present...

Every moment that he shows off...

Every moment that he basks in his own glory...

Every moment that he unveils a new wicked scheme...

Every moment that he puts his enemies to the test...

Every moment that he challenges the world...

Every moment that he laughs at the world...

Every moment that he lives, nay, every moment that he breathes...

Yes, the man has plenty of humor, and it's part of what makes him so enjoyable and memorable. However, if you think being a clown is all there is to him, then prepare to have your expectations subverted initial assumptions taken in a unexpected direction, because although he puts the goof in goofy, he ALSO puts the “oh...?” in “oh shit”.

For you see, Eggman is by all means the epitome of Laughably Evil, but do not, under any circumstance, take him at face value and write him off as a joke. He is anything but.

For starters, he can swing a planet.

There is a rule of thumb that I personally go by with Eggman’s characterization, one that I believe is an immediate make or break factor in regards to whether or not you understand what makes this villain work. Eggman - when you put all his secondary traits aside - is made up of two prominent halves. There’s the egocentric meme machine that bounces up and down like a kid with his N64 and laughs like Santa... and there’s the monster buried within that remains completely and utterly unrepentant for everything he’s responsible for. This is very important. Despite the character’s simplicity at his core, many writers have failed to grasp this, official writers included, and I for the life of me cannot understand why this is such a recurring problem. Eggman is funny, AND Eggman is evil. Both are equal. When you take away one or the other, you may have a funny character, or you may have an evil character, but you don’t have Eggman. Simple as.

Armchair intellectuals may argue that Eggman’s deeds aren’t that evil, since he tends to be merely callous rather than actively trying to hurt or kill people. Those people are probably the types on TV Tropes who weigh a villain’s evilness and effectiveness purely through the surface-level scale of their goals rather than what they actually do to achieve them. While it is true that Eggman tends to be more apathetic about the aftermath of his actions, that doesn’t - and shouldn’t - negate how dangerous he is. It shouldn’t negate what he’s capable of. It shouldn’t negate how far he’s willing to go. And it shouldn’t negate the consequences and casualties that can and do result from his many schemes.

Seriously, think about this for a second. If you confronted Eggman about his current plan to... I dunno, make a water park in Africa or some shit, and you informed him that there has been unexpected mass suffering as a result of this, how do you think he would truly feel about that? What do you think he would actually say to that?

Spoiler: No fucks.

If anything, that he “merely” doesn’t care either way as long as he gets what he wants is more uniquely horrific and deplorable than if he were a generic baddie who committed his evulz specifically for evulz’s own sake and nothing more. At least you’re inadvertently acknowledging that other people’s lives have value when you act one-dimensionally gleeful over ending them, but when your immediate response to the side-effect of a million potential deaths and environmental disasters is “Oh well, fuck ‘em, Eggmanland time baybeeee”, that’s a new level of cruelty.

Besides, even in the Genesis era, he was carpet bombing Angel Island...

“Good thing I have this shield. Sucks to be this forest!”

And he’s only gotten worse since then, indulging in such acts as going full suicide bomber with a missile, after his initial plot to destroy and rebuild Station Square through the means of Chaos and the Egg Carrier didn’t work out...

But don’t worry, he kept it lighthearted by making it look like a penis.

Making one of Sonic’s friends go insane with power against their will, forcing the Blue Blur to put them down personally...

It’s ironic, cause he’s metal. Or do I have to awkwardly explain the joke two more times before I’m a proper YouTuber?

Capturing thousands of innocent aliens, and forcefully converting them into mindless beasts...

I’m pretty sure I saw Alfred Molina conduct this experiment one time.

He even removed the heroes’ collective IQs so that he could shoehorn a cliffhanger on an already terrible game.

Thanks, cunt.

And honestly? When it comes to Sonic and chums at least, Eggman does let out a more openly sadistic side now and then. Need I mention that time when the doctor forced Sonic and two random buddies to make their way through a trap-infested island of his own creation? Not for the sake of nabbing Chaos Emeralds or anything of the sort mind you, he just wanted the blue motor mouth to suffer.

Images you can hear.

To make matters even worse, as befitting of his manchild tendencies, he’s ridiculously petty. How petty? Petty enough to abduct a little girl’s mother for no other reason than because Cheese completely trivialized his forces the girl was friends with Sonic and helped participate in the latest kicking of his own ass.

He only picked Vanilla because there was no Strawberry.

But at least his captives can admire the sheer variety that their captor has to offer. One of the greatest things about the doctor's style is that anything goes. With all due respect to Bowser, he tends to stick with his fiery castles (although he has been branching out recently), and plenty of other villains in gaming tend to be similarly stuck in their ways when it comes to tastes. Eggman, on the other hand, will create all sorts of fortresses and reside anywhere on the planet and beyond. It can be in the sky, in space, somewhere hot, somewhere cold, under the sea, in a circus... and every now and then, he might combine some of them together and thensome. So long as it's even vaguely mechanical in some way, his ground rules have already been ticked off.

Hang on a minute...

You know what else Eggman is? Relentless.

Persistence is a quality that most villains by their very nature share, lest they cease to be an effective antagonist. But once again, Rrrrrrrobotnik maxes out more than any other, and will often go to insane lengths to keep the current plan going, or if not that, then to spite Sonic.

Exhibit A: Sonic 3 & Knuckles, in which the grand finale consists of the madman throwing a gravity-shifting contraption your way, busting out a Kaiju-sized robo, escaping with the Master Emerald after his defeat, continuing to escape even after the Death Egg has been thoroughly destroyed, getting chased through the asteroid fields in space by Super Sonic, and only finally going down when the escape craft and the piloted mech controlling the escape craft are down. And all of this came after a grand adventure where, among other things, he destroyed an entire level just to kill you.

There are immortal omnipotents that put up less of a challenge.

“Looks like it’s time for Plan... *checks paper*... F.”

His relentlessness also reveals another side of the doctor that is simultaneously admirable and terrifying: He bows to no one. No one. Doesn’t matter who it is. Doesn’t matter how powerful they are. Doesn’t matter how much the odds are stacked against him. If another villain were to demand that he cower before them, the scientist would laugh and show through physical demonstration that this is not the way the egg rolls. Unless he’s absolutely unable to do so, he will give it his all every time, and even if he can’t, he’ll use his crafty mind to find some other way to get around the issue. You can beat him in battle, you can foil his plans, but you absolutely cannot break his resolve.

“Dad said it’s my turn to play with the Ruby. I know this, because I’m your dad.”

What about his relationship with those who actually serve him? Specifically, his own robots? Well for the most part, he treats them like absolute crap, what with verbally abusing them at every corner and being all too willing to go full Vader on them the moment they mess up. He IS capable of expressing fondness and giving praise to his more successful creations, like with Metal Sonic and Gamma, but even then, it’s a roundabout way of praising himself, since he’s the one who made them what they are. So basically, you’re only valuable to him if you make him look good.

Gaming in the Clinton Years in a nutshell.

And as for Sonic? Yeah, like with any legendary and long-lasting hero/villain dynamic, it’s obvious that Eggman has some degree of begrudging respect for his opponent. But if you think this respect would dissuade him from actually going through with his ambitions of rulership...

As the hedgehog’s apparent demise in Sonic Adventure 2 proves, as well as his defeat at the hands of Infinite and the subsequent six months of brutal conquest in Sonic Forces, Eggman is dead serious about his goals. If you think he’d get bored after conquering the world, he would simply expand his resources and have a crack at conquering the rest of the universe. When he says he hates that hedgehog, I’m inclined to believe that he means it, and although he may enjoy his “games” with Sonic to an extent, I also can’t see him wanting to remain stuck on square one forever.

If this were Sonic X, he’d just grieve.

By the way, the scene above? Undeniable proof that for all the doctor’s boasting, he’s not actually lying or exaggerating when he prides himself on his brilliance. Because when you get past his goofy exterior, when you look beyond the occasional, relatively minor mistake (*glares at IDW*), you’ll see that... yes. He IS brilliant. And not just in the science department either, although his countless robots and strongholds over the years are no doubt a testament to his credentials there. While he may prefer to go in big and bold, he can also be shrewd with his strategies when he wants to be.

Sonic’s aforementioned near-death experience, for example, was the result of Eggman turning the heroes’ own cunning plan on its head by being one step ahead of them. And in Sonic Unleashed, he lured his enemy into a trap, culminating with him cancelling out Super Sonic.

“...and pay the price for your Werehog gameplay...”

And after all those years of struggling, he finally got a giant monster under his complete control. “But he had help!”, you say? Yeah, from himself.

Did Flynn sleep through all this...?

Much like his inner nature as an evil bastard, Eggman's effectiveness is likewise commonly underestimated by writers. Yes, he occasionally makes mistakes. Yes, he occasionally overlooks details. Yes, he occasionally lacks foresight. But he is NOT stupid. A hero is only as good as their villain after all, and if Eggman is portrayed as a bumbling fool, then how can Sonic be a truly great hero? Eggman is humorous, sinister, and when the chips are down, competent.

...Did I mention that he's also a master Olympian?

The Execution: There's no surprises here. You knew from the moment you saw this review that my stance wasn't going to be anything less than 100% fanboy adoration. In that respect, this section almost feels redundant, because there's only so many ways I can say “Dr. Eggman is the fucking shit and I'm eternally grateful to Mr. Ohshima for bringing this absolute masterpiece into our world” without it getting repetitive. So to cap this review off, I'm going to very briefly compare his portrayals in other media, and explain why they tend to not be as good as the original SEGA Eggman.

“Cause they’re not balanced, right?” you ask. “Cause they veer too far in a particular direction? You're so predictable,” you add. To that I say:

1. Yeah, basically.

2. ...S-Shut up...

3. While the conclusion may be obvious, it's nonetheless important because as I mentioned previously, despite how straightforward this villain is, writers seem absolutely intent on not getting the point. There are loads of villains out there who share Eggman's talent of mixing hilarity and evil together with a bow of competence on top. Two of those villains are among the most famous supervillains of all time, in fact. You might have heard of them.

Joker can do it just fine. Green Goblin can do it just fine. And plenty of others can do it just fine. So why is it such an issue with Eggman? What is it about a round body and a long moustache that gets people to think “No, this guy is absolutely incapable of being comedic and threatening at the same time, no question, end of.” Is it because he’s a more cartoony franchise? Well, that can't be the case, because even Mario has a couple of beloved examples. Fawful, anyone? How about Dimentio? Cackletta? King Boo? K. Rool? Hell, you could even count Bowser himself depending on the portrayal.

Anyway, the point is, writers tend to miss the mark for one reason or another. With Sonic X for example, he wasn't too bad in the beginning, but as the show went on, he became exactly the toothless non-villain that many people misjudge him as. We all know that scene where he berates Black Narcissus for harming their captives (not for pragmatic reasons mind you, he genuinely took issue with the act on moral grounds, even though his own hands weren’t exactly clean either), but even before that point, he was doing such things as healing an injured Sonic without an ulterior motive, not taking any opportunity whatsoever to start conquering Sonic's world because he was pining for Sonic's attention, and being the Jiminy Cricket to Chris Thorndyke's Pinocchio. Why they thought the goddamn villain should be the moral conscience of this show remains an unanswered question, but at least it no longer influences how he's portrayed in the games.

Then you have the IDW comic, which is a similar tale of starting off decent and then careening wildly into the abyss, but for different reasons. Initially, he was built up to be in-line with his competent, foresight-packed self from Forces, with his inevitable return being met with dread, and a delightfully devilish scheme to match when he finally did so. But somewhere along the way, Ian Flynn thought that Eggman coming back from his amnesiac period and returning stronger than ever with a new minion and a deadly virus wasn't enough to up the stakes... so they decided to “up the stakes” by turning both the doctor and his new minion into massive imbeciles so as to justify their plot getting hijacked by the Deadly Six, a move so predictable yet infuriating that it got even me to turn against the Six. And the reason the Six got invited in-universe is because Starline decided he didn’t like being unique and devolved into Snively 2.0 behind Eggman’s back. All this from the alleged “best writer” for the series...

Yeah, same.

And then you have the Boom version, which shares basically the same issues as Sonic X but in a more mundane fashion. It's easier to dismiss because it's a comedy-centric show and his redesign makes it easier to separate him from mainline Eggman, and I'll gladly admit that he does have a lot of genuinely funny lines that redeem him a little bit. But yeah, too much of not being a true villain for my tastes.

Now this isn't to say that there haven't been portrayals in other media that are up there with the original. The versions that I consider better off than the ones above include...

- The OVA Eggman is pretty faithful all things considered, aside from his romantic feelings for Sara, which feels slightly off since the idea of Eggman loving anyone other than himself is incredibly unrealistic at best. But it doesn't actually soften or undermine his deviousness, so I'm willing to let it slide for an alternate take. Especially since he gave us the best Metal Sonic out there.

- AoStH is far from a perfect show, but there's a reason why even its detractors tend to treat its version of Robotnik like a national treasure. Admittedly most of that is because of the legendary Long John Baldry and the endless memes associated with this incarnation, but despite hailing from a comedy-focused show like Boom Eggman, this Robotnik still had a lot of legitimately dangerous moments, more than you'd think.

- And of course, Jim Carrey's Robotnik in the Sonic movie is just... *chef's kiss*

So obvious aesop though it may be, but you see what the more effective portrayals have in common, I assume?

Granted, this also isn't to say that SEGA Eggman himself has had a perfect track record. The decade's worth of upstagings and backstabbings by other villains should be enough of a counterpoint to that claim, and I've also made it clear now and then that I take issue with certain games regarding what they do with the doc, no matter how revered they may be by other fans. Sonic Adventure 2, for instance. I praised the fake emerald scene, and I do sincerely believe that he has a number of other badass moments in that game, but because Shadow was playing him like a fool the whole time, I can't help but have a bitter taste in my mouth when I look at the bigger picture.

So close to greatness, yet so far...

So in that case, which game do I think has Eggman's best showing overall? That's not in any way an easy question, but lack of dialogue aside, I'm gonna go with Sonic 3 & Knuckles again, as the classic journey through the sights of Angel Island plays out in a way that highlights just how determined, ruthless, and underhanded he is with carrying out his mission to revive the Death Egg by any means necessary. Other games do win out in other areas - SA1 for how bastardly he is, Forces for how cunning he is, Colours for his hilarious announcements, CD for using the scenery to show the effects of his actions, Mania for not letting the other villain walk all over him - but for the purest essence of the doctor at his cartoony yet competent best, I'd say S3&K is a reasonable bet.

And when it comes to all his many traits, which one do I find the most special one of all? Well again, far from easy to answer, but I think the coolest aspect about him is also one of the most overlooked. Robotnik, despite whatever superhuman qualities he may occasionally unveil, is for all intents and purposes a regular guy with a big brain. This might make him appear unimpressive when compared to your average Final Fantasy villain and the like, but if anything, it paints him in a more flattering light than expected, because he doesn't even need to be on their level to still be on the radar. It's easy to be a big bad threat when you're an ancient demon or an almighty god-like being, and you only have to wave a hand to cause armageddon. But when you're just Some Guy™ going up against superpowered opponents, meaning you have to earn your threat level the hard way, and you prove to be a challenge every step of the way regardless, because you're just THAT much of a genius... that's fucking awesome, no other way to put it.

And you know what else is awesome? You may not like Eggman, and you don’t have to like him, but like it or not, he is directly and indirectly responsible for a vast majority of the coolest and most loved moments and aspects of this franchise.

The opening to Unleashed? Eggman set up the scene.

Shadow running around and continuing to be part of the franchise? Eggman released him.

Blaze getting involved with Sonic’s world and continuing to be part of the franchise? Eggman’s half-responsible for that.

Metal Sonic? Eggman made him.

Egg Dragoon? Eggman.

Big Arm? Eggman.

Monkey Dude? Eggman.

That text is missing a blue checkmark.

This review is probably longer than the echidna family tree in Archie at this point, so I better finish it off. If it wasn't obvious from all the paragraphs I've belted out in this post, I'm very passionate about Eggman and the way he’s portrayed. Ever since I got into the Sonic franchise in 2003, I immediately took a liking to the doctor, and to this day, he remains not only my favourite Sonic villain, my favourite Sonic character, but also my favourite character period. Some may find it a weird or lame choice compared to other, “better” characters, but that's the way it is, and I ain't about to change it. I am very unlikely to ever stop enjoying the hell out of this villain, and even if he got irreversibly ruined in some way, I'd still continue to love what he was before that point.

Because yeah, he's not the deepest character ever, but... who cares? Is it not enough that we find something that appeals to us? When I got into Sonic, I was introduced to fantastic games, a likable cast, high quality soundtracks, beautiful worlds, numerous friends on this very site, and of course, the lovely treasure that is my partner. I may not have been with this franchise during the 90's, but it's given me just as much fun, nostalgia, and happiness as those who were. Despite the flawed titles, despite the fandom conundrums, I still love this series.

And I still love this absolute prick.

Crusher Gives Dr. Eggman a: TWO Thumbs Up!

[bigskydreaming]

Big Jason stans on twitter have been talking about a character named Eddie Bloomberg being Jason's friend, and since you know more about older comics than most I was wondering if you had any thoughts about it.

Eddie Bloomberg is a character known as Kid Devil, the sidekick of relatively low-profile mystical/supernatural hero known as Blue Devil. Though ironically, for a large part of both characters’ existence, their personas were only thematic and they had no actual mystical/supernatural powers or connection - those were added to both characters in later years. Originally, Blue Devil was a stuntman who just designed his own devil-themed costume to fight crime because like, why not, basically. LOL. And Eddie was basically a fanboy who snuck into his workshop and designed his own Red Devil/Kid Devil costume/armor along similar lines. Years later, long after Jason’s death and return and completely unrelated to it, Eddie made a literal deal with a devil, aka Neron, to get actual powers. And this resulted in him gaining a demonic appearance and related powers.....though later on it was also revealed that his powers weren’t actually given to him by Neron, rather he’d had a dormant metahuman gene all along that Neron just activated and kinda tweaked to make the resulting powers seem supernatural/occult related.

Eddie’s a fun character and there is actual canon basis for him and Jason being friends, going way back, and so I vastly prefer people going with him as Jason’s BFF over say, Roy......like, back in the day, Jason and Eddie were literal pen pals. And I do mean literal. Like we’re talking pre-email days, old school letter writing back and forth pen pals. We saw very little of their actual friendship, but like I’m always talking about with the relative lack of interactions between Dick and Jason back then....this isn’t truly indicative of anything other than a lack of places to SHOW these relationships. 

There were waaaaay fewer titles back then, there was no solo Robin title to show what Jason was up to when he wasn’t with Bruce, and thus the only instance I can ever think of when we actually saw Jason and Eddie teaming up together, actually happened in one issue of the Blue Devil comic book from way back when. But again - purely logistical. Doesn’t mean they weren’t actually good friends, and there’s really nothing standing in the way of assuming they had a ton more interactions just like that but offscreen, as it were.

Also, this limited interaction took place BEFORE Jason was retconned to have his street kid origin, but that doesn’t actually mean Jason and Eddie’s friendship was ever retconned at all. 

See, it was actually pretty confusing, but while post Crisis on Infinite Earths, Jason’s origin was definitively the one where he was jacking the Batmobile’s tires, and then after this point only spanned less than twenty issues before his death in ADITF......this doesn’t mean that Jason’s tenure as Robin was ever limited to JUST the events of those twenty or so issues. When they retconned his origin, they did it in such a way as to allow for pretty much every single story Jason had already been in PRIOR to that....to still have happened. Literally the only stories of his that were ever ACTUALLY retconned were the ones that pertained directly to his pre-Crisis origin as another circus kid like Dick.

Basically, the way they pulled this off was via the usage of one single caption box. At the start of the issue where Dick and Jason ‘meet for the first time,’ post-Crime Alley retcon. That issue, which is basically right at the start of Jason’s ‘new’ run as a street kid turned Robin, opens with the caption box “One year ago.” By doing this, they basically just inserted that new origin for Jason as one book-end to his time as Robin....with ADITF twenty or so issues later being the other book-end to his time as Robin obviously.

But IN BETWEEN those book-ends was contained not JUST the twenty issues between them.....but ALSO, every Jason-as-Robin story from pre-Crisis, except for his actual pre-Crisis origin story. The proof of this lies in the fact that even long after ADITF, hell, even after Jason’s return as the Red Hood.....canon kept citing specific stories of Jason’s from pre-Crisis. Like when he fought Tim at Titans’ Tower and he mentioned having briefly been a Titan...that was a definitive reference to the pre-Crisis stories where he teamed up with the Titans, once with the Fab Five in Dick’s place, and then again not longer after, to help the Titans rescue Dick and Raven from the Church of Blood. Those are the literal only two stories where Jason was ever a Titan or associated with them, and they’re squarely smack in the pre-Crisis era......but they remained canon even after Jason’s origin was retconned, because THEY weren’t retconned with that origin....they were just kinda...shuffled around a bit.

Same thing with Jason and Eddie. Even after Crisis and the Crime Alley retcon for Jason, they still were definitely friends during his time as Robin, though this never actually came up in any of the issues between Jason’s new origin and ADITF. But it was referenced once or twice since then, by Eddie I believe, so again, like the missions Jason made with the Titans and the times Dick and Jason did hang out and get along, etc, etc....these things were always definitively part of canon and were never once actually retconned before the New 52 Reboot as a whole.

So yeah, its true, Eddie was Jason’s friend and there’s canon basis for that. I’m gonna be totally honest here, my main gripe with the Jason and Eddie BFF connection is purely petty - it bugs me slightly, Jason stans’ awareness of it at all, because although it was there, we’re talking a time literally concurrent with the stories where, y’know, Dick fluffed Jason’s hair and told him if Bruce gives him any grief about sneaking out to go help the Titans rescue him, just ‘let the old man know it took you and all the Titans to pull my butt out of the fire,” and was happy to take the fall to keep Jason out of trouble. So the fact that people could remember all along something as obscure as a friendship with a character as low-profile as Kid Devil, that only appeared in all of four pages in all of comic-dom, but still loudly insisted not that they just preferred writing takes where Dick didn’t like Jason back then but rather that these were the only takes that existed in the comics.....it makes me go mmmm, shenanigans! And sadly sours me a little on the Jason - Eddie friendship just by extension. *Shrugs* Hey I’m not proud of it, lol, but ngl, that’s basically the big reason I don’t engage with it much.

I mean, the other reasons are simply that Eddie’s not super in my wheelhouse, y’know? The original Blue Devil comic was just never one I was really all that familiar with, I think I just read the one issue that Jason showed up in BECAUSE he showed up in it, lol, and although fun, Eddie never really grabbed me outside of that connection with Jason. Nothing wrong with him, just so many characters, so little time, kinda thing. And then he was in comic book Limbo unused for a loooong time, until brought back to prominence by Geoff Johns, who I’m just not really a big fan of. So he’s mostly just never really been present in the books I actually read and know really well, and so although I’m ALL for giving Jason his own friends and not just shoehorning him into his older brother’s dynamics with other characters more commonly associated with Dick.....I tend to default to doing that with characters who I’m already a fan of in their own right. 

