#but shes not a baby now shes a tweenager

[aceyanaheim]

the Fiona and Debbie parallels of teting a boy they like tho kadshfkjasf

[neverwalka1one]

Magnus 24 - where we start at Baby (demonic).

Gwen? Gwen, did Alice put you up to this? Gwen? Please don't go back to hanging around the externals Gwen you're going to get et.

Lena is not buying this change of heart. She's gonna feed you to the Bonzo, you do know that, right? You're definitely getting eaten.

The health visitor isn't concerned about the mom's lack of memory about the pregnancy and delivery, huh? Not at all? Shouldn't be any record of this bit either? Huh. That's not sus at all.

Also nothing good has ever come of a nanny cam plz stop.

'Big Black Orbs' is something that belongs in a tweenager's first attempt at fanfic, not from a description of a baby, no ma'am that's not cute.

Neither is a 'long curly tongue' ma'am have you forgotten what human looks like? MA'AM?

Oh that nice girl Celia is being helpful, is she? IS SHE NOW?

Hey babe why are your baby's teeth sharp? How is this in any way normal to you?

Health inspector is deeply sus, is it Needles? Is NEEDLES your health inspector?

Um. I don't have a kid, but I'm pretty sure at no point should blood be involved in feeding, just throwing it out there.

Oh goody, baby background noises, they're absolutely unholy, thanks, I hate it.

No wait, I hate the squish noises more, please stop with the squish noises.

I TAKE IT BACK THE CRUNCH NOISES ARE THE WORST

Alice, raising objections right in front of the salad computers? Getting sloppy there. Not that I'm complaining about you guys staying out of the break room this week, that's fine.

Sam, hun, the tape recorders bite, they can definitely be murderous.

Hey, Celia supporting Alice, for the... win? IDK. Also seems sus, given she's the one egging Sam on.

Sam, honey, if you're not prepared to deal with scary murderous creatures, maybe, IDK, stop going to the Scary Murderous Creature Places? On purpose? For real?

Basira as a teacher. Uh-huh. That's a move.

They named their fake kid Humphrey. Oh god.

'I’ve always held the opinion that the world would be a better place if everyone just thought more.' Says the gal who used logic to escape a near-apocalypse. Sounds right.

God these two are the worst interviewers, the Ceaseless Watcher wants nothing to do with them.

[the-dream-team]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love! ❤️

Omg hello Fel, my dear <3 I was actually just rereading some of my old stuff to help get through some writers block with new stuff (originals! not fanfic!), so perfect timing!

Large Heart, Tiny Photographs

My love letter to all the side characters who contributed photos to Hagrid's album he gifted to Harry in Sorcerer's Stone :') All my favorite lines I've ever written are in these vignettes. Molly and Remus's chapters are especially dear to me and I'm just very proud with how this fic turned out! It's depressing as shit... You're going to suffer, but you're going to be happy about it! Y'know the vibes

2. Meggi’s Magical Ice Cream

I wrote this one-shot as a way to basically vent about my own ice cream shop job in college that I hated with a fiery passion! This is the only fic in which I've fully written Lily as a self-insert. She is me. I am her. This fic is my diary. The only difference between us is the blossoming romance with the sandwich shop boy (I already had my own sandwich shop boy at home, thank you very much!!)

3. Snowflakes

At 12 years old, tweenage Dylan went on a family ski trip and her already fanfic-riddled brain said "jily should be here." And thus, Snowflakes was born. This is my baby. It's completely absurd and plagued by awful 2000s tropes, but I love it dearly. In a desperate attempt to remain canon-compliant, I ended it with a crazy plot twist that bothered me so much it forced me to return to fandom almost a decade later to write a sequel, and without that, I wouldn't have started writing again! Or met many dear friends! So thanks baby Dylan!

4. Who Knows Who Cares

After reading Beach Read by Emily Henry for the first time, I decided to try my hand at proper contemp romcom banter, but leaning more YA. As someone whose adolescence was often haunted by her repressed bisexuality, I wanted to write a story about acceptance and I think it turned out well! I enjoy rereading it, at least hahaha and the readers who reach out to let me know they feel seen by Lily's story make me so grateful <3

5. What I Would Do

HAD TO INCLUDE SOME FEM!JILY FOR YOU, FEL!! Some people think that WKWC was influenced by my own experiences, but in reality I put way more of myself in this little two-shot! It's cute and fluffy and features a much more pleasant side of ice cream than MMIC does lol Also, Fem!Jily February was the first time I participated in a fandom event of any kind and it was so magical and there were so many wonderful fics that year, I could cry just thinking back on it now :')

[pyreofsunflowers]

jupiter family media taste hcs

this is stupid but idrc. my blog.

David listens to like, classic 90s rock. Nirvana, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Radiohead, Smashing Pumpkins - that whole lot. He also really likes classic, OG 80s metal (metallica, judas priest, dio, etc.). He developed his music taste from 95 to 99 and never really got into stuff after that. Hes a grumpy old man about his music and will never stray from his ol reliable stack of dusty CDs. Where he's a grandpa about his music though, this man will watch basically any movie that comes out and say "that was pretty good" in his opinion cinema peaked with 2001 a Space Odyssey and Saving Private Ryan. Hal tried to show him Akira or Ghost in the Shell and he got wayyyyyy confused. He doesn't really watch TV other than blankly staring at history channel and animal planet "documentaries" and manly man reality TV shows when there's nothing better to do

Hal has a really eclectic collection of music that is constantly changing. However the most common thread of music he likes is 80s New Wave and synth - The Smiths, The Cure, Depeche Mode, Joy Division, Duran Duran. That kinda stuff. However his playlist went on to be full of vocaloid songs, neo-synthwave, break core and he got into more experimental stuff as he got older (even then he never fully dug deep, just started listening to Bjork and Kate Bush yk?) He also loves soundtracks and *loves* lofi hip hop. We already basically know Hal's taste in movies/tv so instead im gonna say his favorite anime movie is Akira, his favorite non-anime movie is Brazil and if you ask him his favorite anime he'll go on and on and on about a super obscure mecha anime from the 80s. I think hes a massive cinephile and huge nerd about his movies and shows but it's literally only for anime and sci fi and occasionally action stuff. Ask him about the complexities of Apocalypse Now or the symbolism in Blue Velvet and he'll just give you a blank stare.

Sunny ended up with like. The weirdest combination of her parents tastes. She LOVESSSSS vocaloid and LOVESSSS anime but in a tweenager in the mid 2010s way you know. This girl was in the Black Butler, Attack on Titan, Fairy Tale, Soul Eater TRENCHES. She also got into a lot of alt music but it was. you know. Fall Out Boy and Panic at the Disco and baby's first alt band stuff. What a crazy lil gal.

Raiden was a nu-metal kid big time. He was always bumping Korn and Slipknot and System of a Down. He was also really into 90s industrial like Rammstein, Nine Inch Nails, and KMFDM. He kinda grew out of this but not really, just mellowed out and got into more 'mainstream' alt like Radiohead and Elliot Smith. As we know, Raiden is a canonical filmbro (getting into fights with random women about pointless details in movies). I think he lovessssss neo noir and crime thrillers. Anything dark and gritty he just adores. Taxi Driver, Fight Club, Fallen Angels, Clockwork Orange, Crash, Prisoners <- whatevere this genre is he just eats that shit up. Hes a total snob, but not like. In a french film school way in a over 500 entries on letterboxd way. He's subscribed to like evry major movie review channel and it's impossible to take him out to any kinoplex because he just starts ranting on the state of modern cinema. He still maintains this snobbery and its only gotten worse lmao

[thespianinthebackcorner]

this is your PSA to go find that stuffie friend someone gave to you as a baby that's now sitting in your closet and put it back on your bed. They were there at the beginning and they deserve to see you happy. And even if you're not happy rn they can help with that. They've seen you worse, you can trust them. That's what they're for.

Here, I'll show you mine, because I have one too.

This is Goldie, she's my beautiful best girl and she got given to me when I was a baby. I confined her to my closet in my tweenage years, though, but eventually I took her back out and she's been some great moral support.

You can share your childhood friends with me too if you like. 💛

[felyas-stuff]

GUYS I watched the «TMNT: Mutant Mayhem» trailer and IT WAS SO GOOD OMG I’ve already wrote a post about it in my native language, but here I am making another post about my thoughts on the trailer just to let absolutely EVERYONE know how much I like this upcoming movie!!! First of all - the visuals for this film look INCREDIBLE!!! Everything looks like an actual painting, you can literally take a screenshot you like, print it, and place it into frame - and I’m telling you, it’ll look like a fancy picture on your wall!

Now, secondly…*inhales* AAAAAA LOOK AT DONNIIIIEEEE, baby boy baby, my son, my little meow meow, HE’S SO CUTE!!! I think in this iteration of turtles Donnie is actually the youngest…SO I’M GONNA PROTECT HIM AT ALL COSTS he’s way to precious to get any hate from this fandom!! 😭💖💖💖

Other designs look good as well, from the looks of it the creators were going for a mix between 1987 and ROTTMNT…which looks pretty cool imo! I also think we should be calling this iteration «Tweenage Mutant Ninja Turtles» - because can you really look at these dorks and tell me they’re 15?? They’re so obviously 13-14, so their blorbo designs with big goofy eyes, glasses, and braces really suit them! Also I know that many certain people don’t like Mutant Mayhem April (*cough* I wonder why *cough*) but, personally - I think she looks very cute as well! Sure, she looks shorter and chubbier, but I get 1987 April vibes from her…again, as I was saying earlier - it’s like this movie is a mix of ‘87 & Rise! very nice :3

As for the other stuff…I’m gonna be honest - not a fan of the jokes in this movie so far…but! I allways appreciate story first, designs and jokes second, so if the story is gonna be any good (and from how many villains and side characters we see in promos - it’s at least gonna be entertaining 😳😳😳) - I’m definitely checking this out in cinema with my mom and/or friends!! And, of course - I absolutely WILL draw some fanarts, because as I was saying I LOVE THIS VERSION OF DONATELLO!!!

[jaaklops]

nearly done with writing my day 3/4 fic you guys. im struggling and losing sleep but still pushing through all for you (and them). here is and excerpt of the fruit of my labor

—

Robin finds herself at the Wheeler’s doorstep, finger hovering over the doorbell as she contemplates whether she’s really going to do this or not. 

Yes, she is. She has to.

She rings the doorbell. 

Thirty seconds later, Mrs. Wheeler opens up the door, wearing her usual welcoming smile. Robin returns the gesture, albeit awkwardly. “Well, hello Robin! I didn’t expect to see you around here anytime soon, what with you being in California and all. How is it down there? Fun, I assume.”

“It’s, uh, yeah, it’s been good. Awesome. Say, do you know Nancy’s number? She’s in… Boston, right? Emerson? I really only remember that ‘cause she talked about it, like, all the time. I’m sorry, I’m getting off track here. What’s Nancy’s number?”

Mrs. Wheeler stares at her for a moment. Robin assumes that she’s trying to process everything she just said. 

“Well, you don’t really need to call her, since she’s—”

“Hey, mom? Do you know where the—”

Robin leans to the right to see none other than Nancy herself at the foot of the stairs, hand on the railing. It reminds her a little bit of a rom-com. 

“Robin?”

“Nancy,” she says through a sigh. Mrs. Wheeler steps to the side to let her in. Robin meets her in the middle and pulls her into a tight hug. 

“I’ve missed you,” Nancy mumbles into her shoulder. Robin feels herself warming up at the thought of Nancy thinking about her and missing her. 

It takes a moment for Robin to respond. “I missed you too, Nance,” she finally mumbles. She realizes that the hug has been going on for a moment too long. She pulls away and quickly loosens her grip. “How’s… how’s Boston? How’s Emerson treating you?”

Nancy’s hands fall to her side. “It’s… okay. I mean, it’s… yeah, it’s okay.” She nods. “How’s California?”

“It’s good. Really good, actually. Thanks.” 

Nancy smiles. “Would, would you like something to drink? Or something?”

“Uh… something? Nothing. I already ate,” Robin lies. If she ate anything now, it’d probably shoot right back up. She’s sure nobody would like that. “Can we just talk?” She asks, lowering her voice. “There’s, ah, something I need to show you.” Her sweaty hands find the folded note in her right pocket.

Nancy looks at her, confused, but slowly nods. “Yeah, okay. Do you want to go up to my room? To… talk?”

“Yep,” Robin replies, popping the ‘p’. “Let’s… yeah.” She follows Nancy up to her room and sits on the chair at her vanity. It’s baby pink, a bit worn, and a bit too small for Robin but she takes it anyways as she pulls the note from her pocket. It becomes less and less bearable the longer she holds it. 

Robin wonders what had to happen for it all to end up like this. Is this going to be one of her final moments before she’s hauled off to prison? She can’t survive in prison. She’s too easy to bully. She knows that from her years in middle school when people bullied her for her freckles. And her height. And ‘being a teacher’s pet’. And just about anything else they could get their grubby little tweenager hands on. Robin frowns at the memory and refocuses.

She looks at Nancy, who’s looking at the note. “What’s that?”

