#which was always an alternative for how he survived in the streets

[cosmics-beings]

Drift making stickers, banners, shirts, just to make sure EVERYONE knows he’s the one responsible for the bitlets growing inside Ratchet (and his conjunx also growing grumpiness).

Drift, wearing a shirt: I’ve sparked my conjunx

Rodimus, wearing a shirt: my amica sparked his conjunx

Ratchet, unwillingly wearing a shirt: my conjunx sparked me

I want (and still plan to) draw this and even write this so bad. i wanted to draw it this week but my job got in the way T-T but I'm also saving this so i can draw them because them all in their T-Shirts would be so funny.

I can just imagine drift and rodimus being so damn chummy and laughing, and then ratchet is moping on the side. not only because he was forced to wear a shirt that basically screamed he got fucked side-ways, on the counter, on the floor, on the wall, etc., my drift, but he is so grumpy too. he is so damn grumpy like he has an attitude, the sparklings are probably gonna come out with one.

Like they take a family picture, especially for the sparkling shower, and it's ridiculous. I mean, Rodimus and Drift have a good time. Ratchet is a mixture of tired and stressed because he has a million surgeries to conduct--tho Drift won't let him do that. He wants his conjunx to rest.

also trivia but my dratchet sparklings actually don't look like ratchet. none of them look like him, they all favor drift at different stages in his life. however, they do actually have healing abilities. like they are outliers and all their outlier ability is to heal, though one's is to take life away with her touch. she becomes a doctor however and is as good as ratchet. Also adkjfaj Ratchet is still a doctor at that time.

Drift and Ratchet in my aus never actually stop having children so i cannot cap it. Like yeah we know in LL Ratchet dies but I've explained how he's still alive in my aus even after that and guess what...they go right back to having children. Ratchet always carries because in my aus personally, Drift has trauma with carrying because of things that happened in his past. He actually got his forge tank/valve removed. Originally, Rathcet wouldn't have cared to sire or anything, like he expected that's how it would be with he and Drift but Drift is very serious about being a sire.

[oopsdevil]

COD + AUs

which alternative universe they would fit in (f!reader)

SIMON GHOST RILEY + APOCALYPSE!AU

(full fic here)

in another lifetime, the worldwide zombie apocalypse saved simon's life. with no one to fight for, simon felt like himself for the first time. a world where hiding his face is the last of everyone else's worries, a world where he gets to be violent for a good reason against those flesh eating things, a world where he gets to live without needing anyone. that until he met you. if anyone told him he would end up surviving the streets of manchester with a girl half his height and a backpack bigger than her, whose first words to him where "what's with the skull?", he would have laughed. but here he is, watching you go crazy at an old, dark clothing store, forgetting for a second that the world around you is dying. simon didn't care before, but now reminds himself the reason he wants to keep going, is you.

SIMON GHOST RILEY + TATTOO ARTIST!AU

in another lifetime, simon gets to combine his favorite things and make a living out of it; pain, art and ink. gotta admit, it was intimidating meeting him for the first time. 6'2, quiet, blonde, heavy accent, covered in tattoos and attached to his black surgical mask. surprisingly, he is a very patient tattoo artist. the fact that he understands the significance behind your tattoo, or that you need breaks, or that he offers you water many times, makes you go back to him for more ink. you remember the first time he took his mask off, with a couple scars around his face and a killing smirk, simon asked you out on the best date he could think of; hanging around his station while he tattoos strangers. or how you call it now, years after that first date, saturday afternoon.

KYLE GAZ GARRICK + COLLEGE!AU

in another lifetime, kyle persuaded his talent in history knowledge. top of his class and with intact kindness (even after meeting very pretentious and competitive classmates), kyle offers his help to the girl in the library who doesn't seem to understand what the hell her book's about. you both knew, the second you locked eyes. not gonna lie, he makes your college experience better just by existing. yes, you stay up all night studying and fail to answer his calls. but he knows you, and he is outside your dorm at 3 a.m with the best pizza on campus. and yes, he will wait outside class when you take your final exam. and yes, he always knew he wanted to marry you, but waits until you get your degree to propose.

KYLE GAZ GARRICK + PRIVATE DETECTIVE!AU

in another lifetime, the sense of justice got to kyle in a cold, cheap apartment in the city, and working at night. he got really confused when a girl with kind eyes like yours approached him for his services. used to working with cheating men and sketchy women, kyle begged for you to drop whatever weird problem your boss got himself into, is really not you business, but he respects your contribution to the employees your boss is basically robbing. he really didn't expect to get so attached to a case, even less to a client. but there you are, sleeping on his bed after many nights protecting you, after you didn't drop it. you couldn't, and it made him fall in love with you even harder. he felt his heart go soft and his stiff shoulders drop when you grabbed his arm in your sleep. kyle always protected himself, but after finding you, he has new priorities. he also never considered himself impulsive, but look at him now, living in a new warm city with his lifesavings in a backpack and your hand in his.

JOHN SOAP MACTAVISH + SOULMATES!AU

in another lifetime, johnny checks the mark in everybody's wrist, hoping one will match his. his is rather particular, and earned his nickname since childhood, a small but obvious mark shaped as a soap. turning 30 (and hiding it with humor) soaps heart breaks a little more when he realizes he hasn't shared the first thirty years of his life with his soulmate, the one who at this point, john doubts even exists. he takes a walk around the streets of glasgow to clear his head, and walks into a coffee shop. he reaches for his cup in the multitude, and hears from the barista something he heard his entire life "your mark looks like a soap! how funny". his stomach dropped when a girl next to him goes "yeah, i know". it took him a second, but he looked. and yeah, he burned his hand with his coffee when he introduced himself, and got embarrassed when the entire staff realized a couple of soulmates met at their shop, but johnny's coffee never tasted better knowing that was his last birthday alone.

JOHN SOAP MACTAVISH + BOXER!AU

in another lifetime, a cocky boxer winked your way in the middle of his fight, and your face got red like the blood in his gloves. your friends warned you, what can an amateur boxer with a mohawk offer to you? surprisingly, a lot. when he's with you, he isn't the soap mactavish, just johnny. johnny, who looks handsome even with a black eye when he asks you out for breakfast. johnny, who is bulking and eats like an animal on your first date, but god, he is so charming. your johnny, who runs every morning and comes back with a hot coffee for you, and accepts the fact that sometimes you can't watch his fights. johnny, who thought fighting was all he was good for, but gained so much peace when he met you. with ups and downs, he is convinced that having a reason to fight for is the reason he won the championship.

KÖNIG + BODYGUARD!AU

in another lifetime, you yelped when you woke up to a 6'4 man in your kitchen, wearing a suit and a intimidating black hood. he is not surprised by the reaction. being the bodyguard for a girl who saw too much is not his ideal job, but you became so much more. so brave and witty. he is obsessed with the way you aren't scared of him in the slightest. könig swore to protect you by a contract, but it became his whole life. no longer a job, but his reason. the nicknames that slipped out when the situation became to much for you, and the time he saw a suspicious face and had a hand on your hip the rest of the night. but you falling asleep in his shoulder after a storm was it for him, he had to tell you he loved you. but könig's heart breaks when his contract is over and you are officially safe. after a long, heavy fight about your "relationship", könig confesses he can't sleep now that he is not around you, that he needs to make sure you are safe, forever. and fuck, the kiss he gave you. könig swore to protect you by a contract, but met the other half his cold heart never knew he needed.

KÖNIG + GROUP THERAPY!AU

in another lifetime, könig healed in so many ways. its hard to take this much time off work at mid thirties for any human, but imagine for a soldier. the only condition favor his superior asked was "please, go to therapy". very skeptical, könig tried a place where the attention wasn't always on him, group therapy. talking isn't his favorite, but he met amazing people, and yeah, he wasn't in the best place to meet the love of his life, but how can you not look at that beautiful girl who picks up her marine dad from therapy? after very hard months talking about things he swore to never think about again, you were there for him the entire time. könig healed in so many ways. könig cried for the first time in decades when he left you, thinking he is too broken for you. könig asked for forgiveness for the first time in decades when he got you back. könig giggled for the first time in decades when your dad caught you two making out in your porch (and boy, did your dad make him run home). könig went back to his job about a year later, and became the best soldier he ever was. the talk of the base is now how the colonel keeps recommending therapy to everyone.

JOHN PRICE + LAWYER FIRM!AU

in another lifetime, john price is a fucking asshole. or so everyone thinks. you have never felt this nervous about a job interview, and by that cold look mr. price gave you, you were sure he would hire another secretary. but maybe his eyes are just like that, because why else would you be taking the bus at 7 a.m in these clothes? you hear it all over the building, mr. price can be difficult, serious, boring. but they never danced to head over heels by tears for tears in his office while barefoot. they never ate chinese food totally sleep deprived while going over a case over and over. john never grabbed their hand while walking the busy streets of london in that suit he looks way too good in. john's reputation really changed through the years. "he went soft when he met his sweetheart at work". he laughs, no one who ever saw him in a courtroom would call him soft.

JOHN PRICE + ARRANGED MARRIAGE!AU

in another lifetime... john is difficult. you get it. he is an important man, a business man. a man who has no time to meet women, specially a wife. everything in his life is a transaction, including his business partner's sister. you two got married at a small ceremony and he didn't even kiss you. it took him 5 months to sleep in the same bed as you, and thats when it all started. that night john made sure you knew he didn't hate you, he was trying to give you space. but you don't want space, you want to peel all those layers and really get to know him. now you know why he is the big man, one of a kind. who knew a man so brilliant and cold could be so... him. john. protective, faithful, touch-starved, sweet-tooth, the smiths enthusiast, twin girls dad, belly laugher john.

[spoilers-ahead]

okay!! now that it’s not 2am for me, i’m going to post my selkie!jason todd hc’s straight up au apparently! 

(uh. this was supposed to just be a list of hc’s but i got slightly,,,, carried away)

his selkie skin looks like an oversized red hoodie in his human form, and is just warm enough to help him survive new england winters.

when the summer heat becomes unbearable, he slings the hoodie around his waist

alternatively, he just coasts it out underwater. perks of living in a coastal city!

willis todd was a selkie. he used to tell jason stories of what it was like to swim through the big, wide ocean. of how freeing it felt. how different it is, from the smoggy, heavy air of gotham --- different, but both theirs, in their own right.

but to be honest, jason doesn’t remember much about the stories he was told, or really, anything about willis --- he had been in and out of blackgate for most of jason’s life, working for two-face to try and make ends meet, before dying. 

what jason mostly remembers, are the warnings. don’t let anybody know you’re a selkie. don’t let anybody find your skin. they will find it, and they will use it to control you. even decades later, jason would still remember those warnings. 

catherine is the one who teaches him how to swim, who helps him trial-and-error his way into putting his skin on, and learn how to make the transition seamless. 

after she dies, jason spends three months as a seal, to just... exist. forget.   

although jason technically lives on the streets, whenever he can;t find food, whenever he can’t find somewhere warm to sleep, whenever just being human becomes too unbearable, he spends the night as a seal. he ends up spending more time in the ocean, than on land.

that’s not to say he’s very good at being a seal --- he barely knows how to swim, has to learn how to fish the hard way. 

when bruce finds jason stealing his car tires, he marvels over how nice jason’s hoodie is, soft and fluffy even after all of jason’s time on the streets, especially given the condition jason is in, ribs showing from malnutrition, and the worn and raggedy shape of the rest of his stuff.

jason is skittish when he goes to live in the manor, even after a few weeks. he always adopts an expression particularly similar to a cornered wild animal around alfred in particular, alfred, who keeps on trying to take his hoodie away, purportedly to wash it.

alfred eventually gives up on trying to force jason to wash it --- he figures that as jason becomes more comfortable living at the manor, he’ll wind up telling them why he’s so protective over that hoodie, and they can work something out then. 

whenever wayne manor overwhelms jason with how big and how decadently expensive all the decor is, jason runs away, run to the ocean. 

jason doesn’t actually end up telling alfred and bruce that he’s a selkie --- bruce just has a ridiculous amount of motion alarms, which are triggered every time jason ran off. he had followed jason the third night, and saw him transform. 

bruce doesn’t tell jason that he knows, assuming that jason kept this a secret because he didn’t fully trust either of them. he would later learn that he was right in this assumption (a rare win for bruce in terms of emotional awareness)

except jason doesn’t fully trust either of them, even after a few months. bruce impulsively decides to do a few things --- a) tell jason about batman and robin and his crime-fighting secret identity, and b) tell jason he already knows about him being a selkie. 

jason is absolutely bamboozled by the fact that bruce knows, and yet hasn’t tried to take his hoodie to control him, or to stop him from playing in the ocean for a few hours. 

in fact, (under alfred’s encouragement) bruce offers to take him to the ocean during the day, so he can get “a proper night’s rest that a growing young boy such as himself would need”

jason remembers what his father told him, to never trust anyone, never let his guard down. but bruce has known about jason being a selkie for so long, and he didn’t take his hoodie or try anything. of course he can trust bruce. 

and when he tries on the robin costume for the first time, it fits perfectly. just like his hoodie, his second skin. it fits just like magic. 

oh, it’s a little loose in some places, the legacy of dick fucking grayson a little heavy sometimes, but he’ll grow into it. he’ll make himself, if he has to. 

also, jason finds the fact that even though he’s a friggin’ selkie, his callsign is a bird (a robin, no less) incredibly ironic and funny 

being a selkie is actually so useful for vigilantehood. the amount of people who talk freely, openly, and loudly about their drug smuggling plans near the ports is quite frankly, ridiculous.

honestly, towards the end of his robin years, jason remains genuinely surprised nobody catches on to him or his tactics yet. bruce is very proud.  

even though jason is safe, has been safe for three years, and trusts bruce with his life, his skin, and everything, old habits are hard to break. so he has his hoodie on when he goes to find sheila. 

and anyways, he wants to see if sheila is a selkie too. he’s taking biology right now, and they’re learning about punnett squares. jason’s never met another selkie before, other than willis who he barely remembers. there’s a possibility that sheila knows something, anything, so he has to try. 

sheila gets a glint in her eyes when jason mentions that he’s a selkie, tells him that while she’s not one herself, she’s familiar with the myth. she has long suspected that willis was a selkie, she tells him, and she’s glad to have confirmation. 

jason positively vibrates with excitement, can’t wait to ask, to pester his mother (mother!) with questions upon questions until. 

until. 

sheila doesn’t do anything after she gives him to the joker. she just smokes and smokes. and she doesn’t tell the joker about his hoodie, despite how it would have been much easier for the joker to destroy him that way. much more painful too.  

small mercies, he supposes, in between hacking coughs that brings blood bubbling up his lips. 

after he dies, his hoodie is ripped and in tatters from the crowbar, with burns along the edges from the bomb. bruce has to carefully peel it off his body. 

when jason was alive, his magic kept the hoodie in perfect condition, always. even when the rest of him was covered head-to-toe in mud, or dripping sludge from the nasty gotham sewers. 

bruce stares at the same hoodie, blood-soaked and mangled, so incredibly dissonant from how he remembered it on jason, when he was bright, whole, and alive. 

he can’t stand it. the hoodie that was so precious to jason, that was jason, at the core of him, in this state. dirty and ripped and devoid of the magic jason had exuded. 

in a moment of desperation, late at night, bruce asks alfred to teach him how to sew. he doesn’t dare to practice on jason’s beloved hoodie --- instead, he starts with the suits in his closet, grabbing the first one he sees, regardless of price. rips a hole and sews it back together over and over until he perfects his technique. 

and then he washes the fabric gently, using baby fabric cleanser and scrubbing for hours upon hours until the last traces of the deep-set brown stain from jason’s blood washes down the drain.

he painstakingly sews the scraps of fabric back together with a red thread, carefully sourced to match the hoodie to try and make it flow seamlessly like it used to. 

it doesn’t work, not exactly. despite his best efforts, the creases bruce had carefully sewn together are prominent and thick like scars, littering the  soft fabric.

so he gives up. he hangs it over the grandfather clock entrance to the cave in his study. brings it with him every time he visits jason’s grave, because he doesn’t ever want to keep jason’s hoodie away from him, but he also can’t bear for it to get ruined. 

dick visits him. a rare occurrence, these days. 

dick yells at him, as he is wont to do. 

these days, it feels like they spend more time angry at each other than not. dick says that this isn’t right. isn’t fair to anybody, not to alfred, not to himself, definitely not to jason. he rants, jason deserves to be remembered as he was in life, not frozen in death. 

perhaps he is right. bruce is not unaware of the state of violent, cutting stasis he is in, this putrefaction of his life. and he is certainly not unaware of how it is affecting the people around him. dick. alfred. the neighbor’s kid, the one who wants to be robin.   

bruce tries. not for himself, but for tim. for alfred, for dick. even for stephanie brown, who sometimes, when she smirks just right, or says something with just the right twang, he swears he can see jason in her. 

he still can’t bear to put the hoodie away, because jason deserved better than to be forgotten, so he folds it gently and places it in his closet instead. 

he also can’t bear to look at it for very long, so he forces himself to every single day. 

it’s different from the glass case that houses robin’s tattered suit in the cave --- that, is a reminder of how he failed robin. this, this is salt in a constant, stabbing, festering would, reminding him of how he failed his son. 

it was stephanie, that eventually helped him figure out what to do with the hoodie. when she was young, young enough to cry at ripped pants and skinned knees, young enough that her mother hadn’t touched the drugs yet, her mother would dry up her tears, give her a hug and a kiss on the forehead, before patching her pants up. 

what not many people know, is that before crystal brown set her mind on becoming a nurse, she wanted to be an artist, first. and so she grabs her old set of embroidery needles, and stitched little designs. dogs and cats. stars and planets. tools and gadgets. 

bruce doesn’t react, doesn’t even move, even as stephanie finishes her story. she hangs there awkwardly for a second, stares up at jason’s suit, waiting for him to respond, before shuffling towards the exit of the cave. 

thank you, spoiler, bruce manages to croak out. 

ah, yeah, she says, shrugging lightly while slouching in on herself, any time, boss. she walks out, and bruce watches her go from the reflection on the darkened computer. 

that night, he takes out jason’s hoodie, smooths it out, grabs his threads, and stitches. 

he stitches on constellations, argo navis, for jason’s namesake in the greek myths he had loved so much. a tiny seal, playing with beach balls. little books, with quotes on the sides. a robin, big and bold. 

he tries to make it as true to jason as possible, not just in death and in bruce’s memories, but as he was in life.

jason wakes up abruptly.  

he wakes up in a coffin, cold, alone, and with a gaping hole in his chest. getting dipped in the lazarus pit only made it worse, only made him all the more aware of what he was missing, all the more conscious of it. 

he doesn’t bother trying to learn how to swim with two arms and two legs, instead of two fins and a tail. it doesn’t feel the same. it only reminds him of what he’s lost. 

sometimes, on sleepless nights that happen more often than not, he wonders what would have happened if he still had a hoodie, still could swim. 

if he still was robin. 

and he doesn’t have access to the cave anymore, or to the titan’s tower, or the watchtower, and his memory of the past is still patchy and shitty in some places. 

so in a burst of impulsivity fueled by the person he no longer is, he prints out photos of robin’s costume from the internet and recreates it on his own. 

if his skin is gone, then fine. fine! he’s perfectly perfunctorily aware that nothing about this resurrection of his is natural. if he doesn’t think too much about it, he’ll be alright. his hoodie, his skin, that was something he was born with, a birthright that died with him. 

but robin, robin was something that he helped shape. robin was something that he worked for, changed himself for. 

and the makeshift robin suit --- it doesn’t fit him, not anymore. no, it feels wrong, like a child playing with their parent’s suit. or --- he realizes, perhaps more accurately, like an adult realizing they no longer fit in their favorite clothes. 

and --- and --- what was the point of it all? what was the point, of trying to make bruce proud of him, of getting dick’s approval, of trying to futilely save people over and over again from the same gallery of supervillains who keep on escaping from prison?!

and what was the point of carving out a space for himself if the joker was just going to beat him out of it, and if tim drake was going to insert himself in the hole he left behind?

and then the next thing he knows he’s in titan’s tower hitting tim drake over and over again because who let him? who let him take jason’s role as a son, as a brother, as a hero? how dare he?

but when he’s slit tim’s throat and torn the ‘R’ off his chest, jason doesn’t feel any better. the robin suit still doesn’t fit. his hoodie’s still gone. 

he’s starting to think it never will, not again. 

sometimes, when he gets tired enough to let his mind wander, he wonders what happened to his suit. 

he’s pretty sure he died with it, so either the hoodie is with the joker, batman, or... gone entirely. (it’s not like they found willis’ skin after he died. maybe selkie skins just disappear in a cloud of sea foam once they die, or some little mermaid shit like that)

it’s a cold comfort, that nobody can manipulate him now. nobody can control him --- not even batman. 