Like, my personal preferred BFF for Jason is Grant Emerson aka Damage. Because for a period in the nineties, Roy really took him under his wing and was a surrogate big brother and even guardian figure for Grant, and they had suuuuuch a great relationship, and in a lot of ways it mirrored the relationship I remembered seeing hints of between Dick and Jason and wanting more of for them, so it just makes a natural parallel. Roy and Dick as BFFs and then Grant and Jason as BFFs and with somewhat similar relationships with the older two. Plus, Grant has a lot in common with Jason, such as an abusive childhood and surprise revelations/upheavals regarding his parents that have massively affected his life. Grant is a big old softie, and not nearly as abrasive as Jason often is written as, but when paired with how much else they have in common, to me this creates a natural dynamic wherein Jason likely WOULDN’T be that abrasive with Grant, especially not when its just the two of them, because so much of that behavior for Jason is a defense mechanism and shield against being seen/viewed in ways Jason is not down with, but would never be an issue with Grant, because like....they’d both know where the other stood there and where they were coming from, and thus if Jason were going to just completely let his walls down with someone in just a totally casual way, IMO it’d be with someone like Grant. And Grant in turn I think could really benefit from having a friend he can relate to like Jason, who happens to be very confident about like....validating a lot of his own personal struggles which mirror a lot of Grant’s personal struggles where he really COULD use more validation, particularly of the external kind.

Course, I mean plus, Jason’s still Jason so also there’s the factor that Grant’s meta power is literally to blow things up with his brain, and I refuse to accept any characterization of Jason wherein he learns hey there’s this dude who can blow shit up with his brain and DOESN’T immediately follow that thought with “I must hunt him down and make him my best friend AT ONCE for clearly we are soulmates and this is DESTINY.”

(On a similar note, the other third of my preferred trio for Jason is Courtney Mason aka Anima. Like, if I were creating a Red Hood and the Outlaws style team/book from the ground up, I would hands down go with Jason, Grant and Courtney. A brief summation of Courtney from wikipedia: 

“Rebellious teenage runaway Courtney Mason acquired her miraculous powers following an attack by parasitic aliens: one of many New Blood superbeings created in this way, as part of the Bloodlines crossover. Seven extraterrestrial predators had come to Earth and slaughtered thousands of humans by feeding on their spinal fluids. On the run in New Orleans, Courtney was kidnapped by a cult that sacrificed her to two of these insatiable parasites, knows as Pritor and Lissik. But Courtney did not die. Instead, the parasites' bites unleashed the Animus, a sentient-energy creature that can absorb the spirit essences of the living and the dead, which was now able to enter the world through Courtney. She became the embodiment of mankind's rage and masculine drive, and quickly developed awesome physical powers of her own. As Anima, Courtney sought revenge against the cult. She also met the Teen Titans and battled a variety of supernatural menaces. Anima remains a wanderer, traveling from place to place and helping those in need by calling upon the fearsome primal force inside her.”

Like, I’m just saying. The Jason and Courtney BFF show basically writes itself. Also, Courtney’s got her own share of sibling issues given that her little brother Jeremy eventually ends up becoming the host for the Animus entity’s ‘little sister’ Eris, the spirit of strife, so.....dot dot dot.)

But yeah, anyway, Eddie is still very much a fun character worth looking into, and his friendship with Jason pre-New 52, at least back during Jason’s Robin days, is very much a thing, even if we never got to see all that much of it.

[raspberryparker]

someday | one

college!au spidey x fem!reader

← previous | series masterlist | next → word count: 4,818 summary: peter is suffering and failing english. that’s it, that’s the plot. warnings: see masterlist (graphic-ish description of injuries) read it on ao3 add yourself to my taglist!

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   There was nothing Peter could do about the fact that his brain was literally decaying.

   Okay, not literally. He may have had a headache, but he was pretty sure that his brain wasn’t actually rotting. God, he could almost hear Professor Williams correcting him on the use of the word. How insufferable.

   But that was just more proof, further evidence to back up his (very poor) argument. He couldn’t even use words correctly; how could anyone expect him to pass English? There were so many more important things he could have been focusing on.

   Like the fact that that he had finally kind of gotten used to the head rush that came with sitting cross-legged on his ceiling for five hours. He’d been steadily increasing the time he spent up there aimlessly scrolling through his Twitter feed, trying to see how long he could last. It was his own personal experiment of sorts—Peter was a scientist, after all. He had hypothesized that he could only last about three hours at most. But to his surprise he’d managed to go a solid four and a half before he gave out and threw up all over the floor of his dorm, though not before falling into it. His room reeked of bleach and Windex for a week. And after days of hard work and the sheer power of his unrelenting stubbornness, he’d finally managed to go the full five and walk away from it with little more than a headache and seeing a few spots. He wasn’t sure what he could do with this information but he was more than ready to find out.

   Those were the kinds of things that occupied the space in Peter’s mind. That and an innumerable amount of calculus formulas and chemical compounds and on and on and on. If he just started writing all the information he stored in that little Parker brain of his, he’d fill an entire collection of encyclopedias without even trying. Now, with that in mind (feel free to groan at that awful joke), did it seem reasonable that he should pay any attention to try and compare two completely different plays from an era that should no longer concern anyone in this day and age on their employment of dramatic irony?

   If one were as sane as Peter—although he could almost guarantee his sanity was diminishing by the day—they would undoubtedly agree with him when he said absolutely not. But frankly, it wasn’t up to him.

   And so that was how Ned found him: cross-legged on the ceiling, with his back against the wall above his bed, his face as bright as a ripe tomato and with a worried expression that seemed to be carved in stone. But he had every right to freak out. He was failing English.

   “You know, that’s not gonna help.”

   Ned dropped his bag on the floor next to the spot on the carpet that was whiter than the rest, and then fell back onto Peter’s bed with a soft grunt, folding his arms under the pillow behind his head and gazing up at his best friend’s face about a foot above him.

   “Nothing helps,” Peter groaned, unfolding his legs and stretching them out along the ceiling, the rough surface catching softly on the denim. “You know, I’ve come to think that maybe ending it all might be my only option.”

   “Oh yeah, you could do that,” Ned mused, feigning deep thought. “But then who’d take over for the one and only web-slinger?”

   “God, I hate it when you have a point.”

   As if he actually considered it, even for a second. If there was anything more unbearable to Peter than trying to write about anything even remotely related to his English course, it was the thought of not being around to be the friendly neighbourhood super hero he’d promised to be. He had a city to protect. But it was also a long running joke between them that Peter would one day swing up high over the streets of New York and then neglect to catch himself on the way down. He couldn’t remember when it started.

   Peter stood then, stepping a few paces to his left in order to drop off the ceiling without landing on Ned, and with a quick flip he was on the proper side of the world where the normal people were. His head throbbed, all the warmth that had gathered there beginning to flow back down to where it was supposed to be and the pressure behind his eyes subsiding. He glanced at Ned, who had closed his eyes and looked rather peaceful on Peter’s unmade, messy sheets.

   “So have you thought about what you’re actually gonna do?” he questioned.

   Peter sighed. “Nothing. That’s what I’m gonna do.”

   Ned sat up then, looking at him incredulously as if he’d just told him that there were vines sprouting from his ears. “Dude, you gotta do something.”

   “Says who?”

   “Says the school. You know English is mandatory, right? They won’t let you enroll next semester if you don’t pass.”

   “So I’ve been told.”

   Peter peeked at the clock on the small desk across the room, and though it was almost completely obscured by loose papers and notebooks that he never thought to put away, he still saw the bright green block numbers displaying the time. 4:43 PM. Nearly time to go.

   As he rummaged through his school bag looking for the new prototype webbing cartridges he’d designed, he felt Ned’s gaze on him from the way the hairs at the base of his neck stood on end. The feeling that Ned wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to was making the air around Peter palpable. He felt the tension on his skin, eyes nearly watering at the way it stung the inside of his nostrils and he detested the way it made his mouth feel like it was stuffed with cotton balls. Though his heightened senses saved him from getting killed on a nearly daily basis, they always seemed to act up at really, really inopportune moments. Such as this one.

   He felt Ned’s words before he heard them.

   “Do you need help?”

   Peter frowned, his brows coming together. “What, like a tutor?”

   “Yeah, or something like that,” Ned replied. “I’m asking because I know someone, you know, if you ever manage to swallow your pride and accept the fact that you can’t get out of this by yourself.”

   “Ouch.”

   “I believe this is what the kids call ‘tough love’.”

   Ned looked at him for a long time. Now that he was right side up it was easy to pinpoint all the warning signs that there was something terribly wrong. The bags under Peter’s eyes had always been there; those dark crescent moons etched into the creases there by many nights spent swinging through the streets of the bustling city, stopping crime whenever it had the audacity to crop up, had become a permanent feature on his face. But there was something else, something far more concerning in the way his shoulders stayed perpetually close to his ears, an undeniable tension tugging his entire frame upward as if he was being pulled up by a tight string.

   And when he turned to face Ned once more, the crease between his brows that had been there since he’d been sitting on the ceiling was still present, if not more prominent. He was only nineteen, but Peter was going to end up with wrinkles soon if he didn’t stop frowning all the damn time.

   “I’m worried about you.”

   His expression softened, his features relaxing at his friend’s words. “I know.”

   “You look like shit,” Ned continued, though his tone held the same care.

   “I know.”

   “You’re so frustrating.”

  Peter smiled, plucking the mask of his suit off his desk and flipping it so it was facing the right way again, hiding the circuits and wires that lined nearly the entirety of the fabric. He brushed his arm across the desk, clearing space and knocking papers, books, pencils, rolls of solder and even a sock to the floor in the process. If looking at him wasn’t proof enough that something had been troubling him, then one only needed to step into the catastrophe that was his dorm. But to be fair, did anyone keep their dorm sparkling? He didn’t think so. He fished the red and blue suit out of the top right corner of his small closet and smoothed it over the area he’d cleared of clutter. Ned watched as he carefully slipped the cartridges into their holders at the hip.

   “I’m serious though,” he pressed on, not missing the way Peter’s ears twitched in annoyance. “I’ve got a friend who could help you.”

   “I barely have money to buy food, Ned,” Peter sighed. “I seriously doubt I’d be able to afford a tutor.”

   “She owes me a favour anyway. She wouldn’t make you pay.”

   He turned back to face Ned, eyebrows raised. “What makes you think she’d even be willing to help me?”

   “Oh, please.” With a roll of his eyes, Ned reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, scrolling through what Peter could only assume was his contact list. “Would I even be friends with someone that cold hearted?”

   “I don’t know, last time I checked we were still friends with MJ.”

  “She’d punch you if she heard that.”

   “Countin’ on it.”

   He held up the suit by the shoulders then, the baggy material looking drab and uninteresting and frankly kind of ridiculous. Throwing it on the bed at Ned’s feet, he tugged the hem of his ESU hoodie up and over his head, his t-shirt and pants coming off shortly after. He discarded the clothes on his floor with little regard as to where they ended up. Ned moved around him as Peter tugged on the loose suit. He set up his laptop on the desk and pulled a textbook out of his backpack. This part of their routine was easy, comfortable even. It had integrated itself into their lives just as easily as everything else did.

   Peter tapped the spider emblem on his chest, sucking in a quick breath as the material of the suit formed to his body and hugged his limbs. He turned to grab the mask but found Ned already holding it out to him, a worried expression on his face.

   He took it carefully. “Thanks.”

   Ned only nodded, swivelling around in Peter’s desk chair and opening up the textbook he’d placed next to the laptop. Something was off and it was making Peter’s skin crawl more than usual. He looked carefully at the back of Ned’s head, his words only being held back by his teeth and his tight jaw. If he opened his mouth, there would be no stopping. But what the hell, right? Ned was his best friend.

   “Give her a call,” he said finally, and Ned turned to him with a smile. “If you think it’ll help, I don’t see why I shouldn’t try.”

   “I hope you know I’m doing this for your own good,” he grinned, pulling his phone out again and looking for her contact.

   “Yeah.”

   Peter would always admire just how much his best friend had matured since sophomore year. Sure he still geeked out over Star Wars and comic books (but then again, so did Peter) but there was no doubt in his mind that Ned had simply… grown. As person, as a best friend, as his guy in the chair; Ned went from nervously helping Peter with whatever ridiculous idea he’d had that week to either fully supporting him or calling him a fucking idiot when he was being one. Ned was the one person he could always count on to be there for him.

   “Hey,” he called, his foot on the windowsill and hand gripping the frame, backpack slung lazily over one shoulder. “You’re here if I need you, right?”

   Ned smiled, tucking his earbuds in and firing up the laptop. “Yeah, always.”

   Peter grinned back, slipping on the mask and throwing up a peace sign before he jumped out the window of his dorm. Luckily, his dorm only faced an alley between the residences and no one was around to see him crawling up the side of the brick.

   When he reached the rooftop, he sat for a moment admiring the autumn sunset, the warm orange hues washing the city with vibrant yet calm energy. Though he knew that this was but a mirage, and New York was nothing if not a complete disaster, he couldn’t help but think of a city at peace. Maybe one day he’d accomplish it, and hang up the webs one last time. But he doubted it’d come any time soon.

   “Pete?”

   “Yeah?”

   Ned’s voice was soft through the comm system, and Peter could almost hear the frown on his face. “Be careful, yeah?”

   Peter grinned, his heads up display focusing and zooming in on a group of men standing near the edge of Washing Square Park, a scared looking girl at their feet and trying desperately to back away on her hands. Why were they always stupid enough to assault someone in broad daylight in the middle of a park? They were almost begging for a beating.

   He webbed his backpack to a wall in the alleyway below him, then shot a web at the next roof over and pulled himself forward, landing gracefully on the balls of his feet and using the momentum to launch himself into the air. His head buzzed with the rush of air whizzing past his ears. He flipped once, twice, then landed in a crouch in front of the girl, fingertips on the ground with one arm extended to the side to help his balance, shielding her from the attackers. He could’ve sworn they could see his smirk through the mask, because their faces paled comically.

   “Always am.”

━━━━━━━━

   “Hello?”

   “Listen, you know that favour you owe me? Yeah, I’d like to cash that in now.”

   “Oh I’m great, Ned, thanks for asking. How are you?”

   “Y/N….” Ned whined, dragging out the last syllable. “It’s important.”

   Y/N laughed, switching her cell phone from her right ear to her left, and pressing it in place with her shoulder as she poured herself a cup of coffee. She finally felt that she had room to breathe now that midterms were over and she had the weekend off from work. The library staff room was warm and cozy despite the chilly November weather, so all she really wanted to do was sit down on the couch with one of the new fiction arrivals that she’d unpacked that afternoon for a good little while, but she’d been interrupted when her phone rang.

   The strong yet comfortable smell of bitter black coffee filled the small room, and she watched as the cream she poured into her mug swirled and mixed with the dark liquid. “Alright, alright. What’s up?”

   She was so positive of the fact that Ned was beaming that she would have bet everything she had on it, and when he spoke she could see his silly smile in her mind’s eye.  

   “Okay, so, you remember Peter, right?” Ned asked, and Y/N frowned as she opened the fridge door to put the cream back.

   “Haven’t met him but you’ve told me about him,” she said. “Childhood best friend or something, right?”

   “The one and only. Anyway he’s kind of in a tight spot right now.”

   “How so?”

   “He’s failing English.”

   Y/N smiled knowingly then, settling down on the rather ugly but still surprisingly soft beige couch in the centre of the room, the bright blue mug in her hands warming her to the bone. She knew instantly what the phone call was about and what Ned was going to ask of her, yet she feigned ignorance. Why? For her own amusement, she supposed. 

   “And you called me because…?”

   “You’ve been talking about wanting to tutor people on the side… right? But I figured you might want to test how comfortable you are doing it before you start charging people.”

   “And you’re suggesting that Peter would be my guinea pig?”

   “...Yes, in a way.”

   “Is he okay with that?” she asked, setting her phone down on the small foot table in front of her and putting the phone on speaker. She was all alone in the staff room, and there were only a handful of students and two other staff members in the building at the moment so she wouldn’t need to worry about disturbing anyone. That, and her neck was starting to ache.

   Ned’s sigh confirmed her suspicions, that he had somehow convinced Peter into agreeing to being tutored even though he didn’t want to. She wasn’t sure why, but Y/N felt her stomach tug at the thought. But that was ridiculous—she didn’t even know the kid.

   “I kinda had to beg him,” he admitted rather sheepishly. “He’s just… so stubborn and it- it’s infuriating. They’re not gonna let him back next semester if he doesn’t pass this time because he failed both times last year but honestly, I feel like he doesn’t even care.”

   “Hmm.” Y/N knew the type of person Peter was just from the little information Ned had just shared with her. He was headstrong and stubborn, but only made time for things he enjoyed and had genuine interest in, which evidently did not include English. “What’s he studying right now?”

   “Double major in Chemistry, and Molecular Biology and Biochemistry.”

   “Jesus. That gave me a headache.”

   “I know, gross, right? I always told him he should’ve done Com-Sci like me, and maybe he’d be less stressed, but he never listens to me. He’s actually the smartest person I know when he wants to be, but when he doesn’t…”

   “Yeah, I get it,” she sighed. “Well, I’m free all weekend if he wants to meet up at the library. I was gonna stay far away from this place since I have a few days off, but I’m afraid I can’t abandon my books for too long anyway.”

   “You have no idea how much this means to us, Y/N,” Ned sighed. “Thank you.”

   “Yeah, yeah,” she grinned, mostly to herself though since no one could see her. “I feel like this is more important to you than it is to him, though.”

   “That makes two of us. Hey, can I give him your number?”

   “Sure, go ahead. Tell him to text me, yeah?”

   “He will. And if he doesn’t, I’ll make him.”

   Y/N giggled at that, sipping on her coffee and relishing in the warmth that slid down her throat. She dreaded leaving the library and stepping into the cold autumn air. She wanted to stay holed up on that couch forever. “Alright, dude, I gotta go. I’ll never leave if I stay here any longer and I still have to read a couple chapters of a new book tonight.”

   “Yeah, for sure. I’ll see you around this week?”

   “My door’s always open for you,” she smiled, knowing that Ned’s dorm room was only a few floors below hers and he’d often pop by to visit her while she studied. “See ya.”

   “Bye, my guy.”

   Y/N wondered if everyone felt that odd silence after hanging up a phone call, that lingering stillness that felt a little too quiet, especially when she was alone. It made the skin of her arms prickle with goosebumps and she shivered, putting her things back into her backpack and tugging it onto her shoulder. Quickly knocking back the rest of her coffee, she grabbed her scarf off the hook on the wall and laid it lazily around her neck once, still too warm inside the building to put it on properly.

   As she stepped out of the staff room, the warm atmosphere of the library engulfed her once more and she smiled as she stepped toward the main desk. Carol, her boss and the school’s head librarian, was typing away at the computer and busy signing out a laptop to a student. Y/N slid behind the desk, grabbing a copy of the new book she wanted to read and began to sign it out to herself on one of the unoccupied desktops as Carol thanked the student and let him know that he needed to bring the laptop back by the following evening. When she was done, she glanced at Y/N with a smile.

   “Oh, tell me how that one is,” she said when she saw the book. “It caught my eye but I’m not sure if I’ll have time to read it. If it’s a worthwhile read, however, I’ll make time.”

   “Will do.”

   Carol was a kind woman, who looked so stereotypically like a librarian it almost made Y/N laugh when they’d met. Her greying auburn hair was always tied into a tight knot on her head, and her wire-framed glasses were always slipping too far down her nose. She wore cardigans and capris pants almost everyday, and Y/N was pretty sure she only owned one pair of beige shoes. But she was caring and sweet, never shushing anyone when they laughed too loudly or if they swore when they dropped a particularly heavy encyclopedia on their foot. She was one of the main reasons Y/N liked her job so much and never said no when Carol asked her to come in a little bit early or stay a little while longer. She was practically her second mother, and the library was her home away from home.

   “I’ll see you on Monday, dear?” Carol asked as Y/N picked up her shoulder bag.

   “No, actually,” she grinned. “I’ll see you this weekend.”

   “Oh?”

   “Yeah.” She looked at her Converse clad feet and the fraying bottom of her pant legs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m tutoring a friend of a friend as a favour. He’s failing English and, you know me- I have an obligation to make everyone enjoy literature.”

   “You and I both,” Carol smiled, the crinkles on the outside corners of her eyes folding and making her look like a sweet grandmother (she totally was sweet, though a grandmother only to her cat’s kittens, perhaps). “I do hope you go out and enjoy yourself this weekend, though. Every time I see you, you have your nose stuck in a book. And you know I do encourage that but you should really stretch your legs, go out and have some fun.”

   “I find reading very fun,” Y/N smiled, tucking the book into her bag.

   “Oh, I’m well aware.”

   She turned, walking backwards toward the library doors so she could wave to Carol. “See you soon then!”

   “I’ll be here, as always,” Carol grinned.

   It was dark when she stepped out of the building, the cold air hitting her like a wall and chilling her to her very core. She hugged her school hoodie around herself, tugging her scarf tighter and tucking it into the collar. The only downfall of studying at Empire State was that since the campus was in the centre of Greenwich, it was spread out over quite a few blocks. It would be a fifteen minute walk back to her dorm building, even if she cut through the park. So Y/N tucked in her earbuds and set off, stuffing her hands into the soft pocket of her hoodie and trying to keep as warm as possible.

   By the time she arrived to her building on 7th Avenue, her fingers were numb as she held the keycard over the sensor. She was sure her nose looked like a cherry tomato with how cold it’d gotten on the walk. Making a mental note to buy herself a pair of mittens for the upcoming winter, she stepped into the elevator and hit the button for the sixth floor. She estimated it to be a little past 10 PM, considering her shift ended at 9:30 and she’d spent some time talking to both Ned and Carol before she left. But luckily, that meant there would be nobody in the common room.

   Setting her bag down on the couch in her floor’s common lounge area, she took out the lunch she’d forgotten to eat and sat down with her book resting on her knees and her sandwich in her lap.

   She’d spent so many nights this way, it almost became routine for her now. She nestled into her usual corner, facing the glass walls that allowed her to see out into the hallway and took a bite of her food as she turned to chapter one. She yawned, already used to feeling tired after work and figuring that a good book would help her relax.

   And relax she did.

   Y/N was unsure just how much time had passed when she woke with a start, her book clattering to the ground next to her with the movement of her body.

   “Shit,” she muttered, picking it up and making sure that no pages had bent when it hit the ground. She glanced at the clock on the wall. 4:07 AM. God, had she really been there for that long? There was a kink in her neck where it had lolled back in her sleep, and she rubbed it as she took in her surroundings. It seemed like no one had been in the room since she’d arrived.  

   It wasn’t until she looked up, however, that she really startled.

   There, in the hallway on the other side of the glass, frozen like a deer caught in headlights, stood a boy who looked like he’d been beaten within an inch of his life.

   Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as they gazed at each other, both equally shocked. It was then that she realized that it was the sound of him almost falling flat on his face, but catching himself against a wall with a sharp, pained shout before he landed that woke her up. He was still gripping the wall, knuckles white with the sheer force of his grasp, his other arm clutched around his ribs. Neither of them expected the other to be there.

   He looked like he’d been hit by a bus. Or maybe hit by a bus, but then the bus turned around and drove over him another three or four times for good measure. One of his eyes was swollen shut, the skin around and under it beaten blue and purple, and yellowing at the edges. The blood from his crooked nose dripped onto his mouth and chin, down his neck and staining the collar of his t-shirt, which had some ridiculous math pun on it that Y/N would have rolled her eyes at if she hadn’t been so shocked by the state of him. His arms were littered with what looked like bruises in the form of fingers, as if someone had grabbed him and thrown him around. There were cuts and bruises all over the rest of his face, and his short brown hair stuck up at an odd angle as if he’d just taken off a beanie. He wore a backpack that looked like it was one throw to the ground away from ripping at the seams and, for whatever reason, he wasn’t wearing shoes.

   They both sat in silence until he looked away, his shocked eyes then taking on a droopy, tired expression as he limped down the hall, his hand still supporting almost the entire weight of his body against the wall. His bare feet dragged against the hall floor, leaving dirt and blood behind on the linoleum. Y/N choked on her breath as she exhaled, not having noticed that she’d even been holding it.

   What the fuck? What the fuck?

   She scrambled to her feet, the book now long forgotten as it fell to the floor once again, and she fumbled with the doorknob as it slipped in her sweaty palms. When she finally got the door open, she stared down the hallway in the direction he’d gone, but she was met with nothing but an empty corridor.

   Where could he possibly have gone that fast?

   She stepped carefully and quietly, making sure to keep her footfalls as light as possible, as she walked in the direction she’d seen him go. She passed each door, looking for any sign that he might have been there, when finally she stopped in front of one with blood on the silver handle. Glancing up at the name tag that adorned every door, Y/N swallowed the dry lump in her throat and her eyes widened as she took in the name.

   Peter P.

   Oh dear God. What the hell did she just herself into?

━━━━━━━━

A/N: i’m so sorry but this is going to be the slowest slow burn in the history of slow burns, maybe ever. hope ya’ll are into pain. 

ALSO i spell everything the canadian way, ya know, with ou’s and shit... if that bothers you then whoOps sorry

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tags: @psychedelicmagnum @jazmins-main-hoe

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[perpetually-jungshook]

RED || 04

Genre: humor, jimin x jungkook; taehyung x jimin; taehyung x jungkook, angst, fluff, humor

Summary: Life is weird. Jungkook works as Jimin’s niche porn photographer and finds it difficult to remember that the he’s only flirting with the camera. Namjoon despises the world of big business but works as a manager for an international corporate company and hates it (cruel irony, he says). Yoongi is just a typical IT guy who has a secret he’s never told anyone, which is totally typical. Hoseok and Seokjin work at a retirement home, from which they one day bring back some random volunteer with fiery red hair who may or may not change everything.

Warnings: language, crude humor, pining, explicit sexual content

Word Count: 11.2k

Links: Storyboard || 01 || Previous || Next

Since tomorrow is Sunday, Jimin doesn’t have to worry about his office job, which means he can stay up late relatively guilt free. Thus he disregards the need to look at a clock, gliding through the surreal after-midnight hours, passing time by scrolling through social media on his phone and idly listening to some TV show about baby animals for background noise.

He’s not sure exactly what happened between Seokjin and Namjoon after they started talking on the phone, but from what he could hear, it sounded like it had gone okay. The older boy had admitted to being irrational and apologized, saying something about “personal issues getting in the way of my judgement and stuff.” Jimin thinks they may have agreed to meet for breakfast tomorrow morning to talk things over, which is a great start. At least, it’s better than running out of a restaurant and coming home to mope about perceived rejection. But that was a few hours ago, just before both Seokjin and Hoseok went to bed.

According to Instagram, one of his high school friends is getting married; and on an unrelated note, piglets have very sensitive snouts.

Jimin can only assume he’d begun to doze at some point because eventually, he’s startled awake by the sound of the door opening. The world that comes back into focus is a bit hazy at first, foggy around the edges with sleep still tugging at his mind, coaxing him to come back with sweet whispered nothings and a gentle hand.

Illuminated by the soft blue light cast over the room by the TV is a vaguely familiar head of fiery red hair. A small smile that leaves Jimin puzzled finds its way onto his own expression.

“Hey.” Jimin’s voice is a little hoarse, deeper than normal.

Taehyung looks up, probably surprised that anyone is still awake. His reply is a whisper, likely trying to be polite to the rest of the household, “Hey. You’re still up?”

Jimin nods, blinking sleepily at his new companion.

“Yeah. Where’ve you been? Out so late,” he giggles quietly.

“I’ve been down at Kook’s. We lost track of time watching anime.”

Scooting over to give Taehyung room to sit if he wants it, Jimin curls up around a pillow, hugging it to his chest. “Sounds fun. So you guys are pretty good friends now?”

“I dunno,” Taehyung replies as he goes over to his duffle bag, fishing out some clothes. “He seems really cool. Just kind of shy.”

“Yeah Kookie’s like that.”

The conversation pauses as Taehyung exits the room, the closing door an indication that he’s probably changing and washing up. Now by himself, Jimin’s eyelids start to feel heavy again and he can only fight the wave-like pull of sleep with a well timed yawn or two. The sound of a faucet turning on momentarily underscores the words of the TV narrator, who is currently describing a sleepy litter of puppies. Gosh darn cute baby animals. They make everything better.

Jimin smiles.

The bathroom door opens and Taehyung walks back into the living room, dirty clothes in a bundle that he sets beside his bag. He’s wearing sweatpants, though any glimpse Jimin might’ve had of them being “hung low on his hips” is unfortunately obscured by a threadbare white T-shirt.

“Taehyung?”

He hums in acknowledgement before taking a seat on the other side of the well loved leather couch.

The pause between calling his name and continuing to speak is just a beat too long, causing tension to flit through the air between the two boys.

“Why do you volunteer at the retirement home?”

It sounds suspiciously casual for the pause that had come just before, but the question “have you decided if you want to fuck yet?” just seems a bit too crass for the situation.

One of Taehyung’s eyebrows rises just a bit, though Jimin is unsure if it’s from shock, curiosity, or neither of those, but it’s definitely not condescending, which is reassuring. Maybe he’s just amused.

“Well,” he starts of quietly, hesitantly. “If you’re looking for a heroic story about me having a heart of gold, I’m sorry to say I’ll disappoint you.”

“Half of my income comes from porn. I really don’t think I’m in a position to judge whatever you’re about to say,” Jimin’s voice is finally starting to return to normal, less rough, now a little amused.

Taehyung takes a deep breath before replying, “I volunteer at the retirement home because my grandma lived there before she passed. We were really close and I guess I just saw how much they needed help.”

If Jimin could stare loudly, he would.

“You realize that’s like, total heart of gold material.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Both boys share a quiet laugh, but Jimin lets his peter out into a soft, “I’m sorry to hear about your grandma though.”

“It’s okay. I miss her a lot, but she lived a good life.” In the dim light of the TV, Jimin can see Taehyung smile wistfully. There’s pain in his expression, but it’s distant, like he’s long come to terms with what happened.

Jimin’s brain is still a tad too much on the “asleep” side of the spectrum to make decent conversation, so he lets the dialogue end at that. It seems like a good conclusion, bittersweet, like much of life. A few minutes pass.

Apparently puppies open their eyes at around two weeks old.

With the subject of Taehyung’s grandmother fading, Jimin’s body is tempted to scoot over and lean his head on Taehyung’s shoulder. The thought makes him feel terribly guilty. Is he really so desperate? Even after his time with Hoseok earlier today? Sure it’s a relatively innocent gesture, but he wouldn’t be doing it to comfort Taehyung, which makes it purely selfish. So he restrains himself, his posture getting slightly stiffer.

It’s when the episode shifts from puppies to kids (the baby goat kind) that Jimin begins to wonder when Taehyung will be going to sleep so he can wallow in awkward shameful semi-silence by himself. And it’s at that point that he realizes he’s literally sitting on Taehyung’s bed.

“Oh my god I’m literally sitting on your bed,” Jimin whisper yells.

All guises of quietness are dropped as Taehyung laughs, but thankfully, his laugh is naturally quiet and deep.

“Did you just realize that?”

“Yeah, I’m really sorry,” Jimin stands up, setting down the pillow and arbitrarily fluffing it. “You’re probably exhausted.”

“I was honestly thinking you were trying to pull something,” Taehyung says, chuckling.

“Pull something?” Jimin pauses, almost tripping on the coffee table as he blindly backs away, intending on going to his room.

“Yeah, like you were trying to see if I’d mention the the possibility of us fucking.”

Jimin’s heart skips a beat, pulse catching on the lump in his throat.

“I, ah, will admit, I thought about it. But some things are more important and it’s super late and you don’t even seem to be that into me so…”

Taehyung stands and in the soft light of the TV, Jimin can see his tongue poke out, briefly wetting his lips, maybe stalling, maybe thinking, maybe neither.

He reaches over and places a warm hand on Jimin’s shoulder, then affectionately ruffles his hair.

“Well I’m glad we got to hang out, even if it was only for a little bit.”

Jimin notices that the other boy doesn’t directly respond to any of his reasons for not bringing up fucking, baited or not.

“Same here.”

Maybe he really isn’t into me, Jimin considers, accompanied by a small pinch in his chest. He gives Taehyung a small nod and walks the remaining few steps to his room, closing the door quietly.

—

Week two PT (Post Taehyung), things seem to be going pretty well. The boy with the fiery red hair is no longer as… threatening as he used to seem. Maybe threatening isn’t the right word, but from what Jungkook has heard, he’s kept his promise and hasn’t tried to fuck Jimin. This is reassuring because it means one, Taehyung (probably) wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t want to sleep with Jimin; and two, Jungkook is starting to think of him as a good friend. And good friends don’t boink each other’s crushes (or, as a recently established rule, steal each other’s already microwaved hot pockets).

It smells like coffee, which is a fairly reasonable observation namely because Jungkook is currently sitting in a coffee shop. His sensitive nose can also pick up hints of tea, but nothing like that godawful poison Taehyung had made about a week ago. Sometimes he still wonders how Seokjin survived. Anyway.

This cafe is one of those places that features a succulent covered wall that doesn’t look completely real or completely fake, leaving customers intrigued but unwilling to touch because it’s color coordinated and shaped into some artsy spirals around the unreasonably cursive cafe name. Jungkook can’t read it, but he’s pretty sure it has something to do with beans. Opposite the plants, the shades have been drawn over the of floor to ceiling windows, filtering the orange tinged evening sunlight into something soft and pleasant to match the dim illumination from the rustic, vintage glass fixtures hung above the high tables surrounded by wooden stools.

Soothing jazz music underscores the sounds of a clacking keyboard, a few conversations, and the loud buzzing of a blender.

Jungkook’s fingers wrap around the warm disposable coffee cup. It’s starting to get colder outside. Not quite winter yet, but he’s glad he can now comfortably wear a hoodie in the middle of the day and maybe not look like a depressed, overworked college student. Not that he doesn’t look like that anyway despite being neither overworked nor a college student.

He inhales deeply, but quietly, shifting around on his stool in a futile attempt to alleviate the stiffness in his lower back and lessen the ache in his butt. Jungkook was the first one to arrive, a little early as usual. And by a little he means an hour. It’s not like he was doing anything productive or interesting on a Thursday night anyway.

So why not go out, even if it means sitting by himself for a while? Distract himself from the fact that he has another shoot with Jimin tomorrow night. He compulsively takes a sip of coffee at the thought. Fuck.

“Jungkook?”

His gaze lifts from the currently upside down inspirational quote “artfully” carved into the tabletop to look for the familiar deep voice. Once again, it’s surprisingly not Namjoon’s.

“Hey,” Jungkook gives Taehyung a small yet genuine smile as he walks over, taking the opposite seat, which leaves the also (but less) unreasonably cursive inspirational quote right side up from his perspective, and the small stage behind him. “You here to see Namjoon?”

“Wait, is he… doing something special?” Taehyung asks, appearing genuinely worried and confused.

“Open mic poetry night?”

“Oh? Is that why you’re here?”

“Is that not why you’re here?”

Both boys stare at each other before sharing a giggle. Taehyung adjusts the faded blue bandana holding up his hair before replying, still amused, “I honestly don’t know what’s going on. Jimin just told me I needed to come. Low key, I was kind of scared he was asking me on a date so poetry night is like a huge relief?”

Jungkook smothers another laugh behind a sip of coffee.

“Well, dates aren’t really Jimin’s M.O. in general, so you don’t have to be afraid of that.”

“I mean, I kind of figured, but I didn’t want to just assume, yknow?”

“True.”

A few moments pass in awkward not-silence, the jazz music still playing, the people still talking, the blender buzzing loudly again.

“So are you super early or did Jimin tell you to come now?”

Taehyung glances at his watch, then replies, “I’m early. What time does the open mic start?”

“About thirty minutes.”

“Okay that’s the time he told me to be here.”

Jungkook feels a little relieved too. It seems that Jimin had just invited him as a friend, though it is a bit strange he hadn’t told Taehyung why. It’s a line of thought that Jungkook forcefully pushes away. He doesn’t have the right to question Jimin’s motives, or to be possessive in any capacity. Besides, Taehyung has proven over and over that he is not interested in Jimin’s advances. So shouldn’t Jungkook, at the very least, trust him?

“I’m gonna go grab something to drink. Save my seat?” Taehyung says with a big, boxy smile.

“No problem.”

Jungkook looks down at the table again, perfectly square and and oddly modern blend of metal and light colored wood.

Another sip of coffee compulsively passes his lips.

Before Taehyung can finish ordering, Namjoon arrives in his beanie, boots, ripped jeans, and three layers of a mismatched mix of a jacket, flannel, and T-shirt. He definitely looks like he belongs in this coffee shop, drinking some fancy hipster beverage Jungkook probably wouldn’t be able to remember or pronounce. In all seriousness though, it’s nice to see his housemate not in a suit and tie.

Namjoon works hard at a job that he hates, so seeing him be himself? It’s refreshing.

He gives Jungkook a dimpled smile and a small wave when they make eye contact, but as usual immediately goes over to secure his place in the lineup, talking to the girl standing next to the small, raised stage set up in the corner of the establishment. It is also an oddly modern blend of metal and light colored wood. Jungkook wonders if it was custom made.

“Looking good,” Jungkook laughs brightly as his older friend walks over.

Namjoon chuckles.

“Thanks. I’m a little nervous.”

“Why?”

Before Namjoon can answer, Taehyung comes back to the table, disposition cheery.

“Hello Namjoon! I hear you’ve got a performance tonight?” Taehyung says, likely not knowing he interrupted. “I hope you don’t mind— Jimin invited me.”

“Course I don’t,” Namjoon replies smoothly, only the typical, genuine easy going good nature present in his smile. “Thanks for coming.”

“What did you get to drink?” Jungkook asks politely, but gives Namjoon a “we’ll finish this later” look.

“Tea.”

“Naturally.” Jungkook laughs and nudges him with his elbow.

Taehyung gasps comically, dramatically placing his hand on his chest.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Jungkook sing-songs.

“Alright you two play nice. I’m gonna go warm up my voice. Practice a bit more,” Namjoon chuckles, ruffling Jungkook’s hair.

Jungkook scrunches his nose. RIP the twenty minutes of trying to actually care about what his hair looked like before he left. He’d parted it and used a little product and everything. But it’s Namjoon, one of his best friends, which helps Jungkook be a little more forgiving.

“If you’re trying to convince me that you don’t already have everything memorized, it’s not working,” Jungkook teases.

“Maybe not practice then,” Namjoon is still smiling, but there’s something almost nervous about his expression, which is an emotion not often seen on him during open mic nights. “Maybe just work up my courage.”

Without further explanation, he gives Taehyung an acknowledging nod and walks away from the table, toward the restroom. Weird. Why would Namjoon need to “work up his courage?” Poetry is his element, the thing he loves.

Just as he’s about to ask Taehyung for a second opinion (because Jungkook is apt to read social situations incorrectly), the other boy’s name is called from the counter. He smiles apologetically before snaking his way through the sparse crowd, leaving Jungkook alone once again with a quick, “Be right back.”

He doesn’t allow himself the illusion of peace in solitude though, and it’s a good thing he doesn’t because almost immediately:

“Jung-Jung-Kookie!”

There’s only one person who calls him that.

Jimin’s familiar face bounces above a head or two, clearly seeking out his friend. Jungkook raises his hand in a halfhearted signal. The weight of shame at the fluttering of his heart and the heating of his cheeks has become normal and Taehyung’s words echo in his mind.

Nothing feels good or healthy about it, but you can’t help it because you love them.

A ghost of a smile makes its way onto his expression as Jimin spots him, mood visibly brightening even from across the room. The coffee cup suddenly feels too hot in his hands, despite the fact that it’s been cooling for well over twenty minutes now.

“Hey Jimin,” he attempts to greet his friend warmly as the older boy weaves his way over to the table, then circles his arms around Jungkook’s neck in a painful but affectionate hug.

Jimin nuzzles into Jungkook’s hair, humming happily, saying, “I’m excited for tomorrow. I already have my costume picked out and everything. You’ll love it.”

“I always like what you wear.”

The disparity between “like” and “love” are exceedingly apparent to Jungkook, but he figures Jimin won’t notice at all. He just doesn’t feel like he can commit to using the latter word right now.

“But I’m sure you’ll find this one particularly fascinating.” Jimin wiggles his eyebrows playfully, formal diction helping a knot of uneasiness tangle in Jungkook’s stomach.

Before he can find a good response, Taehyung comes back and saves him.

“Look who else is early,” the boy with the fiery red hair laughs lightly, but seemingly genuinely. “I didn’t expect you for another twenty minutes or so.”

He takes his old seat, across from Jungkook and now Jimin, who still has his arms wrapped loosely around the younger boy’s neck.

Jungkook can hear the smile in Jimin’s voice, “My dad always used to say fifteen minutes early is on-time and on-time is late. What’d you get?”

He nods at the drink as Taehyung takes a sip.

“Tea,” Jungkook is shocked to find himself answering first, but Taehyung had told him earlier. So it’s not weird, right?

“Nice! I pegged you as a tea person.”

“Considering he tried to kill all of us with his noxious tea fumes…” Jungkook grimaces.

Taehyung sets his cup down, holding it with both hands as he laughs heartily this time, “That tea is perfectly fine! In fact, it helps get toxins out of your body.”

“It still smelled like feet. Rotten, moldy feet.”

“Stop it,” Taehyung says, humorously pushing out his lower lip. “You’ll hurt its feelings.”

The three of them giggle as Jimin drops his arms a little and hooks his chin over Jungkook’s shoulder, the height of the stool not allowing him to rest it on top of Jungkook’s head. Jimin then turns to look at him, his face so close that Jungkook can feel the older boy’s warm, minty breath on his cheek. He must have just brushed his teeth before coming here.

“How do you know what rotten moldy feet smell like anyway?”

“That’s none of your business.”

This earns him a poke to his side, which causes him to squeak, but it effectively allows for a change in subject.

“Well, it seems like the two of you are becoming fast friends,” Jimin says, sounding thoroughly amused. “And you don’t even live together.”

“Yeah Kook’s pretty cool,” Taehyung shrugs, taking another sip of tea. “We have a lot of things in common— or at least a lot of similar opinions. And this is camomile, just so you know. Not moldy feet.”

He turns his nose up with a dramatic huff, but can hardly conceal a grin. He probably isn’t trying that hard.

“Okay, camomile is acceptable.”

“Can I try?” Jimin asks brightly, his arms dropping as he backs away to move around the table and hop up onto a stool next to Taehyung, looking excited, full smile reaching his beautiful eyes, crinkled cutely, almost closed.

Jungkook mourns the loss of body heat, the feeling of Jimin pressed flush against him, chest to back. Somedays, he indulges in the fantasy that they might cuddle like that someday, Jungkook as the smaller spoon despite his larger body. Seokjin once called it an intense “need to feel taken care of,” but Jungkook thinks of it more like… if Jimin was holding him, it would mean he wants to be there, that Jungkook isn’t trapping him. Maybe it’s a mix of both reasons.

“Sure,” Taehyung hesitates, but only for a moment before handing over his disposable cup.

The blender starts up again in the background.

Jimin takes a drink and makes a face, his ridiculously long tongue pushing out from between parted lips.

“Hot,” is all he says.

Taehyung laughs, “Small sips, Jimin. That’s the trick. Oh, Kook?”

Jungkook looks up, having been staring intensely at his coffee cup, now abandoned by his hands on the table, in order to not imagine the things that ridiculously long tongue might do between his legs.

“Y-yeah?” his voice, unfortunately, cracks like he’s a prepubescent teen again. Dark times. Coconut hair, mostly black wardrobe, a little too much eye liner. Okay maybe some things haven’t changed too much. But he definitely wears it better.

“Do you wanna come with me to record my podcast on Saturday?”

It takes a moment or two to process the words.

“Sure! Yeah— I mean, yes. Absolutely,” Jungkook says, heat rising in his cheeks. “But what exactly would I be doing?”

Taehyung hums thoughtfully, “Well, just hanging out. I thought it’d be something fun we could do together. Then get doughnuts or something after.”

“Great,” Jungkook can’t help smiling. “I look forward to it.”

That random conversation comes to a smooth end as Hoseok and Yoongi enter the cafe and walk over, the former cooing when he sees Jimin still caring for his burned tongue. They go to the register to ask for some cold water and probably drinks for themselves too. Yoongi, already holding a cup of coffee from a franchise store, takes a seat next to Jungkook, having pulled over a stool from another table.

“Isn’t that like, against common etiquette? To bring in drinks from other cafes?” Jungkook asks, causing Taehyung to smother a giggle.

Yoongi’s voice, as usual, is a little on the gravely side, “This place’s coffee tastes like shit and you know that.”

“Well if you didn’t just drink it black-”

“I can drink it however the hell I want, thanks.”

To the outsider, Yoongi might seem unwarrantedly cruel or biting, but Jungkook just finds him amusing. He’s grumpy, sure, but all it takes is a simple laugh and nudge of Jungkook’s elbow to cause an angry pink to dust across his cheeks.

“Yes, black. So it can match your soul.”

“That’s an overused joke and it disgusts me.”

“Hey Kook, you’re one to talk,” Taehyung pitches in carefully, though with an easy smile. He’s clearly teasing, but has mentioned before that Yoongi terrifies him, so his hesitance is understood. He gives Jungkook a dramatic once over, smile getting wider. “I mean look at what you’re wearing.”

Jungkook naively looks down.

“Hey, at least I’m wearing grey and black. Yoongi’s wearing all black.”

Yoongi doesn’t need to look down to shoot Jungkook A Look, retorting, “I’m forced to wear button downs and slacks almost every day. Let me and my goddamn casual wardrobe live.”

“Shhhh,” Jungkook reaches over, placing his finger on Yoongi’s lips. He’s pretty sure that the older boy is fighting the intense urge to bite him. “I didn’t say it looked bad.”