“Someone knows,” Robin blurts in response.

Nancy’s face morphs into one of fear. “What?”

[stevishabitat]

Lol, yes!

Although Midnight has not birthed any kittens (she is spayed), she has very successfully fostered a litter of just-weaned babies once (who were all adopted out), and a pair of singletons (which we kept). the singletons are now nine and ten months old.

As parent to an 11yo human kiddo, I relate to Midnight and her tweenage babies so much. They act all grown and independent, but sometimes need mama's help to fall asleep. And sometimes they get so rowdy she just has to sit between them, or on them.

Sometimes Midnight and I shut the bedroom door and just have grown-up time together. And she reminds me that self-care is an important part of parenting. And honestly, she's much better at it than I am.

She's possibly the best roommate I've ever had. I do wish she could help out more with chores though....

I know most people see their pets as their children but my cat is my roommate. The fact that she's an adult is so much funnier to me. She's had a rich, troubled kitty life, being a disabled homeless girl who got pregnant and was taken into a shelter and lived as a teenage mom raising her five kids. Watched her babies grow up, find themselves in adulthood and move on to their new families. A young empty nester, no husband, no property, no credit, no job, and social anxiety. She finally finds a roommate willing to pay rent, a young lesbian she can trust and become friends with. Except she has to deal with me baby talking her and scheduling her meals and giving her unwanted kisses on her little soft kitty head

[tomboy014]

How Maddie (the cat) Makes Vlad Masters a Better Person

a.k.a. This Man Will Have Character Growth Even if it Kills Me

I feel like Maddie, the cat, is the first thing that Vlad has ever genuinely (rather than obsessively) cared about.  He watches TV with her, talks to her, praises her, and every time we see that cat on screen, she’s a happy cat.  So, it seems that Vlad is a responsible pet owner at the very least.  It’s the first thing besides himself that he’s ever had to take care of, and more importantly, wants to take care of.  And a lot of couples invest in a pet before they commit to having kids together, so here’s how I think Maddie, the cat, can cause Vlad to become a better person overall.

It’s a typical day in Amity Park except Dani is back in town.  The reason why isn’t especially important, but Vlad finds out and fights Danny who just wants to keep his “cousin” safe and away from Vlad.  Maybe they’re close to Vlad’s house, maybe she’d gotten outside, but during the fight, Maddie (the cat) comes into view.  Danny is busting a gut to find out that Vlad caved and got a lonely guy cat, while Vlad is simultaneously embarrassed and concerned.  Ghost fights are dangerous; he doesn’t want her getting hit by a stray blast.  But Dani?  Despite her apparent age, she’s technically only months old, and there is a cute, fluffy kitty right there.  Like any small child, Dani rushed forward to pet the kitty, and Maddie, like any cat being rushed by a small grabby, child, runs to Vlad who scoops her up in his arms.

“Is that your cat?”

“Why... yes.  Yes, it is.  Would you like to pet the nice kitty?”

Vlad is fully aware that he’s giving off creepy-man-in-a-van vibes but doesn’t care and uses Maddie to lure Dani back to his Manor.  There’s nothing Danny can do about it; Danielle’s a willing participant, and just to make sure Danny can’t stop him, Vlad activates the house’s ghost shield once he and Dani are inside.  Danny is stuck outside, helpless to do anything.  As soon as Danny flies off, Vlad drops the shield.  Danielle would have bolted as soon as she noticed she was trapped if she wasn’t so distracted by the cat.  Vlad needs to play his cards very carefully to convince her to stay.

Meanwhile, Danny is freaking the fuck out!  Vlad has Dani!  Who knows what kind of sick, twisted experiments he has planned for her this time?!  No one besides himself, Sam, Tucker and Val even know she exists, so if she’s killed or disappears, no one will ever know.  He needs to do something, anything, and he needs to do it fast.  Something that’ll keep her safe the same way he and Vlad hold each other’s secret identities over their heads.  It’s a hell of a gamble, and it could end up even more dangerous for Dani if things go wrong, but he’s panicking, and it’s the fastest way to make sure she’s known, and it’s the only idea his panic-stricken brain can come up with right now.

 He tells his parents.  After all, it’s crazy that Vlad’s a dad now, right?

As fast as Jack can drive them over, and Jack and Maddie are kicking down Vlad’s door (with Danny in tow), boxes of baby clothes in hand, to congratulate Vlad.  They didn’t even know he had a girlfriend, let alone that they were expecting!  But instead of a newborn, they see a tweenage Dani trying to grab the cat that just dove under the couch.  Vlad, thankfully, is a much better liar than Danny and cobbles together a story about an ex-girlfriend, a hidden pregnancy, and the lawyer who found Vlad after her death to take custody of their daughter.  Meet Danielle Masters. 

Suddenly, the GAV full of baby clothes and gear they pulled from storage is no longer appropriate, but Maddie and Jack are still excited to meet her.  They just can’t believe that his ex never told him he had a daughter, but they can’t fault Vlad for not being involved in her life.  Until a few months ago, it was like she never existed.

They try to get to know her, but it’s like talking to a brick wall.  They ask to see her room, but it doesn’t say much either.  Vlad had stripped it after Dani left the first time, so all that’s really left is a twin-size bed in green and gold like the rest of the house.  But she’s not a Packer’s fan, she’s not a space fan like Vlad wanted, there’s nothing to indicate that a little girl ever lived here at all.

So, Maddie kneels down and asks, “What sort of things do you like?”

“Maddie!  That’s our cat!”

The name gets a lot of side eye from human Maddie, but thankfully, he’s had that “sister’s cat” excuse in his back pocket for a while now. 

“Just... haven’t gotten around to changing the name.”

Danny glibly suggests, “How about Fruit Loop?”

“Nah.”  Dani says, “I like Corn Flakes better.”

The Fenton’s and Dani run through different cereals for name ideas, because why not?  It’s not like they could give his cat a normal name.  The closest one to normal, Marshmallow, was suggested by Jack, so Vlad immediately shuts it down. 

Finally, Vlad shouts, “Cheerio!  If it must be a cereal, then Cheerio.”

“That’s a cute name for a cat!” Maddie says.  If Maddie likes it, then it’s the cat’s new name. 

The next day, the Fenton’s return with boxes of Jazz and Danny’s old clothes for Danielle along with some new bedding and the biggest, fluffiest comforter ever covered in kitty-cats and yarn balls.  It’s the first thing Dani’s ever been given based on what she likes and not what she’s supposed to like.  She loves it!

Somewhere between the store and Masters’ manor, Jack has let the entire town know that Mayor Masters has a daughter.  Reporters beat down his door all day long trying to get the scoop.  Now that the public is aware of Dani, Vlad can’t do anything to her without causing a stir, and if she goes missing, there’ll be a massive manhunt for the mayor’s daughter.  Dani’s untouchable.  Still, it wasn’t a perfect plan.  After all, Vlad still has Dani in his custody, and the public bought his sob story about his made-up ex, but it’s a decent measure of protection.  And if she needs to, she can always run to Aunt Maddie and Uncle Jack.  Not Danny’s best plan, but it works.

It’s not a total loss on Vlad’s end, either.  Sure, he can’t do anything untoward to Dani without the risk of it making it to the press, but he has her.  Now that he’s a “dad,” his approval ratings as mayor have shot up.  If he can show Maddie he’s a better caretaker than Jack, she’ll be all the more inclined to bring Jazz and Danny to him once he gets Jack out of the picture.  He can still use this situation to his advantage.

But within a day, he discovered the one major flaw in his plan: he has no idea how to be a parent.

For the next few weeks, it’s just madness at the Masters’ residence.  Dani won’t eat any of the foods Vlad enjoys; it tastes like feet.  She won’t eat anything he cooks, so it’s a lot of take out and fast food, which he knows isn’t good for either of them.  She’s always controlled her own poor (in every sense of the word) diet and fights Vlad every change he’s trying to make to it.  She won’t eat a single vegetable, refuses to eat anything he cooks, and he knows she’s doing it just to be difficult since she has no problem eating anything the Fenton’s put in front of her.

She has no problem saying whatever she wants to the press just shy of giving away their halfa status.  Where did she live before?  The streets.  Who’s her mother?  Doesn’t have one.  Where does she go to school?  Doesn’t go.  It’s a constant PR nightmare. 

Some hastily forged paperwork and a few overshadowed officials later, and Vlad manages to get her enrolled in the top private school in the area.  She immediately starts acting out.  Guidance counselors and the principal are calling him at least once a week to discuss her behavior, missing assignments, and how far behind she is compared to her classmates.  At the very least, Danny managed to convince her that going to school was an important part of maintaining her human disguise.

Dani is miserable.  She’s always relied on her anonymity for protection, but now, she’s been thrown in the spotlight, a place she wants to be in a little as Vlad does.  She has to sit in school for hours listening to adults talk at her about things she has no clue about.  People with stupid cameras are always in her face.  She hates it!  And at home, Vlad still tries to bait her into the lab using Cheerio, but she figured out she can shake the treat bag, and Cheerio will bolt back upstairs.  She is NOT on speaking terms with Danny.  Vlad won’t let Val near the mansion.  And her new aunt and uncle just keep spewing things like “it’ll get better” and “give him a chance.”  At least they come with cookies, but if she has to be miserable then Vlad does too. 

Vlad, far from proving what a capable parent he is, has called the Fenton’s every day for advice.  He’s at his wit’s end and wondered more than once if getting rid of her would be worth the scandal.  He’s starting to think it would if it gets him his old life back.

Until the Guys in White show up.

They bumble their way through Amity Park, as usual, still unable to even capture the Box Ghost.  But while the GIW are incompetent, Dani is overconfident and inexperienced.  She’s captured by Agents O and K, so excited to finally have a test subject for their questionable and painful experiments.  She’s terrified, begging to be let go.  She’s just a little girl, but they ignore her and throw her in the back of one of their vans.

Vlad.  Goes.  APE SHIT.

Vlad’s full fury descends upon the GIW, and he cuts a bloody swath through them, nearly taking out a city block, the idea of collateral damage gone out the window.  Finally, he stomps through the wreckage, tears the back off the van, pulls a terrified Dani into his arms, and they vanish.

The entire flight home, Dani still in his arms, they’re silent.  Without a word, he deposits her into her bedroom and retreats into the lab as they both try to process what just happened. 

There was no reason for him to do what he did.  She was disposable.  Expendable.  A flawed creation he’d had no problem writing off before.  He gained nothing by saving her.  He’d just been contemplating getting rid of her.  Now, he’d just made himself a greater target for the GIW.  So why had he done it?  Why?  Why?  Why?  Why?  Why?

Why?

Things are still quiet at breakfast, but Dani put her dishes in the sink and went to school without a fuss.  She ate dinner without a fight.  For the next few days, it’s tense, but it’s calm.  Until one night, Dani started talking at the dinner table, timidly at first, but she shared some fact or tidbit that had caught her interest at school that day.  It was nothing that Daniel had ever been interested in; honestly, it wasn’t even something he hadn’t known before, and didn’t elicit much more than an “Oh, really?”  What was he supposed to say?  But she did the same thing again the next night, and the next, so he decides to reciprocate and tell her about some of the more innocuous things that happened at the office.  A meeting with the department heads.  Quarterly sales results.  It’s met with little more than a shrug and an “okay” or “cool,” but he supposes it’s something. 

Things carry on like this until the night Dani shares a fact so bizarre it can’t possibly be true, but Becky from science class swears that it is.  Balderdash!  They’re going to his personal library right now to look it up.  And, of course, Vlad is right.  After all, what did Becky from science class know?  But it leads them down a rabbit hole of tangents and different subjects until they get too close to one that would require an explanation of the birds of the bees and Vlad is certainly not ready for that conversation, so stop bothering him and do your homework or something.  And she does.

It's not much, but it’s the first time they’ve connected, really connected, and shared something, even if it was just a shared disdain of that know-it-all Becky.  It was a start, and from there, it was easier to talk to her.  She’d share something she’d learned at school; they’d pour through books in his library learning more about it.  Meals started to become not just tolerable but pleasant and graduated up to nutritious, if still simple, foods.  The two of them start becoming a regular fixture at the local library to expand into new subjects.  There was a disappointing lack of books on dinosaurs in Vlad’s personal collection.  It could almost be said that they’re starting to enjoy each other’s company.  Almost.  As they spend more and more time with each other, Vlad is starting to see Dani for who she is rather than Danny’s shadow.  

She’s loves to learn and soaks up knowledge like a sponge with a mind for chemistry and science like few he’s ever seen.  However, she is no longer allowed to do experiments without adult supervision, and no, the vultures do not count!  After they put the kitchen fire out, he got Danielle her own lab coat, goggles, and a step stool down in the lab.  She also got a very long lecture on proper lab safety.

She has a sharp wit and is a master of sarcasm.  He didn’t yet trust Ms. Gray to babysit without knowing just how much she knew, so he’d been forced to drag Danielle to a company function.  But he’d rather enjoyed watching her tear into Mrs. Henderson, especially after all the unsolicited parenting advice she’d been bombarding him with.  He should bring her to more company functions. 