(bruce had thought about it. when he first had his suspicious regarding who the red hood was, before he knew there was any trace of the son he once had left. he thought about using the hoodie, using jason’s selkie skin to coerce him, at least to stop murdering people, to stop hurting their family.) 

(he would never go that far, in retrospect, or at least, he doesn’t think he could ever. to do that to jason, betray his trust so thoroughly and completely... but it would be a lie to say that he didn’t consider it.)

bruce reflects on this as jason reveals himself, the joker tied up at his feet with a gun pressed to his head, and venom spitting from his son’s mouth.  

but when he lifts the batarang to hit jason’s gun, or wrist, or anything that’ll force him to drop the gun, he realizes that his hands are shaking. 

and when he throws the batarang, he knows a millisecond after he’s let go, that he’s miscalculated the ricochet. 

so when jason escapes that night, bruce knows he’s fucked up. 

jason goes off the maps, completely. bruce doesn’t know where he is, if he’s safe, if he even made it out of the explosion that night. 

it takes weeks. weeks for bruce to track jason down, from meticulously documenting the dropped threads of where the red hood was pulling strings in the gotham underworld behind the scenes, to tracking security cameras with facial recognition. 

once bruce manages find where he’s staying, make sure he’s safe, he knows what he wants to do. and, he knows what he needs to do. 

jason gets a package in the mail, five weeks after his disasterous meeting with batman and the joker. unmarked, unsigned, no return address. 

when jason opens the box gingerly and carefully, he holds on to his skin for the first time in years. and then, and then, and then --- something right slots into place. his fingers brushed gently over the tiny spotted seal he knows he used to look like, the books he remembered ranting to bruce about for hours on end. 

the robin, on the top left, over his heart, big enough to have changed him, yet small enough to not define him. 

it’s not perfect. it doesn’t even fix anything, not entirely. he still fights with bruce most times he sees him, tries to punch dick in the face, steadfastly ignores tim and steph the entire time. 

but it’s something. it’s something, and the next time nightwing, batman, spoiler, and robin fight a gang on the docks, the red hood gives them a helping hand before jumping back into the ocean and swimming away.

fin!

wow this got long

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #31] The Photo Booth

warnings: THE photoboth chapter!!!! a legend amongst bd readers!!!! we meet jaykays mum (shes the best) and his dad (legend), byeol gets her own back for the 'daddy' debacle, teasing, shameless flirting, a lil dirty talk, jaykay is desperate and whiney (just how we like him!!), precum...swapping?? as much as it can be swapped lmao, jaykay does her glitter ::(((((, a date! between friends!! some would argue!!, photobooths, kissing !!!!, oh god I love them so much, very cute, mmmmmm the way he says goodnight!! or alternatively, the way he doesn't say goodnight!!, our babies are v confused <3 cos they are stewpid <33

wc: 9k

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

"Mum? Dad?" Jeongguk calls into the entryway of his family home, pushing the door further open with his shoulder.

Your bag is hooked over his broad back, along with his own, Jeongguk not even considering it a favour. Just helps you out in little ways whenever he can, just because he can. You do what you can to make his life easier, and so it's reciprocated without a second thought.

Carrying a bunch of fresh flowers that had hastily been picked up from the shop across the street, you're a little nervous. There was no way you could show up empty-handed, but had been so scatterbrained when you left your place, it had completely slipped your mind. They're pretty pink posies and are something - which is always better than nothing, even if they aren't all that impressive.

"Oh, you're here!" A sweet voice calls from the back of the house. The sound of indoor slippers scuff against the wooden floors, as his mother scurries to greet you both. "I thought you'd call when you were on your way!"

"Sorry," he apologises and leans down to let the bags softly tumble to the floor, before outstretching his arm for a hug. "Left in a bit of a rush."

Squeezing his mother gently, his back eclipses her from your view. Hands patting his back, you think you can tell a lot about a person from their hands - and she's no exception.

Well-manicured, his mum clearly looks after herself. She wears just two rings - her wedding band and engagement ring. Gold. The only remaining elements of her wedding jewellery that had survived the '98 gold drive.

"Spent my whole life in that house," Jeongguk had said of his family home on the journey to Busan. He'd been opening up. Telling you tales that you'd have never heard if you had declined his offer. Is clueing you in on the life that formed him. Wants you to know. "They held onto it throughout everything. The financial crisis, turn of the century, everything. I'm lucky. We were never well-off, but they never let me know when we were struggling."

It explains a lot about who Jeongguk is, you think. Never wants others to shoulder his burdens. Keeps things bottled up until the glass shatters - but you can see through glass. You always know.

A modest three-bed, there's something nostalgic about the four walls he calls home. Though you've never been here, it somehow feels familiar - but that's perhaps more so to do with the scent of laundry drying, and the fact that Jeongguk uses the same fabric conditioner as his mother always has done.

Swanning Jeongguk out of the way, his mother greets you with a smile that could stoke warmth in even the coldest of hearts - and suddenly, you understand exactly where Jeongguk gets it from.

Dark, round eyes, and a smile as radiant as a spring day, she's got the kind of delicate nature bestowed upon Disney princesses. If you were to learn she'd been a model in her youth, you wouldn't be surprised. 

Introducing yourself,  you hold out the flowers for her to take.

"For you," you offer, a little shy and reserved, in a way that Jeongguk doesn't see too often. Your glitter - toned down today, for some reason - sparkles in the late afternoon sun that pours through the windows. "Thank you so much for offering to host me. I really hope it hasn't put you out too much-"

"Oh, don't be silly," she tuts, flipping her hand away as if to emphasise that it really is no big deal. "It's always lovely to have Jeongguk's friends staying with us."

She glances over to Jeongguk. Leans in a little closer. Whispers just loud enough for him to hear. "Plus I'm sure you'll be a far better house guest than Jimin ever is!"

"Mum!" Jeongguk goes to defend his housemate - but he knows his mother adores Jimin. Treats him like a third son. Knows she's creating an alliance with you, given the little lie Jeongguk told about you previously dating Jimin.

"What?!" She plays innocent, and it's suddenly so easy to see why Jeongguk is the way that he is. A product of the people around him, he soaks up their best qualities like a sponge in search of water. His playfulness must come from her. Taking the bunch of flowers, she smiles. "Let's go put these in a vase. You must be hungry."

"Ravenous," Jeongguk confirms, as if he didn't eat half an hour ago. "What's for dinner? And where's dad?"

"At the driving range," she tuts, encouraging you both further into the house.

Large and open plan, the sitting room is adjacent to the kitchen; a space designed for socialisation, it's clear that Jeongguk's parents enjoy hosting. It's no surprise that they agreed to let you stay without hesitation, and is also why Jeongguk had no qualms about asking.

"Minhyuk got a new driver that he wanted to show off, apparently," she continues. "A Titlelist. Got it in some dodgy back alley sale. Your father reckons he's been scammed, but Minhyuk reckons it's the real deal, so I'll guess we'll see."

"Minhyuk lives down the road," Jeongguk explains to you as his mum rummages around in a cupboard to find her favourite vase. He's smiling, amused by it all. "Bit of a busybody. Likes being in people's business, so Dad likes to return the favour. Petty middle-aged man shit."

"Watch your language," his mother scolds. He apologises immediately.

It's sweet, seeing Jeongguk like this. He's always been respectful, even if he does swear like a sailor and has a sense of humour that would send a prude to an early grave.

"As for dinner, I told your father to meet us at the samgyeopsal place you like down by the beach-"

"Ugh," Jeongguk smiles, beaming from ear to ear. "Thank you."

"Don't know why you're thanking me," she hums sweetly as she arranges the flowers in the vase. A little lacklustre while they were still wrapped up, she manages to preen them to look far more beautiful. "You're paying."

"I'm- what?!" He whines, now, taking on the role of youngest son perfectly.

She's just joking, and you all know it - but you also know Jeongguk will likely try and cover the bill regardless. Glancing over to you with a cheeky grin, his mum playfully shrugs her shoulders. You return the smile, and giggle a little harder when Jeongguk continues to whine.

"Oh hush your moaning," she simply says. "Go take your bags through to your rooms. We'll head out in half an hour."

Jeongguk doesn't protest. Drags you along with him back to the entry hall to retrieve the bags.

"See," he says quietly, finding your shyness all rather curious. You're never normally like this. Never so quiet. "Told you there was nothing to worry about. Mum always likes my friends."

Picking up your bag to hoist it over your shoulder, you simply say, "Nerves are natural."

Jeongguk doesn't entirely disagree, but really thinks there's no need for you to feel this way.

"Yeah, if you're meeting, like, a girlfriend's parents," he says. "My parents are nothing to be scared of. Idiot."

"Doesn't matter if I'm not your girlfriend, Gguk. I still want them to like me," you remind him. "And let's be realistic here, parents aren't one for subtleties. You've brought a girl home and have hickies on your neck - I need to touch up the foundation, by the way. If they notice, they're gonna add two and two and get five."

"Well actually," he interjects. "They'll add two and two and get four. You are the girl who gave me them."

You laugh. He's got a point. "But I'm not your girlfriend ."

Yep , he thinks. Thanks for the reminder.

It's not like he even wants that. He knows that things are good as they are. Knows that any indication of things getting serious will likely make you run for the hills.

Things feel easy, now. He doesn't wanna do anything that will complicate it. Won't tell you how he's feeling, 'cause he knows the second it does, things will change.

He doesn't know if it would be for better or for worse, but he knows you. Knows his own lived experiences.

The mistakes made with Hayun have contorted his ability to go with his heart, because he knows the pain it can cause. Will take the nail-biting uncertainty of his feelings for you over the soul-crushing certainty of rejection any day of the week.

You're equally as shaped by your own experiences.

Once had a man who would declare his love for you on a Monday morning before his monthly business trip, only for him to spend the entire week in bed with a girl from the accounting department. You've no trust in words. No trust in anything, really, when it comes to matters of the heart. All you can trust is how you feel - but even that's a little more confusing than usual, these days.

"And thank God for that," Jeongguk teases, which seems to settle the woes within you. He tilts his head to the side and guides you up the hallway. "C'mon. I'll show you to your room."

He deliberately doesn't show you his own room. Will show you later, once he's had the chance to hide away most of the embarrassing stuff he hasn't touched since he was a teenager.

Instead, he leads you straight into his brother's old room, and winces.

"It's worse than I remembered."

Jeongmin's bedroom walls are coated in the Lotte Giants; like an oil slick on the surface of a road, or ice cream dripping down the side of a cone. Unsubtle, garish and impossible to ignore, the man is an interior decor menace.

Flags, shirts, commemorative posters, you name it; Jeongmin has it. You think he must have personally spent enough money to fund an entire season of the KBO.

It's a pretty inoffensive colour scheme - white, blue, red - but it's still an eyesore. The rest of the house is well-decorated. Tasteful. Roses do come with thorns, you consider. Maybe Jeongmin and Jeongguk's rooms qualify for that position.

"So your brother likes football?" You deadpan - although you're sure if there was a Lotte Giants branded football, you'd be able to find one in this room.

Jeongguk just shakes his head. Doesn't even dignify it with a proper response.

"It's a miracle he even managed to get girlfriends during high school. This shit is... I didn't recall there being so much."

Signed baseballs, bobbleheads, foam fingers. God. It's endless. Trading card binders, house slippers, even a rubber duck. It's overwhelming.

"What about now?" You ask of Jeongmin's passion. "Still obsessed?"

"Less so," Jeongguk shrugs. "Did call his dog Seagull, though."

The prospect of a dog being called Seagull has you bursting into laughter. You half think Jeongguk is joking - but quickly realise he isn't. For some reason, that only makes it even funnier.

"Will he be at dinner? Your brother?" You ask, setting your bag down on the freshly made bed. The scent of laundry detergent wafts up, and it reminds you of being back at Jeongguk's place in the city. You've never felt more at home in a stranger's bedroom.

"Why?" Jeongguk asks, narrowing his eyes, remembering what you had said earlier. "You're not allowe-"

"Oh give over," you laugh. "You know I won't."

You've never seen his brother, but already know Jeongguk must be the brother. The one that the girls go crazy over.

Then again, Jeongguk did say that his brother is a fuck boy. Perhaps he's just as handsome.

Impossible .

Thing is, Jeongguk doesn't know you won't go for his brother. You made threats earlier. Knows he ignited a fire in you the second he pulled the 'Daddy' stunt. Knows you're competitive. Regrets it a little bit now. Only has himself to blame.

"Anyway, piss off," you playfully tell him. "I wanna get changed."

Jeongguk doesn't care. Takes a seat by his brother's desk, instead. Smirks. Raises his brows in that promiscuous, boyish way that always disrupts the butterflies who peacefully rest in your diaphragm. "Okay. Get changed."

"Gguk," you deadpan. He's pushing his luck, and he knows it. Glances over to the door. It's ajar, but pushed shut enough to obscure any unwanted eyes. Just means he needs to keep his deep voice quiet.

"What?" He flirts. "Nothing I haven't seen before."

"Your mum is down the hallway!" You whisper-shriek. Sometimes you forget how much of a boy Jeongguk is, and then he pulls shit like this.

The worst part?

You love it when he's like this; all cheeky and brazen, audacious in his quest to get what he wants.

And when it's you that he wants? Oh, it gets you all hot under the collar. He has that effect on people, you think. It can't just be you.

"So?" He licks his lips. Rakes his eyes down your body. Looks fucking hungry - and to him, you look like a 5-course meal he'd gladly get on his knees and beg for. "She's not gonna come in."

His lips press down against one another, tightly. His lip ring does the thing. You whine.

"Gguk."

"Byeol." He teases. "It's not like you're getting naked. Not like we'd be doing anything. Seen you in your underwear so many times."

He'd like to know that he still can. Wants to know he hasn't fucked it all up by getting you a little vulnerable earlier.

"Maybe I am getting naked," you whisper back, feeling challenged now.

"Are you?"

"Should I?" You tease. He sits up a little straighter. Tries to be subtle as his hand drops between his legs, the heel of his palm pressing against himself. Fails. You know he's adjusting himself. Know that it means he's getting a little excited.

"Think if you need to, then you should," he simply replies. "Just a little revision of a bird, no? Nakedness ? It'd be good."

You don't need to get fully undressed. Not in the slightest - and you're not gonna.

In fact, Jeongguk isn't gonna see anything - but you're still gonna fuck with him a little first. He deserves it after this morning.

You turn away from him. Shrug the jacket off your shoulders. Toss it onto the bed. Open up your bag, and have a little dig around.

"I'm not sure what to wear," you hum, sounding a little defeated. It's intentional. Want him to think you're being genuine.

Turning to face him, you hold lingerie in either hand. Packed deliberately just to fuck with him. Had figured you'd wear it discreetly, letting him know as and when he deserved to know. Would use it to wind him up - and not to give him any satisfaction. He's right in thinking he's ignited a little competition in you.

Didn't realise you'd take him to war, instead.

He's not seen you in either of these. Has never really seen you in your 'nice' stuff. All of your underwear is nice to a certain extent, because you're intentional with your purchases. Like feeling good beneath even a pair of sweats.

However, Jeongguk has only ever been treated to matching sets.

After all, you've never tried to seduce him. He's your friend. You fuck each other, sure, but it's cause it's comfortable. Safe.

The lace in your hand is far too exciting for your established arrangement.

In your left hand is a lace bodysuit. Mesh panels make up the structure, but it's the ornate, hand-sewn lace that really makes it beautiful. The neckline is fairly high, so sometimes you get away with wearing it at a top on nights out. Been a while since you went that risque.

In your right hand, it's a classic black garter belt. Jeongguk has no idea what the fuck they're called, just knows he likes them.

He swallows. Licks his lips. Doesn't know where to focus his eyes. Barely realises he's gripping himself now. Is so fucking hard.

"Which is your favourite?" You ask, eyes innocent, voice nonchalant.

Jeongguk thinks he'll die if you wear either.

"Both are fine," he manages to say, eventually.

"Fine isn't good," you pout.

"Well what do you want me to say, B?" He whispers, clearly a little frustrated. Not with you. With himself . "That as soon as you put them on, I'll wanna take them off you? They're fuckin' hot. Both of them. Fuck ."

He tilts his head back. Whines a little. Moans. "Why do I do this to myself?"

"Think you might be a masochist," you giggle now, tossing the lingerie back down by your bag. Will save it for later. Poor boy is going through it. "You did this to yourself."

He looks at you with a huff and a frown that is far too sweet for the situation at hand.

"I'm stupid," he pouts. "Pea brain. You're the one with a big brain. You should tell me to stop doing pea brain things."

"You wouldn't listen to me even if I did," you smile fondly as you walk towards him - 'cause even if it looks like he's admitting defeat, you don't trust him yet. His cock is too hard to be making sensible choices.