He giggles and drops his hands, leaving Yoongi to mutter under his breath and indignantly sip his coffee. He figures the heat from the drink is probably what causes the red in his cheeks to deepen.

Really though, Yoongi doesn’t look bad. He hardly ever does, even on those hard days where he comes home from work half asleep and Jungkook isn’t sure whether the correct description would involve him murdering a man or having been the one murdered. Maybe it’s not a good thing that he wears exhaustion well, or maybe it’s simply a testament to how hard he actually works, despite his claim that all he does is “turn computers off and on again.”

Today Yoongi looks a little less tired though (then again it could just be the coffee). His hair is a bit disheveled, like he’d been running his fingers through it, and he’s drowning in this oversized black sweatshirt that makes him look nothing short of cute though he would definitely be The Murderer if someone said this to his face. The sleeves are so long that they’re scrunched up around his elbows and still almost cover his pale hands, which are still wrapped protectively around his foreign coffee cup. The lower hem of the sweatshirt drops almost to his knees, covering his dark jeans, which lead down to black converse. Sometimes, Jungkook wonders how it would feel to cuddle Yoongi, sit the older boy down in his lap so he can loop his arms around Yoongi’s waist and hook his chin over Yoongi’s shoulder, but Jungkook figures it would be like trying to hug a pissed off, soaking wet cat.

Now done poking fun at Yoongi, the three of them fall into a comfortable non-silence, listening to the jazz music, blender, and murmuring while scrolling through phones. A few minutes later, Hoseok and Jimin return from the counter, the former holding what he claims to be coffee (but is really hot chocolate), and the later holding a plastic cup of water. The five boys make polite conversation until the lights dim and the girl next to the stage announces that open mic poetry night is about to start.

No one mentions the fact that Seokjin isn’t here.

Namjoon is third in the lineup of five. This might make one think that it would be a fairly brief event, considering four of them are regulars, but it is a wrong assumption. The first person is up on the stage for twenty minutes, speaking in overly enunciated rhyming iambic pentameter. Jungkook internally cringes at the fact that he knows what that is, but he makes sure to clap, knowing that despite how cookie-cutter it was, the person probably worked hard to describe those trees and that lake in so, so many extended metaphors.

The second person is thankfully more on the brief end of the spectrum, clocking in at just under five minutes. What it’s about? Jungkook doesn’t know. He lost interest as soon as he saw Yoongi pull out his phone.

Yoongi isn’t usually the type to answer texts right away, so Jungkook couldn’t help being curious when he spotted the “now” time stamp on the message preview. It was Seokjin, but Jungkook had turned away the moment Yoongi unlocked his phone. If Seokjin had wanted him to see it, he would’ve texted the group chat or Jungkook directly.

Now, Namjoon walks up onto the stage amidst light applause from those patrons paying attention. It’s immediately apparent that he’s lacking the stage presence he usually carries, the confidence that allows him to stride up onto the stage without so much as a quiver of his knees. This time, despite his muscular shoulders, long legs, and broad chest, he looks… small.

Namjoon clears his throat as he gets to the microphone, then holds up a sheet of paper. Sure the other speakers consistently use notes, but Namjoon has never used them when he’s in front of an audience. It raises another red flag in Jungkook’s mind.

“I, um…”

The speakers screech with a bit of feedback, causing him to flinch away from the microphone slightly. A small crease forms between his eyebrows, reading as distress. Memories suddenly bubble to the front of Jungkook’s mind, small snippets, fragments, pieces of a puzzle he probably won’t ever see completely.

Relative quietness in the group chat. Less time with everyone spent at one apartment or the other. A morning where Namjoon left without eating breakfast and came back three hours later before locking himself in his room for the rest of that Sunday.

Namjoon’s voice sounds small too, still deep and smooth, but afraid.

“I wrote this poem just a few days ago after having a… conversation with a friend. It doesn’t have a title yet, but I’ve been thinking of calling it A Study in Gray.”

He pauses for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts. Then begins.

I look at you, sitting across from me,

only a table’s width away.

If I reach out, I would be able to touch you.

Just a brush of my fingers and I could

feel the warmth that’s risen onto your cheek.

If I reach out, I’d be able to put my hand on your shoulder.

A comforting gesture to say I’m here,

you’re not alone.

If I reach out, I might be able to bridge the gap

that I unknowingly created when I told you I’m

not sure what I feel.

These were the things I was sure of:

You appeared excited when we met, nervous.

It made me excited yet nervous too.

You ordered a coffee, which you don’t usually drink

and put a little too much sugar in.

You’ve always said it upsets your stomach.

Why do I know this?

Why do I know that you prefer tea?

I don’t know what it means.

I have entered an area of gray,

where surety has faded into the unsure.

I am uncomfortable here,

which is something of which I’m entirely sure.

My life consists of blacks and whites,

not rights and wrongs but

decisions that turn people into numbers

and emotions into letters on a page.

Equating what happened to a grayscale

is damning both you and me to the world of colors,

though you are anything but gray to me.

You are bright red, passionate;

vibrant orange, excited;

deep blue, stable;

rich violet, imaginative;

and soft pink, comforting.

You are not a grayscale,

but I am— and you help give my life color.

Jungkook’s focus momentarily drifts to Jimin. His features look soft in the dim lighting of the cafe, a small, proud, yet concerned smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he watches their friend speak, slowly gaining a passionate tone, but still lacking the usual confidence. Jungkook’s attention then slowly slides over one seat, now landing on Taehyung. He wears a focused expression, lips pursed, eyebrows drawn together. Jungkook can only see half of his face due to the angle, but the way the lighting plays off of his fiery red hair and tan skin is interesting. His photographer’s eye wants to capture the moment, but he can’t—

Actually, yes he can. Taehyung gave him permission.

He doesn’t have his camera, which is unfortunate, because he’d like to have this moment saved in high resolution, but his phone will work just fine. Jungkook snaps a quick few photos before he blushes and realizes that he should probably take a couple of Namjoon too. They aren’t as coordinated as he’d like them to be, but that’s the thing about candid shots. Isn’t it.

A sharp nudge to his side makes Jungkook wince and almost drop the device. He turns to look at Yoongi, who’s also holding up his phone but is recording instead. Jungkook must have gotten in the way, blocked the view or something. He mouths an apology before tuning back into the poem.

There is only a table’s width between us.

If I reach out, I’d be able to put my hand on your shoulder.

A comforting gesture to say I’m here,

you’re not alone.

If I reach out, I might be able to bridge the gap

that I unknowingly created when I told you I’m

not sure what I feel.

If I reach out… But I don’t.

Because I’m afraid.

Because I’m confused.

And by the time I realize that I

need to

reach out, it’s too late.

I find a wall between us, one of glass.

It allows me to see the color, but not touch it.

And the worst part is,

the wall that separates us…

I don’t know if I’m the one who put it there.

It’s definitely different than Namjoon’s usual ranting about capitalism, sexism, and racism. Jungkook can almost positively say the content change is what had him so nervous, and he can’t exactly blame Namjoon. It was a moment of emotional vulnerability instead of the raw passion he usually displays while writing, then reading it aloud. There was a lot of figurative language, but Jungkook definitely has more pieces to the puzzle now. Seokjin must have confessed that morning at breakfast.

Four of the five boys around the table clap enthusiastically, wanting to be supportive of their friend and probably being embarrassingly loud amidst the polite applause from the rest of the cafe. One set of hands is missing though, this much Jungkook can tell because he’s sitting right next to it.

Yoongi’s thumb hovers above his phone screen for a moment more before he hits the “stop recording” button, then pockets the device. He gets a couple claps in before the next person walks up on stage.

Namjoon practically bounces over to his friends with a bright but nervous smile. He glances at the five boys, scanning their faces. His smile falters.

“Did- did you guys like it?”

There’s still the low murmuring of quiet conversations and mixing drinks in the cafe, background noise that makes talking during the performance a few steps shy of impolite.

“Namjoon, that was great!” Hoseok answers immediately, excitedly, probably a little too loud but the sentiment is appreciated.

“I agree, it was awesome,” Jimin adds with a nod.

Yoongi hums, his voice a little pouty as he thinks aloud, “Could do with a little less repetition, but it was good.”

Coming from Yoongi, that’s definitely a compliment.

Jungkook simply reaches out and puts a hand on Namjoon’s shoulder, giving it a proud, affectionate pat. Taehyung even gives a quiet comment of approval, though looks a bit shy about speaking up.

It does not go unnoticed that while Namjoon glows under the kind words of his friends, he does keep glancing toward the door. Jungkook can’t help but wonder whether he’s disappointed or relieved that Seokjin didn’t show up.

—

Jungkook hums quietly to himself as he sets up his camera, an idle distraction that does little to settle his nerves and instead makes him feel somewhat nauseous. The alternative is feeling very nauseous as he waits in anxious anticipation to see why Jimin’s costume will be “particularly fascinating.”

The ensuite bathroom door opens and Jungkook suddenly thinks there’s a high chance he might be a masochist.

The background image Jimin had requested should’ve given him a hint. It should have, but either Jungkook didn’t want to see it, or he’s just really dense. The edit Jungkook had made was of the interior of an ice castle, and the theme reflects perfectly on Jimin— in the way he’s done his makeup, in the way he’s dressed (or rather, undressed), and the way he’s carrying himself.

A delicate, thin crown sits atop his head, matt silver with a tasteful amount of (plastic) diamonds accentuating the leaf-like design in the metal (which actually might be plastic too). He’s wearing another cape, though this one is noticeably thinner and shimmery silver. Where does he keep getting these? Is there an outlet store for capes? Capes R Us? Jungkook wants to laugh at the thought, but he can only swallow thickly because this time, Jimin isn’t completely naked underneath that cape.

His eyes, made sharper by the makeup, narrow as he smirks, “You like it?”

He’s wearing a body harness, dark leather straps crisscrossing beautifully along his chest, abdomen, and thighs, all in stark contrast with his skin, the cream couch, the silver cape and crown, and the icy blue that will be in the background. It makes him look more feminine than usual, accentuating the generous curve of his hips before spiderwebbing up into a choker, sitting at the base of his neck. It leaves his chest and crotch on full display.

Jungkook has to fight the carnal urge to pull at the straps, yank Jimin forward into a searing kiss. He squeezes his hand into a fist and thinks of taxes and essays.

“I don’t think I should answer that question,” Jungkook clears his throat and goes back to setting up his camera. “But it objectively looks nice.”

“You’re seriously no fun,” Jimin pouts. “I get to see one reaction when we do these shoots and that’s yours. C’mon Kookie, I dressed up so pretty…”

Jungkook pauses, his finger poised on the power button, but he doesn’t look over. Not yet. He’d gone to the gym this morning, just to try it out again before his membership expired. He’d felt good about it, like maybe he was getting back on track.

And yet here he is, struggling to keep a blush off of his cheeks, to keep his goddamn dick in his pants. It’s frustrating, not two steps forward one step back, but like no matter how hard Jungkook tries to step, his feelings keeps restraining him bodily, not allowing a single inch of progression.

With a deep breath, his hands leave the camera and he turns to face Jimin with a small smile, crossing his arms in subconscious defensiveness, maybe hoping to spare himself the pain, “Okay, well what can I say that’ll make you happy?”

“That takes all the fun out of it.”

“Oh stop,” Jungkook laughs lightly, hating himself for feeling like a slut as he caves and walks over, placing his hands on Jimin’s shoulders and keeping his eyes above the waistline. “You look great. Objectively and subjectively. I know you worked really hard for this.”

Jimin’s lips, previously downturned in disappointment, quirk up, his expression vulnerably hopeful as he asks, “Really?”

“Are you asking me to repeat the cheesy as fuck thing I just said?”

“Maybe.”

“If you weren’t pretty much butt naked right now I would smack you.”

“Smack me… where?”

“No, I’m not going to spank you.”

Jimin giggles, wiggling his hips humorously, causing his still flaccid dick to flop around, “But Kookie…”

Jungkook scrunches his nose, “Don’t swing that thing around near me.”

“What? You don’t like it?” He giggles harder, rolling his hips enthusiastically to make his dick bounce, “But you stare at it all the time.”

The younger boy backs away a step, fighting a strange urge to laugh hysterically.

“You can’t prove anything.”

Jimin matches his step and closes the distance again, now rolling his whole body sensuously. It would be… really fucking hot if his dick wasn’t soft. This one detail makes the situation ridiculous and hilarious. Jungkook takes a few more steps back, now laughing openly. His legs bump ungracefully into the bed and he’s forced to half stumble, half crawl over it in a desperate attempt to escape with his sanity at least partially intact.

“Jungkookie! Come give me a hug!”

“Make me.”

“I’m trying!”

Smiling deviously, Jimin catches Jungkook’s ankle, dragging him back onto the bed as he tries to dive off of the other side.

“How are you so small but so strong?”

Jimin is suddenly straddling the backs of his calves and his hand comes down on Jungkook’s ass, more sound than sting through the fabric of his jeans, but he squeaks in surprise anyway, freezing as he realizes what might be touching the back of his thigh. Something brushes against him as Jimin moves again, distributing his weight strategically.

“Is this what you want, Kookie?” Jimin teases, his hands now on Jungkook’s thighs to stabilize himself, not necessarily doing anything naughty. “Is this what you imagine me doing to you when you look at my photos?”

Jungkook’s first response is a petulant whine, muffled into the blankets, followed by, “I don’t jerk off to them.”

“Oh of course you don’t,” Jimin coos, giggling again as his fingers play with the bottom hem of Jungkook’s shirt, pushing it up just high enough so that the cold tips press against the skin of his lower back. He shivers. “Then in your fantasies, do you top or bottom?”

Jungkook’s cheeks must be scarlet by now and he’s trying very hard to ignore the fact that there’s a high probability he’s got a goddamn boner.

“I…”

“C’mon Kookie, I’m curious. Tell me and I’ll get off of you.”

Jungkook lets out another whine of distress as Jimin wiggles on top of him and yeah, that’s definitely a flaccid weenie touching his thigh. In any other situation, this would be pretty great. Jimin in a pretty body harness behind him, otherwise naked, asking whether he’s a top or bottom. But in this situation? Not good. Hella not good. Like a whole metric hella, worth approximately two metric shit tons. More importantly though, why would Jimin want to know this?

He’s never shown more than a teasing, but good natured shallow interest in Jungkook’s obvious attraction to him. What changed? Or has anything changed at all? He fights down the surge of hope. Even if Jimin finally decided to reciprocate feelings, this isn’t how Jungkook would want things to happen. Are rose petals and a candle lit dinner cheesy? Yes, but that’s the kind of boy Jungkook is. So he hesitates, unsure where this is going, what Jimin is thinking.

Jungkook struggles again, trying to get free without having to answer, but it only makes things worse. Much, much worse.

Jimin’s weight shifts quickly as he pins the younger boy down beneath him, chest now flush against Jungkook’s back and oh god the flaccid weenie is now definitely touching his butt (the less he thinks about it as “Jimin’s dick,” quite a serious topic, the better).

“Just tell me pleeeease?”

At this point, anything is better than this situation, Jimin on top of him, wiggling again, material of the cape draped over both of them. It’s starting to get too warm. Jungkook’s brain and willpower are losing traction as tension builds in his body, a mixture of panic, guilty arousal, and physical discomfort. For some reason, it’s Jimin’s fingers withdrawing from under his shirt that finally causes him to snap.

“You top.”

Everything stops abruptly except for the building heat beneath the cape. Jimin is no longer moving and his giggles fade away. For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of their breathing and the faint voices of the TV on the other side of the wall in the living room.

And then Jimin asks, voice unreadably soft, quiet, “I… top?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook says with equal quietness and softness, though he thinks it’s due to the fear of being judged.

“Huh,” he huffs, sounding surprised above anything else. “Well that’s interesting.”

“Interesting?” Jungkook says, a little panicked as Jimin scoots off of him, lying tummy down on the bed beside him. The cape continues to cover both of their bodies, which is probably a good thing. Though with the older boy’s body heat gone, the warmth is a lot more bearable.

Jimin shrugs, the action muffled by the abundant silver cloth around his shoulders.

“Yeah. Most guys I ask want to fuck me— yknow, want to do the fucking.” His voice sounds small as he continues, “So I guess I just didn’t expect that answer.”

Jungkook wonders if Jimin prefers to top or bottom. He’s never heard the older boy explicitly express his preference, probably for the better since it would’ve had to come up in casual conversation. That doesn’t mean Jimin doesn’t have one though, and Jungkook also inevitably wonders whether he lets himself indulge in that preference, or simply allows the other person to choose. He can’t voice any of this though, of course not. It’s not his place. He loves Jimin, but— no.

He loves Jimin, and thus he shouldn’t ask. It’s too personal, might make things awkward because that’s what Jungkook does. He makes everything uncomfortable.

So naturally he goes with the safest option: humor.

“Well you’re the one who climbed on top of me and suggested it in the first place,” Jungkook laughs, but it’s breathy, a little strained.

Jimin gives him a small smile, “Okay true. I just… you didn’t seem like the type that’s all. Considering how much you work out and stuff.”

Work out, present tense. As if he hadn’t just picked it up again today. It’s weird to think that Taehyung knew more about Jungkook’s more recent habits than Jimin does.

“We’re generalizing then?” Jungkook smirks, feeling more comfortable now that he’s started to recover from his near fatal encounter with the unexpected weenie and Jimin has put a bit of physical distance between them. It also helps that they’re teasing again, meaning Jungkook feels less like he’s under a spotlight.

“No! I just… yes,” Jimin pouts, but it’s cute. “I’m sorry Kookie. I of all people should know not to assume things like that.”

“It’s alright,” Jungkook, a slave to his emotions, reaches out and pokes Jimin’s nose, not sure where else he might be able to touch without ruining makeup or hair or feeling like a pervert. “I’ll forgive you one day.”

Jungkook giggles with humorous, purposeful obnoxiousness. It causes Jimin to smile again.

“RIP Jimin,” he says, speaking in third person.

“RIP Jimin,” Jungkook agrees softly.

They lie there for a minute or two, searching each others’ expressions. Or it’s maybe just a few seconds. It’s hard to tell, but eventually, Jungkook takes a deep breath, his voice quiet as if he’s disturbing something more than relative silence, “We should probably get some work done, right?”

The older boy nods and slowly pushes himself up, the cape cascading around him gracefully in some places, hugging him sensuously in others. Jungkook can’t help but notice that his companion’s dick is half hard now, but thankfully, the younger boy no longer has his own half chub to hide. So much for that hallmark romcom scene.

The rest of the shoot is relatively uneventful, considering what happened before it started.

After months of practice, Jungkook has finally managed to perfect (mostly) the art of not (often) looking down at Jimin’s dick, which is supposed to be hard when photos are taken, as per instructions.

So yeah, he totally masturbated as Jungkook set up the lights. It took a lot of humming to pretend he didn’t hear Jimin’s hand, his shaky breathing, and soft sighs. Sometimes he wonders what Jimin thinks about when he touches himself. Certainly not Jungkook, but it’s definitely an intriguing line of thought.

Jungkook also wonders whether Jimin practices his expressions in the mirror between shoots because fuck he just radiates the perfect amount of coldness while dripping with sensuality. It’s a weird contrast, seeing Jimin in a body harness, implicative of binding, and wanting the older boy to fuck him senseless while draped over the arm of the couch.

Taxes and essays. Essays and taxes.

Thus ice prince Jimin is brought out of the imagination and into physical being, captured in photographs with sultry stares, no smiles, and the prettiest dick Jungkook has ever seen (or tried not to see because gosh darn it he still has dregs of willpower).

When Jungkook says they’re done, Jimin stretches out and gives him a small smile.

“Thanks Kookie,” he stands and with a much different demeanor than earlier, wraps the cape fully around himself as if wanting to hide his body. “I’m gonna go shower off.”

“No problem,” he says, returning the small smile. “Want me to wait for you or…?”

It’s still relatively early in the night. He figures Jimin might want to get food.

If Jungkook didn’t know better, he’d think Jimin’s cheeks dust pink, but it must be a play of the light.

“Ah, okay. If you want to. I mean you have to pack up anyway.”

Jungkook nods. They stand there awkwardly for a few seconds before Jimin jabs his thumb over his shoulder, continuing, “Alright, I’m gonna go do my thing.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before walking with quiet steps into the bathroom.

For some reason, sympathy is the first word that comes to Jungkook’s mind. He cleans up the shoot methodically, but avoids the couch. That’s Jimin’s responsibility namely because… well, ass and balls, to put it plainly. It’s just a silent agreement they’ve had since the beginning. The sound of the shower is consistent in the background.

When he finishes, Jungkook sits down on the very edge of Jimin’s bed, trying to relax. He’ll leave his equipment in here for safekeeping. Maybe he’ll suggest eating in, heat up some leftovers because honestly he’s kind of tired.

But then Jungkook perks up at the sound of a familiar voice.

It’s muffled through the wall, distorted slightly by the TV and the shower, yet Jungkook can still tell it’s Yoongi and if Yoongi is here, something exciting is about to happen. He doesn’t go out after work without good cause and he definitely doesn’t come upstairs unless invited (unlike Jimin and Hoseok, who love to pop up in the other apartment without warning).

Jungkook gets up to walk to the door because those extra couple steps will definitely with all certainty absolutely improve his hearing. Yoongi’s talking to Taehyung and it makes Jungkook happy to know he can identify both voices immediately now. What they’re saying, he has no clue but the boy with the fiery red hair laughs, which is reassuring.

His ear presses to the door.

“… something to show him.”

“No, I haven’t seen him yet. He might still be working.”

“Oh okay. Mind if I hang out here?”

“Take a seat.”

“What are we listening to?” Jimin’s whispered voice, so close to his ear, makes Jungkook startle, which causes him to jump back, accidentally elbowing Jimin in the stomach and stepping on his foot. “Kook what the fuck?”

“I’m sorry! You scared me,” Jungkook says, hands ghosting over Jimin to make sure he’s alright. “But I promise I didn’t meant to.”

The older boy is now in sweatpants and a much too large threadbare T-shirt that slips over one of his shoulders. His hair is damp, though towel dried so it doesn’t drip or stick to his forehead. It’s probably still a little tacky from product, but it’s natural again and he’s barefaced, features softer without the makeup. This is obviously a more domestic look. Jungkook prefers this over body harness ice prince Jimin.

“Really?” Jimin laughs breathily, holding his stomach and looking up at Jungkook like an injured puppy. “No, Kookie, I thought you tried to kill me on purpose.”

It takes a few seconds for the sarcasm to register, at which point Jungkook quiets the ensuing stream of apologies and scrunches his nose in a pout.

“Aw don’t be like that,” Jimin says. “I’m the one who almost died.”

Jungkook continues to pout dramatically, now leaning against the door with his nose to the wood. Jimin coos, gently trying to pry the younger boy away from the wooden barrier, hands on his shoulders.

“Kookie…”

He simply (fake) sniffles.

“C’mon you love me,” Jimin is giggling, still weakly tugging on him. “Let’s hug and make up.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Fine.”