As for Dani, she’s got three new grandpas who’ll ramble on all day if you let them.  Just never take them at their word.  She learned that the hard way the vultures are not reliable sources after she got an F on her history paper.  And she’s got “Uncle” Skulker teaching her how to hunt.  She’s caught Vlad more than once in one of their traps.  After all, his only rule was no trapping the cat.  Like she’d do that to Cheerio, but Vlad is fair game.  From there, Vlad and Skulker start training her to fight.  Vlad teaches her to dance to prepare for future company functions.  He said it’s “good publicity.”

Vlad eventually relaxes a bit and even lets Valerie come over and babysit her on occasion.  She doesn’t really need it, but it lets Val come over and hang out.  Last time, they made a pillow fort and watched Jurassic Park.  She could totally make her own Jurassic Park.  Vlad said it was a bad idea and even got Skulker to come over to try and talk sense to her, but instead it turned into a lesson on zoo design, enclosure sizing and animal enrichment.  So yeah, she’s gonna make her own Jurassic Park.  She even got Vlad to let the pillow fort stay up for three days after she used the puppy-dog eyes Val taught her.

And before Vlad knows it, two years have passed.  She’s doing well in school, has friends, and has started going by “Ellie,” though he’s not sure how he feels about that.  And sure, maybe there’s occasionally some small, infinitesimal bit of pride he feels whenever he catches Ellie copying his mannerisms.  They still have the occasional spat, but nothing as bad their first month.

Ellie’s room has since been fully decorated and is covered with posters, books, plushies and whatever else has caught her interest.  She’s made it hers.  Though the condition she keeps it in is a constant point of contention.  How a child that small makes a mess that large is a mystery he’ll never figure out, let alone how it seems to follow her throughout the house.

It’s been ages since he’s tried to coerce Danny into being his son and even longer since he’s tried to destroy Jack.  Parenting is exhausting, and while he is by no means a great parent, he’s gotten better.  He begrudgingly accepted Jack’s “Daddy-Daughter Bonding for Dummies,” but he’s read it.  He definitely took Maddie up on her offer to have “the talk” with Ellie once she hit puberty.  They still both tore into Vlad about curfews and sleep schedules when they saw Ellie out past midnight.  He’s still not going to give her a curfew; it’s asinine.  He just told her to phase in invisibly if he’s got late night company again.

He’s even been dating Harriet Chin.  She’d been reduced to writing fluff pieces for a small paper after losing her job with the Milwaukee Journal, but she’s determined to claw her way back up to the top.  And for her, that meant getting an interview with Vlad about his daughter.  He couldn’t help but admire her drive and ambition, and she kept him on his toes during their interview.  It wasn’t long until he offered her a position at Dalv and not long after that they started dating.  He’s not sure how far the relationship will go.  After all, he’s not trusting enough to tell her any of his secrets just yet (but she figured out he was Plasmius a while ago).  It’s been nice.

Plus, she hates Jack and that’s always a plus in his book. 

It’s far from the perfect family he’d envisioned for himself all those years ago, but it’s his, and he’d be remiss if he didn’t admit that for all is strangeness and imperfections, he loves it.  This is the happiest he’s been in years.  And all because he finally caved and got a lonely guy cat.

[itstheoneshot]

omg your bias is jonghyun? yayyyyyyyyyy! how many fanfics of him did you make in your life and what was the first ever fanfic of him you’d ever made?

i lost count in mine, but i think it may had passed around 75-200 if you count the drafts and deleted posts. i started writing when i was 10/11. i was always a book kid, when i was 5, i told a bedtime story to my cousin where me and jonghyun got married (and yes, i got into shinee when i was 4 at exactly 9 years before… you know what) and i used to imagine myself as a man wearing a dress and jonghyun as a man wearing a suit, but then she would always correct me and say that i should be a girl wearing a dress. i used to get so mad at her for doing that. eventually, she realised and decided that i could be a boy marrying jonghyun in a dress. then we had babies (which i knew the birds and the bees from a young age) and turned into grandpas before dying at 100 years old.

funny thing is that jonghyun helped me realise that i was transgender and i was gay from as young as 4/5 so who wouldn’t had known that he would be very LGBTQ+ friendly after many people would say that he likes girls or hates transgender people. my cousin thought my stories of me and jonghyun getting married was so cute that i should turn it into a story where i could write so at the age of 8 (shortly after i came out as transgender), i made my first ever fanfiction in 2012. “kim jonghyun is my husband.” i’m thinking about recreating it for the anniversary this year. i remember making it somewhat in november/december. perhaps i should post it on my fanniversary, but i feel like it’s now inappropriate to do. i could explain it in the description, but i’m still very not sure.

also, i hope you’re doing well and you’re taking good care of yourself! you’re a great writer and i wish i could use my potential for the best, but it has been so hard since i finally passed my english gcse exams and don’t need to take it anymore. i really love making stories, especially about jonghyun. it has been one of the best ways to deal with difficult times since it makes me feel like i’m a little horny tweenager again. hopefully you’ll make a lot of jonghyun shit so i could get motivated and if there’s any fanfics/one shots you can suggest to me, do let me know and i’ll read in the speed of light.

love youuuuuuuuu! ❤️🥰😘😍🌈🌺

Awwww this is so sweet!

SHINee debuted just after I turned 14 and that’s when I got into them, I have nooo idea how many fics I’ve written over the years either hahaha!

Jjong was such a huge inspiration for me in discovering myself as trans too, his support for our community has always meant so much to me.

I’ll have a think of any others I can recommend! But I’ve got quite a few oneshots of him that you can find in my masterlist! And he’s definitely getting one of the days of Kinktober that I’m about to start too!

[deepinifhell]

Under the cut cause I have a lot of detectives and a lot of opinions.

Ainsley Rice

They had mainly one nanny who was very involved, but was not ready for them initially so the two of them got to grow together. They would have been a terrifying child to have for your first acoustic babysitting gig, not because they were bad. It's just...they were very enthusiastic and energetic and really wanted to get those jokes in.

Thankfully, the nanny eventually figured out that they could let Ainsley 'help' and this would keep the menacing down to a minimum.

I headcanon that their primary nanny was a supernatural species that just doesn't have a concept of gender by default and so, purely by accident, they gave Ainsley a lot of support that they otherwise would not have had even though Rebecca was accepting. They were very confused when they went to preschool and had to really contend with Gender Norms for the first time.

Louise Langford

Was a very serious little child, but not usually ill-behaved. She usually got to keep a primary nanny for a few years and they were typically replaced with one of the occasional fill ins so it was relatively stable for her. She almost never woke up to find a stranger in her house bossing her around.

The real issue is Louise is very smart and very stubborn, so she was one of those kids who came up with surprisingly good points and uncomfortably accurate insights and the nanny could not use their magic powers to avoid these confrontations.

Lauren Jenkins

Lauren definitely got a lot of rotation in nannies. I feel like there were 2 or 3 nannies at any given time who rotated semi-regularly because Lauren did not make it easy. The one who did the best was definitely one of the only human nannies who was officially deployed to the Wayhaven Facility to handle tweenage Lauren.

While Lauren never made things easy for anyone ever (including herself), the supernatural nannies adapted terribly to actually having to babysit and ended up reinforcing Lauren's dislike of authority figures in most cases.

They tended to rely on the very traditional Bad Behavior = Punishment (I am using this word in the psychological sense, not the colloquial sense) method. For a lot of children, that would work out at least okay but Lauren was so volatile because she was a traumatized grief-ridden toddler now dealing with neglect from her only remaining parent.

She really needed a trauma-informed caretaker who gave her extra love and stuck to natural consequences whenever possible, and she did not get that.

Neveah Desanto

Neveah mostly had one nanny who was a siren for her entire childhood and if she ever gets married will be inviting that nanny to her wedding. Sometimes she did get random fill-ins, but as long as she was very good and did what they said, they stuck around and played with her. Was an absolute delight to have as a first no-magic babysitting gig. The most difficult thing was if they had hyper-senses she was a singing toddler. Neveah was great at memorizing siren songs, and would ask to hear them 100 more times. RIP to the nanny who accidentally made a dark Echolian song into Neveah's equivalent of 'Baby Shark'.

Her primary nanny had a relatively neutral to maybe slightly positive effect on her development.

Pax Izaz

Pax's nannies got switched out a lot. Nothing to do with her, just general circumstances. Waking up to a stranger in her home trying to get her dressed or make her breakfast was not an unusual occurrence for her because unfortunately supernatural emergencies don't wait until after school drop off time.

She did have a tendency to be manipulative (in the colloquial sense, not the psychological sense). Since the routine and rules changed often it was pretty easy to tell whichever nanny was there that x was the status quo and as long as it wasn't too outlandish, they'd usually believe her and have a hard time verifying otherwise. Her curiosity did often create safety concerns and then tantrums when she was not allowed to continue being in danger, but it was never malicious. She also had a pretty typical response to being denied autonomy as a toddler. Outside of that, she was a very unemotional child due to largely accidental neglect.

No one really stuck around long enough to realize how she expressed particular emotions (which was not the way most children do), and so her caretakers didn't do a good job at pointing out her feelings for her or even reacting to them at all a lot of the time. From little Pax's perspective, the appropriate response to her feelings was to ignore them and she could do mostly whatever she wanted as long as the grown ups didn't see her do it. Grownups liked hearing a little bit about the stuff she learned, but not being involved in it.

What do you headcanon your detective's nanny situation was like? Did they have a single regular nanny with occasional fill ins or was it a rotation of nannies? How did they handle not being able to use their powers on the detective? Was your detective a tiny hell spawn or were they well behaved?

[outroshooky]

the aces up your sleeve | jjk

this is the third time i’ve posted this fic; let’s hope tumblr’s tags decide to actually show the post this time.

⇢ genre: series; part 2 of simmer down and pucker up (friendswithbenefits!au, friendstolovers!au)

⇢ pairing: jeon jeongguk x unnamed oc

⇢ word count: 12.05k

⇢ warnings: heavy angst (excessive drinking, hangovers, foul language, unhealthy coping mechanisms, jeongguk lets his heart get ahead of his head), implied and also brief smut, fluff. vomit tw. there are some darker themes here, read with caution

⇢ a/n: i started working on this fic five months ago to the day i finished it. 12,057 words and so many hours later, it’s done. i hope you enjoy aces as much as i enjoyed writing it, and a special kudos to all of the people who’ve helped along the way- @a-heart-full-of-javert and @yoonsgiggle for reading revision after revision and being my number one supporters always, and those mutuals whose feedback helped hone this piece (@pvrpletae @taeholic, and any other friends i missed). also, a nod to @genderfluid-jaredkleinmann, because anything is possible with twenty bucks and a metro card. thank you, thank you, thank you for all of your love!

“Come home with me,” she whispers. “We’ll figure out the specifics later.”

“‘m okay with that.”

He stumbles with her to her apartment building, ignoring the questioning glances and stares of strangers. He looks up at her and thinks she’s never been more beautiful, not even when she’s naked and writhing under him. He wants to immortalize this forever- her features glowing in the soft light of dawn, her arm supporting him, keeping him steady. He still believes he doesn’t deserve her, but oddly enough, he can’t find it in himself to worry too much, because he believes in her so, so much more. They’ll figure out the specifics later.

It’s cold, he thinks.

The air is chilly as it kisses his bare arms, burns his sore throat as he inhales, exhales. Breath after breath passing through his lungs, every single intake of sweet oxygen a reminder that he is still here; he hasn’t yet drunk himself to death. Everything is still a little fuzzy at the edges, something he attributes to the entire bottle of Delas Cotes Du Ventoux he’d downed on top of a vodka shot or two. He’ll apologize to his liver once he’s completely sober.

Step after step, his beat-up sneakers plod over an endless concrete plain. Exhaustion wears on him; he can’t even bring himself to avoid the gray gum stains, and every so often his foot sticks just a half-second longer to the pavement.

Jeon Jeongguk has seen sunrise after sunrise limping home after a night of indulgence, and yet something about this one is different. 

 Reds and pinks and oranges blot the sky like the misshapen wine stains on his t-shirt, a celestial canvas that, to his foggy brain, must’ve only been painted by God himself. God, an entity he’s never believed to be real, yet he’s never felt more spiritual hunched over and crawling home in yesterday’s clothes and tomorrow’s promises. There must be a god, some sort of master puppeteer defying the impossible and stringing together the inevitable, because there’s an arm around Jeongguk’s shoulders keeping him grounded and good fucking god, it’s her.

Her.

There’s no other word for her, no other name that can possibly summon that raw, unbridled feeling that resides deep in his chest. Rather than the term defining her, she defines it all on her own. She brings a new meaning to a normal, ordinary, everyday word that isn’t near worthy enough to refer to a personal succubus, midnight companion, best friend. His succubus, companion, friend. 

Salmon and peach pour over the piercing tops of the skyscrapers, leaking color onto the endless streets, monotonous in their grid-like ways. The same convenience stores, sex shops, traffic lights direct the flow of cars that cough and sputter like the smoke wisping from grates in the asphalt. Life goes on, and yet above, seemingly unnoticed, is a display of Elysian grace, empyrean beauty. Light seeps into a world of mist and twilight, and it paints over her skin too, illuminating her from the side. Her, a divinity in her own right, with two feet on the ground and five slender fingers in his own.