Coming to a stop between his legs, you don't stop Jeongguk when his large hands stroke up the backs of your thighs. Your own hands are toying with his hair. It's all very amorous; affectionate despite the allure.

"You don't know that," he whispers, still. Cupping his strong jaw, you tilt his head upwards. Your hair is still up from earlier, and he regrets it now. Always loves it when your hair tumbles around his face. Likes being consumed by the entity of you. The scent of your shampoo, the softness of your well-conditioned hair. Heaven.

"You made a bad decision this morning," you remind him. "Would have done it even if I told you it was a bad decision."

Regretfully, Jeongguk thinks this is true. That instant gratification of his ' Daddy' stunt made it worth it.

Worth it at the time, at least.

He's not so sure, now.

Sinking to your knees, your hands stroke up his thighs. Jeongguk looks down at you, tongue wetting his lips. There's a change in his breathing. Anticipation.

"You know," you say quietly, making sure no sound travels at all. You're not looking to get kicked out of Jeongguk's house within an hour of being invited in. Looking directly at his hard crotch as your hands squeeze his thighs, you simper. "I really thought you were gonna take charge this morning. Thought you were gonna get me where you wanted me."

"Yeah?" he husks, pulling on his shirt, releasing it from the belt around his waist. Lifts it a little. Gets his abs out. Is doing shit he knows will make you salivate. One of your hands follows his encouragement and pushes up his chest. Hard beneath your warm hand, his body really is a gift from the gods.

"Yeah," you tease.

"What did you think, huh?" He says, his hand cupping your cheek to raise your gaze to his. It'd embarrass you, if it were anyone else; but for some reason, you don't mind worshipping Jeongguk unabashedly. Are on your knees like his body is your alter. Whisper words of sin like you're in a confessional. Pray that you'll never have to give this up. Religion is wasted on you, and Jeongguk is a false God, but you've never felt more holy than when you're committing cardinal sins with him. "Where was I gonna get you?"

Smiling in that coy way you so often do whenever he gets you a little vocal, your eyes rake back down his body.

"Right here," you shrug. Give him those eyes; the ones that make Jeongguk think he's seeing fucking stars. Smirk, before you say, "thought you were gonna get your cock in my mouth."

"Shit," he curses as you press down over the hard ridge in his pants. He's always so pleased to see you - especially like this. "You want that, huh? Wanna suck on it?"

Nodding, you bite on the lip, sin written in the constellations Jeongguk's gazing at. "Wanna make you feel good, Koo."

If Jeongguk doesn't get his cock in your mouth within the next minute, he's pretty sure he'll die. Has wanted it for weeks. Months . Wants you in any capacity he can get you, granted, but there are few things in life better than a good blow job. Good pussy, is, admittedly one of those things, but he already knows you have that. Thinks your mouth must be just as good.

His hands drop to his belt. Metal clangs as he races to get it undone. You let him. Don't stop. Watch on with sated pleasure as he hurries. Undoes his buttons, and then his zipper is down, too. His Calvins are on display. There's a teeny tiny damp mark showing through; evidence of how badly he wants you. "We don't have long. Be quick, B. Gonna nut so fuckin' fast."

Smirking, there's something so painfully endearing about how needy Jeongguk is as he untucks himself from his boxers. Thick and firm, his cock is just as pretty as it always is whenever he's desperate for you. The little bead of precum pooling at his tip is begging for your tongue, the freckle on his shaft deserving of a pretty little kiss.

And then you pull back. Look at his pretty, needy face and raise a brow. Poor baby .

"Said I wanna make you feel good," you smirk. "Not that I will."

You get to your feet. Walk away. Giggle to yourself as Jeongguk fucking whines as quietly as he can. Needs that door closed. Needs you to know that this balling is gonna kill him off. Head thrown back, cock in his hand, he's gonna fucking die .

"B," he growls a little, faux sobs echoing from his throat.

"What?" You smile. He looks like a fucking state, desire taking hold of the way he's staring you out, chest heaving a little bit. And then, to add insult to injury, you remember to 'address him properly'. "Something wrong, Daddy ?"

His face bunches up. Regret embeds itself into the lines on his face. He whines. "You're so mean, Disco Ball."

He's cute. Really fucking cute.

It makes you feel bad.

And fuck, you want him.

Seeing him like this gets you all sorts of fucked up - but he deserves it.

He watches you cautiously as you walk a little closer.

You crouch between his legs this time, instead of getting down on your knees. Replace his hand with yours. Have missed how it feels to have him in your grip.

Eyes on his, you watch as his chest begins to beat a little fast. His lips are ajar. Eyes forlorn, he's desperate . His cock twitches in your hand, so you tighten your fingers. A hushed moan lets you know he likes this. Likes every fucking thing about it.

Licking your lips, you position yourself a little better. Glance down. Think it's a miracle you haven't given him head yet. Have never wanted to choke on a cock more - cause what are friends for, if not that?

"I'm not mean," you whisper. You drag your wet tongue across the tiny slit that is fucking oozing for you. It takes everything in you not to give into what you want. "I'm so nice to you, Koo."

You've got a point to prove, though. Ease your grip. Stand. Replace the now empty space in your hand with his chin between your thumb and index finger, grasping onto it as you tilt him upwards.

You hold your tongue out, encouraging him to do the same - and without even a second fucking thought, he does it.

Eyes wide, Jeongguk wants this. Want you. Wants your tongue on his.

And what Jeongguk wants?

Well, eventually , he always gets it.

Your tongue swipes against his; traces of his own precum sinking onto his tongue, masking the taste of you.

He wants more.

Wants you to do it again. Wants to taste you. Wants you to sit on his lap, tongue in his mouth. Wants to be too fucking busy with his lips to remember how to breathe.

And, like always, he will get it - just not now.

Eventually, yes.

Immediately, no.

"You're gonna fuckin' kill me one day, B," he whines as you walk away from him again.

"Good," you smile, talking at full volume now. Playtime is over.

You do, however, take off your shirt, and let him watch. All he can see is your back, but even that drives him insane. He can't remember the last time he was this worked up without any indication of a release. He's been horny all fucking day.

Pulling a fresh shirt over your head, you're a little sad to see he's tucked himself away when you turn around again.

"Go get ready," you say fondly. "We don't have long."

Jeongguk is pouting. A crease between his brows, he looks hard done by.

" So mean."

His stroppy demeanour makes you laugh. It's so classically him. A Ggukism, if you ever did see one.

"That's what you get for making me call you Daddy," you say quietly. Find it funny how much of a baby he's being - and consider that maybe he's the one that is better suited to the nickname.

He whines again. Louder this time. You glance to the door. Make sure you're still without disturbance.

You want to call him baby.

Just because it works, and it's funny, and - fuck it - maybe it'd be nice.

But it would also be a step too far, you think.

"Shush," you say affectionately, not accenting your command with 'baby' like you really want to. Instead, you walk over to him and cover his mouth with your palm. "What if someone hears you whining, huh? I don't wanna have to tell your mum you've just been tasting your own cum in your brother's bedroom, do you?"

"You're so fucked up," he wails, feeling incredibly hard done by. He needs to learn how to resist you. Never wants to have to endure this again.

"We're so fucked up," you correct. "I wouldn't be so mean to anyone else - but you deserved it."

He can't even argue against it. He knows that this is a product of his own creation.

"Go, get yourself sorted out," you encourage him along. "We don't have long."

He nods. Sighs. Gets to his feet, and does his trousers back up. Is convinced he'll die before your trip to Busan finishes if this is the game you're playing.

Leaving you to get ready (and to let his raging boner die, even if he won't) Jeongguk returns within 15 minutes. He's nonchalant, as if what happened the last time he was in the room was simply a fragment of your own imagination.

You're sitting by the floor-length mirror (which is, of course, adorned in Lotte Giants memorabilia), doing your makeup. Hair claw-clipped now, Jeongguk is a little sad to see your space buns go, but understands why. You seem to be a little more demure than usual.

He nudges his knee against your back, gentle in how he touches you, your body swaying ever so slightly.

"Don't," you smile, pulling the liquid glitter away from your face. "I'll get it in my eye."

There's an innuendo to be made there, but Jeongguk knows better. Just smirks. Plonks himself down next to you; cross-legged, knees up, arms hugging around them. He looks like a condensed version of himself like this, sitting as close to you as he possibly can just so he can see himself in the mirror.

"Little disco ball," he says fondly, watching you dab the glitter onto the inner corners of your eyes. It's not something he often calls you these days, but there's something about hearing the name now that makes you smile.

"Strange, isn't it?" You muse. "This time last year I was just disco-ballin' in your club. Didn't even know your name."

He nods. Smiles. "And now you're in my brother's bedroom turning yourself into a disco ball."

"Funny little lives, we live," you muse fondly. How far you've both come. If it wasn't for the glitter, you don't think you'd recognise yourself.

"Would you have ever predicted it?" he asks. Knows he was intrigued by you from the very moment he first saw you. Has no idea what you thought of him. Wonders if you had 'what if' thoughts about him. Who he was. Who he could be. What you could become. "That you'd end up here?"

"Honestly? Sorta wanted to curl up and die after you found me in your living room."

The memories are a little hazy, but you still remember the look on Jeongguk's sleepy face in the early morning sun that was intruding on his living room at the time.

Jeongguk nods. Smiles. Remembers it far better than you do. "Yeah, wasn't your finest hour."

You turn to look at him, chin resting on your shoulder. There's a glow about you now that Jeongguk can't seem to get enough of. Wants to drink you in like purple starfuckers at 2am in the heat of full-capacity Dionysus nights.

"I mean, I don't know," you say with a small shrug. "How often do you become friends with your punters?"

"Not often," he admits. "How often do you become friends with your bartenders?"

You're coy as you smile. "Not often."

Not ever, actually.

Yeonjun doesn't count - you've never spent any time with him sober, even if you do always enjoy seeing him behind the bar. Even then, it doesn't compare to the way you seem to light up whenever Jeongguk is serving your drinks.

Jeongguk's the first. The only.

Taking the liquid glitter from your hands, Jeongguk scoots a little closer. Gets more product on the wand, and sets the tube down beside him. Pinches your chin between his index finger and thumb.

There's no opposition from you; just a silent acceptance of Jeongguk dictating your movements. Lips parting as he draws a little closer, there's apprehension to the way your eyes flicker between his own pair and his lips.

Jeongguk is pleased, but tries not to let it show. Fights his smile. Battles the inner voices telling him that kissing you would be a good idea.

Breath hitched as his dark eyes survey your face, you're regretful of the way your body responds to him. Friendship tainted by desire; a natural by-product of fucking someone you really care about, you think.

It's no secret that you adore each other, but doesn't everyone feel so fondly about their best friends?

He's slow as he dabs the end of the wand against your cheek, following around the curve of your eye socket. Jeongguk always thinks you look so pretty when you highlight yourself with glitter there. It catches the light so easily that he always notices it. Might have even been the first glitter of yours that he notices in the dreary lights of Dionysus, the hedonistic haze of neon lights and dark shadows creating the disco ball effect he likes so much.

"There," he says quietly as he finishes evening it out. "Pretty little star."

"Careful," you say back just as quietly. "You'll give me an ego."

"Just returning the favour," he jokes, screwing the wand back into the tube, his hands working quickly. "The Daddy thing really did a number on my ego this morning."

Rolling your sparkly eyes, you gently push him away.

"Fuck off, Jeon," you playfully reprimand him for mentioning it again, getting to your feet. Smoothing out your clothes as you check yourself over in the mirror, you're pleased to see that Jeongguk has applied your glitter just the way you like it. Dabbing it out slightly, your heart swells a little with how attentive he is.

Still sitting exactly where he was, Jeongguk strokes up the inside of your leg. It's all very innocent. Just touching you 'cause he likes the comfort that comes with it. You're in sheer tights, there's a softness to them that Jeongguk likes. He tries to forget the garter belt you were holding earlier. Doesn't think you'd wear it out for dinner with his parents.

He's right.

No matter how hot it might be working him up in public, you're not about to go and do it in front of his parents . You have some morals at least, even if Jeongguk does make you momentarily forget about them from time to time.

Reaching down, you scratch his hair a little, just behind his ear. Eyes closed, he leans into your touch like a little puppy dog. So docile and devoted. Cute.

"C'mon," you encourage him, but remain fixed in position. Head versus heart. Wanna stay right where you are in the cocoon of Jeongguk's family home with him, but know you have places to be. "Shouldn't keep your mum waiting."

He nods, head resting against your leg. Sighs. "Yeah. You're right. Let's go."

You offer him a hand up, of which he gladly takes. Checks himself over in the mirror. Is still wearing the outfit he drove in. Considered changing, but he's aware of the way the girls at the service station were ogling him earlier. Knows the outfit probably has something to do with it.

He doesn't mention the change of your outfit; the fact that you're wearing a white shirt too, now. It's tucked into a little black skirt, he's certain you're probably gonna wear those slightly worn out Converse of yours - and he intends on doing the exact same.

"C'mon, kids!" Jeongguk's mum calls up the corridor, echoing your thoughts about needing to leave.

It's nice, you think, to be grouped with Jeongguk in such a way. Makes you feel like this is the way it's always been. Doesn't matter if you're in your twenties, and Jeongguk's mum met you an hour ago. There's an acceptance of you; of your place in her son's life.

He glances over at you, scrunching his nose a little. Is a little awkward. Likes the idea of you being part of his life since childhood. Is sad it'll never be the case.

"You heard her. Let's go."

Ushering you back down the hallway, a hand on top of your shoulder, thumb rubbing the nape of your neck, there's a casual intimacy to the way Jeongguk always finds an excuse to touch you.

It's not scary, nor daunting in the way that you always deem intimacy to be, but it is something . Gets you feeling a little flustered. Has you wriggling out of his grip with a laugh, as if he was tickling you.

"Stop annoying the poor girl," his mother scolds fondly as you come into her line of vision, which just simply earns another protest from Jeongguk.

"She's the annoying one."

You scoff. "That's rich coming from you."

It's all in good humour, and his mother appreciates this. Likes seeing Jeongguk goof around, especially knowing how stressed he's been lately. Has barely called. Missed his father's birthday to study.

All she wants is for her children to live happy, fulfilled lives, and if there's one thing to be noted about Jeongguk's current demeanour, it's that he's undoubtedly happy.

Whether or not that has anything to do with you, she doesn't know - but she wasn't born yesterday. His desire to visit home is understandable after the pressure of his studies. He needs rest - and somehow, he factors you into that rest.

Of her two children, Jeongguk's always been the more introverted one. He needs his time to recharge. Would be the life and soul of the party at school, then come home and remain silent until dinner time.

For a few years, it bothered her. Thought that maybe Jeongguk was unhappy at home - but it was quite the opposite. It's his safe space.

And now he's bringing you into it.

"Is the room okay?" she asks you, knowing that the sheer amount of baseball memorabilia in Jeongmin's room is... a lot to take in. "Interior decoration was always more of Jeongguk's speciality. Had Jimin to give him pointers. Jeongmin... Well, he had an acquired taste... As you've probably already gathered."

Laughing a little, you nod. "It's grand. Thank you for letting me stay. I really appreciate it - and I grew up with a Lions-loving Dad. I'm used to it."

"Ohh," his mother winces, then addresses Jeongguk. "Keep this one away from Jeongmin."

You also turn behind you now, raising a brow. He's just rolling his eyes, a soft smile on his lips.

"Samsung Lions - and their fans - are the scum of the earth in Jeongmin's eyes," he explains, then looks over to his mum. "Is he coming to dinner? Do we need to sit them at opposite ends of the table?"

Shaking her head, she laughs. "No, he's got plans, apparently. I did tell him you were visiting, but you know what he's like."

Jeongguk just sort of accepts this answer. Nods. Shrugs his shoulders, as if it's to be expected. An air of disappointment clouds around Jeongguk, lips pursed, eyes stern.

He and his brother are cut from the same cloth, but have been sewn together with different stitches. For all their similarities, they have stark differences, too. This one has always been the most challenging for Jeongguk; how little his brother seems to care about maintaining a good relationship.

Jeongmin seems to think their status as brothers is enough to keep the bond strong. Doesn't seem to care about fostering an actual friendship with him.

It's part of the reason why Jeongguk is so reluctant to let go of friendships that no longer serve him. They're filling a void. He never wants to be the one who gives up. Doesn't wanna be the reason things fall apart.

"Alright," Jeongguk's mother smiles at you both. "Ready to go?"

It surprises you that she's the one driving to dinner instead of Jeongguk - but it makes sense, given the fact you and Jeongguk will stay in the area afterwards.

She insists that you sit up front, even if all forms of hierarchy would dictate that Jeongguk should be there instead. He doesn't complain. Sort of likes how you and his mum are ganging up on him like a little team.

When you arrive at the samgyeopsal place, his father is already waiting.

He's everything you expect him to be: funny, a little dramatic, and the spitting image of Jeongguk, just with a few more grey hairs and even deeper creases beneath his eyes. Introduces himself with as much gusto as a cartoon character; full of life and pleased to have another person to relay all of Minhyuk's misdemeanours to.

You learn more about the Busan Driving Range circuit than you ever could have predicted - specifically about Minhyuk, the legitimacy of his 'bargain' driver, and how Jeongguk's father is convinced he's been tampering with his balls.

Jeongguk chokes on his drink when his dad mentions that last point. Earns himself a talking to for thinking with such a dirty mind - but after a few drinks, his parents are giggling about it, too.

There's something incredibly easy about being around Jeongguk's parents. It's no wonder he's grown into the person he is.

You feel a little shy. Don't understand the in-jokes at first - but someone always explains them to you. Normally Jeongguk, but sometimes his mother. Never his father, 'cause he'll go on a twenty minute long tangent explaining the lore and the back story. They've learnt this the hard way.

Still, he's a dab hand when it comes to grilling the meat. Takes charge of it all. Plates his wife up first, always. You second, Jeongguk third, and then himself. Head of the house, he takes his place in the hierarchy seriously, but not at the expense of the ones he loves. Will make sure they're provided for first.

Jeongguk is much the same. In charge of refilling the soju and beer, he'll pour for his father first, then mother, then you. Puts the bottle down before he fills his own, which is when you step up and fill his glass. He'll nudge with you his knee beneath the table to make you wobble, but never enough to make you spill it.

Subscribing to drinking norms is something that you never really do with Jeongguk. He's a bartender, after all. Things are always a little unconventional. He's normally the one making you drinks and sorting himself out, too.

Something about this feels incredibly domesticated. Natural. Pleasant.

By the time dinner is done, Jeongguk's parents have to order a taxi. Had a little too much to drink- but you're bloody glad for it. Made it a lot easier for you.

"Your parents are fun," you beam, walking down the promenade of Gwangalli with Jeongguk. It's your favourite of all the busy beaches in the city, but you rarely ever get the chance to see it after dark. There'll be a drone show, soon. You've definitely never seen that. Can't wait for it.