Jimin squeals quietly as Jungkook allows him to pull his larger body away from the door and envelop him in a tight hug. It’s everything Jungkook wishes he could have on a regular basis. Soft, affectionate, strong. As Jungkook turns to accommodate Jimin and wrap his arms around the older boy, he can’t help thinking that Jimin fits perfectly in his arms, chin hooking over Jungkook’s shoulder, their bodies melding together to fill the cracks.

But it’s the wrong kind of perfect. Two things that aren’t meant to fit, like a coin in a ring, baby carrots in a battery slot, or a tennis ball inside of a drainage pipe. He doesn’t know what to make of it.

—

Jimin gives Jungkook a playful squeeze, smothering giggles into the younger boy’s chest as his body naturally lets out a huff with the sudden added pressure. It’s cute. Such a big boy, but so quiet and gentle.

He won’t lie, it’s nice hugging Jungkook. He represents an area of safety to Jimin, the cause of no pain except the slow boiling guilt inside him, but that’s omnipresent  anyway. Jungkook wouldn’t hurt him, won’t let anyone else hurt him either. He’s a source of comfort and warmth, two things Jimin doesn’t often get to experience without giving something of himself away.

“So you never answered my question,” Jimin says, pulling back to look up at him without the danger of them being close enough to kiss. “What were you listening to?”

“Nothing too interesting. Yoongi’s here.”

“He is?”

“Yeah. Wanna get something to eat?”

Jimin nods and lets go, slowly taking a step back. He can still feel the ghost of the dull ache and sharp bite of the leather on his skin, especially around his groin. It’s hard to find full body harnesses for men that are pretty. So yeah, sometimes he has to resort to strangely fitting female attire, which often leaves his genitalia in uncomfortable situations. But that will all fade by tomorrow evening. For now, he’ll enjoy the feeling of a job well done.

They exit the room with polite greetings to Taehyung and Yoongi before Jimin leads the way to the kitchen where they heat up leftovers. He slides the bowls across the island countertop, placing one in front of Jungkook and the other in front of the empty seat beside him.

As Jimin is getting the spoons, Hoseok and Seokjin walk into the apartment, the former chattering on as usual about Ms. Piper, who apparently sent back her food four times today, refusing to eat until— and pardon Jimin for not listening intently— something about a rice dish.

He takes a seat next to Jungkook, handing the younger boy a spoon so they can both start eating.

In his peripherals, Jimin can see Yoongi stand up and approach Seokjin, interrupting the conversation about Ms. Piper. They speak quietly until Yoongi pulls out his phone, handing it to the older boy. Seokjin looks perplexed for a moment before nodding, then walking over to the small dining table behind Jimin, meaning he can no longer see.

He thus loses interest quickly, especially as Hoseok strides over and puts his arms around both his and Jungkook’s shoulders.

“I see you’ve finished with the shoot already huh?”

“Yeah,” Jimin confirms with a smile. “Jungkookie made it nice and easy.”

“That’s great! Our resident photographer is so talented,” Hoseok presses a loud smooch to said photographer’s cheek. “But now that you guys are free, we should totally play a game.”

“That depends on what type of game,” Jimin turns to give him a suggestive smile. “After what happened last time-”

“Okay that wasn’t my fault.”

“Namjoon still had to get stitches,” Jungkook pauses eating for a moment to add helpfully.

Hoseok pouts, backing up to cross his arms over his chest, “Well he should’ve been more careful with the Monopoly pieces.”

“So what game?” Jimin presses with a light laugh.

“How about… truth or dare?”

Jungkook huffs, “Can’t you pick anything less cliched?”

“Well if someone hadn’t pissed Jin off we could still play hide and seek.”

A memory flashes through Jimin’s mind. A park at midnight, dappled with the dim white glow of streetlights and washed in soft silver by the crescent moon. A pond, inky black with blurry edges that gently lap at the paths around it. Worn wooden benches, massive aged trees. Hoseok decked out in glow sticks; Yoongi sitting in a playground plastic tube; Jungkook helping Jimin into a tree; a splash— Namjoon and Seokjin soaking wet.

He smiles.

“Maybe we should try hide and seek again,” Jimin wiggles happily in his seat, bringing the bowl into his lap so he can continue eating as he speaks to Hoseok. “But this time no going near the pond.”

“Yeah okay good idea, but I’m not going to be It first this time,” Hoseok negotiates, hands now on his hips.

“Not It,” Jungkook declares. He finishes his last bite of food before getting up and walking over to the sink.

Jimin perks up, asking, “So you’re gonna play then?”

“I guess.”

“Don’t be so nonchalant, Kook, we all know you’re excited to squeeze into some small space with Jimin,” Hoseok teases.

“No, not doing that again,” Jungkook says over the sound of water hitting the bowl as he rinses it. “He giggles too much.”

“Guilty,” Jimin raises his fork in acknowledgement.

“And if I’m playing, I’m playing to win.”

“Perfect! I’ll go indoctrinate Yoongi and Taehyung.”

“You know we’re like right here? We can hear what you’re saying?” Yoongi says from his seat on the couch.

Hoseok shrugs, “Good, then I don’t have to explain anything.”

“Shameless,” Yoongi huffs, then looks down at his phone again.

“So we’re talking about something like manhunt?” Taehyung’s head tilts.

“What?” both Hoseok and Jimin ask.

“Manhunt it’s… hide and seek. Outside.”

They all stare at each other for a few seconds before Hoseok clears his throat, “Oh, okay yeah. Well, not It.”

Seokjin elects to stay home and there’s no response from Namjoon, so twenty minutes later, Jimin, Jungkook, Hoseok, Taehyung, and Yoongi get out of the car and hop up onto the curb, the latter covered in glow sticks almost to a comical degree, a physical manifestation of the burden that comes with being dubbed “It.”

It’s starting to get cold out at night, which leaves all of them in hoodies or sweatshirts. Jimin thinks it smells like rain, but Hoseok quickly assures him that it wasn’t in the forecast. The park is instead covered in a thick blanket of fog, weighing down heavily on Jimin’s lungs, his visibility disintegrating into a hazy white at about three or four meters. He can’t even see the playground equipment he knows is in the middle of the massive park. This is going to be an interesting game.

“Everyone’s got their phone on, right?” Hoseok asks, checking his own. “Reception okay?”

“I didn’t picture you as the safety buff,” Taehyung teases.

Hoseok snorts, obviously amused, “Well Jin isn’t here to nag us, so someone has to do it.”

As the two of them exchange playful retorts, Jimin pulls out his phone and finds, to his dismay, that he’s only got ten percent left.

“I’m gonna need a hiding buddy,” he inserts quietly, feeling a little guilty. He should’ve at least grabbed a charger or something.

“And it’s not going to be me,” Hoseok puts his hands up in mock surrender as they start walking toward a massive tree that’s marked the starting point for the four games of hide and seek they’ve played here.

Jimin turns to look at Jungkook with a pleading smile, but he just shakes his head. The older boy feels slightly hurt, but he can’t blame Jungkook. Jimin does giggle a lot.

“You can hide with me.”

The offer catches Jimin by surprise and he turns to look at Taehyung, asking with hesitant hopefulness, “Really?”

“Of course. I mean, I’m the only one left anyway,” Taehyung winks, then laughs brightly, voice deep and smooth. “I always like having a partner anyway. Makes things more fun.”

With their past, Jimin hadn’t expected him to offer, but he’s definitely grateful and won’t turn it down.

“Okay cool. Thanks.”

“Great, now that you two are done being sappy, rules?” Yoongi crosses his arms, looking like a disgruntled human incarnation of a yard that was vomited on by too much Christmas cheer, just sans the fluorescent reindeer, candy cane wielding penguins, and uncanny valley Santa Claus.

“Don’t leave the park, don’t go near the pond, and don’t shout for help unless you need it,” Hoseok states effortlessly, as if he’s thought of this extensively.

“Sounds good to me.”

“Alright Yoongi, how long?”

“Forever.”

“Fuck you, you just don’t want to look for us.”

“Caught me red handed.”

“One minute,” Hoseok supplies, then points in a grand, sweeping motion. “Face the tree.”

The oldest boy does as asked, putting his arm up and resting his face in the crook of his elbow. He sounds bored as he starts counting, “One… two… three…”

Hoseok screams and takes off running into the mist, back in the direction of the car. Jimin thinks making noise is not the best idea when you’re trying to be sneaky, but whatever floats his boat. Jungkook jogs away in the opposite direction, strangely quiet for a boy of his size, his footfalls quiet crunches on the wet grass. He might be heading toward the area of dense foliage where he tried to climb and hide in a tree last time.

Jimin turns to look at Taehyung, arching an eyebrow. The other boy shrugs, so Jimin leads the way to the playground. Their pace is quick, but not frantic, sand sticking to shoes as they make their way to the multilayered structure of painted metal and molded plastic. With the fog, it almost looks like a castle in the clouds. They take the stairs up onto the equipment, the bridge squeaking in protest under their weight, causing Jimin to laugh. Taehyung playfully shushes him before they attempt to fit into one of a few tunnels.

Jimin manages to crawl through and climbs another platform to sit in a small tower-like hut at the top of an enclosed slide. There are small slits that allow him to see out, but it’s too dark to see in at night. The perfect place to hide. Besides, if Yoongi gets close, he can just slip into the slide and make sure he’s too big to go all the way down.

Taehyung, on the other hand, decides to stay in the tunnel. He’s on his stomach, back and shoulders dipping just beneath the line of opaque plastic windows. Even if both of them can’t fit into Jimin’s spot, he’s a little disgruntled that Taehyung is so visible. What if he gives away their spot? He takes a moment to remind himself that it’s just a game.

The two boys make eye contact and Taehyung smiles, causing Jimin to unexplainably giggle again. Maybe Taehyung won’t be the one giving away their position. To prevent himself from making any more noise, Jimin turns slightly to look out onto the expanse of fog covered grass. In the distance, he can still hear Yoongi counting, but the excessive water in the air distorts the sound, making it impossible to tell what number he’s on.

When the counting stops, the world becomes eerily silent. All Jimin can hear is the shaky sound of his own forcibly quieted breathing, trapped by his plastic surroundings. Eventually, Jimin spots what looks like a diluted Christmas tree walking around, colors muffled. He has to smother another giggle.

Man, no wonder Jungkook didn’t want to hide together.

“Jimin, do you see him?” Taehyung’s whispered voice sounds like a shout in such a heavy quietness.

“Yeah. He’s not close.”

Maybe minutes pass. Maybe seconds. Taehyung takes out his phone.

“Turn it off,” Jimin whispers sharply, causing Taehyung to drop the device. It clatters loudly against the bottom of the tube, causing both boys to wince and smother surprised laughter into their hands.

The blurry Christmas tree gets closer, which silences them effectively, especially as Yoongi walks out of the mist like something out of a goddamn horror movie… if the monster was covered in a ridiculous amount of glow sticks.

Jimin stills his whole body in anticipation, which naturally means he suddenly needs to pee. Will Taehyung and his terrible hiding spot get them found? Will Jimin giggle at an inopportune time? Will Yoongi zero in on the sound of a phone clattering against—?

He almost jumps out of his skin when Yoongi pauses practically right beneath the slide tower and says, “Found you.”

The only thing that stops him from huffing out a long list of expletives is a curse that beats him to it.

“Fuck.”

“Watch your language,” Yoongi chides.

It’s Jungkook’s light laugh that follows, causing Jimin and Taehyung to exchange a surprised glance. When had he come to the playground equipment?

“What gave me away?” Jungkook asks, amusement plain in his voice.

“Don’t be stupid,” Yoongi huffs and Jimin can only watch as he crawls underneath the structure, into one of the plastic tubes. Jungkook must be sitting inside. “I’ll always find you.”

“I think that was the gayest thing I’ve heard today. And I talked to Jin earlier.”

Jungkook laughs again, a little awkward this time, but Yoongi doesn’t respond.

The younger boy continues, “Did you find anyone else yet?”

“Hobi thinks I don’t know he’s in the car.”

“Isn’t that technically cheating? Since we’re supposed to stay in the park?”

“Tell him that.”

Jimin and Taehyung are staring intensely at each other, the latter’s phone still sitting on the bottom of the tube in which he’s lying, likely not picked up in fear of it making too much noise. Jimin’s heartbeat is pounding in his pulse points, a frantic “what the actual fuck” smile on his face. This has to be like something out of a movie.

“What about Jimin and Taehyung?”

“No idea.”

“So you just made a beeline for me?”

“Yes. Now sell out your friends.”

Suddenly, there’s a confusingly excessive amount of clattering, the sound of items hitting plastic, similar to when Taehyung dropped his phone. It takes a moment for Jimin to realize that it’s all of the glow sticks.

“Hey, you can’t just-”

Jungkook cuts Yoongi off with a laugh, followed by the sound of another short scuffle, more glow sticks colliding with the plastic tube.

“Get off.”

“Make me.”

Jungkook must be on top, pinning Yoongi down. He sounds like he’s having a great time. Yoongi? Not so much. But there’s also fondness hidden in his dry command, an emotion that takes years of knowing Yoongi to find.

“You little shit.”

There’s silence for a few seconds, then the patter of light rain, fading in from a few drops and plateauing at a quiet steady staccato rhythm. It makes the next part harder to hear.

“What’re you…?” Jungkook’s question trails off, seemingly unsure.

“Oblivious brat.”

Yoongi’s voice sounds soft, yet pained. The dozens of thuds that follow precede the older boy crawling out of the tube and back into Jimin’s line of sight. His face looks pink, or maybe that’s just the excessive amount of glow sticks.

“Where are you going?” Jungkook crawls out after him.

“Back to the car.”

“Why?”

“It’s fucking raining?”

“Wait, I think we should talk about it.”

Talk about what? Jimin watches as they leave the playground area, walking on the grass again, Jungkook jogging to catch up to Yoongi’s fast pace.

“Later.”

The rest of the conversation is lost in the rain and fog. Confused, Jimin turns to look at Taehyung, who points to his lips.

“What” Jimin mouths, still clueless.

“Kiss,” is the word Taehyung silently chooses to respond with.

Before Jimin can ask for an explanation, the sound of Taehyung’s phone buzzing causes both boys to startle and Jimin hits his head on the plastic roof above him. He’ll later find out that it’s a text from Hoseok telling everyone to come back to the car because of the weather.

[Next- the link will take you to Ao3]

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[princettegil]

A long thing about happiness, gender, feeling like not fitting in, and Astolfo's positive impact on me (referring to Astolfo as 'he' here cause I originally wrote this for my therapist and figured she'd understand that better since she's not very up on gender stuff.)

I just wanna say how much happier I’ve been since pinning down my gender issues! Realizing more about myself and who I am has made me so much more content! But I do worry because I haven’t had the “typical” trans experience.

Growing up, I never disliked being a girl nor did I ever think about being anything else; I enjoyed the way I was. It wasn’t until the last few years that I started to think of my gender but it was only in a mild way like, “I wonder what I would look like if I was born male?” And then it became related to cosplaying male characters and trying to look more male when I was dressed as them. Eventually, around a year ago, I began to see myself as being two parts of a whole – a gay/feminine male side and a female side. This then lead to going back and forth between being female and agender (no gender) and then just deciding I was non-binary or genderqueer (identifying as both male and female combined) but now I realize that being considered a guy, especially a feminine guy, is what feels best.

I was likely already working towards this route but I was really inspired by a character named Astolfo from the Fate/Apocrypha novel and anime and the Fate/Grand Order phone game. This character is said to be biologically male but in earlier versions of his profile he had marked out his gender and wrote “le secret.” In the game, his gender is once again obscured ‘as per his request.’ Astolfo always dresses in female clothes, even swimsuits but doesn’t seem to really adhere to being called “male” or “female.” But, knowing his biological gender and how he presented, I finally felt like I found a place to fit. There was representation for me out there and I could be a guy who dressed like a cute girl! This was a thing! I could be this! It was okay to be this! I knew this before, in the news, but I had never really connected with it yet. I had seen similar characters like this and felt close to them because of this but they all tended to be against dressing as girls and just wound up in female clothes because of the story and not something they really wanted. And crossdressing never felt a right term, crossdressing made me feel like I was dressing as someone else that I’m not, that’s not what I want or how I consider it. Astolfo, however, never says he’s crossdressing or wants to be a woman, he’s simply fully confident in what he is and what he likes – he enjoys being himself and this is part of that. He is truly inspiring! THIS is what I wanted to be! This is how I feel! And I finally had someone to look up to in that; to strive for! That’s when I knew what I really wanted and what I really was. I’ve slowly moved a little more towards male since then but I know where I want to be now and though I didn’t realize it until recently, it makes me very happy to have found a place to belong.

But I still don’t feel like I’ve had that “trans experience.” I never hated my gender and my only dysphoric issue was with my body, more correctly, my weight – not my gender. Even then my weight didn’t bother me all that much. Sure, I couldn’t fit in some clothes I liked and that upset me but it’d move on after a while. Getting older and starting to order stuff online and finding punk and goth clothing rarely ever in my size, now THAT bothered me! But even more so was the fact that I couldn’t find Halloween costumes in my size! That was my main concern with my weight for years! Halloween costumes! Why couldn’t I fit in all the cool “teen/pre-teen” Halloween costumes! The adult ones weren’t as cute and why was there hardly any plus size ones? Why were the few that did exist so ugly!? *sigh* Sure, not finding cute clothes in the stores hurt but not finding cute punk/goth clothes online and Halloween costumes hurt most.

But the last several months, my breasts have become more of an issue to me than my weight and that is slightly related to gender (though having smaller breasts always sounded good.) I definitely want them gone now! I want a smooth, flat, boy-ish chest! No more breasts! But other than that happening recently, I’ve never had any other issue with my gender. I’ve thought for a few years that my body, face and voice didn’t match my personality but that wasn’t exactly gender related either but more of general body dysphoria unrelated to gender.

I’ve never felt, before the last couple years, that I was anything other than a girl. I didn’t grow up feeling uncomfortable in my assigned gender – I was fine with it actually. I had a lot of tomboy in me, having grown up in the hills with a super tomboy-ish mom, but was pretty girly too (choosing skirts during summer, dresses, cute hair accessories, “girly” colors, etc.) But I never felt that I wasn’t a girl growing up. I never desired to be a boy back then. I still don’t feel like I have been a guy all along growing up in a girl’s body. I was a girl. I was happy as a girl. But now I’m something else and that makes me happy too! But it does make me feel a bit apart from others in the trans community because, though I’m perhaps even happier identifying as a male now, I don’t hate, dislike, feel uncomfortable, or have any issues with me growing up as a girl. I was a happy little fluffy skirt wearing princess child! I enjoyed that! Still do! Except now I wanna be a little fluffy skirt wearing Prince--- err, Princette (a unisex/non-gendered version of Prince/Princess that I prefer)! And its things like this that sometimes make me question myself and where I really fit in. But I’m happy like this! I’m comfortable like this! And was comfortable in my childhood gender identity too! But it does hurt sometimes and makes me feel a bit disconnected…

But the reason I really wanted to write this is to express just how happy I’ve been since I’ve discovered more about my gender identity and started to identify as male/femmale/NB male. I knew I’d continue going by my nickname of Gil but now, having chosen a full new name – Gilraen Hime (+ my last name) and filling out the forms to legally change my name (and hoping I can get enough money to proceed with the change soon) I feel even better! The last few days have been so happy for me! My mental illness issues have lessened, my amount of happy days has gone up considerably and I’m feeling so good about myself! I hope to soon have my breasts removed and go through with weight loss surgery and I’m happily looking forward to both! But even as-is, I am so much happier that I can barely describe it! I don’t know how to express myself lately but I just want to go on screaming about my gender and name to anyone who will listen! (That also, makes me feel a bit odd in the community though, I see so many people go through stress and pain over this but it’s made me nothing but happy the entire way! Now, telling my family may be a different story but for now I am so happy!) I really just can’t calm down about this, I’m sorry if I keep posting like this and it gets annoying but I’m just so glad to have found another part of myself!

[llamaswrites]

Spiral

Fandom: Overwatch

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Doomfist: The Successor | Akande Ogundimu/Lúcio Correia dos Santos

Summary: 

Hana said it took twenty-one days to form a habit.

It should have been simple to do.

The universe only gave him four days before everything went wrong.

Read on AO3 here.

It was yet another of Hana’s spontaneous theories and, like most ideas she came up with unrelated to battle tactics (either in Starcraft or actual combat), it was completely awful.

“It’s really simple in theory,” she told Lúcio through a mouthful of chips and ice cream. It was a combination that he always found awful, but it made appearance any time either of them had something go down that required ‘bestie time’, as Hana put it. “You just need to stay so busy that you can’t think about him. Eventually, you’ll just forget to think about him. They say it takes twenty-one days to form a habit. Think you can do it?”

Hana didn’t know much about Akande, other than he was exactly Lúcio’s type and managed to severely bruise his fragile heart. She didn’t even know his name, because he’d never told her and she’d never asked. It was the unspoken rule when they got together that the other person didn’t pry, to just let everything flow out naturally.

This time, Hana perched on the ratty old couch she’d found in the depths of Watchpoint: Gibraltar, after having put on something awful (anime, probably) on the holoscreen at the front of the room. Lúcio sat on the floor with his back against the couch, letting Hana comb her fingers through his recently cleaned hair. After a lot of practice, he was comfortable with her helping twist his hair back into locs.  

It was hard, sometimes, to reconcile this Hana with the one he went on missions with. When she was out of the MEKA, she was bright and happy and spontaneous. In it, she was cold, calculating, and brutal, everything she trained to be as essentially a child soldier.

“I’m going to bet that’s worked for exactly no one ,” he told her, eyes trained on the screen in front of him but not really watching. “How do you come up with this stuff?”

“I don’t,” she said, but then backtracked. “At least, I didn’t come up with this. It’s something 76 mentioned to me once.”

“You should leave that poor guy alone,” Lúcio mumbled, and then asked “What did he have to say? I didn’t think he really had anything or anyone outside of just being an old soldier past his time.”

“You tell me to leave him alone and still want to scoop? I don’t think that’s fair!” She tugged on a completed loc playfully.

“It’s not like you’re going to leave him alone anyway. Just spill!”

He expected Hana to spill immediately, like whenever she had a juicy piece of gossip about someone on base, but she hesitated. “I’m not really sure if it’s my story or whatever to tell, but...I found him one night when I was exploring, out near the big beacon that acts like a lighthouse over the straight. His visor was off and he was slamming back this cheap ass beer. I asked him if he wanted to have some company, to share some war stories and beer because I had some too and god knows none of us are getting therapy anytime soon and he told me, ‘That’s not why I’m out here’.

“He let me join him though, and few beers later he started talking. Said that back when he was the head of this whole shindig, he had a person that he was really close to, that he fell in love with. He never told them though and they died when that base blew up. He told me that piece of advice, though. Said that’s how he got over it. Maybe it’ll work for you.”

“Did he ever say who they were?” Lúcio asked, curious.