I must be dreaming, Jeongguk thinks. Dreaming, because the sun is oozing over the horizon like a lazy yolk and for once, he’s thinking straight. Dreaming, because this is the drunkest he’s ever been in his entire life, yet he’s never seen it like it is now, laid out before him. His cards are on the table and his heart is on his sleeve, whipping free and loose in the wind that tousles his already-messy hair. Dreaming, because he’s having a divine revelation that men of old have only when the life is seeping from their bones, and as far as he’s concerned, he still has years ahead of him. Fuck it, he could die tomorrow but he wouldn’t care; it’s as if he found the very essence of life itself, and it lies not in the cracked-egg sky nor in the lazy plumes of smoke, not in empty alcohol bottles nor bodies slotting together in twisted sheets. It lies in the only one who matters, the smart mouth who stumbled into his life when she tripped up the stairs and her books flew into the backs of his tweenage ankles.

Her.

Maybe Jeongguk is still drunk. Maybe he’s high too, lost in the clouds of delirium and pacificity. Maybe he’ll wake up in a mess of blankets and dirty laundry, noon’s glow filtering in through the kitchen window. Maybe it's the weariness that bears down on him like a train, pulling at his tired limbs and drooping eyelids, weighing on his shoulders with a divinely brutal burden.

And yet Jeongguk stumbles on through the fog, ignoring the looks of faces unknown. He stumbles on, trusting fate and God and the bleary, bleached world that seems so full of color now. The world is gray through cracked eyelids as he stares at slab after slab of concrete, dull only until he can tear his vision to the masterpiece that paints the heavens up above. Has it always been this beautiful? Or has he just never been able to look up and see it?

He mulls the question over as his feet move with a will of their own, pondering over and over until he finds himself in an apartment he’s only ever known in darkness. His shoes slip off, his shirt comes over his head; he's handed sweatpants and boxers and her fingers dance over his bare skin like she's known it all her life. Jeongguk’s head lolls and rests against her shoulder, and it's only then that she speaks, murmurs for him to stay awake with her just a little while longer. He's pretty sure his eyes are already shut by the time his body hits the mattress, and he sinks into a five-hundred thread count haven of her conditioner and her perfume.

Every fiber of Jeongguk’s body aches, with exhaustion or emotion he’s not quite sure. He’s wrapped in sheets that smell like her, but something is missing. His eyelids crack open to see her retreat from the bedside, and he extends one arm as if reaching for a lifeline. A drowning man, the life preserver skimming away across the waves. “Please-”

“Jeongguk...” She hesitates.

“Please just stay with me, please,” he pleads. “Just hold me.”

Maybe it’s the rasp in his voice that makes her pause; it doesn’t even sound like his own. Maybe it’s his frame, broken and small in an ocean of blankets. Maybe it’s the fact that in one night, her entire world has been thrown upside down without any way of making out what’s right and what’s wrong.

She takes a step forward.

Then another.

“Please stay,” He whispers.

Maybe it’s just him.

By the time she eases herself down next to him, he’s already snoring quietly, the shipwrecked victim clutching desperately to his life raft. Yet as hard as she tries, her tired eyes refuse to rest, mind working, thinking, processing. What else can she do?

And so she lets herself go a little, and then a little more until she’s sinking into the warm feeling that envelops her heart, cradles her soul. For the boy she loves is curled into her, head on her chest, and oddly enough, it’s in the midst of the chaos where she finally finds peace.

Mortal fucking agony.

The only three words that Jeongguk can summon when his sticky eyelids slit open and the light, airy feeling of sleep fades to be replaced with what feels like just about every cell in his body painfully throbbing as one. His head is spinning, limbs trembling, bile threatening to rise in his throat, bitter on a thick tongue. 

It couldn’t possibly be worse than this. This is, without a doubt, the worst hangover he has ever had.

Thank god it’s still dark outsi-

The blankets are ripped off of his head, and Jeongguk screeches as the pain in his head intensifies to a nearly unbearable degree. Bright light floods the room, casting warmth and comfort across a neatly kept apartment, the eggshell walls doing their absolute best to reflect the sunshine. He swears the sun itself is driving a railroad spike through his skull, and he wonders what he ever did to personally offend a massive ball of burning gas hundreds of thousands of miles away.

“Morning, sunshine!” A folded towel smacks him in the face next, perches on his head. “Time to get up!”

“What the actual fuck?” Jeongguk groans, rolling over and wrapping his arms around the towel. At least when it covers his eyes, he’s back in the dark.

“Oh, I think not, Gukkie. It’s four in the afternoon. You’re getting your lazy ass out of my bed and showering, because you smell like a personal minibar and puke.” The towel is wrenched out of his hands, and he whines in complaint. She chuckles. “I never knew you were such a baby.”

“Fine, fine, I’m getting up,” he pushes himself to a sitting position, scrubbing at his eyes with deadweight arms. “Where the hell is my shirt?”

“In the wash, along with the rest of your shit.” She pauses. “Shampoo and soap are in the shower caddy, towel and washcloth are right next to you.”

He pokes his tongue in his cheek, stares up at her standing over him through squinted slits. “Do I have a choice?”

She folds her arms. “Absolutely not.”

He stands, gathers the things she’s laid out for him, wanders around her bed. He’s closing over the bathroom door when he sighs, winces as a particularly agonizing wave of pain rolls through his head. “Oh, fuck me.”

“For the record, I have!”

His only response is the squeaking of the shower handle and the rush of water pitter-pattering a familiar melody.

The first thing Jeongguk is greeted with when he emerges from the sauna of a bathroom is the smell of scrambled eggs. The second is something burning, and that’s when the fire alarm goes off.

“Oh, shut up!”

He leans against the doorframe with his ears plugged, watching her bat at the detector with a damp hand towel, waving at the ceiling furiously. “Need some help there?” he asks when it finally quiets.

“Oh hey, you look a little more alive. Smell a lot better too.” She scrapes the eggs out of the pan, dresses them next to two pieces of blackened charcoal that he assumed to have once been toast. She can’t admit to either of them just how good he looks in a plain white tee, lanky frame drowning, and so she slides the plate across the table without a second glance. Jeongguk tucks one leg under him as he settles, reaches for the salt and pepper. “Find everything satisfactory?”

“Water pressure could use some work.” He gestures with his fork. “Whose clothes are these?”

She shrugs. “My ex’s.”

“Excuse me?” Jeongguk coughs. “I thought it’s been months since you’ve seen-”

“It has been,” she busies herself at the sink. “He left them here.”

“And you never got rid of them?”

She scrubs particularly hard at a bit of grizzle on a dirtied plate. “That’s a waste of a forty-five dollar shirt.”

He takes a bite, chews. “To each their own.”

Silence falls thick and heavy. Jeongguk swallows, clears his throat. Says her name, and when her eyes meet his, something in his chest hitches. “Thank you.” He pauses. “Really, I mean that. Thank you for everything.”

She freezes, water still pouring down her hands, soap bubbles swirling, leaking into the drain. Silence.

His heart thumps once. Twice.

“Jeongguk, what are we?”

It’s like a cavity has opened up inside of him, chasm splitting far and wide, and inside is roiling emotion, waves crashing and cascading with abandon. He isn’t sure if he’s about to vomit or weep- perhaps the former, because his head is still pounding, but his own heartbeat outweighs the drum thudding in his skull. “What do you mean?”

The knife she’s holding slips from her fingers, clatters against the basin of the sink. “What do you mean, ‘what do you mean’? You nearly drink yourself to death and I’m the one who goes out and saves your sorry ass, coincidentally the same person you’re fucking on the weekends, by the way. Are you just going to casually play off what happened last night? God Jeongguk, you’ve got to be shitting me!”

It’s easier to push people away when you’re about to crack, because they don’t have to watch you fragment into pieces that you can’t even hope to put back together without slicing your own palms into ribbons. It’s easier to watch your own blood run than see the ink of the ones you love stain a blank page crimson. She can’t breathe; her page isn’t blank, there’s scribbles all over in black and blue and now they’re running maroon. Messages embedded in gestures and actions, and she grips the edge of the sink white-knuckled. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

It’s foggy, misty in his head, the memories of last night. Concrete smooth under his fingertips, sacred confessions in a city of sin, but what did he confess? It’s blurred at the edges; her face is reflected in the surface of a still pool, but when he summons answers, he’s only left with more questions.

Her voice is a mere whisper, broken and raw. “Please don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

He rises from the table. “Tell me what I’ve forgotten.”

It’s a few steps to cross the kitchen, to see her trembling, still clutching onto the worn sponge. Silence is an old friend by now, sickening quiet, and the tumbling waves inside him threaten to break forth, gushing like a flood. He reaches out to touch her and she jerks away.

“What did I do?” he begs.

Silence.

“Did we fuck?” 

Nothing.

“Please tell me, I don’t even know what I di-”

“There are no fucked-up people in this world,” her voice is shaking. “Just good people who do very, very fucked up things.”

Jeongguk freezes, arm outstretched to touch her, fingers stilling.

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,” her voice cracks, and she bends over the sink, head between her arms. “If you can remember what it is you even said in the first place.”

“What did I say?” he nearly whispers.

Her shoulders shake and she’s crying now. It’s killing him to see this, killing him that he’s destroying her and he doesn’t even know how he possibly drove a knife through her back. When she speaks, her voice is so soft, he can barely catch each word. “‘You told me you fucked up, and you broke the rule,’” She quotes, pauses. “‘And now it’s my turn. I fucked up,’” she sniffles. “‘I broke the rule.’” Oh god, please don’t finish the sentence. Please- “‘I love you.’”

Ringing.

Pounding.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Air filtering through his lungs, but it’s as if there’s a vice crushing him, squeezing every ounce of oxygen from his fragile body.

Confessions are told behind closed curtains, doors locked with the intentions of secrecy and intimacy, spilling the worst of your intentions to the holiest of the holy. They penetrate the curtain, the wall between you and your savior, separating human and divine with shame, guilt, the need to atone, repent for the one who’s given their everything for you. In the ultimate act of love, you’ve been saved from what you fear the most, blood spilled on fine sand, pierced by nails and a spear. Nails and a spear, except this time it’s vices and virtues, and tears prick at his eyes like thorns brushing skin.

“That’s what you did, Jeongguk.”

You knew?

For so long.

“You told me you love me and I told you I love you, too.”

She cries quietly, hiccups jerking her small frame.

Jeongguk wishes he could say something, do something to stop the agony. But it’s all his fault and his head is spinning still; he wants to comfort her, protect her from the torment she’s locked in, except he’s the one that’s spurred on the waves, and now she’s desperately trying to stay afloat.

Slowly, he reaches out to her. A life preserver, something, anything to help. His fingertips brush the top of her head, and he’s forever shocked by how soft her hair is, like flaxen strands of silk.

It’s coming back to him now, in bits and pieces. Her sweatshirt, bundled in his arms, his only protection against the biting cold. The world spinning in black and neon and twilight gray until a face comes into view. Her face. 

His hand strokes the top of her head, slowly, stiffly. She leans back the slightest into his touch.

His savior. His sins, laid out for the sheep to bear. He had to go and fall in love with the one thing he couldn’t touch, couldn’t have, couldn’t attach himself to.

“I’m so sorry.” The words pale in contrast to the situation no matter how much magnitude they carry, and his voice cracks. It’s too heavy for her to bear alone.

She reaches out to him, for him, and in an instant he’s pulled her against his chest, and she’s sobbing. The lamb’s back has broken, and there’s nothing left.

Her fingers twist in his shirt, face buried in his shoulder as he strokes her hair, lowering onto one knee and then the other. When he eases himself into a sitting position, she collapses with him and he cradles her close, like she’ll fragment any second if he lets go. Perhaps she will.

He rests his head on top of hers as she finally lets herself feel the stress of trying to keep it all together for him. He traces patterns on her arms, her thighs, her knees and her calves, lets her shake and tremble and break against him. He doesn’t care how much she’ll cut his palms, if he’ll even have any left by the time he’s done piecing her together. She’s worth it.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into her hair. “You deserve better than this.”

“Don’t,” she croaks, screws her eyes tighter. “Don’t push me away with an excuse like that when I’m crying in your arms on my kitchen floor.”

“Okay,” Jeongguk says. “I won’t.”

And so he doesn’t.

He holds her until she has no tears left, until her face is blotchy and her cheeks are damp. She doesn’t see the way he weeps too, his forehead against her own, eyelids fluttered shut. I love you. The statement doesn’t burst forth from his chest, but leaks like the sunrise filtering over the tops of jagged skyscrapers, oozing like the warmth of a yolk, spilling the reality he can’t hide from anymore. 

The dying sunlight casts the room in dusky reds and yellows, patchy opals and milky blues. The day is coming to a close, but he feels like it’s just begun.

He noses at her cheek, watching as she blinks up at him through tired, sticky eyes. “You asked what we are.”