"They sure are something," he laughs, a little embarrassed. They have big personalities, which he's glad of, but he knows they can be a bit much sometimes. "Dad drinks well, so we probably had a bit more than we should have done. Sorry."

Shaking your head, you don't mind in the slightest. Are at that giddy stage of drinking, where everything seems marvellous, and bad decisions cosplay as good choices.

"Are you forgetting how we met? I don't mind having one too many, Gguk."

"True," he agrees, checking the time on his phone. Still a good half an hour before the small show. It's just a free thing that the city council puts on every night, not a huge deal to him anymore, but he understands why people romanticise it. Knows that you have to see it.

Tugging on your hand, Jeongguk checks the road before he crosses, dragging you along with him.

"Hm?" You squeak, taken by surprise. A little tipsy, your reflexes aren't as fast as usual, just like tipsy Jeongguk isn't as good at voicing his thought processes as sober Jeongguk usually is.

"Photos," he simply states, leading you into a small retail unit that houses only photo booths.

It's the standard set-up: wall partitions between self-timer camera units, and curtains instead of doors to the small spaces. Each booth has a different colour background, adding to their own individual charms. The walls of the entryway are lined in discarded pictures; friendship groups, couples, first dates, anniversaries, birthdays. Life events, big and small. Moments of time captured to last forever.

Accessories and props are abundant in the entry area - hats, glasses, wigs, signs. Your favourites are always the headbands. Kitty ears, normally, though sometimes you branch out into bunny ears if you're feeling fancy.

There are five booths in total along the back wall, but one in particular grabs your attention: the one advertising Sanrio-themed frames instead of the standard solid colour outline.

"Oh my god," you gasp, and then it's Jeongguk's turn to squeak with confusion. You point to it. Specifically, to the My Melody and Kuromi figures by the bottom of the ad. "It's us."

He smiles. Doesn't really understand your hyper fixation. Agrees nonetheless. "It is us."

The pair of you goof around, picking props. Jeongguk learns that you find him in any sort of animal ears absolutely hilarious, but the second he puts on a yacht captain's hat?

"Take that off right this second," you tell him, voice stern, eyes wide.

He's bemused. Snorts a little. Teeth on show, he's dangerously pretty. So handsome and yet such a little shit. "Why? Like it?"

You turn your nose up. "Hate it."

"I know you're lying," he laughs. Tilts it down. "Is this getting you all hot, B?"

"I'm leaving," you say, because it's so much easier than saying yes.

Something about him in a white shirt, with that hat? White with a navy peak, gold embroidery on the sides? God, you see why the old money girlies like boatmen so much. Decide that you're never getting on a boat with Jeongguk if you want to retain your sanity.

He takes it off. You don't even realise it, but you pout.

"You're so confusing, Byeol," he says as he playfully puts it on your head - and then he's feeling all fucked up too.

Something about a captain's hat. Just really does the trick.

You've both had too much to drink. There's no reason for you both to be getting flustered because of a stupid hat and yet -

"I don't think we should ever touch hats again," Jeongguk says very quickly.

But then you put a pair of kitty ears on and he starts questioning whether or not furries are actually kinda onto something.

He furrows his brows. Picks up a pair of ears. Bunny ones. Black. They're satin and a little too sexy, he thinks, but he's gotta see himself in them.

And when he does?

He kinda gets why girls dress up like cute animals for fancy dress parties. Doesn't wanna blow his own trumpet - but shit. He does look cute.

"Oh my god, YES," you exclaim when you clock his new attire, and quite literally drag him to the booth. He gets no say in the matter, and honestly doesn't care. Is having too much fun with you to take any of this seriously.

You pick the Sanrio framed booth, because of course you do. Jeongguk pops his card in the slot, and lets you click through on the options that you want - 4cut, vertical frame. The classic style. Your favourite.

Turning to Jeongguk, you tweak his glasses a little. Can't decide if they look better hiked up, or further down his perfectly sloped nose.

All Jeongguk can think about is your nose, and much he wants to nudge his up against yours.

And so he does just that.

Doesn't give a fuck.

The camera flashes.

You're caught, forevermore, in your state of Jeongguk-induced hypnosis. The pictures will survive beyond you. Will be stored in boxes to be looked at once, maybe twice by future generations.

One day, no one will know the name of you nor the boy you're with. They won't know how the scent of his aftershave lingers, nor the way your soft exhale of air sounds as you smile. Your present will be lost to history, this photograph? Your legacy.

Nothing will be known of you, and yet this picture alone will tell them everything they need to know.

"We're gonna waste shots," you whisper. The booth takes six photos, but you'll only be allowed to choose four for the printed picture at the end.

The more to choose from, the better.

"So?" Jeongguk smirks. Holds your neck just beneath your jaw. Strokes across your cheek with his thumb. Looks at you with sparkly eyes and a boyish smile that is just begging to be kissed. "Don't you wanna see what it looks like when we kiss?"

"It's intimate," you remind him.

"Maybe - but it's also fun," he reminds you.

The camera flashes again. That's two shots wasted, now.

If you let this carry on, it'll be three, and then one of them will have to be used in the final print.

And yet as Jeongguk nudges against your nose a little deeper, you let him.

When his lips ghost yours, you let him.

When his lips press down, you let him.

You'll let the third photo be taken, because you'll be too busy kissing him back to pay attention.

The fourth, too.

Lips on yours, Jeongguk kisses you in a way that he hasn't done before. It's delicate, and gentle, but his lips are strong. Intentional. There's no intrusion of tongue, no fervent need to get you moaning, even though it feels like you will regardless.

Your brain screams at you. Something about rules, and breaking them.

You ignore it.

'Cause all you can think about is the way this feels.

You don't think you've ever had a kiss like it.

And it's terrifying.

It's not until the fifth shot flashes that you both pull away; smiles smitten, eyes glossy. Both of you felt that. Ain't no way he couldn't have.

You think that maybe that's even more terrifying.

And so for the sixth shot?

Both of you pretend to throw up, disgust plaguing your giggly smiles and blushed cheeks.

There's distance between you, but as soon as the camera flashes, Jeongguk is pulling you back to his side again. It's just so that you're both ready to look through the pictures that are about to pop up on the little touchscreen. He's being helpful. Glances down at you, and has to stop himself from pressing a kiss into your hair.

Things are just so easy with you.

As soon as the pictures load, you're laughing. "We have to retake these."

"No, no, no," he swats your hand away, then taps on one of the photos, adding it to the preview frame. "My jaw looks really good in this one."

It's shot number four. Mid kiss. His hands on your cheeks, yours out of frame because they were on his waist. His jaw really does look fantastic - but it's sort of devastating when you realise just how happy he looks. He's smiling into the kiss. The most devastating thing of all?

So are you.

"How is that even us," you giggle. Seems so bizarre to see yourself like this.

"Gross isn't it," he smiles, adding more of the pictures to the frame, but you're the one correcting him now, tapping his hand to move him out of your way.

"We need them in order," you say. "A chain of events."

Eventually, the order is settled: the nudging of noses, the innocence of a kiss with the sin of Jeongguk's sharp jaw, the slightly startled look in both of your eyes as you'd pulled away, and then, of course, both of you pretending to vomit.

As they print, you pick out props for the next set of photos - Jeongguk in a pair of purple heart-shaped glasses and a Kuromi headband, you in that damn sailor's hat - and discuss which poses to actually do. This time round, it's all peace signs and finger hearts; goofy angles too close to the camera and a little laughter to set the tone.

"C'mon," Jeongguk says softly as you finish sliding the pictures into the thin plastic sleeves next to the booths. He normally doesn't bother with them. Likes that you seem to care about preserving the integrity of your memories. Hand outstretched, he encourages you to take it.

"Your bird," he says. "Said we'd do it in Busan."

The look you give him is coy, eyes a little sultry, lips a little pouty.

When you're silent, Jeongguk laughs. "Hold my hand, B."

"Getting a little date-like, don't you think?" You say of the night, but Jeongguk just shrugs.

"So? We'll just call it practise."

"Mhhm," he nods, shaking his hand a little because you still haven't held it. He's impatient. It's only as you take his hand that he begins talking again. "You don't wanna go back into the dating world unprepared. What if Mr Mechanical Engineer tries to hold your hand without you being ready for it?" He squeezes your hand, leading you out the door. "Let's get you used to it."

The mention of Seojoon makes you feel guilty. About him? About Jeongguk? You're not sure. It's something you need to figure out. Something you need to figure out fast .

And yet as Jeongguk holds both yours and his shoes in one hand, your hand firmly secured in the other, you choose not to think about it.

Just think of the sand, and how it will be a bitch to get out of your tights. It's sort of like your glitter, in a way.

But just like Jeongguk wouldn't trade your glitter for anything, you wouldn't trade this moment for anything either.

Neither of you say much. Just listen to the waves rolling in. Listen to other people's conversations. Listen to the whir of the drones as they start up and get into position. The show begins. Won't last longer than ten minutes. The silence is comfortable.

He holds your hand, and you move them to your lap in a bid to keep them warm.

Jeongguk isn't really feeling the cold. His heart is simply burning too brightly.

"I'm really glad you're here," he says as the show draws to a close.

"Me too," you whisper back fondly. "It must be nice to be home."

"Well, you know they say," he muses. "Home is where the heart is, and all that."

Been at home for months, B.

You breathe through your nose, exhaling a sincere smile. Could say a million things. Could say nothing at all. Could ask what he means, but you're taking it at face value. Genuinely think he's just happy to be home.

"We should visit more often," you suggest.

"I'd like that," he nods as he squeezes your hand. "You wanna go explore the night markets?"

Grinning, you get to your feet immediately. "Thought you'd never ask."

Jeongguk leads the way. Shows you his old haunts. Gets you hotteok from his favourite stand down by the promenade. Shows you the arcade machine he once spunked away 50,000 won on and didn't even win a prize. Shows you the initials he and Jimin caved into a pavement curb fourteen years ago. Took them hours. Both got blisters. Worth it though. They're embedded in the city, forevermore.

He takes you down memory lane, and you find it's your favourite street to visit with Jeongguk. You love his history; learning what shaped him. Who shaped him. Where.

Not once does Jeongguk let go of your hand.

Not down the markets, not along the beach, not in the taxi home, even when he doses off for a moment, head resting on your shoulder.

Not once. Not until you're both home, and he's saying goodnight outside of his brother's bedroom door. He's still toying with your fingers. Isn't even gonna suggest the idea of doing things you know you shouldn't.

Doesn't wanna taint the night.

In the morning, he'll blame all of his bad decisions on the alcohol. Will say he was tipsy, even though you stopped drinking hours ago.

He hugs you goodnight. Lingers a little too long. Too close. Nudges his nose against yours. Brushes his thumb against your cheek.

"This..." he whispers. "This is what it should be like."

His jaw tenses. He holds himself back from pressing his lips against yours like he so desperately wants to. Knows he's already said too much. Pulls himself away from you, to press a kiss against your forehead.

His lip ring is so hard, and his lips so soft, that it makes you feel all sorts of fucked up.

The most fucked up thing of all?

How badly you want his lips on yours.

But then he fucking walks away .

Closes his door. Shuts you out.

The evening had been so simple. So straightforward. Casual. Nothing confusing in the slightest. You were happy. So was he.

And yet as you lie in bed, all that rattles around in your head for hours on end is the question: what the fuck is happening to us?

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

[dira333]

Passing Peonies - Post War Touya Todoroki - Part IV

When the war ended, Midoriya Izuku had proven one thing: That Villains did not need to be killed to be defeated. That you could make friends from enemies.

Touya Todoroki, formerly known as Dabi, had been one of those taken into the rehabilitation program. After one year of intense physical and psychological therapy, he's got the chance to prove himself. To prove that he can be a part of this world.

Complete fic length: 30.600 words - Masterlist

Warnings: poor mental health and resentment against past actions is mentioned, burn scars etc. as well. There is angst but this is mostly soft Touya coming back to his family...

Part 4: (2,1k words)

You’re a good teacher.

He’d known before but it becomes clearer now. 

He’s still got problems with fine motor skills, his fingers often too stiff to tie ribbons or cut the smallest branches without damaging the rest of a Bonsai but he’s learning so much, not just about taking care of plants but other things as well.

The old ladies that used to coo at your friendly gifts now flock around him, tell him about their grandkids and ask for his opinion on what to buy them.

He figures out quickly which students like his snarky comments and who’s appreciative of being guided toward a cheaper alternative.

The week after he gets his ZZ plant, he can choose between a bouquet or an indoor plant.

“You don’t even know if I’ve taken good care of him.”

“Well, have you?” You ask, pushing the sleeves of your cardigan up your arms as you prepare to dig into the roots of fiddle-leaf fig, the sight of your bare underarms distracting him for a second.

“Of course. But that’s not the point.”

“Bring him in tomorrow then if you want me to review your work.” You cheekily smile up at him. “Even if you’re just fishing for compliments.”

He picks a golden pothos for his therapist, knowing that he desperately needs a plant to light up that office while also knowing he can’t take that free bouquet and gift it to you, even if he’s starting to want to.

🌺.

Three months later you’ve fallen into a rhythm. 

Every second Friday after closing you let him into your apartment where, after a grilled cheese sandwich and a shared bowl of soup, he waters your plants and renames them.

Bob’s doing so well, he’s already a parent, one of his kids now sitting on Fuyumi’s shelf. 

Hawks has put in a request for more Bouquets for his agency, as well as his father and Shouto, who in turn has seemingly told all his classmates about this great flower shop downtown.

Touya would love how much more money you’re making now if all those customers wouldn’t cut into the time he gets to spend with you.

At least the purple-haired gremlin Shouto calls a classmate hasn’t shown up since he scared him off. He doesn’t like guys buying flowers as an excuse to check you out, especially when they’re too cheap to buy a proper bouquet.

🌺.

“No grilled cheese today.” You tell him one Friday evening as you close the door and turn the key. “I’m buying you dinner.”

His heart skips traitourously.

“You sure your plants can survive without my care?” He jokes and you grin.

“Positive. Now grab your jacket and let's head out.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Oh, multiple things. We’ve got so much business now we’ll have to start dividing our orders into two different pick-up dates. What do you think of Tuesday and Thursday? We could use Monday and Wednesday to make the bouquets.”

“And the other reasons?”

You laugh, clearly figuring out that there’s no use in redirecting his thoughts. 

“I don’t believe in anniversaries but I’ve heard people say that it’s always hardest after the third month, so I thought you could use a little celebration.”

He looks at you, calculates the slope of your nose against the curve of your lips, and cocks his head to the side.

“And the last thing?”

You sober up quickly, looking down the street into the dark night, the sign of a gas station glowing in the distance.

“Today’s the anniversary of my father’s death.” You look up at him, your eyes open and vulnerable. “I like to do something nice for someone else on that day. As a gift to the world, you know?”

He doesn’t know. But it fits you. Like green aprons and cardigans, white shirts, and grilled cheese.

-

“Do you want to talk about him?”  

You walk in silence for a while, the same comfortable silence he’s shared with you since he’s met you, until eventually you open your mouth.

“We have the same quirk. It has been in our family for generations. My great-great-grandmother was a hero, actually. She made sure to marry someone who complimented her quirk and so on and so forth, until my father decided to marry someone quirkless, to not be a hero, or even a fancy landscaper. He just wanted a normal, comfortable life.”

You point at the door or the restaurant and he follows you, feeling like your story isn’t over yet, but not ready to push you to talk when you never do that with him.

The restaurant isn’t fancy, but it’s not fast food either, telling him that you’re spending quite some money when he’s seen how you live and knows how much the shop used to bring in.

When the waiter leaves your table and he opens his menu, you lean across the table to whisper, bringing along a scent he’s grown so familiar too. The scent of earth and greenery, of flowers and foliage, of you and your shop and your home.

“Sorry, what?” He shakes his head to clear his mind, realizing he missed every word you’ve just said.

“I said if you’re not against sharing they have this amazing combination of gyoza dumpling and melted cheese. They line the Gyoza up and when the cheese is melted you can dip the gyoza in. You can choose what the fillings are and if you want other dips for it but it’s usually a serving for two.”

He blinks at the giddiness lighting up your face. He’d never been especially inclined towards cheese until his mind started linking it to you and now, linking it to you being happy.

“Of course.” He hears himself say and sees you lighting up even more. “But if we order it, we have to go full in. Filled with cheese to dip in cheese. We’re not cowards after all.”

You giggle and he looks back down at the menu to keep himself from staring, glad that his skin grafts cannot blush.

When the waiter returns, however, he’s pulling a face that spells uncomfortableness.

“I’m sorry.” He says, clutching his notepad with both hands. “But I’m… well, I was made aware that we cannot serve you.”

“What do you mean?” Your face is full of confusion while Touya catches on faster. 

“He means he can’t serve me.” He explains and the way the man cringes tells him everything he needs to know.

“It’s alright.” He says when he feels that it’s not, in fact, alright. “I’ll just see you tomorrow then.”

“No.” Your hand’s flat on the table and your voice serious. “Matsumoto-kun, you’ll be serving us.”

“I’m sorry, please, I-”

“Leave it.” Touya tells you, the hard line of your mouth something he hasn’t seen before.

“Is there a problem?” Behind Matsumoto, a new face appears.

“Yes.” You’re standing now, smaller than the two men, but standing your ground. “You’re taking part in the rehabilitation agreement, yet you’re not willing to serve a member of the same agreement. I don’t want to do this but I will have to make a formal complaint if you continue to refuse us service.”

“Madam.” The man behind Matsumoto, obviously the manager, is wringing his hands now. “This isn’t about the agreement. You have to understand what your companion did-”

“It doesn’t matter who he is or what he has done.” You tell them sharply. “He could be Tomura Shigaraki and it would still be your duty to serve him as a customer if he came in here as part of the Rehabiliation agreement.”

“This isn’t our decision,” Matsumoto whispers, eyes looking everywhere but at Touya himself who’s now standing himself, hand on your arm as if that would do something but ground himself.

“Come on.” He tells you. “Not today.”

And somehow he’s said the right thing because you nod and grab your purse and your jacket, following him out of the restaurant.

Five steps from the door he can hear you curse under your breath.

Ten steps from the door he can hear you sniffle and when he turns, you’re full on crying, fat tears dripping down your face.

“Hey. Hey, don’t cry about that. It’s not worth it.”

“It is!” You disagree wetly. “They shouldn’t treat you this way and now I’m mad and I’m hungry and I’m upset that I always cry when I’m mad, and-”

“If it would make you feel better you could let weeds grow in front of their door.”

“They would just pull it out, that’s just hurting the plants.” You complain but you’re almost smiling now.

He’s grinning back at you. “We could spray paint their windows. Egg the front. Put toilet paper over the door.”

“What are you? Five?” 