“Nah,” she said, flipping a finished loc over his shoulder. “But hey, his advice has to be worth something. He’s got way more age and wisdom and senior discounts than we’ll ever have. He probably knows what he’s talking about.”

He hummed softly in agreement, but couldn’t help imagining 76 up on that lighthouse tower. Hana probably didn’t realize that if he was up there mourning by himself that his tactics for forgetting hadn’t worked after all. Maybe his advice had worked once upon a time, but obviously something or someone recently dragged every bit of thought and obsession and grief back to the forefront of his mind. Lúcio didn’t plan on taking Hana’s advice, at least not originally. As was the case with everything in his life, but especially concerning Overwatch, trouble soon followed.

He told himself at first that he wanted to know more about Akande because he needed to thank him for the research and schematics left behind on the holo tablet. Not because, he scolded himself, he was still enamoured with the man despite not seeing him in over two weeks and despite the lack of any further promise. Searching for him on the web hadn’t been his immediate course of actions because it felt weird to search for someone he’d been so...personal...with in such an impersonal way. Lúcio was afraid of what he’d find, afraid that his experience that night would be far from unique, even if nothing was promised to make it that way. He soon found that with Akande, that should have been the least of his worries.

Instead, he checked the message Akande left for him on the datapad, hoping for some overt contact information he missed on his first glance through or clues in the metadata. The message itself was as unhelpful at it had been before. Checking the metadata was no better; it was as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, leaving it utterly unsalvageable and utterly useless. It was too much like recovered data from old watchpoints and Talon bases, deliberately obscured and damaged to hide the fingerprints of individuals long gone, or long damned in their pursuits.

Lúcio chose to look past the oddity. Surely Akande had his reasons for masking his digital trail. From his knowledge to his (too) expensive suit to the small red plates on his head announcing the fine intraneural nerve wiring to his prosthetic, it was clear he was someone , someone who dearly didn’t want to be found trivially. It should have scared Lúcio more than it did. He wasn’t prepared for how hard the fear and realization would hit him.

It had been entirely too easy to find out about Akande on the web. Lúcio thought that he misspelled his name at first because surely this couldn’t be the intimidating but gentle man he met. A quick check of the message of the datapad confirmed he had it right and a hard, cold lump of anxiety settled deep in his gut. He steeled himself and clicked on the first biography page that popped up. His eyes lighted on the picture and the lump immediately shot up into his stomach, nausea rising quickly. He threw the datapad (the same one from Akande) violently away from him and dashed to the bathroom to lose his lunch. The datapad landed on the bed’s comforter and was fine. Lúcio’s emotional state, however, was not.

Lúcio could honestly say before he saw Akande’s picture that there was not much he regretted in life or, at least, nothing he regretted deeply. He mourned deeply those lost in the revolution he’d started, wished there had been a better way, but he knew his regret would do nothing to change the past and only dishonor their memory. He didn’t really regret the actions that led him to lose his lower legs; after all, he wouldn’t be the same person or have all the same friends today with them.

After emptying his stomach, he rested his head back against the wall. He realized, panting slightly, that this was his first true regret. The only person that could reasonably be worse in this situation might be Gabriel Reyes, if he ever really was a person when he was still in Blackwatch (there was still so much he didn’t know or wasn’t privileged to). Or maybe Widowmaker. Still, Akande -- Doomfist -- was terrible in his own right. He killed so many in his rise to power through Talon; more still would be lost Talon’s warmongering efforts succeeded. He was the antithesis to everything Lúcio stood for in his life and Lúcio had let him see the most vulnerable part of him, both personally and with his tech.

The memory of being touched gently by Akande, by the same hands that killed so many, flitted by in his brain and Lúcio smashed his head back against the tile wall, quashing down the nausea that rose violently in him with pain. He took a few deeps breaths and tried to center himself. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as he was making it out to be. After all, Aka-- Doomfist certainly hadn’t mentioned to anyone what had happened between them and if he did, it hadn’t gotten out. Maybe this was just another passing thing for Doomfist or at most, some manipulation on Talon’s part. He couldn’t let it get to him. He wouldn’t.

The keypad beeping faintly in the distance was all the warning he got before Hana barged into his room, 76 in tow with a tray of food. Apparently in his internal angsting, he missed dinner. Hana joined him on the floor of the bathroom without hesitation, smoothing his locs away form his face. 76 positioned himself in the doorway between the bathroom and bedroom with the tray balanced on a single hand, obviously irritated by being dragged along but still not leaving.

“You never miss dinner, are you sick?” asked Hana. Lúcio shook his head and smiled weakly at her.

“Nah, I’m not sick,” he said and tried to stand up. Hana pulled him back down to the cool floor.

“What’s wrong? I know something’s wrong. Is it him?” she asked once more. Lúcio glanced up quickly at 76. The old soldier seemed to be unimpressed by what the youngsters before him were talking about and studying the room around him. An arched eyebrow above his visor, though, cued Lúcio into the fact that 76 was actually listening to their conversation.

“Um, kinda,” Lúcio admitted quietly, trying to prevent 76 from listening in. It probably didn’t work; super soldier hearing made having private conversations near impossible. “Just...I think I need to take your advice, for once. I’m driving myself nuts.”

Hana helped him to his feet and together, they stumbled back into the bedroom. His prosthetics feld like dead weight as he settled back onto the bed. Hana relocated the tablet to his bedside table, where 76 also placed the tray of food. 76 averted his gaze when Lúcio undid the locks on the prosthetics but Hana just leaned on his shoulder, entirely used to seeing his legs off and knowing it just made everything more awkward if she ignored the elephant in the room.

76 took up post by the door, clearly waiting for Hana as she whispered to Lúcio, “Love sucks. It gets better though. I promise.”

“It’s not, uh, love and thanks. For the advice. And for dinner.”

She pushed herself off his shoulder and off bed. “No problem! Text me if you need anything else. And hey, maybe you should start taking my advice more often.”

“You had a good idea for once?” rumbled 76’s voice finally. “The world must be ending.”

Hana pouted at him with crossed arms as he poked roughly at the keypad to open the door. 76 waited outside in the hall as she hugged Lúcio.

“Can it, mister,” she told the old soldier as she joined him in the hallway. “Besides, this bit of wisdom wasn’t one-hundred-percent Hana Song Certified. If it goes topsy turvy, it’s your fault.”

The door closed, but Lúcio could still hear the indignant, “My fault?” from the other side as he flopped back down the bed. For some reason, he had a feeling that sleep would not come easy.

Everything that could go wrong, did so like this:

Hana said it took twenty-one days to form a habit. Simple enough, Lúcio thought. Overwatch always had a plethora of missions available, ranging from escort situations to active combat situations. He signed himself up for the most mind numbing missions he can find after he fails to not think of the night in Rio for a week straight. This will work, he told himself.

And it did, for about four days. Four days of pushing himself to the limit and falling in his bed or a cot every night, absolutely exhausted. Four days of getting up, showering, and throwing himself back into his work, healing and guiding and fighting with blood making his skin tacky.

His life hadn’t been this intense since living back in the favela under Vishkar. These missions were the most extreme Overwatch had to offer, the ones that were always waiting for one last brave soul to make them a reality. Lúcio found himself crawling through vent ducts and scorching under the heat of the Cairo sun, all in the name of justice (and keeping his mind off of Akande). He didn’t even realize his plan was working.

Everything went wrong, starting like this:

They’re up in a satellite state of Russia and the air was cold enough to make breathing physically hurt. The sun, just starting to set below the horizon, did not help the temperature at all. The mission is in an area that could be described as a slum. Each shack was built out spare parts, whether from the siding of trains or the hulls of Volskaya mechs and rats, more impervious to the cold than Lúcio was, ran underfoot.The streets were narrow and wound through it in an almost non-Euclidean manner, making it all the more impossible to avoid the sharp icicles hanging from the tin ramshackle roofs. If not for the cold, it would make Lúcio miss his favela fiercely.

There was a definite sense of poverty, yes, but also a feeling of community and belonging. Everyone here knew each other and each other’s business, which made the Overwatch team’s presence all the more glaringly obvious. Their objective was a specific omnic living in one of these shacks, particularly escorting them to safety from the harshly anti-omnic groups circling like sharks around the neighborhood. Omnics were exceedingly rare in Russia, though this omnic had managed to survive long enough to see many others of their kind to safety. Now, only they remained, trapped by those wanting to prosecute them for the crime of protecting others. The community didn’t know or trust their intentions to help, though, and so hidden the omnic remained.

Today’s squad was smaller than their usual six man. He was accompanied by Soldier 76 and McCree, of all people and was dismayed when neither man seemed very bothered by the cold. They split up early on, to gain more ground, and Lúcio found himself quietly skating through icy alleys, followed only by the quiet hum of his sonic amplifier and the stares of the slum’s residents. There was at least a clue to where this omnic might be in the form of some sort of symbol painted on the upper left of their door, but that was according to the worried omnics this one helped. Still, working on old information was better than none at all.

He barely turned a corner when an explosion nearby rocked the slums, causing some of the icicles to fall from the eaves, shattering on the ground melodiously. Lúcio quickly backtracked to the alley he came from in search of better cover, hand reaching up to the comm in his ear to consult his team about what just happened.

76 only had time to growl out, “Talon, Reaper,” before the rest of the icicles crashed down in a cacophony as something heavy landed behind him. Lúcio froze, heart in his throat and his skin prickling up from something other than the cold. He had a feeling that, if he were to turn around, he would know exactly who was behind him.

Everything went wrong because Hana’s plan couldn’t possibly account for Doomfist finding him in the middle of a mission.

Once, he read that the now extinct wolves in America proper would refuse to look at or acknowledge humans when they were caught in a trap. Sometimes, a wolf would twist itself around in a trap if that meant not looking at a human nearby. It was as though they thought trouble didn’t exist or would go away if it wasn’t acknowledged. He didn’t understand it then, but he did now.

“We meet again, Lúcio Correia dos Santos,” rumbled a voice behind him. Lúcio willed his knees to not give out and turned around finally, knowing that not facing an enemy was probably the stupidest thing he could do, next to being intimate with the same enemy.

The next stupidest thing came out of his mouth a moment later and he wanted to slap himself. “Just Lúcio is fine, but you know that.”

The corner of Akande’s mouth twitched up into a smirk as he approached Lúcio. The way he moved reminded Lúcio of some sort of big cat stalking its prey. Any other time it might have been a flattering comparison, but in this case…

The prey was a rather idiotic frog.

Lúcio skated smoothly backwards, intent on putting some space between himself and Akande--Doomfist---he really needed to stop conflating this man with anything but enemy . He hoped Doomfist wouldn’t force him to wallride to escape, as he knew there was another wall fast approaching behind his back. Escaping that giant gauntlet while having little control on a wall other than forward was not Lúcio’s idea of a good time. Really, Lúcio ought to just flee but some stupid part of him wanted to know why he was sought out specifically.

Thankfully, Doomfist stopped. Still, his huge frame filled up the narrow alley to the point where Lúcio could barely see past him. In contrast to the images he saw in his earlier search of the Talon, the mountain of a man actually wore a shirt, with one long sleeve that nearly extended past his free hand and the other tied up above his gleaming gauntlet.

“I am glad to see you once more. You were not on any of the usual missions you take for Overwatch.”

Lúcio’s first thought was that, duh, he wasn’t on any of those missions because he was trying to avoid the man, whether it was actually encountering him or simply thinking about him. His second was to question if Akande was actually looking for him . Was the man actively stalking Overwatch just to talk to him? Subtly, he muted the comm in his ear, listening with only half attention as 76 screeched commands into their line like a hoarse, old crow .

“I have to say that, uh, I’m not really that glad,” Lúcio as he shifted his weight back and forth on his skates and studied the eaves. They were just tall enough that wallriding might be possible to get past Doomfist, but there would be a problem if he wanted to launch himself on top of the building due to the eaves.

The smirk dropped instantly and Lúcio felt his veins turned to ice. Happy Akande was terrifying and intimidating but this was on a whole other level. He wasn’t sure if he would be more intimidated of Reaper if the ghast decided to show his face right then and there (it was doubtful though, if the traded gunfire between a pulse rifle and shotguns in the distance was anything to go by).

“I must admit, I thought you might be slightly more cordial, especially after how our first meeting ended.”

Nope. Nope. What man experienced in modern combat would ever say that in the possible presence of comms that either side could hear ?

“Yeah, no, not after what a quick search of you brought up. No way.” Peeking down the other alley revealed a McCree rolling by like a tumbleweed, quickly followed by gunfire. That was a definite no.

“You did not realize who I was.” It was not a question. Lúcio glanced back and met Akande’s gaze levelly. There was no referring to him as Doomfist anymore, not with his insistence of talking about that night.

“No,” he said. Akande huffed out a laugh and shook his head incredulously. The slight movement caused his giant gauntlet to gleam with the weak rays of the dying sun.

“I see. So you make it a habit then, to let total strangers make modifications that could leave you helpless? To let them bring you to the end and--”

“Could you not?” Lúcio interrupted. “Go there, I mean. To answer your question so you will stop coming back to that, no, I don’t. Now if you could stop mentioning that night, I’d be super happy because I know we both have active comms and I don’t particularly want an international syndicate knowing the details of what I do in my free time.”

“My comm is muted,” Akande said. “I assume yours is the same.”

The gears turned in Lúcio’s head, though he was quickly brought out of his reverie by another explosion, this one closer than last time. Helix rockets, maybe?

“Your team doesn’t know either,” he said slowly.

“Yes,” said Akande.

“You’re not here for Talon reasons,” Lúcio clarified and then asked, “Why are you following me?”

This gave Akande pause.

“This is not entirely Talon related, no,” he said. “I saw a kindred spirit in you that night. One who knew what it was like to fight and rise above, to overcome and be better for it.”

“So, what? You think I’m just going to follow you back to Talon because you helped me out that night? Because I fought in a war and came out on the winning side of it?”

“I did not think it would be so simple as that, but in essence yes.”

A harsh laugh rang through the air and Lúcio realized it was his own. Even Akande looked surprised.

“You really must think I’m some sort of idiot.” Akande tried to object, but Lúcio continued speaking over him, fueled by a level of anger he didn’t know that he possessed. “No, seriously. Did you really think I would be, what, seduced by you into joining Talon? Just because I fit into some part of your weird philosophy? Let me tell you a few things.

“I’m not better because of what happened with Vishkar in Rio. Just because I don’t regret my actions doesn’t mean I want to go through it all again, that I can say I’m better for everything that happened. I don’t know how you could think anyone could be better from losing their legs, their family, everything in their life, from watching children and their parents die from the labor they were forced to do or the beatings from being out past curfew. Even worse is seeing people die in the name of a cause you yourself have spearheaded, before they could ever know a better life.

“You think I’m better for that? That they’re better for that? You can seriously fuck right off with that ideology and take your rich boy self elsewhere because I’m done here.”

Lúcio rushed towards Akande and started to crouch to begin his jump. Akande, seeing the change in posture, lunged for him but missed him by inches, hurtling towards the other end of the alley with the gauntlet. Homefree, Lúcio continued to wallride and flipped around to watch as Akande pulled up short of crashing at the end of the alley before backflipping off a wall to land in the larger street.

“Lúcio, wait!”

The first shot, he reasoned later, didn’t make its mark because Widowmaker wasn’t anticipating the manner of his exit from the alley. Still, it shattered the green plexiglass of his goggles and caused him to land off kilter, not entirely balanced on his skates.

The second hit him, but also not in its intended place. Akande, having realizing the gravity of the situation far before Lúcio did, lunged out of the alley and tackled him into the ground. Still the sniper’s bullet found its way into his right lung, entirely too close to his heart. He wouldn’t know that until later, though.

Lúcio’s world seemed to grind to a halt. Some part of him dimly registered how nice and warm Akande was over him, especially compared to how cold it was. Another part registered Akande yelling into his now unmuted com, ordering Widowmaker to stand down as he was pulled into the man’s lap, while his own comm screamed in his ear.

Akande ripped off part of his sleeve and balled it up. When he pressed it against the wound on Lúcio’s chest, the pain finally cut through the haze in his mind.

Fuck.

He’d been shot.

Pain crawled through his chest like fire and he couldn’t suppress a whimper that came out even more pathetic than it should with a pierced lung. It had been so long since he was last shot -- usually his blades were quick enough to keep him out of the line of fire. It was a familiar enough of a sensation to know that something was very, very wrong with the way pain flowed through his body.

Akande murmured apologies as he cradled Lúcio’s body and kept the cloth pressed to the wound, though it was quickly apparent it was doing nothing to help. Lúcio smiled and tried to laugh, even as he failed catching his breath. There were worse ways to go than been looked after by a really attractive guy he thought and he must have vocalized it because Akande ruefully chuckled as he raised a hand to cradle Lúcio’s face. It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open and the hand that was cradling his face soon turned to striking it lightly, probably in an attempt to keep him awake.

He heard footsteps quickly approaching and suddenly, the pain cut to a fraction of what it had been. Lúcio found the strength to crack open his eyes and he saw Akande still looming over him, tense and lit by a warm yellow light. Lúcio let his head loll over to the side and saw 76 crouched by them. That explained the light, most likely from one of the soldier’s portable biotic fields.

“I’m not going to kill you,” 76 said quietly. “I’m not even going to tell anyone about this. I’ve been through this same thing. Just please, give him to me. We can still save him from the venom.”

Venom? Was that what was making this so painful?

Akande hesitated, before gently lifting Lúcio up from his lap and letting 76 take him into his arms. The cold leather of 76’s jacket was significantly different from Akande’s own natural warmth and Lúcio shivered violently. Akande’s hand stroked the side of his face gently and Lúcio leaned into the warm touch thankfully.

“Take care of him,” Akande told 76, who inclined his head slightly in response. The soldier shoved the biotic emitter in his pocket and took off running. Lúcio didn’t make to the ship before losing the fight to unconsciousness, but he was awake long enough to hear the tell-tale boom that announced Akande’s takeoff with the gauntlet.

It took three days for Lúcio to wake up completely.

In the meanwhile, he woke up for seconds or minutes at time.

Once, he woke up to Hana tying his hair back in a scarf, considerate of the way it went absolutely bonkers whenever he slept or neglected to take care of it. Her face was puffy and red, probably from crying and she stroked his face gently when she saw that his eyes were open.

Another time, he saw Zenyatta meditating in the corner of the room, lit only by the afternoon light filtering in through the blinds. The chiming of the orbs around the omnic quickly lulled Lúcio back into unconsciousness.

When he finally awoke, the room was empty save for 76. The old man sat in a chair in the corner where Zenyatta previously was, snoring beneath a magazine that lay on his face. The room was darkened and from the lack of light outside, Lúcio could guess it was well past the time any decent person should be awake. Sore and conscious of the too-tight bandages that swaddled his abdomen, Lúcio carefully sat up. He was surprised when nurses didn’t immediately swarm in with the pick up in heart rate, but it was night after all. He noticed that someone had taken his legs off and it irked him slightly that they weren’t in sight.

He tucked a stray lock of hair back into the scarf and dipped his head to his chest to inspect the wound, or what little he could see of it. Purple blood vessels, so dark they were nearly black, crawled out from under the bandage, clearly damaged by whatever the bullet was laced with. It would be a long while before he was completely recovered. With the wound so close to his heart, he was lucky to even be alive at all. Sighing, Lúcio pulled the covers back up over his chest just as someone entered the room.

The omnic clearly wasn’t a nurse. His (because this was probably the most masculine omnic Lúcio had ever seen) expensive suit looked extremely out of place in the hospital and he wasn’t the standard build that any of the nurses probably were. In contrast to most omnics he knew, including Zenyatta, this one had custom sculpting done on his frame to give him a more human-like appearance, belying that he was something outside of the range of the common omnic. Lúcio also noted with some disquiet that all of the omnic’s vital lights were red.

Could this be the omnic they tried to rescue in the slum? God, he hoped so. His luck lately would have this mystery bot be entirely bad news.

“Ah good, you’re awake,” he intoned, mechanical voice belying an accent that was, again, entirely by choice and out of the common range for most omnics. The omnic placed a wrapped box, presumably a gift of some sorts, at the foot of his bed with many more Lúcio hadn’t noticed before.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t recognize you,” said Lúcio. The omnic chuckled darkly.

“That is good,” he said, “for both you and me, but irrelevant nevertheless. I am here on behalf of a mutual friend to check on you and deliver a gift.”

Lúcio eyed the omnic carefully. He was starting to have a few guesses to who this omnic might be and quite a few of them led back to the hole in his chest.

“How...exactly did you get in here?” Lúcio asked and glanced at 76, who still appeared to be quite passed out but still breathing. “Overwatch’s security is pretty good and if I don’t know you…”

“Their security can be the best in the world but it’s not going to stop the owner of this hospital from walking in whenever he pleases.” The omnic tapped at the datapad on the wall, pulling up Lúcio’s charts and examining them. “And don’t go looking for my identity either, you won’t find anything worthwhile there.”

Another glance at 76. Another snore.

“Did you, uh, do something to him?”

“Just a mild sedative in the coffee creamer. Don’t worry, he’ll wake up eventually.”

“So, if your...friend....needed to know how I was doing, why not just check my records through the access you already have?” Lúcio asked and the omnic turned away from the datapad with a sigh.

“Do your questions never cease? And you never ask the right one...Humans, even the more intelligent ones, are astoundingly illogical sometimes. Seeing the records was not enough to assure his heavy heart, though I’m not sure what my presence here will do in regards to that. I will say though, you are looking remarkably well for being on the receiving end of Amelie’s gun.”

Everything clicked at once.

“You’re from Talon. Akande sent you.”

“Finally, some sign of intelligence. Yes, he did. For some reason I’m failing to comprehend at the moment, he has stake in your continued existence. Now that I’ve seen sign of life in all your lacking faculties, I shall take my leave.”

And like that, the omnic strutted out of the room just as suddenly as he had arrived. Dumbfounded, Lúcio could only stare at the small present, wrapped in red paper, sitting out of his reach at the foot of the bed. Everything was spiralling out of control. The night with Akande should have never left the hotel, but now it landed him in the hospital. Overwatch probably thought that he was compromised, Talon was probably looking at him like he was a piece of meat, and now everyone would know how much he messed up.

A short time later, 76 startled himself awake with a snore and then proceeded to act like he’d never been asleep in the first place. Lúcio didn’t enlighten him as to their curious visitor and soon enough, 76 was replaced by a weepy, but happy, Hana. With her, she brought the datapad from where he had abandoned it beside his bed. He left it closed and let her chatter away about what was happening back at the Watchpoint. Being the friend she was, she immediately picked up on his quietness though he initially tried to wave it off as a reaction to recovery and the drugs they had him on.

“76 told me what happened, you know,” she said quietly. “As far as I know, he didn’t tell anyone else. You can talk about it if you need to.”

He shook his head and his gaze caught on the box at the end of the bed for what was probably the thousandth time. Tracing his gaze, Hana grabbed it.

“You keep looking at it,” she explained as she dumped it in his lap. It was heavier than he thought it would be. “Just open it. I think I know who it’s from.”