“And what are we?”

Jeongguk hopes he’s being reassuring. “We are whatever you want us to be.”

She snorts. “So specific, coming from the guy known for running from his problems.”

He rolls his eyes. “Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

“Somehow you ended up making more sense when you were drunk, Jeongguk.”

“No, I-” He sighs. “So we’re in love with each other. We’re best friends that fuck on the weekends when they’re stressed, and we’re in love with each other. And I- I think I’d like this- us- to happen more often.”

“So you’re saying you want to hold me as I cry on my kitchen floor every day? Jesus Christ, I know you’re secretly a sappy bastard, but even t-”

“I’m saying I want to hold you like this more often, minus the tears,” Jeongguk interrupts. “I’m saying I want us to happen more often.” He stops for a moment when he sees her brows furrow, her face soften. “I’m saying that I want to eat shitty takeout with you on Tuesday nights and watch Finding Nemo as many times as you want to, because I know you love animated movies and Nemo is your favorite. I’m saying I want to kiss you before I fall asleep at night, and this time I’m not kissing your neck, I’m kissing your lips because I’m tired of being ashamed of kissing you, any part of you, when I know you’re not mine. I’m saying I want to argue and drink dollar store wine and forget about it all in the morning. I’m saying that I want to say I love you and not be afraid of it. Or be afraid to show it.” His fingers tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “Did you not believe me when I told you while I was drunk?”

“To be fair, you told me and then threw up on the sidewalk,” she remarks dryly, cheeks shimmering with wetness. “Your vomit had more conviction than your over-emotional drunk self did.”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “Just let me love you, Jesus Christ.”

“That’s more trouble than it’s worth.” She sniffles.

His heart twists. “We’ve come this far.”

“You still haven’t answered my question. What are we?”

He lets his heartbeat echo in his ears once, twice before he responds. “Let me prove it to you.”

“Prove it to me?” She lifts her head from his shoulder, eyebrow raised. “I’m sorry, do I need to bring up my previous rant about how I’m the one who goes out and saves you when you attempt to murder your liver? You have a lot of proving to do, Guk-”

“Let me take you out on a date.”

And then it all goes quiet.

It’s like someone’s pressed pause on an old VHS tape, playing quietly on an old television. The room is dim with afternoon light slipping lower, furniture and faces illuminated with a soft golden glow. Everything is frozen; it’s as if he’s watching from outside the screen as her face freezes in an expression of pure shock. A Renaissance painting, perhaps- Boy Nearly Shits Himself Hoping Fuckbuddy Doesn’t Leave Him, Jeon, 1591.

She can’t do anything but gape at him, mouth moving and jaw working, except no sound comes out. When she does find her voice a few seconds later, all she can splutter out is every other syllable, spewing consonants at him until he holds up a hand. “If you don’t want to, that’s okay, I just- I dunno, I figured that’s what guys do when they wanna impress a girl-” She’s talking with her hands now, gesticulating wildly, still unable to formulate an actual word. “-I’m sorry, if you say no, I’m not gonna push-”

“Jeongguk, would you shut up and listen to me?”

“Oh look, you’re actually intelligible now.”

“I’m not saying no.”

It’s his turn to freeze in shock, eyes wide, his arms still around her going rigid. “So what are you saying?”

She hesitates. “Well, I’m not saying yes either.”

His mouth goes dry. “W-what?”

“Look, Jeongguk, I-” she pauses, buries her face back in his chest because there she doesn’t have to worry. It’s a familiar patch of skin; she knows every birthmark and freckle, and she traces the constellations over his shirt with one finger. “I don’t know yet. I need to think about it.”

Anxiety, growing in his mind like so many vines, overgrown and flourishing, creeping into his thoughts and constricting his throat. He swallows hard, resists the desperate urge to pull her closer. A drowning man and his life preserver. “I can’t blame you for that.”

“Thank you for understanding,” she murmurs. Her lips brush his chest over his shirt and for a moment he’s in a dark bedroom, hands gripping her curves, whispering sin in her ear as she grinds on his lap, a whimpering mess. Not now.

He cracks a small smile somehow, squeezes her hip gently. “I try.”

“Guk?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you just hold me for a while?”

Forget for a while that she’s not yours.

His hands slide under her legs as he lifts her up seemingly effortlessly, carries her through the kitchen into her bedroom, settling down on the bed next to her. He opens his arms and she crawls to him like she has so many times before, except this time there’s no post-sex haze, no panting of breath nor eyes that shine with a certain satisfied, mischievous look. It’s just her and him, as she settles between his legs with her head on his chest and he traces gentle, slow circles on her back. Neither of them will admit just how comfortable it is, just how right it feels- nor will they admit that it’s happened before, and indeed Jeongguk does his best to push the thought out of his mind. Live in the now. You may never get to do this again.

And so he calms her until her breathing slows to an even rhythm, and she drifts off peacefully into a deep, calm sleep.

jeon jeongguk: so

jeon jeongguk: did u think about it

Read, 2:23pm. Yeah I did.

jeon jeongguk: aaaaand?

Read, 2:24pm. 

jeon jeongguk: cricket cricket

Read, 2:36pm.

jeon jeongguk: i feel like i should be playing the jeopardy theme song rn

jeon jeongguk: do do do do do do do

jeon jeongguk: do do do do DO do do do do do

Read, 2:37pm. You’re so irritating.

jeon jeongguk: ty

jeon jeongguk: it’s a talent ive perfected

jeon jeongguk: especially with u

jeon jeongguk: anyways

jeon jeongguk: im picking u up on friday at 3 outside ur apartment building

jeon jeongguk: be there or u have to eat my ass for a week

Read, 2:38pm. I never knew you were into that.

jeon jeongguk: there r a lot of things u don’t know about me

jeon jeongguk: but

jeon jeongguk: if u see me friday at 3

jeon jeongguk: u’ll get to find out

jeon jeongguk: it’ll be lit

Read, 2:41pm. Please never use that word again in my presence.

jeon jeongguk: ur no fun

Read, 2:43pm. img.jpg

jeon jeongguk: sending an uno reverse card does not change that fact

Read, 2:43. I’m at work; my break just ended. See you Friday.

jeon jeongguk: peace

A date.

It’s Thursday night and she’s still trying to wrap her head around it.

A date. 

With Jeon Jeongguk. 

The person whom she refused to kiss on the cheek in middle school, scrunching her nose because he was a boy and he was gross. The person who caught her when she tripped and fell in high school at the ice skating rink, likely saving her from a broken ankle, but certainly not a busted ego. Also the person who she fucked a handful of times. Okay, more than a handful.

An actual fucking date, with all of the romantic aspects thrown into the dish, rather than garnished on top with a mockery of true aesthetic design. No more dancing around the truth, no way to fuck it out in the comforts of a messy bed and hazy midnight vision. Real consequences to be felt… as if none of their behavior had had consequences already.

Oh my god, I can’t do this, she thinks.

What is she even supposed to wear?

Jeongguk, what should I wear tomorrow?

jeon jeongguk: um

jeon jeongguk: probably clothes

jeon jeongguk: for once

Read, 10:14pm. You’re an actual dick.

jeon jeongguk: is now an appropriate time for me to send my own uno card

jeon jeongguk: anyways wear something nice but like

jeon jeongguk: not ridiculously nice y’know

Read, 10:14pm. That’s… incredibly unhelpful.

jeon jeongguk: don’t wear a wedding gown but don’t wear a t shirt n booty shorts

jeon jeongguk: even tho u look good in a t shirt n booty shorts

Read, 10:15pm. When have you ever seen me in a t-shirt and booty shorts?

You know what, don’t answer that question. I’ll figure it out. Ty

jeon jeongguk: bye

She tosses her phone to the bed and frowns, flips through the clothes hangers in her closet, pauses to finger a shirt sleeve. What could he even have to offer on a date? Where would he take her? Would they stay in? Go out? What could you offer to impress someone who’s seen every facet of you growing up and knows you inside and out whether or not either of you like to admit it?

Is she enough?

She shakes her head. She can’t be thinking like this before the date’s even happened.

She’d just have to wait and see.

Oh, how she hated waiting.

At 2:47pm on Friday afternoon, her phone buzzed.

jeon jeongguk: leaving now bc traffic, be there in 15

Read, 2:47pm. See you in a few.

At 2:59pm, a black four-door pulled up in front of her apartment building, and at 3:01pm, she pulled open the passenger’s door and slid inside.

“Hey,” Jeongguk said, taking the car out of park. “What’s good?”

“Only you could begin a date by saying ‘what’s good’,” she teased, shifting the buckle so it fell comfortably across her shoulder. “And for the record, I’m good, thanks.”

A smile tinged his lips as he spared a glance across the car, looking her up and down. “A leather jacket and combat boots. You look more than good.”

It was her turn to appreciate him- lean thighs clad in tight-fitting black jeans; off-white dress shirt tucked neatly at the waist, rolled at the elbows, unbuttoned at the collar. “As do you.” She snickered, elbowing him. “I didn’t even know you owned anything other than monochome tee shirts.”

Jeongguk raised an eyebrow, sparing a quick glance over his shoulder before merging into traffic. “Again, there are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

She glanced over at him, tongue in cheek. “Care to tell me about them?”

He smirked, foot tapping the brake. “Oh, you’ll find out in time. Oh, and speaking of time-” he checked his watch. “-we have a long drive ahead of us. Aux cord is yours.”

“Did you really just give me the aux cord? So I can play my, oh, how did you put it- ‘shitty ass spawn of country music and dollar-store trap’?”

“Old Town Road is not real music, don’t you dare tell me otherwise-”

“Mm, but you gave me the cord-” she teased, swinging it around her index finger. “It’s my radio now, country boy.”

“Can we compromise with Post Malone?” Jeongguk begged, a hint of a whine in his voice. “Beerbongs and bentleys is where it’s at, plus I’d rather claw out my ears than hear ‘I got the horses in the back’ one more time-”

“Done,” she tapped at her phone, and as the opening chords of Sugar Wraith sang through the car speakers, they both visibly relaxed.

Perhaps she’d been anxious for absolutely nothing. It all felt the same here in his Jeep, like every day by his side had been before he’d turned a cold shoulder and disappeared for months. Nothing new, everything familiar, too familiar.

Had it been this easy to be with him all along?

By the end of the first half hour, Jeongguk had rapped more than half of the album, and she was impressed by the fact that his singing voice wasn’t, as she’d assumed in the past, absolute shit. “When were you going to tell me you can sing better than an autotuned Post can?”

He raised and lowered one shoulder, hand comfortable on the rim of the wheel. He looked so damn fine, effortless with a sharp jawline and a gentle smile. “I’m not that good. I can carry a tune and that’s about it.”

“Lies, Gukkie. You have a lovely voice.”

She noticed a hint of pink in his cheeks.

By the end of the first hour, the impenetrable rows of buildings had faded to flat land and open road. She gazed out the window, elbow propped up on the sill, and Jeongguk allowed himself a look at her. Not a hair out of place, finely polished, not too much makeup. Perfect. So utterly, wonderfully perfect.

He wondered when she would ask how much longer, and five minutes after the first hour, she answered his question. “Are you planning to take me on a romantic roadside picnic, Guk?”

“And if I was?” he hummed quietly to the melody filtering through the speakers.

“You wouldn’t drive an hour out of the city to do so; this is the person who walks everywhere, god forbid his bicycle leave his apartment.”

“You’re right,” he affirmed. “Just a half hour more. I think.”

“You think? What happens if we get stuck out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“I have twenty bucks and a working Metrocard, we’ll be fine.”

“We’re not even in the city!”

“Shhhh.”

At an hour and twenty-eight minutes exactly, the car slowed, bumping along as Jeongguk pulled into a parking lot that was more dirt than asphalt. She’d dozed off about twenty minutes ago, cheek smushed against the seatbelt, and his heart glows warm when he parks and finally looks over at her. His hand finds its way to hers, and he rubs the back of it gently. “We’re here.”

She wakes slowly, eyelids fluttering in a moment of confusion, and his thumb rubs over her knuckles. “Where-” She sees him smiling, and she’s instantly alert. “Oh no.”

He lets her hand fall with a final squeeze. “Oh yes.”

“I don’t trust you,” she chuckles breathlessly. “Where the actual fuck are we, Je-”

The rest of her statement is cut off by Jeongguk hopping the few inches from the lip of his Wrangler to the ground, and when he circles the car to collect her, her face is scrunched in confusion. “You drove thirty miles outside of the city for this run-down shack of a restaurant? It’s barely anything Gukkie, are you sure we’re in the right place?”

He turns to regard the one-story restaurant, pop-up roof signs peeling in their age, before nodding firmly, decisively. “I’m sure.”

She follows him inside, mumbling something about being assaulted by the dinner crowd, and Jeongguk strolls up to the maître d′ like he’s done this every day of his life. Maybe it’s the over-starched dress shirt. He swears it’s hugging his frame just a little too tight.