He laughs and you laugh with him, frozen on the sidewalk in your shared little bubble.

“There’s a Kentucky Fried Chicken down the street, isn’t it?” He asks. “They have cheese fries. It’s not as good as dipping cheesy Gyoza into melted cheese but would it satisfy your cheesy needs?”

“You make me sound like an addict.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little bit.”

-

He watches you pop another cheese-covered fry into your mouth and feels only a little weird about it.

“Feeling better?” He asks, chewing on his straw.

“A bit. But I’m still going to put in a formal complaint. It’s not okay.”

“It’s been a year. It’s going to take some time.”

“Still. God, now I can never go back there again and I don’t know anyone else who offers that dish.” You complain.

“I could learn how to make it.” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them and he bites his tongue, regretting them immediately when you pinch your brows.

“I didn’t know you can cook.” You offer him an easy way out and he shrugs.

“I don’t. But it doesn’t sound that hard.”

You laugh. “Oh, it is. Why do you think I only offer you Miso soup and grilled cheese sandwiches?”

“Because that’s your favorite food?”

“True. But it’s also the only thing I can make. Well, when the sun’s in the right position and the moon’s not looking, I can also make a fried egg.”

He laughs at that. 

“You seem so talented, I thought you’d be good at everything.”

Your smile wavers and you wipe your fingers, signaling you’re done with your food.

“Want to take a walk?” You ask and he nods, throwing away the trash and meeting you at the door.

Something in him wants to take your hand, make sure your pulse is still the same as always, that you’re fine and well and there with him, but he knows that’s not the whole reason.

He wants to take your hand because he wants to hold it and feels like a ZZ plant that’s been put in a dark spot, longing for more light and scared it might burn him at the same time.

He doesn’t put his hands in his pockets, lets them hang by his side loosely, hoping against hope that your hand will knock into his as if a ray of sunlight might accidentally come his way.

-

“My father died five years ago.” You tell the night sky above you. “He had a heart attack and died in his sleep. I miss him every day. And I know he’d be proud of me. Of what I’m doing and how I’m doing it. He’d love my apartment and my shop and even if he’d call every bouquet I make perfection, he’d still pluck around in it, because he couldn’t let anything go untouched. Isn’t that love, that you love something not only despite its imperfections but simply because of them?”

Heaviness settles in his gut yet again as your words sink in. 

You look at him and he wonders if you’re talking about him too. 

He thinks about his parents, his siblings, his friends - if he can call them that. 

He wonders if they love him despite his imperfections and he wonders if he loves them.

“My mother remarried three years ago. And I’m happy for her, because her new husband is really nice, and she’s happy. But they moved, about two years ago, to America of all places. Plane tickets are expensive.”

“It gets lonely sometimes.” He says, not really knowing why until you nod.

“Yeah.” You breathe out. “Yeah.”

He wants to say that he’s here now. That you can lean on him. That he’ll be there for you.

But he doesn’t. Because he can’t. He shouldn’t. He won’t.

So he doesn’t say anything and it seems to be the right thing, allowing the two of you to walk in silence through the dark.

taglist: @misfit-megumi @shoulmate @pixiesavvy @the2ndl @neko-my-cat @chelseaquake

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[dailyadventureprompts]

Adventure: Do no Harm

Gangs of brigands attacking along the trade roads in a series of bloody, near suicidal raids. An increasing spree of violent incidents in town that seem to be spreading like a sickness. Folk in their feverbeds rambling about a war out of time. These seemingly unrelated incidents are the violent signs that have been laid before Prior Rupak, healer and priest of Pelor, who sees them as the prelude to a far greater evil. The good healer cannot treat the victims and investigate the cause of their suffering at the same time, and so seeks allies to help stem the tide of blood before it pours over into the streets.

Hooks:

The party may first encounter Rupak after seeking out his infirmary, usually open to all by grace of the dawnfather’s altruism but recently closed off so that the priest and his acolytes can triage an ever mounting number of injured. Ushered in to receive treatment in payment for their aid, the party is briefed on the strange occurrences in town and sent on their way. Alternatively, should their reputation be great enough, Rupak may send a runner to ask for the party by name.

Merchants are always wary of bandits on the road, but this latest swath of reckless attacks has them especially worried, shilling out good coin for caravan guards that may get the party to tag along. Gossip by the watchfires says that the attacks are originating from a tumbledown old fortress out in the countryside, though why any self-respecting brigand would choose to lair in that haunted place is anyone’s guess.

Untangling the different attacks in town leads the party through a gauntlet of civil strife: lovers’ spats, disagreements in the market, tavernbrawls, all turned bloody and in some cases lethal. Investigating the matter reveals that each perpetrator was at one point a victim, all still bearing a fevered and borderline infected wound (if only a scratch) from a previous altercation

Background: The origin of all this chaos is a dark spirit known as “I Bear Thee Unto Glory”, a demon of war that sustains itself by sowing confusion and suffering during peacetime. Weapons touched by Unto-Glory’s influence grant their bearers the manic strength of dying warriors, even as their minds and the metal they hold begin to corrode. That corrosion is the key, as each cursed weapon leaves behind tiny slivers of demonic rust in their victim, leaving their body and mind to fester with fever and anger until they too lash out, passing the curse to another.

Tracking the infection all the way back we’re left with the brigands, a group of desperate foreign soldiers making an unwitting deal with Unto-Glory which drives them to attack the caravans. These attacks are repulsed, but the guards and drivers who survived with only minor injuries became carriers, getting into town just in time to start a tavernbrawl, lashing out at the townsfolk with their now rusted weapons. If you wanted to sow a few clues into the party’s investigation, mention how the weapons seized by the constables in the different incidents are all varying levels of corroded, or how the tavernkeeper had to replace a whole bevy of cutlery all of a sudden as a good portion of their knives, forks, and even soup ladle were suddenly rusted through. 

All of this comes to a head when the party report back to Rupak only to watch as he’s stabbed near lethally by one of his patients. Strengthened by an unholy fever, the formerly bedridden attacker brandishes a rusty scalpel and rants as Unto-Glory’s presence overwhelms them, speaking of the slaughter that is to come once the good doctor and the heroes too join them in the bloodbath. The violence will spiral out of control until the army is called to do something about it and likewise join the dance. Infection and bedlam will spread across the countryside until war is inevitable, and Unto Glory will ride at the head of it awful and resplendent.

With the realm at risk and their greatest ally now at risk of succumbing to the curse, something must be done. A risky summoning in the hopes of binding the fiend perhaps? Seeking some blessing or answer of the dawnfather? Regardless, the party must act fast... there’s a very good chance that they too have received a rust-cursed wound in their numerous scuffles, and its only a matter of time before they succumb aswell.

[batsandbugs]

Bruce Wayne's Headache Classification System Chapter 4

IKEA Verse

AN: I'm so sorry for disappearing for months again, things have been very hectic for me, but I finally got this done so at least I'm starting off the new year strong. No promises as to when the next one comes out. I hope y'all enjoyed this fun little look at the girls. I wish I included them in the first story, but I wasn't thinking at the time. I choose Steph for the POV because I felt her internal snide commentary could help balance Cass's more quiet reserve. There was an alternative ending for this that had Marinette using her powers more, but I decided to go with something softer and mushy. It felt in line with where Marinette would be comfortable showing the depths of her powers and continuing to drive the Batfam insane by not finding out how her powers work.

Chapter 4: Interlude - The Stalking of Daminette, a Treatise by Steph and Cass

Slate grey skies hang heavy over Gotham promising rain. The city isn’t any less busy for it, especially not during the day when most sane people agree, on average, it’s safer to conduct one’s business. Steph thinks that’s boring of them, but eh, she parkours over rooftops and punches goons as a night job, so maybe she’s the crazy one.

Wait. Weather. Grey Skies. Rain on the horizon and all that jazz.

Not the best of circumstances for a stakeout, but they’ve survived worse.

The rooftop they posted themselves on is comfy at least. No bird’s nests, piles of beer bottles, or scattered needles. Not too high they can’t observe the streets below. But not too low to the ground for people to notice they’re hanging out up here. Which is, strictly speaking, not exactly legal.

Also, they don’t want Damian to spot them.

Steph sighs, peering down at the coffee shop she knows Damian is sitting at, but she can’t see. She pops an M&M in her mouth and nudges Cass. “Pass me the binoculars?”

Cass lowers the equipment with a blank face stare. Well, blank face to anyone who wasn’t siblings with her. Steph is familiar with her pseudo-adopted sister’s micro-expressions. This one read clear as day, ‘why didn’t you bring your own?’ 

Steph blows out a frustrated pout, “I forgot, okay? Damian slipped out of the manor all wily and suspiciously and we followed him on a whim. I didn’t think to grab them. Couldn’t figure we’d pull a stakeout on our own little brother.” 

Cass signs, “I had mine with me.”

“Yeah, well we don’t all hide stakeout equipment on us at all times like over-paranoid busybodies!”

“You had snacks on you.”

Without a trace of guilt, Steph grabs another M&M and places it in her mouth. “Snacks are not surveillance equipment. They’re a normal thing to keep in your bag.”

“Your bag also contains mace, a taser, and smoke pellets too.”

“It’s Gotham, sis. That’s just best practice.”   

Cass rolls her eyes, but hands over the binoculars. 

“Yay! Thanks.” Steph places them to her eyes. It takes a second to adjust before she focuses on the cafe down the street. Damian sits at an outdoor table, alone, sipping a drink out of one of those tiny white teacups.

Pshh, what a pretentious little twerp.

“Wonder who he’s meeting?”

“IKEA girl?” Cass says aloud softly since Steph’s looking down the street and can’t read her hands.

Steph grins wildly, searching blindly for another M&M with one hand, holding the binoculars steady with the other. “Oh, I hope so. Timmy’s frantic rambling over her is the most entertained I’ve been all year. And Jay’s spittin’ steam over her little trick on him.” 

“Dick’s worried.” 

Steph waves a hand clutching three pieces of candy with a careless air. “Dick’s always worried, Cass. He’s a serial worrier. He doesn’t know how to do anything but worry.” 

Steph pops the chocolate into her mouth, watching Damian peer up from his phone and scan the street with keen eyes. She’s, like, seventy-two percent sure he doesn’t know they’re watching him. After all, they’re halfway down the street, fifteen stories up, lying belly down on the roof of an office building. But it is Damian. The League and Bruce trained him. Steph’s still convinced the little brat has the psychic power to know when he’s followed. 

“No info.” 

Steph sighs at the short-remark reminder of her family’s tendencies to stick their noses fucking everywhere. “Yeah, well maybe she has decent cyber security for her life. More people need to do it these days.”

Silence. 

Groaning, Steph grabs another few M&Ms out of pure stress. “You went looking too, didn’t you?” 

“Little brother.” 

Good lord, this family. They’re lucky she loves them so much.

“Yeah, yeah, I care about the brat too, doesn’t mean he needs his hand held constantly. He can make his own choices. Including hanging out with people, regardless of if his extremely invasive family managed to compile a dossier on her entire life.” 

“You said we follow.” 

Steph scoffs through a mouth of chocolate, “Yeah, ‘cause he was actin’ sus, just because I think we should leave her alone doesn’t mean I don’t think we should annoy him by stalking his date.” She focuses back on Damian. “Plus,” she mutters. “I don’t want to deal with Bruce bitchin’ about that car chase we pulled with the Volkov Family gang members, so this seemed like the better option.”

It wasn’t their fault the stupid goons running point from the pet shop’s back room decided to run on them.

“We helped,” says Cass resolutely.

“I don’t think B will see it that way.” Steph readjusts the binoculars and notices Damian’s attention sharpening. He looks out onto the sidewalk, eyes focusing on a person drawing closer. “Oh, oh, oh I think she’s here!”

There, approaching the café, in the cutest little yellow dress, a woman approaches and pauses by Damian’s table. Thanks to the high-tech binoculars she can view every emotion flickering across Damian’s face as his newest acquaintance greets him. He places down his cup and vacates his seat, pulling out the opposite chair and allowing the young woman to sit, before retaking his own.

Steph whistles lowly.

“Hmm…” prompts Cass.

“I- I don’t think the others are joking. He- he just pulled out her chair for her.” They are all capable of manners. Alfred made sure of that. Even for those in the family who’d joined later. (The disparity between the manners the Drakes’ taught Tim and the actual behavior expected of a Wayne was night and day and not in a good way. Meanwhile, people like Cass or Damian needed teaching ground up how to interact with people without pulling weapons on them. Quite frankly so did the rest of them, but Alfred was unafraid and whipped them all (metaphorically) into shape.)

So, yeah, manners.

Something they all could do.

But not necessarily likely to be performed by all.

Especially Damian.

Damian is like a feral raccoon who wields a bowie knife when it comes to Untested People. Short. Prickly. Rude in the way where you know you’re getting insulted, but the conversation already turned the corner and you stand there, shell-shocked, that this kid verbally bested you six ways to Sunday.

Of course, Damian isn’t much of a kid nowadays.

Standing as tall as Bruce and starting to shake off the lankiness of his teen years, Damian was growing into, as a posher person might say, 'a fine young man’. Steph still remembers him as that little feral kid, who only smiled when besting others or petting furry creatures. But no, now he’s smiling at other things. Adult things. Things that happened to include pretty French girls.

“She’s dangerous,” says Cass.

Steph pulls down her binoculars to find Cass peering at the seated couple with her phone, camera mode engaged, and zoomed in to see their interactions.

“Why didn’t you use that in the first place?!” Steph asks, annoyed. Reaching towards the candy wrapper her fingers find empty plastic. Damn it.  

 Cass narrows her eyes at her screen, ignoring the question. Steph huffs. Rude.

“What do you mean dangerous?” Replacing the binoculars, she focuses back on the couple. If she didn’t know who Damian was, her eyes would slip over them as another pair of lovebirds, eking out a final moment of good weather before Gotham’s stormy ways crushed the vibe. “She’s a little slip of nothing.”

“So am I.”

Steph rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but you were trained to fight since birth. She looks like the human embodiment of sunshine.” And the woman does. From this angle, she sees both their faces while they talk. The girl, Marinette, has sleek black hair possessing a blueish shine. Striking bright blue eyes and a smile that lit her face like the summer sun contribute to the overall impression this was a very normal, very friendly person.

“Looks are deceiving.”

“Of course, they can, and I’m not sayin’ she’s not sus, but…” she gestures down. “Look at them! This is the most normal I remember Damian acting in his life. Would he do that, could he really do that if he thought she was dangerous?”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t ‘hmm’ me! I’m serious! Sure, she might have powers, so what? Lots of people are magical and metas these days. Doesn’t mean she’s inherently dangerous.”

“No info.”

“Good security.”

“Something to hide.”

“A healthy sense of caution.”

Cass snorts. “She moved to Gotham.”

Steph pauses. And yeah, when you consider where the girl came from (Paris! Freaking Paris) and what she was studying… Moving to Gotham for a fashion degree sounds like moving to Las Vegas to join a nunnery.

“Yeah, okay that’s weird, I fully admit that. But maybe she has, like, I dunno? A danger kink or somethin’?” Steph shrugs. “Which, you know, is kinda good 'cause I think the demon brat has one too, so they’re like a match made for each other.”

Cass shoots her a highly unimpressed look.

“What!? At least I’m trying to think of somethin’ plausible, instead of jumpin’ to the doomsday scenario like the rest of you paranoid weirdos.” She turns back to her binoculars and her long-distance observing. “Listen, doin’ the whole overbearing intrusive family routine maybe isn’t the best way to act the first time Damian has, voluntarily, shown interest in a person more than complimentin’ their fightin’ skills.”

She places the binoculars back up to her eyes and watches Damian and Marinette chat. Damian’s smile hasn’t disappeared yet. In fact, it’s grown even larger. Marinette says something, her accent strong enough to throw Steph off on the exact words, and Damian throws back his head in laughter.

It’s a normal human reaction, laughing with such abandon. But it’s so not for Damian, that Steph’s mouth drops open in shock.

“Please tell me you took a picture of that?” she asks. Dick is so bound to freak the fuck out when he sees this.

“Mh hmm,” Cass hums in agreement.

They probably spend another thirty minutes watching the young couple. Cass takes pictures, and Steph makes commentary whenever Damian or Marinette looks sickeningly sweet. Cass sends the photos over to Steph’s phone, and in turn, she sends them to Dick. Most people would probably find it mind-numbingly boring, but both of them spend hours casing joints and running point of stakeouts before, so less than an hour is easy. But as the top of the hour approaches, the grey skies grow darker, and rumbling thunder appears.

Steph watches Damian blink as if shocked the weather suddenly turned bad.

Shit. Bruce would so kill him for that lack of awareness. “He’s in so deep,” she mutters.

“No covering. Will get wet,” Cass warns about their own situation.

Steph sighs, placing down her binoculars. “Shit, yeah, you’re right. Damn it, I wanted to keep watching them.”

Cass tucks the phone into her pocket with a sly smile and signs, “I took plenty of photos. We should go and find cover. Can’t head home yet because we took the bikes.”

“Yeah,” Steph mutters. Quickly though, she grabs the binoculars again and looks back at Damian and Marinette. The couple grabs their umbrellas – smart of them, too bad Steph didn’t think of those when she impulsively decided to follow Damian – and head off down the street. Together.

The date, apparently, isn’t over yet.

“Do we wanna trail them?” she asks Cass. “Any chance you stored umbrellas in that bag of yours?” Half joking, half serious. What? You never know.

Cass shakes her head though. “No, but I do have ponchos. Do you want to follow them? They’ll be heading inside. Damian will surely spot us.”

Steph snorts, highly doubting it. “He’s so damn distracted at the moment, I’m pretty sure an alien invasion could happen down the street and he wouldn’t notice unless little-miss-sunshine started screamin’.” She grins, wide and mischievous. “Pass me a poncho sis. We’re not giving up this hunt yet.”

Despite the high-quality ponchos, they still end up quite soaked. That’s the tradeoff for having an unnoticed trail high above their intended targets. Sharp stabs of water bite at their faces, as they race across the rooftops. Steph’s shirt clings stuck to her body, damp and humid between the poncho and her chest. Damn, a shower is gonna feel soooo good later.

For any normal person, the weather would make it impossible to follow the young couple. Not to mention the distance from the ground. But Steph and Cass were trained by the best hunters in the world, following their prey was simple – if very wet and uncomfortable – matter.

Rain pours from the sky even faster, thunderous noise drowning out all other sounds, and quickly empties the streets below. The typically numb Gotham populace seeking shelter from the crappy weather. Eventually, Marinette and Damian duck into an older building, the overhead awning buckled in from the rain collecting on top. The windows are dimly lit, and a cracked and faded sign flickers reading:

MAGNUS ANTIQUES ~ EST. 1902

Cass and Steph cross over the street with a quick grapple line. Both wouldn’t dare under normal circumstances; it’s the middle of the day and they aren’t even in domino masks. The slip in procedure would hardly endanger them with nobody around, heavy clouds turning the early afternoon dark as dusk, and the rain pouring thick sheets, obscuring even the highest tech cameras. They land on a building next door, and carefully climb down the siding, landing in the alleyway, behind the antique store.