Sighing, Lúcio carefully untied the silk ribbon binding the box and lifted the lid. Inside was a poncho of some sort, made from tan lengths of woven cloth with green stripes running parallel to its length. Upon closer inspection, there seemed to be little stylized frogs embroidered upon the cloth, hopping the length of the stripes on the front of the fabric leading up to what Lúcio presumed was the neck hole. The reverse side was lined with a heavier cloth, softer than the top fabric by far.

“It’s neat,” said Hana as she reached out to run her fingers over the texture, “but what is it?”

“I’m not really sure either,” Lúcio said. “Look, you can take off the lining.”

“It looks really warm,” Hana murmured as she smoothed her hand over the soft lining. “Which is good, you’re always shivering unless you’re south of the equator! He probably noticed too.”

Lúcio said nothing and traced the outline of a frog. Hana watched him mope for a moment before she snatched the gift from his hands.

“You should wear it!” she announced and fed her hands through the fabric, presumably trying to find the neck opening to shove it over Lúcio’s head.

“Hana, no,” he objected. “I’m fine. Also I have no idea how to wear it.”

“Hana yes,” she said, “and we’ll figure it out together. Hold still!”

Luckily for Lúcio, Soldier: 76 chose that moment to wander back in the room with Efi, a hand on her shoulder. Probably to keep her from excitedly bouncing on the balls of her feet, something she almost alway did when she came to see him.

The hand failed to keep her from tackling him.

“Lúcio!” she cried as she barreled into his chest. Lúcio nearly bit through his lip to keep from crying out as her head smashed into the bandages on his chest. “I was so worried but everyone else at Overwatch said you were going to be okay but the mission details said that both Widow and Doomfist were there and oh my gosh I can’t even begin to imagine what happened, you should have taken Orisa with you--”

“Efi, it’s alright,” he reassured, prying the small girl from her tight hug around his chest. Efi didn’t seem to notice him gritting his teeth. “It all worked out okay. We’ll try to take Orisa next time, okay?”

She nodded solemnly and added, “She would have been able to kick Doomfist’s butt. Then he wouldn’t be able to hurt you or anyone else.”

Lúcio looked up guiltily to meet Hana’s pained gaze (and 76 too, if he’d actually been able to see past the visor).

It was funny how the most innocent phrase could just punch through him like a bullet.

Thankfully, Efi was distracted by the gift in Hana’s hands.

“Oh! An agbada! Can I see it?”

“Is that what this is?” Hana asked. She handed over the folded fabric to Efi, who sat back at the end of the bed and unfolded it. She traced the pattern and giggled when her fingers found the frogs.

“Yup,” she said. “It’s a super common thing for men to wear in Numbani. Or really, any Yoruba guy anywhere. Where did you get this? It’s really cute!”

“Um, a friend gave it to me,” Lúcio admitted.

“A guy friend?” asked Efi with a sly smile and Lúcio felt his face start to burn. She laughed. “It’s okay, I can tell. With the way that this was woven, I can almost guarantee a guy made it. Here, let me help you put it on.”

Lúcio leaned forward as much as his bandages allowed him to let Efi slip the agbada over his head. He was only able to get one arm through a sleeve for fear of snagging his IV, so he elected to keep it slightly wrapped around his abdomen under the cloth. Efi tugged the agbada into place, consequently dislodging the breathing tubes from his nose.

“Oops, sorry!” she said as he fixed them. “But really, you look pretty good. You’re not quite tall enough to be called agunt'asoolo, but it suits you anyway. Whoever made this for you really put a lot of care into it.”

“Yeah...he did.” Lúcio mumbled as he ran his free hand down the front of the agbada. This was physical proof of either how smitten Akande was with him, or how desperate Talon was for him to join them.

He wasn’t sure what was worse.

“I’d still wear something underneath it in the future,” said Efi, oblivious to his turmoil. “It’s really meant to be an overcoat of sorts. Maybe Orisa and I will make you some beads for your hair to match with little speakers in them. Don’t you think that would be awesome, miss Hana?”

Hana nodded with a tight smile on her face. The look she shot Lúcio plainly said we need to talk about this soon and Lúcio averted his gaze back down to the agbada. 76 was not immune to the tension in the room and checked an imaginary watch on his wrist.

“Five more minutes, kiddo,” he growled out. “He’s not going to get any better with you playing on him like a jungle gym.”

Efi plainly struck up a pout. When her parents let her visit Orisa back at whatever watchpoint she currently based out of, the pout was the demise of nearly anyone around her and she was consequently able to get away with murder.

Nearly everyone, except for Ana and 76.

Soldier: 76 stared down the small girl and when it became apparent that he wasn’t bowing, Efi turned her attention back to Lúcio, chattering about some of her newer plans and his concert schedule. When finally 76 determined her time was up, she hugged Lúcio tightly (and no, he wasn’t going to admit exactly how much it hurt, it was humiliating that the strength of an eleven-year-old’s hug made him want to cry) and hopped off the bed. It was Hana who escorted her from the room this time, leaving 76 and Lúcio alone in the small room.

Lúcio shrugged off the agbada and folded it carefully as his nurse finally came into the room. 76 took it from him and set it by the holopad at the side of the bed while his nurse ran through his vitals and started a new drip of medicine going.

“You’re going to be out like a light here in a few,” said his nurse, “so you may want to do whatever you need to before you’re dead to the world again.”

His nurse helped him walk stiffly to the bathroom and after settling him back down in bed, left. 76 settled down in the chair beside the bed and Lúcio prepared himself for a lecture. The old man said nothing, though, as Lúcio fussed with the scarf around his hair (hopefully Hana was up for helping him redo all of his locs once more). Finally, the soldier let out a sigh.

“You’re not the first to do this, you know,” he said, “and you’re definitely not going to be the last.”

“I’m not exactly doing anything,” Lúcio told him, trying to keep the snapping edge out of his voice. “Really, I’m trying not to do anything. But...but…”

He shook his head and immediately regretted it as dizziness sucker punched him from the movement. Obviously, the meds were kicking in.

“But he won’t let go,” 76 said. “And really, I don’t think you’re ready to let go either. Kid, you look like a love sick idiot anytime you so much as see that thing he got you.”

Lúcio flopped back on the bed and huffed.

“So?” he finally snapped, feeling more than a little immature. “So what? Are you going to take me off mission rosters because I’m compromised? Remove my agent status?”

“I’d be a hypocrite if I did,” said 76 and Lúcio stared at him. “Again, you’re not the first to do this. You have a good head on your shoulders and I don’t think you’re going to be leaping to join Talon anytime soon, or give them too much information.”

“So why bring this up, then?” Lúcio’s words came out slurred and his mind struggled to gain traction. He wondered if he’d remember this discussion the next time he woke up.

“I just…” 76 sighed again. “I just don’t want to see you making the same mistakes I did. There’s two sides to this, there always is. Don’t do anything stupid but…”

76 reached up to the visor as if to pinch his nose but settled for running his fingers through his white hair.

“Just know that there’s more to life than fighting, okay? If there comes a time that you’re starting to doubt if you’re in the right place, don’t ignore those doubts. Listen to them. It’ll serve you well.”

76 stood up and reached out to lightly ruffle what he could reach of Lúcio’s hair.

“Take care of yourself, kid. Get some sleep.”

Lúcio watched with drooping eyes as the old soldier marched out of the room and thought back to his encounter with Akande. The face Akande had given him when Lúcio ripped into him was one of a man who, for the first time in his life, doubted the ground on which he’d built his life. 76’s words echoed in his head as he gave into the medication and spiralled into unconsciousness.

He sincerely doubted that he was the one having second thoughts about where he was in life.

[nyalisa-landale]

in which i accidentally 2000 words about goddamn phantasy star

i ended up pulling up the phantasy star page on wikipedia to win a discussion with my brother wrt video game prices, and ended up finding out that

1) you can unlock it on the ps3 sega’s ultimate genesis collection (super easily, too) and

2) apparently it’s actually considered an Important Game and shit, ranking at 26 on a “top 200 videogames of all time” list as recently as 2006 - and i’m talking specifically phantasy star 1 the master system game, not the series as a whole. like, being one of the first, if not the first, rpgs to not be a dungeons and dragons clone and/or take place in a generic fantasy setting; “event scenes” which are basically the precursor to cutscenes; actual characters with, like, names and backstories and motivation and shit; and, also, one of the first games with a female protagonist. metroid did it first, technically, having come out two years earlier, but while everyone knows samus is a girl now, back in 1986 you only found out if you beat the game fast enough and got to see her out of her suit (in a bikini, because 8-bit graphics); in phantasy star you knew right up front and center that you were playing as alis, younger sister of nero, whose tragic death the game literally opens with. also pseudo-3d dungeons, animated monster battles, and three fucking planets you could travel between. 

(there’s a read-more after this; apparently i have a lot of feelings about phantasy star. rip anyone on mobile... including myself.)

don’t even get me started on phantasy star 2. you know what came out (in america) two months before final fantasy? this fucking shit. you know what pulled an aeris nine years before final fantasy 7 ever existed? this fucking shit. final fantasy was busy pulling a fifty shades on dungeons and dragons while phantasy star 2 was throwing characterisation and introspection and self-discovery and fantastic fucking worldbuilding and reversing the usual “humans vs aliens” plot (spoiler: we’re the invaders here) and just generally being amazing, well before final fantasy would start even thinking about it. did the sega genesis have a killer app? yes, and it wasn’t fucking sonic the hedgehog.

it’s not even fair to compare phantasy star 2 to final fantasy, what with them being from two different console generations and phantasy star 2 also being the largest game ever released at the time on any console (six megabits!), although for american audiences that’s the comparison they’d be making, since final fantasy came out so goddamn late here. ps1 vs ff1 is a fairer comparison, except that it isn’t, because everything i just said about ps2 vs ff1 still applies. (also - in japan, at least - ps1 came out literally two days after ff1.) 

the worst goddamn thing i can say about this series is that it is, afaik, super obscure now. if you look up phantasy star stuff now, most of what you’ll find is probably going to be phantasy star online-related (let me get to that in a bit). much like everything else about sega, phantasy star was too goddamn ahead of its time and ambitious. EXAMPLE: fucking phantasy star 3, widely regarded as the worst game in the series - so much so that when sega was attempting an updated ps2 rerelease it was a phantasy star trilogy consisting of 1, 2, and 4 - had multiple generations, branching storylines, and four different endings. IN 1990. it was a gaiden (side story) game before the actual phantasy star: gaiden came out, let alone fire emblem: gaiden (although not, i don’t think, before the phantasy star 2 gaiden games, of which there were several; i could be wrong on that but it’s within the same series so it doesn’t really matter). i was going to call zelda 2 a gaiden game as well - fe2 apparently got compared to it a lot, both of them being the second game in a series and both of them taking a decidedly different approach to gameplay than the first had - but zelda 2 is actually literally a direct sequel, so it’s not gaiden in the slightest.

ANYWAY, ps3 appears at first entirely unrelated to anything in the previous two phantasy stars - dark force, the series Big Bad, gets referenced near the beginning but i don’t know if they actually call him by name until much later - and appears to be a fairly basic fantasy romp, except then you get a fucking robot party member (followed shortly thereafter by a second) and the “passages” to different “worlds” are inexplicably mechanical-looking, and then in the second generation you GO TO THE FUCKING MOON (which moon depends on which 2nd gen character you’re playing) and find out that actually, your home with its tiny “worlds” and weird fucking “passages”? IS A GODDAMN SPACESHIP. 

you know what other game starts out super fantasy but, in the end, you go to the goddamn moon? final fantasy 4. a year later. my knowledge of super famicom games doesn’t extend that much farther than final fantasy and fire emblem with a side order of zelda, so i might be entirely off the mark on this one, but as far as i know the next game of that era to do a multiple generation thing was fe4, genealogy of the holy war, in 1996. six fucking years later.

unfortunately phantasy star 3 spent a bit too much effort being super innovative, because it literally is objectively the worst of the quadrilogy, but it is by no means a bad game? phantasy star 2 set a high fucking bar and phantasy star 4 picked up where ps2 left off (only not really, because it’s 1000 years later); 3, with its barely-there tie to phantasy star 2 (in an entirely optional town, at that) and weird-ass mechanics that only it has, gets forgotten pretty easily in the middle of that. you know. like a fucking gaiden game.

and speaking of phantasy star 4, it expands even more on the “event scenes” of previous games, as well as the script, and guess what? it did combination attacks two years before chrono trigger did. (or a few months, for us americans. still.) this is the phantasy star i have the least experience with, so i can’t comment as much on it, but i do know that it is a long fucking game, and not because it’s grindy as hell. because plot. STORY! (also apparently, in the us at least, it retailed for ~$100. yikes.)

also, i lied, because ps4 is not the phantasy star i have the least experience with; that would be everything that came after.* i, personally, love the quadrilogy to pieces and pretend that nothing else came after it, ever (which is really easy to do, because none of it is fucking related to the quadrilogy except for set dressing), but I CAN’T NOT MENTION PHANTASY STAR ONLINE, not if i’m talking about sega being tragically too ahead of its fucking time. it was literally the second online console game - i think the first mmo - and the first online console game - chu-chu rocket! - was made literally so that sega could figure out how the fuck to make pso work. chu-chu rocket! came out for the dreamcast in 1999; phantasy star online followed in 2000. ps2 online multiplayer wasn’t a thing until the year after that; followed another year later by the xbox. (final fantasy xi also came out in 2002.) attempts at online console capabilities were made as early as - i want to say as early as the snes and the genesis, with stuff like downloadable games, and a whole host of companies attempted to produce consoles with online capabilities, to compete with the pc market, but nothing actually took off until the dreamcast.

( * actually it’s gaiden and adventure, the two game gear titles. i have literally never touched anything related to them at all, ever, and i actually forgot they existed until i started looking shit up for this post. i do at least own a copy of phantasy star universe; i missed the bandwagon on pso, though as i understand it, if i were to emulate it, i could still play online with other people.)

hey, guess what phantasy star online was a direct inspiration for? the .hack series. SURPRISE, MOTHERFUCKERS.

unfortunately sega seems pretty content to forget that this franchise even exists; the most recent release was the japan-only phantasy star portable 2 infinity in 2011 (phantasy star portable 2, regular version, hit english-speaking audiences in 2010), but is part of the phantasy star universe line, a... spin-off, i guess? of phantasy star online, but for ps2 and 360, well after sega dropped out of the console race for good. the original quadrilogy? well, 2-4 get included on basically every genesis collection sega shits out for any console whatsoever, but ps1, having been for master system, usually gets left out - sonic’s ultimate genesis collection, mentioned way back at the top, is the outlier here, but even then you have to unlock it. (by... beating the first boss of sonic 2 with two active controllers - that is, with a second player joined but not actually in two-player mode. so two controllers. it’s not hard to unlock; you can do it in like five minutes. you still have to do it, though.) there were attempts to remaster them - i mentioned the updated ps2 rereleases, and ps1 and ps2 were actually released in japan; ps4′s never happened, though¸ and so neither of the first two were ever localised, though there are translation patches. (as i understand it, ps2′s is still kind of a work in progress.) apparently these new versions ended up scrapped in favor of a ps2 port of phantasy star collection for the saturn, both of which were released in japan only. the saturn version (1998) had all four games (and a few unrelated ones); the ps2 version (2008), phantasy star complete collection was... uh, exactly what the name implies: all four main games, all of the ps2 gaiden games (text adventures, apparently, previously exclusive to the sega meganet network service and also japan-only), and both game gear entries (gaiden and adventure); it also added the ability to make the games even harder, if you wanted to, as well as several different graphical filters you could use or not use as you preferred. this compilation was apparently also released over psn for ps3 in 2012. have i said “japan-only” enough times yet? it was japan-only.

there was also a phantasy star collection for the gba, in 2001/2; this consisted of the first three games - but not the fourth, as it wouldn’t fit on the cartridge - and no extras or improvements other than what was required to make them run on the gba. this version is notable for being the only goddamn one released outside japan. i have two cartridge copies and it is consistently the first game i play on any given gba emulator.

...and that’s how i ended up spending two goddamn hours writing way the fuck more about the phantasy star series, and specifically the original quadrilogy that is older the fuck than i am, than i ever actually intended to. idk, maybe there’s a huge active cult following for these somewhere on the internet that i haven’t found yet - yes, i’m aware of most of the fansites, they’re old as fuck and afaik mostly inactive, so they don’t count - but it sure as hell feels to me like everybody’s sleeping on these. what do people remember from the genesis? sonic and fucking ecco the dolphin. sega could totally pull a square enix and ff7-remake the shit out of these (except for real), but they could barely do it for the playstation 2; they’re sure as hell not going to do it for the playstation 4. so instead, all i can do is dream of what we could have had. (and, uh. play phantasy star generations 1 with the translation patch, the closest there is to “what we could have had”.)

i guess when sega saddled ps4 with the subtitle “the end of the millennium” they fucking meant it. 

[blacknovelist]

Sorry if this question comes way the hell out of freaking nowhere, but I am a self taught author, and I am going to start writing the first book (properly and officially this time) in my series next year, and seeing as you and I share something in common, writing novel length things, over analyzing things and thinking our own ideas through to a frightening amount, could you give me some advise? Right now about your opinion and tricks of writing enigmatic, creepy and over powered villains?

Oh wow, I’m honored you’re asking me for advice, anon. I’d be happy to try and help you out! Don’t you worry about being outta nowhere, that’s never much a problem unless the context is important like for ask memes and stuff, haha. I’m answering this first outta the asks I’ve gotten because I think this is a question that I ought to get back to you about quick (though I’m almost done some of the other answers, so I’ll edit and queue ‘em when I’ve got some time later).

As far as writing an enigmatic, creepy, super-powerful villain goes, it depends a little bit on what kind of person you want that villain to be, and how you want people to perceive them. Are they supposed to be the villain from the start, do they have an early cameo, are they human or some other race, and so on.

For example, there’s Father from Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood. He’s certainly a mystery, seeing how he lives under Central and doesn’t oft show his full capabilities. When he first meets Ed, he wasn't antagonistic towards him, which sends mixed signals. It’s been some time since I’ve seen FMA, but in general, he keeps his cards close to his chest and sends others out to do his dirty work, which prevents us from knowing much about him. He’s also really creepy - face always blank, thirst for power, he’s not human and it shows. In general, his mannerisms are very blank and he acts aloof and superior as a default state of being, which is just strange from our perspectives. And, well, we all know Father is ridiculously powerful, and wanting to become moreso by opening the gate and becoming God. In different ways, he’s a fairly enigmatic, creepy, overpowered villain.

Another example is Shigaraki from BNHA (AfO also fits the bill for this kind of villain, but I wanted to use someone different). In his case, what makes him so creepy and enigmatic is his unpredictability - his seemingly arbitrary/childlike mannerisms and reasons combined with his personality, motivations, and tutelage under All for One mean he’s got the smarts, the resources and, in the context of BNHA, an advantageous quirk (disintegration is good for the raw power of it, though as we’ve seen he can’t really disintegrate things that are already in particles like sand). It’s difficult to understand who he is, why he’s doing what he’s doing, and what he might do later on, the way he acts is not “socially acceptable or normal” (which varies depending on your given world), and he’s powerful through the League and his disintegration quirk.

The kind of vibes your antagonist is supposed to give off and the type of person they’re supposed to be within your series impact how you should portray them to your protag and your readers. Mostly, it’s kind of an exercise in red herrings and concealment.

For example, by hiding specific motivations or revealing some motivations at certain times while keeping others vague and secret, it becomes harder to predict, understand and follow the thoughts of your antagonist, which gives them that enigmatic air. One of my OC’s (who is an anti-hero) often “forgets” to mention her reasons for doing things or deliberately uses misleading language and phrasing whenever she appears in the story, which leads to others making assumptions about her and obscures her actual personality and motivations, for example. As a result, very few characters are even aware that their interpretation of her may be flawed, and others are left not knowing what to think. But readers, with an outside perspective, might be able to tell she’s being evasive, and as such would see her in a mysterious or suspicious light.

Maybe your villain is obvious about some things, and very secretive about others - making a character enigmatic depends on how much you’re hiding and how you’re hiding it. If readers follow along with the knowledge of your protagonist, maybe your protag doesn’t notice the phrasing of the villain’s words, but the readers do; then the suspicion and air of mystery is there. Or, maybe their reasoning is hypocritical or conflicts with previously established elements - claiming to be doing something lawful despite their actions being unlawful, or acting on a reason that seems to go against their actions, and so on.

A creepy vibe can be added based on their mannerisms or portrayed personality, like the way they move, talk, and react to things, though it can also tie into the enigma factor. Maybe they’ve got a particular way of standing, or there’s an off-putting tone of their voice, or they have unusual reactions to different events? Or, it could be shown in the things a character can do or that a character knows. If, somehow, a character always arrives before everyone else, or always knows the answer or refuses to disclose those answers by being evasive or just denying it - when someone has skills or powers that put them ahead without any due or logical explanation, or they act in a manner that isn’t considered socially acceptable in the world (or they twist the definition of socially acceptable in “justifying” or “explaining” their acts), they start becoming unsettling in the eyes of those observing.

If your villain acts bright and bubbly on a regular basis, spin it so there’s almost too much cheer; if they’re often calm and even-tempered, make it clear that it’s difficult to read their expressions or body language. Strategic exaggeration of different traits and pushing characters to notice (or even not notice) specific traits or actions can clear up some things and obscure others, which can leave readers wrong-footed about your villain and help make them creepier. Pairing that with enigma again, by being specific about what you are and aren’t saying you can leave readers with the distinct impression that something is off without them knowing why that is (unless you want them to, of course).

Power has the most ways of being portrayed, I’d say, and all of them tie in well with both the creepy factor and the enigma factor. Like I mentioned earlier, shadow-leaders like AfO are a good example of mixing enigma with power, since you have one character controlling everything without revealing their true nature or self. Alternatively, there’s the option of the Father-like overlord character - someone who is obviously in charge, but who has many details about them obscured, hidden, or otherwise not understood to make it seem like they’re a mystery. Again, it depends on how you play out the other elements, and the kind of character you want your villain to be. Shigaraki, in this case, would be something in between, I think. Perhaps their power is what makes them unsettling, rather than their mannerisms, even. Figure out how powerful you want your villain to be, and what kind of power that manifests as - if your world has powers, is your villain adept in it? If not (or if your world doesn’t have powers), what else are they good at? Is their strength physical, mental, spiritual, magical, some combination of them, or all of the above? 

In general, these elements are easiest to put into a story through little things, I think - a character mentioning an incident that on the surface is normal but deep down seems odd, someone spotting the same stranger they saw in the previous city, a reference to some big event or disaster of some kind. By picking and choosing what traits you reveal about your villain, you influence how creepy, enigmatic and overpowered your villain comes across as, too. They could actually be the weakest character in the universe and we’d never know, as long as you sell it well. Mix and match traits you would put in your character, and experiment on how to show these traits and the impression you create with them.