She misses the reservation name, spoken too softly and too quickly for her to hear, but she has no reason to suspect anything, not even when they settle at a corner table set with two places and a vase of four roses. She’s handed a menu, which she accepts with a polite word of thanks, and it’s when she sees the name of the restaurant in bright block font at the top of the page that she pauses. In one moment, the oxygen drains from her lungs, and the past comes alive before her eyes like a film reel, rewound for his and her pleasure.

She’s frozen across the table, lights dancing in her eyes in neon hues, flickering in her irises, countless bursts of color in pink and green and yellow. When he glances up to ask if she’d like to order appetizers, he swears he can hear her heart explode in her chest, crashing and roaring and perhaps aching just a little, too. His own beats just a little bit faster when he sees tears glimmer in her eyes, pinprick stars in her cosmos. “Jeongguk, how did you-”

“Find the only Moonlight Diner in three hundred fifty miles?” He relaxes, nudges the table leg with the toe of his shoe. “Turns out there’s only two in a thousand mile radius. One of which is at home, the other of which is, well- here.”

“Y-you-” she can barely get the words out, so overwhelmed is she with nostalgia and heartache and just a little bit of relief. “You found our childhood diner chain and you brought me here on a fucking date, Jeongguk, I-”

Her hands tremble on the corners of the menu as Jeongguk makes incredibly awkward eye contact with the impending waitress, who turns on her heel when she sees the scene in front of her. Something in his throat seizes with anxiety. “Is this okay? Did I do something wrong? Fuck, I-”

“Jeongguk, shut the actual fuck up and let me bask in the fact that you did this for me,” she chokes out. “We spent how many years going to this diner back home, having french fry sword fights, spraying each other with ketchup, truth or dare rounds involving coleslaw in your-”

“I try to forget the colesaw incident,” Jeongguk winces. “But- But is it okay? I-” He squeezes the edge of the sickly green leather seat, white-knuckled. “I’m not crossing any boundaries?”

“I swear to god,” she’s crying now, out of her control, but for the first time in so long it’s a good kind of cry, and she curses her tendency to cry for him at the drop of a hat. “How the fuck- you know what, I don’t even want to know how you came up with this or what else you have planned. You son of a bitch, I love you.”

Jeongguk bites his lip. “That’s the most contradictory sentence I’ve ever heard, but I’ll take your word for it.”

She sniffles, wipes her eyes on the back of her hand. He passes her a napkin, and she dabs at her face. “Are you getting the bacon cheeseburger? With extra bacon and ketchup on the side, because you know I’m going to steal some?”

“Yes,” he admits gently. “That was the general plan.”

She smiles through her tears, chokes out a laugh. “Nothing’s changed, has it Jeongguk?”

He’s starting to well up now, eyes shining with pride and adoration and remembering, because he remembers now. He remembers what it’s like to joke, to laugh, to love without the vices of the everyday world surrounding him. It’s been so long since the feeling bubbled up in his throat; a memory flashes before his eyes of dancing in the rain, and just like the flow of water down a storm drain, it’s gone before he can grab it, explore it. It’s okay, let it go, he thinks. There’s a more important memory he needs to make here with her, and as she reaches for her fork to playfully poke his arm, he finds himself falling in love with her all over again.

It is with full bellies and warming hearts that the two leave the run-down diner, clutching strawberry milkshakes and reveling in memories long-forgotten. There’s a bounce in her step and he’s beaming like the moonlight that lies silver across the breadth of the parking lot, shines off of the hood of his worn-out car. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt alive like this, without the help of his vices. He had thought he never would again.

He slides into the driver’s seat, pulling the door closed behind him, and she hops into the passenger’s side. “Home, now?”

“I mean, if you really want to.” He buckles himself in. “But there’s one more place I wanna take you.”

Her teeth shine bright as she smiles. “Where to, Gukkie?”

His heart flutters at the use of the nickname. “You’ll see.”

As the moonlight stretches long across the cracked road and his hand finds hers on the center console, Jeongguk turns the car back towards the city, heart beating just a bit faster than before.

Flat land rolls, tumbling end over end into buildings that grow longer and taller until the city envelopes the single black Jeep. The ride is spent in a comfortable silence, her thumb running over his knuckles, lazily playing with his fingers. She doesn’t miss the smile that graces his face, the way his eyes gleam with the nebulae of a thousand swirling galaxies. She wouldn’t mind getting lost in them more often.

He marvels at how small her fingers are, how easy it is for two of them to wrap around merely one of his. He wonders what it would be like to kiss each knuckle, treating each with care before they fall asleep with interlocked hands and limbs, and for the first time, he doesn’t feel guilty about imagining the possibilities.

A few blocks before her apartment, Jeongguk pulls over and parks. The sidewalks throng at this hour, individual faces blurring in the crowds, and when they meet around the front of the car, she takes his arm. “Are you absolutely positive you didn't just bring me home?” She teases.

“Nope,” he gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “There’s one more place we’re going, promise.”

He knows the way by heart, the place he discovered three months ago by accident that had ignited a little-known nostalgic streak in him. It’s a right on 65th West and a left on 15th North, go straight four blocks (five?) and a right on 53rd and then it’s there in front of him in all of its childhood glory. He pats his pocket, makes sure its contents are still intact.

“We’re here,” Jeongguk announces. 

“A playground,” she murmurs.

“Do you know why?” He asks.

“Where would we go after the diner?” She laughs quietly, disbelievingly. “The playground.”

“It’s got the three swings and everything,” he offers. “And the little ship’s bow with the climbing nets.”

“I can’t believe you.” She stands on her toes and kisses his cheek. His skin tingles where her lips press. “You’re incredible.”

“I’m really not,” he answers shyly. “I just think about these things is all.”

“Hey.” She pokes his ribs, a hint of teasing in her voice, and she’s off in a flash. “You’re it!”

“You- Get back here!” Jeongguk staggers back and then lunges forward, sprinting after her, past the monkey bars and the climbing wall. The playground is deserted save them, two fully-grown adults playing a chaotic game of tag, and he can’t even stop to think how ridiculous it may look to onlookers. He realizes then that he doesn’t care, because she’s within arms reach, nearly his, just a little bit farther, and he reaches just an inch more and snags her by the waist.

She trips over her own feet and tumbles, bringing him down with her, but he rolls to take the brunt of the fall. Loose stones on the colored rubber dig into his back and she’s heavy on his chest, but he’s breathless with laughter and her teeth flash as she too dissolves into giggles. His ribs ache as he wraps an arm around her, but it’s a good sort of ache, and as she hoists herself to her elbows resting over him, a loose lock of her hair brushes against his cheek.

“You’re such a brat,” He teases, his tongue poking his cheek.

“You’re such an dunce,” She responds, head tilting cockily.

“Dunce? When’s the last time anyone said dunce? Come on, you can come up with something better than that!” He pokes her ribs and she squeaks. “Asshole, thrice-cursed bastard, son of a fu-”

“Enough out of you,” she kids. “I’m not feeling creative today.”

“What if I was?” He lets his head fall back, tresses flopping messily on his forehead. “How about douchebag? Dickwad? Bi-”

“Shut up!”

“Make me.”

“And how would I go about that, hm?” Her fingers walk up his chest.

“Like this.” And in a rush of movement and fear and elation, Jeongguk closes the distance between her lips and his own, the oxygen draining from his lungs as he presses a kiss to her mouth.

It’s as if the entire world has stopped to take a breath with him, the rustling of the trees and the creaking of the swings frozen in a moment of infinitesimal, earth-shattering stillness. Her lips are soft against his; she tastes like strawberry Chapstick and vanilla milkshake, a drug on his tongue like any other. His hand is at the base of her spine and hers is at the back of his head, threaded through his hair. He is drunk and sober all at once, dizzy yet alert of a thousand sensations at once; he can feel her exhale and the way her weight shifts on his hips and the way her nose grazes his when he pulls away.

Her breath is faint on Jeongguk’s lips, a rush of dizzying intimacy, and then she’s pressing her lips to his, mouthing at their soft plush; he snags her bottom lip between his teeth as his fingers tuck under her jacket, settle against the curve of her side, crave the warmth of her skin against his.

Her fingers twist, the long, shaggy locks knotting around the slender digits as her nails meet his scalp and he groans from the feeling.

He sighs her name against her mouth, held sacred in the coveted pause of the universe, and when her eyes flutter open, he is locked into the emotion that sings so freely from her dark pupils. It entrances him, ensnares him in her web, a siren singing from her rock. He is utterly transfixed by her, and when she blinks once, twice, the haze is lifted. He is suddenly aware of the leaves scraping the ground, the slightly colder air that settles over them as wispy clouds roll in front of the moon. He leans in just a little bit, hoping to get that much closer, desperately chasing the high, but a finger to his lips stills him.

“Hi,” he says, breathy and unbelieving.

“Hey you.” There’s a smile on her face, but it’s matched by an expression he can’t quite read. His hand trails down her arm and she hesitates. “Guk, I-” she begins, stops.

“What is it, baby?” His fingers dance down her spine, settle at the base.

“Jeongguk, I don’t know if I’m ready for a relationship yet.”

And that’s when his world comes crashing down.

“I just- I don’t know if I can do this yet. I don’t know if I can be who you need me to be right now. I can’t come find you every time you get yourself shitfaced and need someone to bring you home.” She rolls onto one elbow, pushes herself into a sitting position next to him; his arm slips to the side. “I’m sorry.”

“Is that what this is about?” He too sits upright, matches her position. “My habits are the make-or-break for you?”

“That’s not what I said,” she gently corrects. “Because I know you told me that you want to get clean, you don’t want me to be embarrassed of you, and I’m not, Jeongguk. I’m really not. But I don’t think I am who you need in a girlfriend. You deserve someone who’s going to be able to give you time, and right now that’s one thing I don’t have.”

“Who do you think I need in a girlfriend, then? I don’t ‘need’ anybody except for you. You don’t see what I see,” he insists, gesturing widely. “You’re brilliant and warm and you’ve got everything ahead of you. I don’t even deserve you but I want you. Can’t you see? I’d do anything for you.” His cheeks heat; his arms fall. “Is casual fucking easier for you than a relationship because you don’t have to dedicate time to it?”

Her own face flushes in the dim moonlight, rosy hues darkening the apples of her cheeks. “That’s not true and you know it, Jeongguk. What about all the times you stayed over till morning? Or I stayed over your apartment for two days straight? I’m trying to be honest with you, I really am.” There’s hurt in her voice but the blood rushing in his ears drowns out the world around him, the pit in his stomach swallowing every good feeling. “I’m telling you the truth not because I want to hurt you, but because I don’t want you chasing a ghost of something for the rest of your life.”

“But you love me back,” he sounds small even to his own ears. “You love me back.”

“I do.” She takes his larger hand in two of hers. “I love you Jeongguk, so fucking much, but right now I don’t know if I’m ready for us.”

“But what about tonight? What about this? The diner, the playground? You can’t tell me you didn’t feel something,” he begs. “I felt something.”

“I did feel something, yes,” she admits. “Tonight with you was incredible, Guk. You didn’t have to do any of it, but you did anyways.”

“I did it all for you. Can’t you see that?” Jeongguk stands, shoulders tensing, heart breaking. “Can’t you see what I would do for you and more? Can’t you see what I want to do for you? I’ll buy you a dozen roses every day, I’ll raze a mountain, I’ll be whoever you want me to be if you’d just let me fucking love you!” He doesn’t even realize he’s shouting until the sound of his voice rings down the deserted block, and then it sinks in that he shouted at her. She’s shaking just enough for him to notice, and when guilt sinks its needle teeth into his gut, he deflates.

“I’m trying to protect you, Guk.” She stands too, head bowed, refusing to make eye contact. He hates himself for doing this to her. “My only hope is that you’ll realize that soon.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“It’s okay.” She smiles, but it’s painfully empty. She takes a step towards him, pats his arm. “I know the way to my apartment from here. Get home safe, Jeongguk.”

He can’t even bring himself to offer to walk her home, for it’s as if he blinks once and he’s alone, standing firmly planted in the middle of an urban playground, the swings creaking a faint melody as the street light winks a dull amber above him. He reaches into his coat pocket and withdraws a single red rose, examining the crushed petals, mangled from the impact of her having fallen on top of him.

She loves me. She loves me not.

Jeongguk runs his thumb across the stem, wincing as he snags the digit on a thorn.

She loves me not.

For the first time in what feels like forever, her phone is silent.

It doesn’t sigh with a seductive feminine air, the sound of his ringtone slicing through her apartment with a piercingly high-pitched moan. It probably made the neighbors raise an eyebrow on quiet mornings, but they kept her up with the sounds of their late-night trysts anyway. She guessed it was only fair.

Hey Guk, hope you’ve been doing alright. Call me tonight if you get a chance, I finally got around to watching Santa Clarita Diet and wow, you weren’t kidding when you said it’s oddly wholesome as fuck.

One day turns into two, and then three. The first post she sees on Jeongguk’s social media is of a blurry red cup in a filmy haze that is all too familiar, and a fire burns low in her gut.

Hey uh, so my shower head came off and I don’t know how to reattach it. Any advice?

P.S., I should note. In regards to the last text, it came off randomly, not because I sat on it or something. Seriously.