A young man, in his mid-twenties, slouches against the brick wall a few feet down the alley huddled under another old and tattered awning that barely keeps him dry as he vapes. The shop’s back door sits propped open with a crate, and it takes all of a second while the man leans against the old brick façade with his eyes closed enjoying his few minutes of damp peace for Steph and Cass to slip quietly inside through the back door.

Score!

An old, musty smell hits them as they creep through the back entrance. Piles of boxes line the walls, old antiques half-boxed, or laid on shelves. The store is dark and stale. All of old Gotham oozes an aura of grime and darkness to it, like no matter how hard you scrub the walls and floors will never be clean, the shadows grow thicker in corners, and the cold lingers even in the depths of summer. But that might just be the fault of an old store with even older objects inside. Steph’s never put much stock on that old fairy tale of Gotham being cursed and all.

Under a worktable sits a box – of what she could generously call towels but would more accurately call rags – and they wriggle out of the rain-soaked ponchos. Steph stuffs the soaked ponchos in the box and pulls out a handful of the least questionable-looking rags. Handing one to Cass, Steph does her best to sop up the worst of the water.

“I’m gonna get blisters later,” Steph whines softly, her toes wriggling in soaked-through socks.

“You always have blisters, all of us do,” signs Cass, drying the front of her shirt.

“No, we have calluses, we haven’t formed blisters since we were teeny tiny baby vigilantes who didn’t know shit and our bodies thought they had the right to strike about their living conditions.” Steph tries to wrangle the water out of her hair. “We wear waterproof suits though, so my feet don’t get regularly soaked.”

“Well, sorry for not having pocket rainboots too,” Cass signs sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

“How unprepared,” Steph shoots back, gaining another eye roll in return.

Steph pulls her hair into a ponytail and wrings out her shirt and feels slightly more human now they’re back on dry land. Cass, with her pixie cut, vigorously scrubs her hair with a towel before it flops out, mostly dry. Lucky.

Quietly, both of them creep out of the back workroom. A glistening crystal doorknob attached to an old wood door sends Steph cringing when it creaks open into the store proper. Dim lighting flickers above, a high wine pitch of electricity crackles in the old wires. Tall shelves chock full of nick-nacks and blasts-from-the-pasts cast the store in even deeper shadows. Heavy rain pounds the building’s walls, mixing with the hum of electricity. Barely any light pierces through the charcoal clouds, which traps the store in an evening aesthetic rather than the middle of the afternoon.

Steph turns to Cass, signing, “Spilt up? Or stick together?”

Cass shakes her head. “Stick together, two chances to spot us are worse than one moving target.” Steph nods in agreement.

The store is quiet, minus the rain and a faint sound of classical music drifting from the front. Steph pads softly over wooden floorboards, which look like they’ll creak if you look at them wrong, and Cass follows behind, silent as a mouse. Rows of shelves stretch from front to back, ladened down with objects, Furniture and old clothes pile up on the sides. It is a chaotic, yet organized mess. None of it’s her style, but she’s sure Tim would enjoy it in here.

Slowly, ever so slowly, they creep from aisle to aisle listening for the low drawl of Damian’s pretentious voice. The store’s chaos turns what should be a straightforward search into a winding maze, but eventually right before they turn a corner, Damian’s distinctive scoff rings through the air and stops Steph and Cass in their tracks before giving the game away.

Ducking into one of those separated booths – the kind most antique stores were made of, creating tiny stores within one big one – a genuine score, because Magnus Antiques only sported a few. Fully cluttered with racks of mothball-smelling vintage clothing, the booth made for a perfect hiding spot, while also allowing them full-view access. Steph swipes a dull scarf off the table and ties it over her head, helping to disguise her distinctive blonde hair, as she hides halfway into a rack of big, dull winter clothing. Cass, using her smaller size and an all-black outfit, gracefully climbs an antique dresser and camouflages with an elaborate black feathered bouquet.

Truly, masters of stealth.

Damian and Marinette walk into view; fully focused on the shelves before them, and completely oblivious to the stalker duo creeping in on their date.

“I can call us a car. We do not need to linger until the storm passes,” Damian says with that highly entitled vibe he always gives off, despite Steph knowing Damian’s pretentiousness is mostly a font these days.

“Oh, come on Damian,” chides Marinette, crouching low to look at the bottom shelf. Her accented lilting voice is soft but carries in the quiet store. “It’s just a little bit of bad weather. There’s no reason to call a person to drive through it, we don’t want anyone hurt in an accident. We can wait it out here.”

Damian’s face contorts, “Here?” Eyeing the shelf full of porcelain dolls with dread – which, you know, totally fair. They were creepy as fuck.

But Marinette rolls her eyes and shifts through the pile on her side. “Yes, here. It’s like a treasure hunt, you never know what you’ll  find.” She pushes a large black blanket off a cardboard box and smiles wide. “Ooh, see, a whole box full of ribbons and trim.” She fully falls to the floor and starts pulling rolls out of the box.

“Careful, we are likely to find germs.” Damian swipes a finger across the shelf and pulls it away covered in dust. He grimaces. “Or tetanus.”

Marinette giggles, like actually giggles, and not out of politeness either. She genuinely finds Damian’s offbeat, dry-as-a-bone, humor funny. Steph, safely out of sight, rolls her eyes. Oh, good lord, they’re perfectly horrible for each other.

“Says the man willing to climb into a box store air vent shaft at the drop of a hat.” Steph watches as Marinette sets aside a number of trims to buy.

Damian places a hand against his chest, offended. “That was tactical. This is stubborn desperation.”

“We were on the run, sounds a bit like desperation to me.”

“On the run? We were hunting our prey.”

Marinette’s face turns questioning, “Oh I’m sorry, did you not get chased by Jason with a nerf gun through half the store and the back areas? Was I not barely outrunning Dick before I took out the store’s electricity? We won by luck and the skin of our teeth. That does not sound like apex predators to me.”

Damian turns to the shelf he’s standing on, and, with a mutter, Steph barely makes out, says, “We could have taken them.”

“Sure, in a fight,” says Marinette without skipping a beat. And oh, isn’t that interesting. Steph knows the boys don’t tone down their personalities and skills the same way Bruce does (he doesn’t so much as tone down, as does a complete one-eighty, but it works for B, so Steph ain’t hatin’) when out of costume, but even they wouldn’t be so stupid as to act completely like their vigilante selves. It’s still, you know, not a lot, and Marinette probably saw more than most due to the game’s competitive nature. So, for her to say she could take them in a fight, with certainty, means she thinks quite highly of her own skills.

She could totally be overestimating herself.

Or… the rest of the family could be right, and Marinette is very dangerous indeed.

“… but we weren’t trying to take them in a fight, we were trying to outlast them. And anyway, it’s a moot point, we won, they lost, and now they hate me.”

Well, at least she was perceptive, Steph would give her that.

“They don’t hate you,” Damian shoots back.

Marinette rises from the floor holding an old roll of ribbon, bright emerald green, the lettering faded and worn on the cardboard spool. She lets out an inelegant snort, “Fine, Dick is suspicious, Tim is frustrated, and Jason hates me.” 

Oh, she’s very perceptive.

Damian pauses for a second, then tilts his head and smiles thinly. “Yes, it is quite likely Todd does hate you. But he should blame me, not you. I told you what to say. He’s directing his anger all wrong.”  

Steph blinks. That was… a shocking amount of self-reflection from the demon spawn. All directed towards this tiny little slip of a woman who looked like she could barely harm a fly, much less impress the likes of Damian Wayne. At this point, Steph has to believe this girl is magical because this shit is just unreal.

“Perhaps, but what I said obviously scared him-”

“That’s what we were trying to accomplish,” Damian mutters, mulishly.

“And one day I will learn the context of it, so I can properly apologize.” Steph watches Marinette’s eyes; focused and regretful. “I know I do not have their trust, and I do not have the right, but when I do, I will.”

Damian’s face flickers through emotions faster than a roulette wheel, eventually settling on a variation of soft and amazed Steph’s only seen on a besotted movie protagonist. And barely makes out his words. “I have no doubt you will earn those secrets. Your heart is big enough, and your will strong enough to melt my family’s own.”

Oh.

Oh.  

Steph's mouth falls open in complete shock. Damn… just, damn.

This isn’t just a crush.

This is full-on, head-over-heels, besotted beyond belief, in love.

Damian is implying Marinette is important enough to earn the details of Jason’s death, to know why he was so scared of his family being hurt and dying and him unable to help (yeah, Jason ranted to her about Marinette’s little speech; yeah, it was harsh, but what else could you expect from Damian, he doesn’t do shit by halves). All of that implies she’ll learn of their identities, the biggest secret their family kept under lock and key. Only a handful of Justice League members and assorted friends (and enemies) knew of their full identities.

This is a girl Damian met two and a half days ago.

Steph, nearly so lost in her own shock and incredulity, almost misses Marinette’s reaction.

Face flushed and eyes tilted down, Marinette’s smile conveys embarrassment, joy, and a hint of sadness all at once. “Has anyone ever told you, you’re very sweet?”

Sheepishness seeps into Damian’s face and body, as he raises a hand to rub the back of his neck, a move making him look exactly like Dick. “Most people say the exact opposite, or they are in the middle of cussing me out.”

He’s not wrong.

Marinette's smile grows wider, “Well, I’m-”

“Not most people.” Damian and her finish together with a look building the foundation of an inside joke.

“No, all the more I learn of you,” Damian says, tone fond. “I find you are definitely not most people.”

“I aim to impress,” Marinette says, with a sly and besotted smile, and Steph doesn’t know if she will pass out from the sweetness or vomit, and at this point, it could go fifty-fifty. The woman looks over Damian’s shoulder. “Looks like the rain stopped.” Steph vaguely sees weak rays of light coming from the store’s front. The kind indicating the Gotham sun, a rare and noteworthy presence, has burst through the clouds to shine upon rain-soaked streets. “I should probably head back to my apartment before it starts again; I have a commission project to work on.”

Damian readjusts himself, folding away the soft, besotted emotions until he looks more like himself again. “And I need to return home as well, my father’s back from his business trip and will wish to speak with me.” He winces, “He is most likely already speaking with my brothers, which means I need to run interference before they blow the entire situation out of proportion.”

Marinette smirks, unrepentant and teasing, and for the first time Steph understands why Jason kept ranting ‘she’s just as demented as he is’, “To be fair, we did set Tim on fire, and break the store multiple times.”

Damian smirks right back, and “First off you broke-”

“We, don’t forget your part with the display and tying up a security guard.”

“-second, we set fire around him, he wasn’t hurt. No one got hurt. Except for their pride.” He pauses, and amends, “Well, perhaps that unpleasant woman at the end had an aneurysm with her screaming, but that’s hardly our fault, so it shouldn’t count.”  

Both of them laugh until it fades into a contented silence. Then, Marinette places a dainty hand on Damian’s arm, and says, “This was fun. We could… do it again sometime?” For the first time, uncertainty crosses the young woman’s face.

Damian’s face, on the other hand, is as eager as Steph has ever seen it. Wow, what must his head and chest feel like with all these new intense emotions bandying about? “Uh, o-of course, yes, this was fun. We’ll… text?”

“Sounds like a good idea.” Marinette leans down and picks up the small pile of trimmings and ribbon she found in the box earlier. The spool of emerald ribbon balanced on top.

“You took the bus in? I can walk you to the stop?” Oh, kid; if he had a tail, it would be wagging.

Marinette tilts her head, “Didn’t you ride in on a motorcycle? Shouldn’t you take advantage of the break in the rain?”

Damian shrugs off the offer, “I drive in far worse than a little rain regularly..” 

“Don’t compromise your safety for my own, I can take care of myself perfectly fine,” Marinette says. 

“I’m sure you can, but I want to,” insists Damian. “I parked near the bus stop’s location, it will be no trouble.”

“Alright then, maybe on the way you can tell me more about that art store you mentioned was down my way, I’m looking for a new set of brushes; mine became damaged in the move.” They walk down the aisle and swiftly out of view and hearing range.

Steph doesn’t move, and neither does Cass until Marinette pays for her purchases, and they hear the door to the shop open and close with a creak and a chiming of bells. A second more passes by, before Steph slips out of the clothes rack, and Cass descends the dresser, and they stand in silence for a moment.

“Whelp,” Steph says, popping the p. “That was certainly something. I don’t quite have the words for it yet, cause my brain’s still rebooting. How about you Cassie?”

Cass shakes her head, then pauses, contemplation playing across her features. “I still think she’s dangerous. Her body has the grace of a fighter, with years of practical experience moving quickly and efficiently. But I don’t think she uses her magic, whatever it may be, to influence Damian.” Cass smiles, now looking like a cat holding a canary between her lips. “That’s all due to him being very, very in love.”

“Great, so I wasn’t the only one seeing literal hearts in Damian’s eyes, cool, cool, cool.” She stretches her arms high above her head, spine popping brutally, as she tries to get feeling back in her limbs after observing the two lovebirds for long. “Well, I’m not in the mood to deal with Bruce and his game of twenty questions, so what say we go eat? How ‘bout the new Italian place that opened near my apartment, worse case it starts raining again and we head back there, we covered and hid the bikes well enough.”

Cass nods and they leave the store, passing by an ancient old man seated at the front desk totally absorbed in a creaking leather tome. Summer sun barely peaking through gaps in the clouds. It hasn’t truly stopped raining yet. The sky drizzles a small smattering of rain, and fog mists up from the pavement. It’s a pleasant change from the chaotic, faint oppressive feel of the antique shop.

Steph’s brain turns over the interactions she witnessed between Damian and Marinette. It shouldn’t be such a big deal. People meet, flirt, and fall in love all the time. But it just is because it’s, well, Damian. Even as a little kid he always seemed so removed, he really wasn’t, but he was good at pretending. Steph never pictured him falling in love, not because he wasn’t capable of it, but because she always thought he’d be too prickly for anyone to break through his walls. And certainly not a civilian who had no clue about their double lives.

Steph hopes everyone comes out on the other side, lives, and emotions relatively intact, and in the meantime, she plans to wring this situation for all the blackmail material it’s worth.

[elvenbeard]

2069

"Is this all there is to this life? Should be recognizin' myself in the mirror better each day, but instead I feel more and more like I'm lookin' at a stranger..."

Vince ran away from home in 2067, aided by Jackie Welles whom he'd met the same year through a fateful coincidence. Jackie and his connections helped him gain independence from his family, and opened doors into a world Vince had so far only seen from far above and far away.

From one environment of buzzing neon lights into the next, although a much less polished one, he ended up in Kabuki. There he stayed for the next two years to come. Drifting from one dissatisfying odd job to the next he tried to build a new life from scratch. In some ways it was a very freeing experience. On file, his birthday was a different one now, aging him up just enough to get his mother off his back. He started HRT, got tattoos he'd always dreamed of, dressed more how he liked without fearing repercussions. He even felt comfortable growing his hair out, dyeing it darker... And soon he began to only introduce himself as "V" to new acquaintances, a nickname and advice given to him by Jackie when they first met.

In other ways though he felt just as out of place in Kabuki as he did in Charter Hill, if not more.

He knew little about life on the streets, was overqualified for what his employers asked of him, and unhappy, underwhelmed with his living situation as a whole. He'd never had to survive on a budget, struggled to make ends meet, or worried about food and rent before. Even Jackie had no solution to these problems - and merc work would never be Vince's style, even if it meant easy money. "Easy" always comes at a price later on...

Eventually, he ended up helping out at a niche tech store with ties to the Tyger Claws. It became the longest job he managed to hold before his pride got the better of him. After many heated arguments with the owner he decided to quit on the spot without much of a Plan B left. He had always done his best to stay away from trouble, gangs in particular, especially after a very unpleasant encounter with the Valentinos two years prior.

Despite his careful attempts to conceal his tracks though, keeping a low profile, and trying to make this new life work out for him somehow, his past began to catch up with him as the Unification War started to threaten Night City itself...

Vince through the years (2/9)

Welcome to more behind the scenes rambles! XD Today: Vince's cyberware and tattoos, of which many were part of him as of 2069 already.

Not too much intense editing required for this set, the lighting in that street is really nice as is with all the neon and stuff! Just off of Kabuki roundabout, where the tech store Vince worked at for the better part of a year was situated.

I did have some fun playing around with some filters for the glitch effect - it's not quite where I want it yet, but I was going for the kind of look V has on surveillance cameras in game, with his identity obscured and such!

During his time in Kabuki he didn't quite have the means that would have allowed for something similar. But still, he was keeping a low profile and taking a lot of not-quite-legal measures to obscure his whereabouts and identity as best as he could to get away from his mother.

Also, this is full headcanon territory and I'm not sure how compatible it is with Cyberpunk lore (I tried to find something online, stumbled upon an extensive cyberware listing from the 2020 rulebook and such)... but my personal headcanon for his piece of neck cyberware is that it's fashionware on the outside, but under the surface it's doing some hormone synthesizing and regulation for his transition. Y'know, a convenient alternative for the array of options we have in our time and age with creams and gels or injections. A one time solution installed in your body that from day one will just do its thing for the rest of your life, basically (with some checkups and upgrades throughout the years obviously).

Also, Viktor got it for him, installed and all, and while they were at it Vince was like "Vik, do you do tattoos, too? I have an idea for something..." and that's basically how he got his demonic grin neck tattoo on the same day xD

Also around that time he would have gotten the wings on his back done:

Very symbolic and a little cliché, but he doesn't give a damn (and he doesn't know it at the time yet, but Kerry will love it xD). The whole "setting himself free" that year in all meanings of the word was very important to him. And by 2069 he'd completed the look with his chin and face tattoos.

The trans-colours cyber-flower on his right shoulder was the first "proper" tattoo he'd ever gotten, shortly before running away from home even. The little, slightly crooked Ursa Major just below it was a stick-and-poke a "friend" did on him even before that, but he never had the heart to get it covered. It's awkwardly positioned and a bit wonky, but he still likes it as a symbol and reminder of his childhood. He had the dots filled in with rainbow colors a little ways down the the line though.