Things like TV tropes can help, slogging through unrelated tropes aside, since it also gives traits that often apply to characters that are creepy/enigmatic/overpowered/all of the above and gives examples of when this happens. Take a look at other characters who embody one, two, or all three traits and understand what goes on in the story or in their design that makes you feel that way. How do they walk or talk, how does the author/creator reveal them or things about them, what are/what do their motivations seem to be, etc. 

I asked my sister for her thoughts on the subject too, because she happened to be around at the time - she suggests keeping in mind specific actions and how they’re accomplished also portray how creepy or enigmatic a character may be. 

Chances are, if you think your character is unsettling and creepy and unfairly strong, your observation is probably right and you’re fine (and if second opinions are needed, that’s what beta readers are for). Don’t get so caught up in thinking about it you don’t go anywhere! Sometimes a villain can come across as enigmatic by never appearing at all - it leaves everyone wondering where and who they are, and why they haven’t made any big or obvious moves, for instance.

Is this enough? I hope it is, but if it isn’t, I’d be happy to help more if you need it, and there’s plenty of lovely writing blogs and resources everywhere. I wish you all the good luck on your novel, anon!! I’m cheering for you!! ง(◕▽◕)ノ

[frostmarris]

For the inheritance thing I would love to read #6 with literally anyone

6.  “you died and left me to repay a bunch of really weird IOUs”

sorry for the wait anon! enjoy some hidasaku!!

EDIT: here’s [ Part Two ] !

The Fine Print - Inheritance

By no means did Sakura feel obligatedto repay the extensive list of bizarre IOU’s her great-great uncle had left her- all meticulously detailed and listed in a journal that Sakura had mistakenfor a cookbook when she’d been going through the old coot’s attic - but, if shewanted to get rid of that damned rune burned onto her palm and the demonhaunting her apartment, it looked like she was shit out of luck until shefinished repaying his debts.

Okay, technically the list hadn’t been explicitly left for her. When Uncle Maseo had passed peacefully inhis sleep earlier that week, her parents had been alerted of what he’d writtenin his ‘will’.

“I plan on outliving everyonebut if I happen to kick the bucket early, tell whoever’s left of blood relationthat they can have what they want out of all my worldly possessions. Except mystuffed rat, the one with the super glued googly eyes. I better be buried withthat or I’m coming back.”

Uncle Maseo had always been an… eccentric fellow. And Sakura hadalways suspected that he’d dabbled a little in black magic but this was ridiculous.

The moment she’d opened that damned book, picking through thedusty, forgotten contents of his attic for somethingworth keeping while she helped clean up, there’d been a flash of light and abrief message on the front page, which appeared just long enough for her totake note of in her sudden stupor.

“This shit’s your problemnow, have fun.”

And then she’d felt a burning sensation in her palm, shrieking inpanic as an odd symbol appeared on her skin. A crack of thunder, the painstopping just as quickly as it had begun, and then an eerie calmness in theair. The message was gone but the rune refused to leave, now looking more likesomeone had drawn on her palm with a permanent marker.

She’d panicked a bit at the discovery, rubbing her hand againsther pants vigorously, before turning her attention to the book in her hand. Sakurahad quickly flipped through the journal, expression turning into one ofconfusion as she read.

·        September 12,1945 – Ken Ito: $35 and a box turtle.

·        August 5, 1942 –Jeremy Smith: One jar of strawberry jam and 12 pounds of sugar.

·        January ???,1956 – Madame Babineaux: Lock of fox fur, cut with silver scissors and wrappedin velvet.

·        May 24, 2001 -Old Lady With Mulberry-Wood Cane, Met in the Park: Vial of virgin blood and 12new pennies. (Note: Do NOT use human blood, the old hag never specified thesource anyways.)

·        October 13, 1975– Mr. and Mrs. Shuzo Gato: One peach tree sapling.

·        July ???, ??? – FÖRSTNER, that jackass: Claims I owe him two new shirts and bride, willaccept a gecko and AT LEAST $20.

·        April 18, 2007 -Rebecca Ohayashi: Two coconuts and an iguana.

And the list went on, each item more obscure and strange than thelast. The dates were out of order, the names unfamiliar, and the footnotes wereof no help. Through a few extra notes, she at least managed to figure out thatthe lists were of things Uncle Maseo owed,rather than received. 

Some were already crossed out and while that might have beencomforting in theory, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to know how he had managedto get ahold of items like “a human kidney” and, unrelated, “threeindex fingers.”

Scratching at her palm, Sakura had shoved the journal back intothe dusty box in the attic and made a hasty retreat. There was no telling whatother creepy things were lurking in the old man’s house and she wasn’t too inclinedto find out. And like hell she waskeeping that weird, probably cursed journal.

Three hours later found her back at her apartment, fresh out of ashower and rubbing hand sanitizer onto that weird symbol still on her palm tono avail. Dressed in pajamas, phone in the crook of her arm, and her hairbundled up in a towel, Sakura made her way into her living room, frustrated tono end but hoping that a movie might calm her down.

Only, she quickly became aware that she wasn’t alone.

Sakura paused in the entryway to her living room, balking at thesight of an unfamiliar man sitting on her couch, all casual and relaxed - as ifhe belonged there.

Silver hair, magenta eyes, pitch black skin covered in bone-whiteskeleton-like tattoos, twisted, ash-greyhorns jutting out of his skull and curving like a ram’s -

And a very familiar journal in his hands.

“The fuckin’ squirrels are gonna be hell to catch,” he saidwithout looking up at her – though he was obviously aware of her presence –before turning a page in the journal. “But, I’ll be more impressed if youactually go through with the grave-robbery.”

Sakura screamed.

He looked a little amused as she scrambled back out of the roomand rushed into the kitchen, grabbing a knife and fumbling with her cellphone.Rushing back to her living room, she found the strange man still on her couch and,trying not to let her hands shake, she brandished both her knife and phone.

“I don’t know who the hell you are or how you got in here but youbetter get the fuck out! I’m callingthe cops!”

His smirk turned into more a sneer and he simply snapped hisfingers, posture still unsettlingly relaxed. Almost instantly there was searingpain in one of her hands as the knife turned red hot and she gave a shriek, amix of pain and surprise, before dropping the blade as it quite literallyburned her. It cooled the moment it hit the ground, resting innocently on hercarpet as she stared down at it. Quickly becoming aware of a distinct emptiness in her other hand, Sakura glancedto it and realized her phone was missing.

Looking back to the intruder, she could only stare in both bafflementand horror as she noticed he was nowholding her phone. She’d only been halfway through dialing the emergency numberwhen it had been magicked out of her hand and, with a smirk, the man turned hercellphone off before tossing it carelessly onto the seat beside him.

Sakura gaped openly, carefully touching her sore fingertips as shesearched for some way to respond.

"Who the hell are you?”

“Hidan.” He replied with a shrug.

She swayed backwards slightly, expression hesitant. She… hadn’tactually expected him to answer.

“Alright… Hidan.”She spoke carefully and glanced around, almost searching for some sort of portalto Hell, because this guy definitelywasn’t human. She took another moment to look over those odd tattoos –which she had a very ample view of due to the fact that he was only dressed ina pair of dark grey pants - and the hornsbefore rubbing her face.

“Why are you here…?”

His expression turnedannoyed and he simply held up the journal, waving it at her.

“That old asshatmanaged to actually get a curse right for once.”

Eyebrows furrowed,Sakura carefully leaned against the doorframe, gaze zeroed in on the book. “UncleMaseo..?”

“Duh.”

Resisting the urge togrit her teeth, she massaged her temples and shot Hidan a glare. “What the hellis going on?”

He made a face ather, snorting before snapping the journal open again, and hunching over slightlyas he squinted at the pages. Running a clawed finger over a page, not hardenough to actually rip the paper, he sneered again before leaning back andkicking his legs up to rest on her coffee table.

“As far as I cantell, I’m stuck here until someone –hint, it’s you, princess – repays the old coot’s debts.”

“E-excuse me?”

Hidan gave heranother annoyed look, ignoring the glare she was shooting his crossed legs onher table, and shook the book at her again.

“Ya dense or somethin’?I’m bound to this damned journal and I’d highly suggest you get your cute assin gear and start paying back these IOUs or this is gonna be one hell of afucking shitty sleepover.”

Ignoring his commentin favor of stomping over and kicking at his legs before snatching the journal,Sakura frowned down at the neat handwriting.

“If you’re… bound to this thing, why don’t you justleave and take it with you? Why the hell do you have to be here?”

A scoff, at whichSakura pursed her lips in distaste.

“Don’t you think Iwould have fuckin’ hit the road already if I could?”

Nearly screaming infrustration, Sakura stomped her way back into the kitchen, vaguely aware ofHidan leisurely rising from the couch and following after her as she rummagedaround in the drawers next to the oven. Finally finding a box of matches, she litone and held it to the journal, teeth gritting as she waited for the pages tocatch before dropping it into her empty sink. Spinning back around, she plantedher hands on her hips and nodded towards the small fire burning behind her.

“There! Problemsolved.”

A little drastic but –

“Think again,princess.”

Hidan sent her a lessthan impressed look and crossed his arms, sneering at her sink. Almostreluctantly, Sakura turned around and looked down in unveiled horror at thejournal, the entirety of the book engulfed in flame but, somehow, perfectly fine.

Making an odd,half-choked sound, Sakura numbly turned on the water faucet, waiting until theflames were extinguished before hesitantly picking the book up. It wasn’t evenwarm – wasn’t even wet – and Sakurasent the demon a rather pleading look over her shoulder.

“What the hell evenis this journal?”

He shrugged andleaned against her stove, arms crossed over his bare chest.

“It’s cursed, obviously.”

“And just what does that have to do with me?!”

Another sneer, thoughthis one seemed more bemused than the last, and he grabbed her wrist, holdingup her hand with the odd symbol marking her palm. Dropping her arm, he turnedhis back to her and jabbed a thumb at the back of his neck. There, just a fewshades lighter than his skin, was an identical rune. An inverted triangleinside a simple circle.

“You’re cursed. That fuckin’ mark is mine.”

“And why am I cursed?”

He spun back aroundand sent her a frustrated look, lip pulled up as he nearly growled inirritation.

“Cause you fuckingopened that damned book!”

Rubbing at her face,Sakura gave a tired sigh and groaned under her breath. ‘This shit’s you’re problem now.’ The journal had said. ‘Have fun.’

Right.

Leaning against hersink, she flipped open the journal and started skimming the pages. From whatshe could see, a majority of the items had already been scratched through. Butthere were still pages of IOUs.

“So,” She finallysaid after a moment, glancing up at Hidan, “I just need to finish paying backthe rest of the stuff on the list and you’ll leave?”

“Probably.”

Resisting the urge toslap him, Sakura grit her teeth and dropped her gaze back down at the pages,eyes narrowing.

“Where the hell am I supposed to get a Fabergeegg?!”

He sent her anothershrug, lips twisted in a smug smirk. “I’m not here to help you, princess. Myjob is to just haunt the shit outta you and make sure you pay back the old man’sdebts. Where and how you get the shit isn’t my problem.”

Sighing, Sakuradropped the book onto her counter and tugged the towel off her head, runningher fingers through her still slightly-damn hair.

“Fine. And stop calling me ‘princess’.”

She missed the way herolled his odd purple eyes at her, silver eyebrow raised. “Well, I don’t knowyour fuckin’ name, now do I, princess?”

Flushing slightly,Sakura draped the towel over her arm and moved to leave the kitchen, grabbingthe book after a second thought.

“Oh, uhm. I’m Sakura.”

She pointedly ignoredhis grin but was aware of Hidan following after her, the light catching andglinting off the curves of his horns.

“Well, Sakura,” He draped an arm over hershoulders, acting much too buddy-buddy for her tastes – which she made apparentby pursing her lips before attempting to squirm out from under his arm. “Where’sthe guest room? I could use a looong, fuckin’ nap.”

She made a face andshoved him off of her, lip curled and the journal clutched to her chest.

“No. You are not a house guest.”

“Then where the fuckam I sleeping?”

Sakura sent a pointedlook at the couch he’d been lounging on earlier and he quickly shot her aglare.

“I could be here formonths – like hell I’m sleeping on yourdamned couch!”

::

Sakura tapped herfoot impatiently, her messenger back slung over her shoulder and a box underone arm as she scrolled through her phone with her free hand. It was a prettynice day out, but she could see storm clouds rolling in from the distance andshe really didn’t want to get stuckin the rain.

“Pizza tonight?” Shecalled over her shoulder, not bothering to glance back at Hidan, who wasleaning against the porch railing of the nice suburban house they were visiting,her gaze still glued to her phone screen.

Arms crossed, thedemon shrugged and flicked a leaf off the black sleeve of his – admittedly,damn nice – suit, looking very out ofplace next to her. His horns, oddly colored skin, and tattoos were hiddenbehind his glamour, silver hair still slicked back and magenta eyes bored as heglanced around his surroundings with distaste. His skin still looked a littlegrey and there was no hiding the rune burned on the back of his neck – her matchingmark still present on her palm – but Sakura was more than relieved that he wasn’trunning around without a shirt.

“Depends,” Hidananswered, absentmindedly picking at his teeth, “You makin’ it from scratch orare we ordering?”

It had been a littleover a month since the demon had first ‘arrived’ and, after the long process ofsorting out which IOUs Sakura would need to handle, scouring Uncle Maseo’shouse for an address book or somethingthat would at least give her a head start on matching names to actual people,she’d finally begun repaying his debts. So far, she’d had pretty decent luckfinding the people on the list and delivering the items Uncle Maseo had owed,with Hidan as a near constant companion.

Eyebrow quirked,Sakura looked back at him, locking her phone and slipping it into her pocket.

“Last time I attemptedmaking one from scratch, you tried to add a bunch of toppings from literal Hell.”

Hidan made a face,snorting at her response.

“Pickled bat wingsare fucking delicious.”

She was just about toreply, fully prepared to shoot down all of his disgusting suggestions, when the door finally opened and Sakuraquickly turned her attention forward once more.

Standing in thedoorway was a young woman, who regarded them with unveiled – albeit ratherannoyed - curiosity, her gaze darting from the pleasantly smiling pinkette tothe sour-looking man leaning against the wooden railing.

“That’s them, Mama.”The little boy clutching her leg – he’d been the one to first answer the doorbefore quickly rushing off to find his mother at Sakura’s beckoning – murmured shyly,half hiding behind the woman.

“May I help you..?”

Sakura put on hermost charming smile, shifting her hold on the box under her arm.

“Yes, good afternoon.My name is Sakura – is this Miguel Sorrentino’s residence?”

The woman’s eyebrows furrowedslightly and she shooed the boy away, crossing her arms as she regarded the twostrangers on her porch.

“Yes.”

Sakura’s smilewidened – check! – and nodded in thanks.

“May I speak withhim?”

“You’re about threemonths too late.” The woman deadpanned.

“O-oh?”

“He passed away inJanuary.”

Sakura blinked,taking in this information. She heard Hidan straighten behind her and quicklyoffered her hurried condolences to the woman before glancing back at him – theyhadn’t faced a roadblock like this one yet.

“Now what?” Shehissed at the demon, the other woman watching them with growing suspicion. “AmI expected to break into a cemetery or something?”

Hidan rubbed the backof his neck before shrugging, lips twisted in a confused grimace.

“How the hell shouldI know? Next of kin should be fine…? Maybe?”

Sakura quicklysnapped her attention back to the frowning woman, her smile more awkward thancharming now.

“You wouldn’t happento be rela-”

“I’m his granddaughter.”She interrupted with another deadpan, lips pursed and expression rather exasperated.

“Excellent! This isfor you, from Maseo Haruno.” Shoving the box into the woman’s arms, Sakura gavea quick bow and pulled a weathered journal out of her bag, quickly flipping itopen to a page towards the middle. While the other woman fumbled with the boxin surprise, Sakura grinned as she watched ‘December20, 1987 - Miguel Sorrentino’ magicallycross itself out.

“Perfect! Thanks somuch, ma’am!”

The woman sent thepair a bewildered look as they began to leave, carefully lifting the lid offthe box and peering inside before balking at its contents.

“Wait! What am Isupposed to do with a miniature tuba?!”

“Yes, have a niceday!” Sakura called, taking Hidan’s arm as she hurried down the street.

Once they were ablock or so away, she slipped her phone back out of her pocket and checked ‘Miguel Sorrentino – one miniature tuba’ off her own, digital list, Hidan walking nextto her and whistling happily.

“Another one dealtwith. And I’ll make a note that giving the stuff to family members works justfine if the original person is deceased.” She muttered to herself, scrollingthrough her notes for this annoying ‘project’. After a moment, she grimaced andlet out a sigh, shoving her cell back into her pocket.

“I’ve estimated thatI’m going to need at least$1,673 in cash for some of these IOUs. Notincluding the budget I’ll need for buyingsome of this shit.” Groaning in frustration, Sakura ran her hands down herface, frowning up at the darkening sky. As rain began to fall, she waspleasantly surprised to find the demon snapping his fingers to summon anumbrella, holding it over the pair of them as they walked.

“Why couldn’t the old manhave left me a small fortune too?”

Hidan hummed in reply,lips quirked in a smirk.

“How about some fuckin’salamander eyes? They taste just like olives, I swear.”

“Hell no!”

[theliterateape]

An Impeached Trump is a More Powerful Trump

By David Himmel

This piece was originally written and performed by the author for BUGHOUSE #16 on January 7, 2019 at Haymarket Pub & Brewery. You can listen to the show here.

In a recent New York Times piece titled “The People vs. Donald J. Trump,” opinion columnist David Leonhardt writes “The unrelenting chaos that Trump creates can sometimes obscure the big picture. But the big picture is simple: The United States has never had a president as demonstrably unfit for the office as Trump. And it’s becoming clear that 2019 is likely to be dominated by a single question: What are we going to do about it?”

Leonhardt goes on to make the case that impeachment of our 45th president is a must if the nation, and potentially the world, are to survive. But Leonhardt, thinks the big picture is smaller than it actually is.

Donald Trump is a problem. He’s a stain on American diplomacy and the office of the president. The guy has always been a wanker, a creep, a con man, a dumb daddy’s boy and a racist crook. Nothing in the last decade changed that. Nothing. And he should not be President of the United States. But impeachment will be a divisive waste of time.

Certainly, the House of Representatives could impeach him. But to get him out of office it’s going to require the Senate to pull the proverbial trigger. And that’s not going to happen. The Senate is still held my a majority of Republicans. Chances are that they’ll squash the impeachment idea immediately. And that’d be the end of that.

Now, they could recognize their mistake in allowing Trump to take over their party and admit he’s a dangerous fool and initiate impeachment proceedings, but even that won’t remove the guy from power — it will only draw things out over the next two years. It will be a distraction, and we don’t need any more distractions during this presidency. We, and by we, I mean the Legislative Branch and the few remaining humans in the Executive Branch, we need to get to work.

Let’s look at what the Trump Presidency will look like if impeachment proceedings commence.

Barron and Tiffany’s dad — remember Barron and Tiffany? — will be pissed. Like really pissed. We’ve seen Trump pissed, and a pissed off Trump makes a lot more trouble for everyone. He goes from stupid and spazzy to super stupid and spazzy. The tweets get more insulting and accusatory; the lies get more outrageous; the vengeance on his enemies gets more intense. Everything becomes even more careless than it is on his best days, which is pretty bad. He’ll alienate those few remaining humans keeping the Presidency and a big chunk of American democracy afloat. Essentially, if the House impeaches Donald Trump, it’ll be handing him a huge cannon which he’ll use to blow a hole in the ship while trying to fire at Pelosi and Schummer and maybe even you and me.

In this time, he’ll either align himself closer with Putin and Kim Jong Un or piss them off so bad that North Korea starts dropping the bombs and Russia invades everything from our government to our underwear drawers. It will be total chaos. This kind of chaos may prevent Trump from incarcerating more immigrant kids, but it could also mean their certain death via nuclear war.

No matter what happens from now until the day Donald Trump dies, he will blame others for his failures and pick fights that don’t need to be picked. If he’s facing removal from office, instead of just differences of opinion over border security and budgets, he’ll erupt like a toddler who’s candy was yanked from his hand and a flaming steak knife was plunged into his rectum. That’s the kind of fit we’ll see. If you’ve ever seen a toddler lose their shit when they don’t have a flaming steak knife plunged into their rectum, you know how bad that could get.

Really, really bad.

Furthermore, we’re not just facing Trump’s wrath or the democratic trouble it will incite. We have to be mindful of the die-hard Trump supporters. They, like our Commander in Chief, are petulant rubes who will follow Trump’s antagonistic, ill-informed, distraction bravado and behavior, which ignites equal amounts of clapping back from the Strident Left. This muddies the waters and is, well, exactly the kind of distraction Trump and his ilk need in order to maintain their teeny grasp on power. Or at least their grasp on the keys to the Oval Office. They’ll blame all of Trump’s failures on the “attack” on the President.

Impeachment proceedings will give Trump and Co. the scapegoat they need to fail without feeling like failures. Trump will become a martyr. That will only embolden the MAGA Masses. And that’s a terrible thing for the future of the country. Presidents come and go but The People are long lasting. What we’re experiencing today by the far right conservative Republican Party was put in motion in 1964 with Barry Goldwater’s campaign, kicked into gear during Reagan’s Eighties and dolloped with whipped cream and a cherry thanks to W’s administration.

 When you get dick cancer, you need to kill the cancer itself, not haphazardly slice your dong off. Impeaching Trump would just be cutting off our diseased dick. And I guarantee you that the cancer would come for our balls, bones, and brains.

Now, let’s look at what can happen if the House chooses to run the clock out.

Trump will continue being an ineffective bonehead, stirring up shit, making a mess of things, but a mess we can clean up. With the House and the Senate charged with governing and keeping Trump in line in a diplomatic way, all accusations of an attack will be without the right amount of fuel to set any real fires. They’ll sounds just as ridiculous as when anyone talks about Hillary’s emails today.

More importantly, with the Democrats focused on actually governing and legislating, they’ll have more time to adapt to the changes occurring in the party. Differences can be reconciled or at least understood. This allows the party to become united. A united party is the only way Trump and the Far Right can be beat fair and square in 2020.

A statement needs to be made for history to recognize down the line: Donald Trump and the Far Right were defeated by American democracy at its best. Without impeachment proceedings and with Trump still showing his ass at every opportunity, the GOP remaining in Congress will be able to quietly distance themselves from Trump and move more toward the center. So, too, will the Strident Left. The parties will recognize that working together can save the country and their individual political careers. Everyone wins.

The Founding Fathers wrote Article 1, sections 2 and 3, and clauses 5 and 6 of the U.S. Constitution for a reason. They foresaw that some people would make it to the highest office who would ultimately be unfit for that office. Nixon was one. Trump certainly is unfit. But the difference is that Nixon was a measured criminal. Trump is a lunatic. He cannot be dealt with in the same way as Nixon. Trump’s weaponry is not power from within, like Nixon. Trump’s power comes from the feedback he gets by throwing vitriol at his enemies. We can’t allow him to do that.

Impeaching Donald Trump is exactly the thing that will make him more dangerous. Do not impeach Trump —vote him out.