The second is of scraped palms and grinding bodies, heavy trap music blasting from a car stereo, bass thumping wildly.  Four days turns into a week, then a week and a half.

img.jpg

Look at this dog I just saw on the subway. It’s dressed as Marilyn Monroe. I’m not shitting you. I found the costume on Amazon for $25.

The third involves a crowd of strangers and a beer keg, and she doesn’t care to describe it in any further detail.

Hi Jeongguk, I haven’t heard from you in a little while and wanted to ask if you’re doing alright. If you don’t want to hear from me, please just tell me and I’ll stop texting you.

Nothing.

He knows she’s seen his posts. He most certainly knows how they make her feel, too. He knows the game they play, for provocation is an old friend of theirs, made known in the pictures and videos he displays for the world to see. Bad habits, it seems, are easier to slip back into than to break after all.

Then, at the two-and-a-half week mark, late in the evening when she’s perched on the couch in pajamas and a face mask, she sees it.

A blurry photo, taken in a dark bedroom, flash illuminating a bare back, navy sheets twisted around the lower torso. Hair cascading down a pillow, pulled to the side just enough for a violet bruise to be visible, blossoming on the side of the mystery woman’s neck.

The candle flame dancing in her belly ignites into a fucking wildfire.

Before she can even think, she’s sent the text.

You asshole. I fucking hate you.

She doesn’t know if she’d prefer a response or utter silence.

Turns out, she gets the latter.

A month without him hurts.

As quickly as he’d tripped and fallen back into her life, Jeongguk was gone. Ten words out of her mouth and he’s fled back into the world he promised her he’d claw his way out of. The danger of betting your stakes on one person is that when they inevitably fall through, you’ll come crashing down even harder than anticipated. And he bet just about everything on her.

She throws herself into work, doing her best to forget. It’s hard, however, when everything reminds her of him. When a hooded stranger brushes past her on the subway,  sandalwood and sage graze her nostrils; suddenly she’s wrapped in bedsheets, surrounded by cologne and the musk of sex. Instant ramen is a reminder of shitty rom-coms on snowy Tuesday nights and the warmth of a blanket covering tangled legs. Even an Overwatch figurine brings back endless numbers, countless statistics that were rattled off at the mere mention of the O-word. She misses him even more acutely than before.

Jeongguk seems to have made quick work of the past, the chronicles of his new present documented in late-night Snapchat trysts. She sees one, two, three girls decorating his page, and yet they last one post and never appear again. She wonders if they’re merely even just for show.

She gave up hope that week, the fourth week without him. The boy she loved, the man who slotted so easily into her life despite their differences. He was gone, having fled the scene of the crime with the evidence bag, leaving the splintered fragments of her heart behind. And he did so without a second thought.

It was so easy for her to hate him. It was so easy for her to burn the Polaroid photographs they’d taken together, to delete text messages and the playful reminders he set on her phone, to cut out every single scrap of evidence she had that he ever existed. It was so easy to scrub the physical reminders from her surroundings like blood from dirtied fingernails.

And yet, she didn’t. She couldn’t.

Jeongguk wasn’t the easily hated type. At least, not to her.

He had so much of her that he took for granted. The sides that she revealed of herself to him, the only one who even knew they existed, could never be taken back. Whether he liked it or not, he had held her in the palm of his hands, cradling her like a bird with a broken wing. And when it came down to things, he dropped her without a second thought.

After all they’d been through, she couldn’t bring herself to do the same.

That just wasn’t her way.

Bent over the sink, she brushes a strand of hair out of her face with a soapy glove, doubling her attention on a greasy pan.

Some said she forgave too easily. Some said she was too quick to leap to the defenses of others, too trusting in those who had access to her heart. She had always struggled to go against the grain, push back against the very thing that resonated deep in the marrow of her bones. Whether she could help it or not, it was simply who she was, for better or for worse, deep down at her core. It was, at least, who she thought she was.

She scrubs harder at a troublesome crumb of grizzle.

She wasn’t so sure anymore.

3:14am.

She stretches, blinks wearily, squints at the clock on the nightstand table.

She must’ve been imagining things.

Her eyes flutter shut, chasing the alluring clutches of sweet, blessed slumber.

SLAM!

“What the fuck- goddamnit.”

It must be the neighbors’ headboard again.

SLAM!

Her eyes shoot open, because there’s another, more primal sound that accompanies the earth-shattering noise that seems to be emanating from the opposite side of her apartment.

She throws the sheets back, inching across her apartment. Every impact against her front door sounds, to her groggy self, like a bass drum amplified to fill every nook and cranny of her skull. Surely, every neighboring suite would be awoken by the noise, wondering what could 31 could possibly be doing awake at this hour, and why it sounded like a rhinoceros was throwing a temper tantrum in the hallway.

She edges her way to the door, peers through the hole to inspect the contents of the hallway, but nothing seems out of place.

That is, save the choked, heart-wrenching sob that vibrates through the thin wall.

Her fingers close around the doorknob and she pulls, revealing an empty corridor, darkened and silent.

She looks right, and all is quiet.

She looks left, squints a little, and there’s a standing figure slumped against the wall, fingers gripping the chipped doorframe, head braced against the plaster.

“‘M sorry,” are the first words that tumble in a rush out of Jeongguk’s mouth, slurred and heavy.

She moves to close the door over, slowly so that she doesn’t accidentally slam his fingers in the gap, but he shifts to extend one leg, effectively trapping the door open. “Please-”

“Jeongguk-”

“Please,” he looks up at her for the first time, the utter brokenness in his eyes trapping her heart in her throat. His cheeks are stained with tracks of moisture, tears rolling from his waterline as he slumps. “Please.”

The microcosmoi in his pupils swirl, miniature galaxies that are flecked with dappled brown and raven black, eddy with agony and the deepest ache. They speak to her own, the conflict of her heart haunting her inner landscape, and she sighs, hating herself, hating this all-too familiar scene. “No matter where you start, you always end up back here.”

“No matter where I start, you always end up fucking with me somehow,” he exhales, alcohol-tinged breath fanning her face. She barely recoils.

“I thought you said last time was the last time.”

“‘M not as drunk as last time.”

“That doesn’t change a thing and you know it, Jeon Jeongguk.”

“Take me in again, maybe I’ll r’member it this time.” He shudders, hand relaxing on the frame, knees buckling.

She catches him as he lurches forward, arms linking around his waist to support him, stepping backwards into her apartment and stumbling to the couch, where she deposits him into the cushions with a huff. “You know, you’re lucky I didn’t leave you outside. I didn’t want the neighbors calling the cops on you.”

“And if they did?” An audible thump emanates as his head hits the back of the couch, lolling aimlessly. “You’d bail me out an’ways.”

“You don’t know that,” she hisses, dragging the garbage pail to the couch from its ready position by the refrigerator. 

“May be drunk but ’m not stupid,” he breathes, running a hand through the tangled strands of hair that frame his damp face, spill over his brow. “Love makes people do things they wouldn’ admit to in front of God himself.”

“And when did you get so religious?”

“There’s something spiritual about this,” he gestures to the empty room, legs splayed. “The high an’ then the fall. It’s too good to be true an’ then you’ve got a taste and it’s all you want, over and over, ‘til it all comes crashin’ down and then cold reality fuckin’ hits an’ it stings like a motherfuckin’ bitch.”

She stares down at him. “You do it to yourself when you try to drown out the pain. We either learn how to cope or bury it deep down until it rears its head again and then you’re back where you started. Maybe it’s time you tried coping instead of pretending that your hurt doesn’t exist.”

“An’ why do I d’serve that after all the hurt ‘ve dealt you?” His jawline catches the faint light of the corner lamp, casting his profile in shadow. 

“Because you’re a human being, Guk? You’re human like the rest of us, the same flesh and blood.” She kneels at his feet, hand cautiously brushing his knee, then settling. He intakes harshly, shuddering.

“‘M so fucked up an’ you know that an’ you stay. An’ that’s why you won’ date me, ‘cause of this. Disgustin’, fuckin’ asshole me-”

“Jeongguk, you know that’s-”

“‘M so fucked up an’ you know that an’ you stay ‘cause you love me, but you won’ confess to God,” his chest heaves and she stands over him, grabs the pail. “You won’ ‘fess to the one who really matters.”

“Who really matters then? God or you?” She shakes her head. “If you think other people need to see us together for the way I feel about you to be validated, you’re completely wrong.”

“Then why do you hide me?” He stifles a sob with the back of his hand, fresh tears threatening to spill.

Her careful ministrations on his knee pause. “Because I like having you to myself,” she confesses quietly.

“We’ve n’ver been a thing,” his gaze fixes steadily on her face. “N’ver been a real thing.”

“We’ve always been exclusive, though.” She gently squeezes his thigh. “I know you, Jeongguk. And I know that deep down, you commit even if you won’t open your mouth and tell me. I was your first just as you were mine.”

He goes to say something but pauses, eyes wide, face white. Without pause, she lifts the pail and he grabs at the base, burying his face in the mouth and retching. Her fingers brush his hair back from his face, the dampness of his skin clinging to hers, and his whole body shudders in dry heaves. He spits one final time and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. “‘Ve been yours from the start.”

“I know, Guk.”

“An’ you never though’ to ask?”

Her eyes flicker to the tear in one cushion, the white stuffing a stark contrast to the dark couch. “I did.”

“An’?”

“You can’t just casually ask your best friend if they’ve been in love with you for your entire lives.”

“We n’ver kept much from each other an’ways.”

Her fingers pause in his hair. “If that’s the case, then answer me something.”

His grip around the bucket tightens.

She inhales once, twice. “Jeongguk, are you running from us?”

His jaw flexes, stiffens.

Her voice lowers. “If we never kept much from each other, why are you running away from this, right now?”

“Shu’ up,” he hisses.

She withdraws her hand; his bangs tumble in his eyes and he tosses his head. “You’re afraid of us, Guk,” she challenged. “You’re afraid of something that’s too good to be true, so you bury the way you feel because it’s easier than admitting you’re afraid of losing your best friend when shit goes south. You’re afraid of throwing everything we have away because one of us will inevitably fuck up, but you don’t have the security of knowing if we’ll make it through. So rather than give your heart away as one whole, you divide it up, partition it off, let me see bits and pieces while keeping the rest under lock and key. But Jeongguk, I’ve seen you. I’ve seen your heart bleed and sing and grieve and I’ve seen it love, too. I know you better than anyone else does. You don’t have to run from me.”

A moment of silence, weighted and thick, hangs low like fog.

When a horrible sob tears its way from his throat, she’s right there to hold him, let him wrap an arm around her waist and bury his face in her pajama shirt. Once again her hands find his hair, working out the knots in a manner she hopes is soothing. “You don’t have to be afraid of us, Jeongguk. You don’t need my validation to know that what we have is real.”

Words spill from the crumpled figure, alcohol seeping from the mouth of the bottle. “I love you,” he blubbers. “Love you so much.”

“I love you,” she assures. “I love you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Please don’,” he gasps. His hands cup her face with a tenderness only found in late nights, when the world is quiet and they have only the moon for company.

“I won’t.” She places her own over his before continuing, “You thought I turned you down because your habits are the ‘make-or-break’ for me. But Jeongguk, you were wrong. You weren’t ready then, and neither was I.”

He looks up at her, brows furrowing in confusion. “But my sorry drunk as’ is ready now?”

“You’re not afraid anymore.” Her arms link around his neck and she coughs once. “Neither of us is afraid anymore.”

When he says her name, she looks down, gaze meeting his. The warmth of her clasped hands heats the back of his neck; the strands of his hair brush her knuckles, and she toys with the clasp of the chain he wears. “‘M sorry.”

“It’s okay, Guk.”

“‘S really not. ‘M sorry for ignorin’ you an’ yellin’ at you back at the playground an’ jus’ generally being an’ asshole. Includin’ showin’ up at yer ‘partment an’ makin’ a scene.”

“It’s okay.” A tinge of a smile pulls at the corner of her mouth. “Thank you for the apology.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “You deserve that an’ so much more.”

She sees in his face the want to kiss her, and when he moves to reach her, she pulls away. “Please kiss me when you don’t reek of puke and Hennessy.”

He nods once. “Okay.”

She sighs, hands sliding to his shoulders, feeling the muscle flex under her fingertips as he trails his hands down her hips. “So it looks like we’re back to where we started.”

“Yeah,” he huffs, setting the pail down. “Goin’ in circles is our specialty, I guess.”

“Wanna try moving in a straight line for once?”

“Ar’ you sayin’ that ‘cause it’s like, four-thirty in the mornin’ and you wanna go back to bed?”

“Well, not completely.” She nudges the bucket away with one foot, the smell beginning to permeate the room. “I guess it’s my turn to ask again. What are we?”

A corner of his mouth tugs with a hint of familiarity. “Wha’d’you wan’ us to be?” “Together,” she says hesitantly, then more firmly. “Together, this time.”

“Together. I like that word.” His ministrations on her thighs, soft nondescript patterns traced by adoring fingers, spark heat under her skin.

“But Jeongguk-” she cuts herself off, then begins again. “Jeongguk, there’s gonna need to be some boundaries set.”