His left shoulder and the chest piece connecting both right and left followed a few years later! We'll get to that :3

[knifechased]

hc + DOCTORS :)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

          【 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐂 + 𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃. 】                     @medicus-felini     

     The island Killer was born and raised on bore an extremely high criminal population. Refuge, an island shrouded in misinformation and hidden under the blanket of heavy perpetual storms, was officially unnamed and without government protection. For this reason, it became the topic of rumors spoken in hushed tones in bars from surrounding islands throughout the South Blue. Supposedly, it was a lawless land where criminals could escape the watchful eyes of the World Government and escape the immediate threat of being hunted by the marines. It was said to be a criminal haven; a land so free and prosperous, that no man who sailed to her docks would ever wish to leave.      In reality, very little of this was actually true. Though Refuge was indeed a lawless land and was void of government intervention, it was far from the awe-inspiring and magnificent isle that it was believed to be. It was a desolate island, and those who were unlucky enough to survive being shipwrecked on her shores would find themselves trapped by the carnivorous Sea Kings and tumultuous storms. There was inadequate food to sustain a fraction of the total population, and only those able to trample on anyone weaker than themselves would be able to survive. Refuge was built from scraps and debris; there was no room for benevolence nor generosity when your best chance of success was to take it away from another.

     For these reasons, medical practices on Refuge were few and hard to come by. True professionals in the field were rare, and were often snatched up by independent gang members, kidnapped, and forced to work only for them. Alternatively, many doctors would charge so highly for their time that very few would ever be able to afford to see one. Even so, there was little in terms of modern medicine available on the island to begin with. Most remedies came either from the herbs harvest in Kimor Forest, or were imported at extortionate prices by Lochlan; something only the extremely wealthy could afford. A diagnosis was only helpful to a certain extent, as treatment would not always be available nor attainable for the majority of people. If someone was badly sick already, it was likely they would be too weak to search for the remedy they would need for their ailment anyway.           People began to invade Kimor in search of herbs, which lead to bloodied fights for territory and resources. In the end, this lead to Kimor Forest becoming a restricted area, guarded by the district leaders in order to protect what limited vegetation was able to grow on the island, lest it not be harvested to extinction.

There were many charlatans on the island — people who would lie about their status as a doctor, and sell snake oil to cure serious medical conditions. As a consequence, there was a particular attitude most people of the island felt towards doctors. Generally, they were assumed to either be con artists, or rich bastards who would swindle you of every last possession you owned in order to diagnosis you with a condition that could not be treated.

Being seen by a doctor was either considered a true luxury, or an act of optimistic ignorance. It was something only the truly desperate would seek. If you were sick enough to request their aid, your fate was probably already sealed.

Most people learned how to treat their own injuries and sicknesses, or they simply died from them. The people of Refuge were self sufficient in that regard, attaining just enough medical knowledge to survive each day, or ending up as another body littering the streets.

Killer was no exception to this mentality in his youth. It was how he was raised, and all he had ever known. The concept of there being a world outside of Refuge where doctors would want to aid others solely due to the goodness of their hearts was a fairytale to him. Like many, he simply could not afford to be seen by one even if he wanted to, and he learned the same bitter resentment towards those who were able to help him, but refused to do so without first receiving payment.

After Killer became the district leader of Barlea at age thirteen, he eventually gained access to being seen by Lochlan's personal doctor, yet he was still reluctant to do so. There was a feeling of being exposed that he did not care for. Lochlan would surely be told of any condition he had developed, and Killer did not feel safe having his weaknesses or injuries being known. It felt dangerous; he didn't doubt that this information would later be used against him, so he learned to hide any sickness or injury he could until he recovered on his own.

When Killer eventually left the island and began sailing the seas under the Kid Pirate flag, it still took a while for him to learn to trust fully trust doctors. He would continue to hide his injuries even after they appointed their first doctor, though admittedly, House was a doctor in name only, and his own medical knowledge was no better than anyone else on that ship at the time.

The crew was very aware that they could not enter the New World without a certified doctor. When Linn was finally appointed to take on the role, Killer considered her expertise to be more for the benefit of his nakama, rather than something he should need for himself. He respected her intelligence and her training, but he had trouble shaking off the feeling that she was not going to find a way to blackmail him, as all the previous doctors he had ever known would be inclined to do.

He did learn to trust her, admittedly much more easily than Kid. He now attends check ups with only minor resistance, which mainly stems from him not really enjoying how long they take. When he is sick or injured, he will make an appointment with her when he feels it is necessary, but it's still in his personality to try and tough most things out whenever he can.

[lunarcovehq]

Georgiana Ortiz is a Vampire that currently resides in Celestial Hills and has been a Lunar Cove resident for 169 years, though a fangtastic latte recipe isn't the only thing she is digging up.

ITS THE END OF THE WORLD

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis Woman, She/Her

DATE OF BIRTH: July 22, 1826

OCCUPATION: Archeologist and Owner of The Caffine Crypt

FACECLAIM: Victoria Justice

AS WE KNOW IT, AND I FEEL FINE

SPECIES: Vampire

CLAN POSITION: Member 

AGE AT TRANSFORMATION: 29

WELCOME TO LUNAR COVE, GEORGIANA ORTIZ

Trigger Warnings: Death, Child Death, Arranged Marriage, War, Childbirth 

Georgiana Luisa Ortiz Davis de Taylor; born the year of her birth country’s half-century celebration on a July evening in 1826. The fifth child and first daughter of a coffee trader from Puerto Rico and his beloved wife, in the colony of Georgia’s first city; Savannah. It was picturesque and serene. The nation’s first planned city with wide streets, public squares, and parks. Also a port town, Savannah’s proximity to the sea made it possible for the Ortiz family’s trade ventures to thrive. Each son was given his own delegations and all the daughters married off. Which included Georgiana.

It wasn’t love at first sight but a deep appreciation for the heart of a good man who was always kind and generous. Edward Taylor, a friend of her older brother’s, a shipping merchant like her father, and a local to Savannah just like her. They shared eight children together over the course of a decade; only five survived into adulthood. It was the greatest ache Georgiana ever knew; the death of a child. There were no words that existed that she knew to describe such a loss. An insurmountable grief, deaths that she would mourn for all of time.

Eight children took their toll. After her youngest’s birth, Georgiana's human body grew weak. Dizzy spells and the occasional fainting weren’t uncommon. Her family, friends, and neighbors all expressed their concern. Their fears made reality the day Georgiana collapsed at the top of the stairs during a dinner party. Her body tumbled down the wooden steps til it smacked the bottom in front of all her guests. She was dead before her head hit the floor. Hours passed, her body cleaned and redressed, left on the parlor table for her burial the next day. In private, her husband and their children said their goodbyes. A small mercy Georgiana would be grateful for later when it came to giving them closure. 

By morning, Georgiana was in a carriage, leaving Savannah; the only home she’d ever known. Headed North, to a town called Lunar Cove, with her maker for a new life as a Vampire.The one who saved her. A friend of a friend in attendance that night who had slipped his blood into her wine, only hoping to cure the lady of the house of what ailed her after hearing the whispers of concern from her friends. It came as much a shock to him as everyone else in attendance when Georgiana died, still he took the time to welcome her into an immortal life.

In the New England town, Georgiana learned how to be a vampire; to curb cravings, to compel, to live this new life she had been given. Though a better alternative than death, it was a life full of grief for her family. In the solace of a friend, Georgiana found a new family; a chosen one. Meena Raja, who at the time was second in command to the town’s vampire clan, quickly became Georgiana’s closest friend. Both women grew up in society, though a continent and a few decades apart. They shared a love for fashion, music and all the arts, as well as an affinity for gossip like any aristocrat. Georgiana recovered a piece of her humanity in her dear friend Meena. A gift she would not know again for some decades until she returned to Savannah for her son. 

During the American Civil War Georgiana’s former husband and two of their sons died, leaving only her daughters and eldest boy alive. No measure of time passing made those losses easier, not during her tenure as a human or her eternity as a vampire. It was an eternal, forever kind of ache for each and every single one.

Two and a half decades came and went. Georgiana did not age but still changed with every rise and fall of the sun. Receiving an education, a real education, for the first time equipped her with the ability to guide her family from afar. To ensure their prosperity in business and their safety when it counted. She kept a careful eye on them throughout the years, especially her children. No longer babies but men and mothers, too. It was a different kind of ache; watching life go on without you. 

When word arrived that her only son left alive had been thrown from his horse and was fast approaching death, she left her new home for her old one. Upon arrival, the hospital pronounced him dead, but Georgiana heard his heart beating, faintly, the moment she entered the morgue. Inaudible to human ears, yet it was the loudest, most profound sound she’d ever heard; since the day of his birth when Georgiana heard the first cries of her first child.

Peter thought his mother was an angel, returned to Savannah to take him home when she offered him life everlasting. Only part of which was true.

The years came easier with Peter at Georgiana’s side. They mourned together, their mortal family’s lives. First within the safety of a supernatural home but venturing abroad at the turn of the century in pursuit of education, experience, and travel.

Georgiana attended universities across the Euro-Asia continents until the start of the first world war. They did what they could to help the allies. It was a long four years. When peace returned to the world, Georgiana and her son went home. Lunar Cove was a soft place to land after the trials of war. She was grateful for the peace, finally able to return to her studies and reunite with her cherished, chosen family.

In honor of her parents, Georgiana opened a cafe. Her father was a shipping merchant who met her mother through a business associate in the Puerto Rican coffee trade. She named the shop sardonically for the creature she’d become. The Caffine Crypt became a second home away from her estate in Celestial Hills. She relished the days of working in its corners, appreciating the smell of fresh ground beans, as she put ink to paper. Cataloging her life, her work, her thoughts. 

The second world war came and went. Georgiana found a place in her mind where the bloodshed lived. A survivor of three wars, now. The blessing and curse of her life; to watch as all the world moved by.

 After many years of interest, Georgiana found herself in the dirt. An archeologist with her own team, searching for things they’d never find. At least, not publicly. Georgiana kept the best treasures for the town. More than just human tokens, too, but magical relics that amazed a woman who was born no more than human. Safely stored in Lunar Cove, awaiting use should the town ever need. 

For more than a century and a half, Georgiana has maintained an estate in Celestial Hills. A home she often returns to, to spend the stretch of years between extensive bouts of intense research, to reunite with her family. Her son, Peter, and her dearest friend Meena; no longer second in command but leader of their clan and mayor of Lunar Cove. Feast Georgiana took to celebrating with the most elaborate of parties. An ode to their days of girlhood in the upper echelon. 

Over the years, much has changed about the world and the safe haven she calls home, but Georgina fears not war or death. A survivor of both, too many times to count. No threat could keep her out of Lunar Cove.

[crownofconvergencerp]

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐘𝐍 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐆𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐂𝐔𝐁𝐈 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

evelyn was born succubi, in the ruins of the destarin before it had been built up, her father a demonic being from an alternate plane of existence and her mother a gorgon, what truly shaped evelyn was the taking of a local guild for her own use and the death of her childhood love. appearing in her early forties evelyn is actually one hundred and ninety-seven years old and has had a few children of her own. 

TW: war, death, murder, crime.

The war torn ruins of a town on the edge of kingdoms was hell - in the best possible way - to a small demonic girl and her sisters. Evelyn, born one of three to her demonic father, and the sole child of her mother, was raised by her own mother and that of her sisters. A community with a gorgon, a witch and a drow for mother's certainly raised a particular type of child. Each demonic girl was able to shift into her own little animal form, and the venomous girls would play for hours on end in the streets of Destarin before returning to their studies with each of their mother. All grew up both proud and educated, in all manner of ways.

Evelyn, the eldest of the three, certainly attempted to use all that she was being taught to make a certain sort of life for herself. Her dark eyes were always watching the various criminal collectives within the town, her horns poking around corners to observe the deadly actions of guilds. She would play pretend with her sisters that they were their own criminal enterprise that took no prisoners and stole all the gold the town had to offer. Which was why when Evelyn began to come of age, and the signs of her father truly began to show through, she was able to find her way into the arms of a local guilds son. He was as restless as she was for the approaching future, when they would have control.

The more Evelyn's powers grew however, the more of the succubus that began to form, the more inclined she was to take that which she wanted and Evelyn and her love began to plot the removal of his own parents. He had his own reasons for wanting their deaths but Evelyn made no secret that she wanted the guild for herself and she would only help him if he intended to give her and her sisters the reigns of it. It was difficult to convince him...until she became pregnant and his focus became on their future child. His parents were removed swiftly.

Their relationship, once Evelyn had been instated as head of the guild and had their first born child, varied in forms of passion. The succubus had requirements to her survival that were not always the easiest to understand and her mortal partner slowly began to age ahead of her. But it was not that which changed everything for Evelyn's family, it was the death of her partner at the hands of an enemy guild. Evelyn schooled her emotions regarding his death as best she could, but her sisters and her child saw the truth of her grief.

In her eldest child that grief potentially manifested and Evelyn watched as their focus shifted from the guild to other things, distant with her in ways they had never been prior to their father's death. Evelyn tried for some time to draw him back to her but eventually...she gave up. The guild, and the establishments that came with it, especially that of their pain club that fed most of her appetites became her primary focus. Vengeance sworn on the enemy guild that had killed her love. All consuming.

WHAT ARE YOU...?

species: snake succubi. weaknesses: mortal, needs to feed on sexual intimacy to survive, weak to holy magics, antivenom can be made if one knows how from her poison to make someone immune to her. strengths: seductive venom that can be poisonous released through a bite, delayed ageing, can shapeshift into a snake, can heal wounds through sexual intimacy, can summon lesser demons through an extended ritual (not on the spot). physical description: evelyn has long red horns with sharp spikes protruding from either side of her head, her skin also sheds every few months which is what helps her stay young. additional notes: born of a gorgon mother and a demonic father, evelyn's abilities differ slightly from her sisters as they inherit snake like traits.

evelyn scourge is played by paris and her fc is megan fox

[isfjmel-phleg]

Why I like it: Psmith, Journalist

To be honest, this one is my least favorite of the series. Which is not to say that I don't like it, because I do, but it's very different from the other installments. Mike is barely present, so the friendship at the heart of the previous books isn't plot-crucial here. There's so much focus on the comedic view of America(ns), which would have been fascinatingly foreign to Wodehouse's original readership, that there's less of an actual plot or personal stakes for Psmith himself. Some content has not aged well. You could skip this one and not miss too much, because nothing that happens in it seems to have much, if any, particular bearing on the rest of the series.

But if you're up for it, there's still a reason to read Psmith, Journalist. Well, maybe two. The scene in which Psmith passes Mike off as a cat expert to a feline-loving gangster. And the next step of Psmith's character development.

Psmith was frequently an absolute jerk in the previous book, and he still has his moments here, but this book transports him from the oblivious light-heartedness of his usual genre into (attempted) realism, where he has to realize for the first time that there are people out there in miserable living conditions nothing like the privileged existence he's always led. And it's sobering. It takes a lot for Psmith to drop the flippant persona and get serious, and this is one of the few times. Of course he goes about fighting for the people in the slums in the most Psmithlike way possible, through words and wit and vendettas, and it's possible that somewhere along the way he loses track of exactly why he's fighting in the first place. But it's a step in the right direction that brings him into a wider world, encourages him to put his skills to use for more than just his own amusement and his and Mike's benefit.

It also puts him into some new and challenging experiences. He has to realize that he's utterly lacking in street smarts and would probably not have survived if he weren't in the company of a savvier friend. He gets into a lot of physical altercations, with more dangerous stakes than the trifling skirmishes he's dabbled in before. His hat gets shot off and he makes a huge deal out of the hat's destruction because the alternative is to have to think about how narrowly that bullet missed his head. He gets held at gunpoint in a cab and there's nothing he can do for a long time besides try to stall, and only a deus ex machina manages to save him. Psmith has perhaps gotten a little too comfortable in his ability to talk or bribe his way out of anything after the two previous books, and forcing him to confront his own naivete and mortality--however subtly--is good for him.

And in the end he still saves the day by fast-talking and throwing money at the problem, but he's hopefully been enriched by his experiences in New York and come away from it a more compassionate, self-aware person. He's going to need it for the next book.

For over a decade, Psmith, Journalist was the finale of the series. It ends with Mike and Psmith in Psmith's flat at Cambridge. Psmith sums up his adventures and our outcomes and how he feels about it all while Mike struggles to keep his eyes open. It's the smaller moments of peace and relaxation that stay with him, Psmith observes. Adventures are entertaining, but his heart is most in the pleasures of friendship and domesticity--even if he's still a bit grandiose about the outcome of his recent exploits. He's still very himself, but he's in a happier place than when he first appeared in this series. "The man behind Cosy Moments slept," declares the final line. And we're happy for him.

It's a pleasant, if not especially dramatic, conclusion that returns our hero to a setting evoking the heart of the series. But I don't think it reads like an intended closing of Psmith's entire story. There's evidence that Wodehouse was working on another Psmith book shortly after this one, but it seems to have been abandoned. Which is too bad! A story that flowed immediately from this one thematically, as Mike and Psmith and Psmith in the City do for each other, would have been an excellent addition to Psmith's arc. Where would his newly awakened altruism take him next? How might further growth (or attempts at such) affect him, especially against the backdrop of his law studies at Cambridge? That's a Psmith we'll never get to know, but all the same, the R. Psmith, journalist, who materializes in this volume is a persona that takes our hero a step or two more in the right direction toward personal growth.

[aworldforastage]

魂兵之戈/"Jiang Chao Ge and the Spirit Weapon" by Shui Qian Cheng

I can't believe this is my 10th SQC novel!

I always thought of SQC as the queen of dogblood scum gong crematoriums novels angsty urban romantic drama, but her action-adventure stuff is surprisingly fun and engaging!

Synopsis

Ruthless businessman Jiang Chaoge accidentally gets transported to an alternate universe that is built around Spirit Weapons. In this universe, the spirits of everything from mice to mythical beasts can be sealed into items made from their remains, and then summoned in their full form to perform the bidding of compatible humans who have special spirit powers.

(Someone on Weibo called it "Shaman King but with monsters from Chinese Mythology" and I can't stop about the story any other way now.)

Jiang Chaoge unwittingly proves himself to be compatible with a highly-coveted spirit weapon. He must figure out how to cultivate spirit powers, survive in this new world, defend against others who also want his spirit weapon, all while looking after an ill-tempered mythical spirit in the body of the most unruly toddler, whose real identity is his gong seems to be much more troubling that he already seems.

Hoping to return to his own world, Jiang Chaoge embarks on a dangerous mission with a gang of new friends, and eventually discovers the terrible secrets that may seal the fates of both worlds.

What I like about the story

Complex (and a little sue-ish) protagonist. Jiang Chaoge is a machiavellian business man, always analyzing the situation and trying to find the best deals for himself. He is an orphan street rat who had to learn to be ruthless to survive, and continues to be cynical, suspicious, manipulative, and unapologetically self-centered. He uses his street-smarts, business skills, and high EQ to cultivate useful friendships and quickly build a comfortable life for himself in this new and dangerous world. He also becomes the brain and emotional core among his companions, whom he chose carefully for their talent and usefulness. However, over the course of the story, his band of mutually-beneficial acquaintances become real friends. I don't always like it when a character who is alleged flawed (e.g. calculating and self-centered) but never demonstrate for face any negative consequences for it (e.g. betray or lose the trust of his friends.) However, Jiang Chaoge manages that balance that keeps him both interesting and sympathetic.

Intriguing plot. We start with Jiang Chaoge exploring an alternate world as a transmigrator, learning its rules while trying to make a living and return home. However, only the most powerful beings in this universe have the power to send him back home, and Jiang Chaoge must find and bargain with increasingly powerful and dangerous entities -- from the High Priest of the land to the most powerful of beast spirits. All of them have their own secrets and agendas, which involves finding god-like powers that are only known to the mystical beast spirits, and discovering the terrible truths and bitters betrayals from the ancient battles that killed all the mythical beasts millennia ago.

A dynamic supporting cast. A heroic prince a bit too idealistic for his own good. A teenage trafficked slave-turned-bounty hunter who wants to return home. A feudal lord's illegitimate daughter who wants a free life on her own terms. An introverted genius who, ironically, got tricked into joining the most dangerous journey due to his anxiety and OCD. And a curious local explorer who final leaves home. Each one of them has (or eventually gets) a spirit beast, who are their most important allies in battle, and are also simultaneously their most complicated and most important relationship.

Friendships! The main gang initially only came together due to a web of mutually-beneficial incentives weaved together by Jiang Chaoge. Most of them are loners who do not easily trust people, but the friendship between them develops gradually and organically as they help each other through life-and-death situations. I especially love this development in Jiang Chaoge, who gets to feel missed, loved, and taken care of despite his harsh upbringing, and learns to feel this way for others. We also see the interesting friendships and frenemy-ships between the legendary mythical beasts, who have known each other since the literal dawn of time so their relationships can't be not-complicated.

The implications of spirit weapons and spirits beasts. The high-level spirit weapons wielded by the main cast are made from the souls of mythical beasts who have cultivated human-level sentience. Naturally, they have *feelings* about being killed and made into a weapon for perpetuity. Even if the spirit and wielder can get along, the relationship is inherently unequal on every front: a living human vs a dead beast, a mortal human vs a immortal spirit, the fragile source of power vs the fierce creature who can maximize the power's potential. The more energy a spirit receive from their human wielder, the more powerful they become in battle, and the greater their chance of reversing the relationship -- using the human's spirit energy to return to life and turn the human into a spirit weapon instead.

Further complicating this dynamic is the fact that a spirit weapon can formally bond with its wielder. No one else can use this weapon while the current wielder lives, and the spirit becomes one of the most important relationships that will last for the rest of that human's life. A bonding can be achieved through an exchange of blood or sexual intercourse, and of course the second option is very relevant to the plot and the main couple.

On the other hand

The main relationship is not boring or unpleasant, but it's just not to my taste. The gong is fierce and protective in his love, but also has the temper, maturity, and sometimes the intelligence of a petulant child despite having lived for millennia. This makes for a lot of great comedy and fun interactions with the protagonist, and I really like seeing them gradually becoming friends, but the romantic component didn't feel too compelling to me. However, I love the conflict this couple get into later on in the novel, which is a bit cheesy and cliched but also plays perfectly off the character flaws they already exhibited in the story.

The rushed ending left many loose ends in the plot. I read that the author originally planned for a much longer story, but a host of problems with the platform and censorship hampered her writing. Some characters and couples are left in awkward or unsatisfying places in the narrative, if not downright forgotten, so it feels like their story has not been in explored in full. The climactic battle itself is one shocking reveal after another; and it feels a bit like an info-dump that has dragged on for too long. The ending is technically happy, but I think it's a bit silly and leaves a lot of problems open in the future.

Finally, while SQC is incredibly skilled at crafting emotionally complex stories and character, and the action feels very tight from scene to scene, I feel like the story is still missing several important pieces that keeps it from being super-amazing. So many interesting story elements are left under-explored, like the powerful anti-monarchist secret society, the complicated power dynamics between spirit weapons and their wielders, the other nations/continents in the alternate world, the pseudo-immortality of spirit beasts, and what do you mean we don't have another 50K of extras picking apart Yin Chuan's tragic relationship with Di Jiang and Yuren Shu's complicated dynamic with Tian Rong?!

P.S. This story has no explicit smut scenes, kind of a real shock considering this is SQC's work ...

Overall

This is a story with a refreshing concept/premise, good writing, fun characters, deep relationships, and very creative plot and use of Chinese mythology. However, it leaves me with a "4/5" kind of feeling, because even though there are so many good things about it, I feel like it just left so much unexplored.

It's like looking at a really interesting painting, but with areas that are incomplete and some patches done very roughly compared to the rest. I have high expectations because the artist created such a wonderful sketch and did so well on most of it -- but it's still one of the most best works I have seen recently.

Finally,

I discovered this story through its audiodrama, which is surprisingly very good and unsurprisingly not reaching that many people. Season 1 covered half the novel, and I hope the word spreads so we get a second season to complete the story.

The theme song -- a rock song with Chinese instrumentals -- has also been stuck in my head on and off for weeks now ~~

[nomorethanhirtyonepotatoes]

Lyric Snippets Under the Cut

Second Child, Restless Child // The Oh Hellos

See, I was born a restless child And I could hear the world outside calling me And heaven knows how hard I tried But that devil whispered lies I believed ... You've got to go on, further than you've ever gone You've got to run far from all you've ever known

2. Icarus // Bastille

"Look who's digging their own grave" That is what they all say "You'll drink yourself to death" Look who makes their own bed Lies right down within it And what will you have left?

3. Ghost Towns // Radical Face

I seen more places than I can name And over time they all start to look the same But it ain't that truth we chase No, it's the promise of a better place But all this time, I been chasin' down a lie And I know it for what it is But it beats the alternatives So I'll take the lie

4. Jackrabbit // San Fermin

Everything you see is double Any way you go you lose When you're lost in the woods and Alone in the world too Another day older And another day we go, oh no Alone again with all these people

5. I Earn My Life // Lemon Demon

I earn my life, I earn my life I learned it from my father and I tell it to my wife Jesus Christ, don't tell me not to hurry I wouldn't be so worried if I wasn't always right Cause I earn my life, I earn my life I learned it from my father and my father never lied Jesus Christ, we better learn how to forage Utilities and mortgage are all that will survive

6. Conquest of Spaces // Woodkid

I'm ready to start the conquest of spaces Expanding between you and me Come with the night the science of fighting The forces of gravity

7. I Have Seen the Future // The Bravery

Raise a glass in salutation We drink to our annihilation Was and will just make me ill It is a brave new world And we are faster than pain We are dogs without a name We are marching soldiers off to claim The brave, brave, brave new world

8. Bartholomew // The Silent Comedy

Oh my God, please help me Waist deep in the river, can you hear my plea? He says "Son, you come like a beggar in the streets" "You might make it, boy, but by the skin of your teeth" "Might make it, boy, but by the skin of your teeth"

9. Dimitri Mendelev // Astronautalis

I dreamed up the maps Give me charcoal and the paper now We invent paths they cannot see And they're too scared t' walk Between my hands rests fifty-two plain old playing cards And I trapped God somewhere between The trump and the kind of hearts

10. I Followed Fires // Matthew and the Atlas

Now the low lakes have frozen Away from home I'll go When the first snow has fallen Away I'll go Give me to the ground I followed fires toward the sound Cold upon the mountain To which I'm bound, to which I'm bound

11. Exile Vilify // The National

You've got sucker's luck Have you given up? Does it feel like a trial? Does it trouble your mind the way you trouble mine? Does it feel like a trial? Did you fall for the same empty answers again?

12. Somebody to Die For // Hurts

I could drag you from the ocean I could pull you from the fire When you're standing in the shadows I could open up the sky I could give you my devotion Until the end of time And you will never be forgotten

13. My Silver Lining // First Aid Kit

I don't know if I'm scared of dying But I'm scared of living too fast, too slow Regret, remorse, hold on, oh no I've got to go There’s no starting over No new beginnings time races on And you've just gotta keep on keeping on

14. Seven Nights, Seven Days // The Fratellis

Oh my darlin' I'll go down and commune And tell one hundred souls There's a fire on the moon I'll be over the line, I'll be under the spell I'll be the comeback kid On his way home from hell

15. Dirty // Grandson

Do you have enough love in your heart To go and get your hands dirty? It isn't that much, but it's a good start So go and get your hands dirty Do you love your neighbor? Is it in your nature? Do you love a sunset? Aren't you fed up yet?

16. Last Man Standing // People in Planes

I am the last man stand survivor I'll be the last man home Yeah I'm the last man stand survivor I'll be the last man home

17. Lost, Scared and Tired // Jared & The Mill

But they say, "Boy, you're looking skinny Should you really go this hard? You're doing it for nothin' These risky milles you're truckin' Are crazy as they are far" ... But I'm strung out and foregone, I feel all alone And the winding of the river makes me wanna Find my way back home, my way back home

18. Black Eyes // Radical Face

And I said: "This life ain’t no love song" While I marched on blindly And my knuckles dragged across the walls And the birds up there mock me and the scenery’s turned wicked And your name is trapped beneath my tongue All of the roads are one now, each choice is the same All the roads, they are one now, each choice is the same I won’t show my hands now, I know this ain’t a game All the roads, they are one now, each choice is…

19. The Balancer's Eye // Lord Huron

Heaven never ever heard a word I said I’ve cried enough to raise the dead “Everything comes and goes,” they say Here tomorrow, gone today Heaven won’t let me in, I don’t know why No one ever loved half as much as I Everyone’s a sinner in the balancer’s eye I’ve prayed enough, I rolled the dice Anyone’s luck can turn, I’ve heard Not soon enough, I gave my word

20. That's Okay // The Hush Sound

You want to go back to where you felt safe To hear your brother's laughter, see your mother's face Your childhood home is just powder-white bones And you'll never find your way back And when you're gone, will they say your name? And when you're gone, will they love you the same? If not, that's okay

21. Comes and Goes in Waves // Greg Laswell

This is for the ones who stand For the ones who try again For the ones who need a hand For the ones that think they can

22. In the Heat of the Moment // Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds

They tell me you've touched the face of God At the sound of the rope cracking on your neck They tell me you'd never give it up Like the song that was soul singing in your head So, honey, please, don't let go Or you'll fall into the dead of night So, honey, please, don't let go You better learn to fly 'Cause they're gonna point you up at the sky

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Fic Titles Starting With A/An (2) Masterlist

part one

A Bouquet of Love (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Phil is a florist sick of his usual schedule. When a new bakery opens across the street, the new baker brings everything he’s ever wanted and more to his life.

A Guide To Breaking Boundaries (ao3) - basicallymonsters

Summary: A collection of moments where Dan and Phil were more than friends, and were shitty at doing anything about it.

Air Hockey (ao3) - philsmeatylegss

Summary: Christmas fic where neko!dan, who has a horrific past, faces his greatest challenge yet: meeting his fiancé’s family…

A Kiss in the Tower (ao3) - upintwenty

Summary: Who would have expected these two to fall for each other?

All Because of Him (ao3) - Howellsprincess

Summary: Someone leaves a baby at Dan and Phil’s flat. Dan doesn’t know what to do with a baby, he can barely take care of himself.

All Was Golden When Day Met The Night - mairieuxes

Summary: Soulmates AU where everything is in black and white until you finally meet that person. Same goes for Dan and Phil.They were just hanging around; then they fell in love. And they didn’t know why, but they couldn’t get out.

A Map of My Heart and Mind (ao3) - Cadensaurus (Jira)

Summary: Dan and Phil get drunk and wake up married in Vegas, the day after Dan’s 25th birthday. Dan thinks they could just get it annulled but Dan knows what marriage means to Phil, how important it is, and he wonders if they can just fake it for a year so it’s not a total waste and then divorce. Of course, a year is a long time to pretend to be married and things can always change…

An Alternative Bahamas Incident (ao3) - Do_it_with_the_Howell_Lesters

Summary: This fic is a re-write of one of our favorite fics, The Bahamas Incident. It was written almost two years ago now and we have improved in our writing since then. So as a little experiment we decided to re-write it. So we hope you like it!

Phil is set to be the best man at his brother’s wedding, but his mother insists on him bringing a real date. So obviously he asks Dan to be his fake boyfriend for the week. But can Phil’s heart really take that? Can Dan’s?

And if anyone asks, you’re my best friend. (ao3) - lovekilla

Summary: Dan Howell suppressed how he felt for years. In a drunken stupor, he lets his feelings act before his mind and finds himself in an agreement that he wasn’t sure if he completely liked. If it made Phil happy, though, he’d continue on. It got him kissed, got him off, but it didn’t get him loved. It stung, but in the heat of the moment, when their lips parted, Dan could only nod as Phil said, “And if anyone asks, you’re just my best friend.”

or

In which Phil gets a girlfriend, Dan is jealous, then Phil is sexually frustrated, so Dan gets him off.

A New Blue (ao3) - watergator

Summary: The build up to when Dan meets Phil, and Dan is questioning his sexuality.

a night to remember (ao3) - grievingwarwidow

Summary: roxie, who prefers the label exotic performer over stripper, is a star amongst people who are out when the sun goes down. who better for a close-minded phil who has despised what he labels as lowlifes to suddenly obsess over than Roxie himself?

aka the one where phil gets pathetically hung up on dan, better known as roxie and is desperate to get to know him better.

A Nun and A Priest: You Get Me Closer to God (ao3) - Spring_Haze

Summary: When Dan dresses up as a sexy nun for Halloween in America, he finds himself longing for a sexy priest.

An Unusual Pack (ao3) - Do_it_with_the_Howell_Lesters

Summary: In a world where supernatural creatures exist, outcasts Dan and Phil find themselves forming an unlikely pack of two to survive in their world.

Anything But Astounding (ao3) - amongst

Summary: Being ordinary is boring when everyone around you is amazing.

Anywhere I Lay My Head (I Will Call My Home) - butterflyphil

Summary: After all these years, there are still things that Phil can only say to Dan when he’s asleep. They don’t need saying, really, because Dan knows. But sometimes Phil feels the need to get the words out into the open, even if he is the only one who hears them.

A Perfect Pair (ao3) - husbants

Summary: Dan, a struggling actor who works retail by day, and Phil, an ex-YouTuber-turned-porn-star, end up matched together on the new reality show, Perfect Pair.

A Reset Of Intent (ao3) - iihappydaysii

Summary: Dan might be dying. It’s unclear at this point, but, in any case, he’s stuck going stir crazy in a hospital room for the time being. Phil is a pastor at a local church who got a phone call about visiting someone’s lonely grandson. It shouldn’t work between them, but it does. A little too well for a maybe-dying atheist and a maybe-not-all-that-straight man of God.

A Right Wrong Number (ao3) - husbants

Summary: Dan texts the wrong number after going on a date. Lucky for him, the wrong number is a kind man named Phil. And then they keep texting.

A Single Orange Rose - phan-panda

Summary: Phil wonders who keeps sending him a bouquet of orange roses each week, but when he finally meets up with the mysterious admirer will it change things forever?

A Strange Mirror (ao3) - glowingatmosphere

Summary: Dan felt safe escaping to the attic of his grandma’s house, until he found a strange mirror with a strange man trapped inside. The man refuses to reveal the details of his entrapment, but Dan’s feelings urge him to solve the mystery even if it’s the last thing he does.

[seikotakai]

Thoughts on Tekken 8 demo (so far)

>I'm enjoying it so far. I already got that warrior rank by destroying everyone with my boy Jin Kazama. Also I am so glad Bandai Namco finally added vs CPU as an option (which they should've done years ago smh, but better now than never I guess). I always spent most of my time playing Soul Calibur 6 just playing as my favorite characters or customizations in the vs CPU mode. The vs CPU really does add replay value to the game (playing as your favorite characters, wanting to see your favorite characters's special intros with the other characters in the roster which is epic). Glad they're bringing back Tekken Ball as well. Oh maybe some more single player content would be great too (like idk bring back survival mode, time attack, or team battle).

>Still hoping Tekken 6 gets retconned (ex. jin got brainwashed by azazel like how nina got brainwashed by shrek in tekken 3) and Kazuya does not fucking die.（πーπ）

>I'm actually so happy Kazuya defeated Jin in the first chapter. Sure eventually of course at the end of the game Jin Kazama will get stronger and beat him in a rematch. But like...after watching every single mortal kombat villain (except Shao Kahn, Shang Tsung, and the bug bitch who killed Mileena) being pathetic jokes who get their asses kicked every 5 seconds. It's refreshing to me seeing Kazuya finally be a threat instead of being like Team Rocket or FANG from Street Fighter V's story mode. *shudders* (oh and also people on youtube comments won't complain about "jIn AlWaYs WiNs" because he lost to kaz here and he also lost to both hwoarang and miguel).

>can't put kazuya in the cute little flower booba shirt because no customization in demo. ( ╥ω╥ ) on the bright side, the main menu literally lets you stare at kazuya's sexy tits and sexy dilf body in general in multiple directions. beautiful.

>the arcade quest was neat too, at least the avatar characters are kind of cute (they are not ugly and shit as the stupid fucking Sportsmates from Nintendo Switch Sports who tried to replace the miis). I had fun kicking everyone's asses and I cheered when Kazuya won that tournament and kicked someone's ass.

>Jin's special intros with some characters like Xiaoyu are cute. Too bad you cannot fight Hwoarang in the demo so you cannot get his and Asuka has no special intro with him for some stupid reason.

>there's also some hope that maybe some of the side characters will be relevant in this game and get to shine (keyword maybe...knowing every game since tekken 6, they will probably drop the ball). it was neat seeing everyone joining the tournament in the intro chapter including lili, paul, and steve. i mean in tekken bloodline king gets to do some cool shit and paul was not a joke that time.

>Fighting and almost losing to Panda made me more upset Anna is not in this game come on now. I know Bandai Namco obviously lowkey hates Bruce Irvin because they replaced him twice now. First he was replaced by Bryan in Tekken 3 (don't worry Bryan ily problematic babygirl) and then Josie in Tekken 7. But man, why can't either of Kazuya's bodyguards be in this game or Tekken 7 at launch (although to be fair, Eddy is not in Tekken 8 either so). Fucking make Kuma an alternate costume of Panda, then BRING BACK ANNA! We gotta have both Nina and Anna, man! At least Kazuya still has the greedy coffee CEO lady Azucena by his side tho. She knows Kazuya will make her coffee sell more $$$ and Kazuya looks hot.

>So you can make your own ghost data now or something...okay.

>I adore the voice acting in this game so far, especially Isshin Chiba's amazing work as Jin Kazama as usual. I love listening to his voice, it's so badass and yet it's also a quality asmr voice. Masanori Shinohara also does wonders as Kazuya Mishima.

Still not too sure whether to buy this game or not (yet)...but I'm a little more optimistic now.