“Wha’d’you mean?” He hums.

“Well for starters, we’re going to need to communicate. Like, actually talk about the way we feel instead of just fucking it out, you know?” 

“Done,” he says with way more confidence then she feels. She attributes it to the fact that he’s still utterly wasted.

“It’s not just that, Guk. You can’t run away from this boyfriend thing, and you can’t get completely shitfaced if we have a fight, because then I’ll be the one holding you as you cough your lungs up and then you’ll feel guilty and the whole thing will just repeat itself.”

Jeongguk waves his hand. “‘Ll figure it all out in the morning.”

And with a squeak, she’s hauled onto Jeongguk’s lap, his arms tightening around her as he gazes up at her and for the first time in a very, very long time, feels wholly and completely okay. “Can I kiss you if I brush my teeth firs’?”

“No, gross ass. And this isn’t really a figure it out later kind of thing-”

“Baby,” He hopes he sounds reassuring. “‘Ve gotten this far, right? An’ we’ll get farther, and we’ll figure it out, an’ whatever happens happens, you know?”

“I can’t tell if this is sober you trying to be wise or drunk you trying to be prophetic. Either way, it’s not working.”

“‘Ll figure it out.” He tries to imbue as much warmth and understanding into his voice as humanly possible. To Jeongguk’s ears, he sounds like an angel. To hers, he slurs every other syllable.

“Jeongguk…” she wavers.

“Promise.” He crosses his heart and hooks his pinky finger in the air, waiting for hers just like, she remembers, they used to do in the treehouse in his backyard whenever they made a pact that was supposed to last the rest of their lives. 

She swallows her worry back and blinks, exhaustion tugging its subtle pull on her eyelids. “We will talk about this in the morning.”

“Talk, talk, talk. The firs’ thing ‘m doing in the morning is kissing you real soft an’ slow, because ‘ve got you to myself now, and ‘m gonna revel in it as much ‘s I can.” Jeongguk flexes his pinky. “C’mon. Promise.”

Her digit wraps around his as she murmurs, “Promise.”

His teeth glint as he smiles, a real, slightly loopy Jeongguk smile. “You’re precious.”

She taps the bridge of his nose. “You’re so drunk.”

“I know,” his eyes are glassy and he almost warbles. “I may be drunk righ’ now, but you’re beautiful even when ’m sober.”

She wrinkles her nose in faux disappointment. “That is no way to treat your brand-new girlfriend, Mister Jeon.”

“Girlfriend?” He relaxes into the couch, limbs limp, then sits up and moves to stand. “Jus’ fuckin’ marry me already, baby. Les’ get married-”

She pushes on his chest with ease and he falls without concern. “Ab-so-lutely not, good sir.”

His hands dance down her body to quickly grope her ass. “Why not?” Jeongguk squeaks as her nimble fingers slide down his chest, playfully pinching his nipple. “Fuckin’ love it when you call me sir.”

“I thought you preferred daddy. Besides, you gotta get past boyfriend status first, mister I’m-only-married-to-my-Twitch-Prime-subscription.”

“Tha’ was like, fifteen years ago.”

“Days,” she corrects.

“Whatever. Fuck, you’re an angel,” he groans. 

“Not quite. I don’t think angel will be the name that comes to mind in the morning when you’re hungover as fuck. Again.”

“Last time this happens. Promise this time.” He kneads her thigh, causing warmth to blossom in her chest.

She leans forward to plant a kiss on his forehead. “We’ll see.”

Jeongguk suddenly wrinkles his nose. “Baby, wha’s that?”

“What do you m- Guk, did you knock over the garbage pail?”

“Oh fuck, uh-”

She clambors off of his lap, side-stepping the offending mess. “I’m about to clean an entire gut’s worth of cognac-infused vomit off of my living room floor. You’re really, really lucky that we’re back on unofficially-but-now-officially-dating terms, because let me tell you- wait, did you get it on the rug, too?”

“Y’know, is’ not too late to change those terms.”

“Shut up and go get me the spray bottle under the sink.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Are you always this obedient? You’re holding out on me in the bedroom.”

Jeongguk winks at her from across the apartment, sliding a casual arm behind his head. “Only for you, baby. Only for you.”

[ariadnew]

V. SOMEONE

Previous | First

The ‘someone’ she ‘simply had to meet’ was a generically pretty buttercup-blonde bottled in a svelte figure and finished with an expression of doe-eyed innocence. Setting down a glass of bubbly, she hopped daintily down from her perch and made nervous adjustments to her dress before tottering forward on hellishly high-heels, both arms outstretched. 

Then, the tragedy began.

Embracing, twirling, laughing, grinning and gabbling, exclaiming things such as ‘look at you!’ and ‘it’s been a lifetime!’ whilst wearing expressions of such untempered joy that Agatha felt embarrassed for them. Great restraint had to be exercised. Did they not realise how they looked? How they sounded? Listening to this girl awww! her way through the conversation had Agatha’s hair ready to stand on end. Should she tell her? He’s not a bloody kitten. And Archie! Archie was no better. She’d be sure to pull him aside later and remind him that forty-year-old men cavorting with women half their age wasn’t usually considered a good look- except perhaps by other forty-year-old men cavorting with other women half their age, but were those really the kind of people he wanted approving of his actions?

(she’d tell him the answer was an emphatic no, in case he needed reminding of that, too)

Unfortunately, things were about to get a touch more uncomfortable for Agatha than having to watch her head trainer and team coordinator be the second party in a reunion of two tweenage girls. For, with a smile laced across her face and big baby-blues ready to pop out and beg for them to be friends, Miss London Carr turned from embracing the human tower, raised a fine, feminine hand, and, without sparing a second for Agatha to prepare herself, began their acquaintance with a beaming smile and this little pearl:

‘Hi, my name is London.  You must be Archie’s wife, if I’ve heard it correctly?’

If I’ve heard it correctly? 

For a solid minute, Agatha didn’t even know if she’d heard it correctly. Every kind of quip, insult, rebuttal and excuse passed along her tongue; there was an urge to laugh, good and proper from the belly, at the sick kind of hilarity her twisted sense of humour found in the situation; there was an urge to simply turn and walk in the other direction without ever stopping. In lieu of any clear winner, she stood in stunned silence. There was comfort in that nobody else seemed to be faring much better. London had lowered her eyes and was holding her tongue, the welcoming hand now semi-withdrawn, hanging nervously, the gloss on her fingernails catching the light. Archie laughed abruptly- a short, incredulous laugh- before raising a fist to his mouth to cover shock- or shame. He’d also coloured scarlet. Not much. But enough. It was Agatha who broke the silence.

‘No. You’ve not, “heard it correctly.” ‘No. No, Agatha and I aren’t married.’ ‘We’re not together.’ Her tone was sharp enough to cut glass. ‘He works for me.’ ‘Yes.’ A curious pep had entered into Archie’s voice. ‘I’m her handbag.’ 

He opened the fold of his jacket in demonstration, shaking it slightly for effect. It rattled and jingled with contained clutter. 

‘As you see, London, I’m laden with the necessary accoutrements a lady need bring with her on these outings: business cards, money, mobile, lipsticks, tissues, magical powders for every conceivable- and inconceivable- purpose, pens, notepad, hand sanitiser, elastics, clips... car keys ...’ 

It only required a fraction of a second for Archie to betray his game; the slightest curl, wriggle, quirk of his mouth out of formation as he said the give away words: car keys. He knew she’d seen. She knew, because his expression had changed. Just barely, almost inexplicably, but there was a decided touch of mirth warming his composed exterior.

He thinks he’s won.

He closed the fold of his jacket, oozing self-satisfaction. 

‘I have everything she needs.’

Agatha didn’t miss a beat. She turned to London and gave her a smile she didn’t intend for a second to appear genuine and said:

‘Yes. Sorry; my handbag and I were just on our way out.’ ‘Over,’  Archie cut in. ‘Just on our way over.’ ‘Out, as in-’ ‘Over to the bar. One last drink before we head home.’ He turned to Agatha with a smile. A challenge. ‘I hear the wine is excellent tonight.’ ‘I never heard such a thing.’ ‘No?’ He gestured to the glass in London’s hand. ‘Perhaps the esteemed Miss Carr can be the first to tell you all about it.’ Neither of them listened to London as she went on to expound the virtues belonging to the sauvignon blanc in her hand. Something about cold. Something about sweet. The stare off required too much concentration. (That, and Agatha was vaguely listening to the string of sarcastic remarks in the back of her mind.) ( I don’t take wine recommendations from people who don’t look old enough to drink it) (Twelve year-olds aren’t supposed to drink in this country, sweetie) (Didn’t anybody check this girl’s ID?) Archie had not moved his eyes. 

‘It sounds like a lovely drop.’ Agatha didn’t reply. ‘May I bring you something to drink?’ ‘You may not.’

In the midst of the stubborn silence stretching out between them, London surprised them both by stepping forward, her posture reminiscent of somebody forced to walk upon ice they suspect will not hold them.

Ready to plunge.

‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to… you know… upset you… Please forgive me.’ For the second time she raised her hand, albeit hesitantly this go around. Her eyes were framed with a pleading set of brows. ‘My name’s London. London Carr.’

It took Agatha longer than a moment to realise, yes, this girl was really still going to go for it and, yes, she should shake London’s hand. Apparently deciding she needed assistance, Archie took it upon himself to provide hints in the form of discreetly placing his hand behind her back and gently pushing her forward with his fingers. Agatha repaid his consideration by discreetly slapping his hand away and telling him not to touch her. She smiled at London, whose eyes had chased after the sound of skin smacking skin. ‘Agatha,’ she said, stepping forward to meet her hand, the omission of her surname intentional. ‘And don’t worry. You haven’t upset me.’ ‘No.’ Archie’s voice was quick behind her. ‘That’s my special talent.’ ‘It may be the only one you have.’ Despite best efforts to contain it, she followed up her remark with a wicked smile. ‘Excuse me. I might try this wine you say is so good.’ Archie held out an arm. ‘Allow me.’ ‘I will not.’ She threw a quick look between he and London. ‘Don’t look at me like that. You two clearly have a lot to catch up on- maybe you can start with telling her about your actual wife.’ Archie cleared his throat. His voice was quieter, uncertain. Embarrassed? ‘You know I’m not married anymore, Agatha.’ ‘Sorry: you can start telling her about your ex-wife.’

He mumbled a response. She didn’t care enough to ask him to repeat.

‘Do you want anything?’

After he requested a gin and tonic she had no intention of bringing back, Agatha left them and wove her way to the bar, the velvet thought of vintage red guiding her path through the crowd.

[amaryllisblackthorn]

@personinthepalace

i hope it’s okay i responded to your reply in its own post. i just thought it would be easier for me to write out my thoughts here instead of in the replies!

I love your thoughts! What’s bugging me is how old are the kids now? If Kate can drive, then she’s at least 16. So Reynie and Sticky are at least 15. And that would make Constance around 7, which I think doesn’t make sense since Tai is 5 And omigod I did not make the connection that Constance saying Kate parallels Kate saving Constance in the first book omigod I love it though I really wish all four of them (er five) were together for the final defeat

so the book is pretty vague about how much time has passed. they just kind of refer to it as ‘years’ and stuff. the clues we have are

kate can drive

kate can also ride a motorcycle 

kate is also at an age where working as a secret agent is okay by milligan despite his fatherly concerns ? (which is a vague qualifier but im adding it)

reynie is at an age that’s young for college (”among the youngest to attend this university”)

constance is technically not a “tweenager” yet

reynie can pass as a high school student (his disguise was a simple uniform compared to kate’s disguise as a mechanist)

constance is older than tai who is five

tai’s parents died either before or around the emergency ended

the biggest clue, i think, that we have is in fact tai’s age. tai’s parents died either before or around ‘the emergency’ ended, which is the end of the first book. we don’t know exactly when, especially since the emergency has been going on for a while before the first book. i’ll say maybe at most a year before and at least around the end. we don’t know how old tai was when they died, i believe, just that he “never even knew them”. i’m going to say that probably means he was at most younger than 2, because kate had one vague memory of her dad; i’m sure there’s a range for recalling memories but i’m using kate as a precedent for the series. it’s most likely that he was a baby, though. 

in other words, the time frame from the end of the first book is approximately ~4 to 5 years, i’d say, which just with that alone  would put the kids at roughly

kate: ~16-17

reynie: ~15-16

sticky: ~15-16

constance: ~7-8 (constance is almost 3 at the end of the first book so im just rounding up)

with me kind of favoring the +5 years after first book option

now, the thing about driving is that the ages slightly differ depending on states, and also there’s permit vs license. idk if there’s anything that indicates either one in particular. generally it seems like ~16 is a good age for motorcycles, and 16± 1 for cars (depending on permit v license). so, yeah, being around at least 16 fits the estimate for kate, it seems.

also, we know that reynie can’t be 17 yet, because that’s the average age to enter college. so ~15-16 seems to fit, too. 

i don’t see ~7 being too nonsensical for constance to be with tai’s 5 yrs. she’d still be older, and even when she was younger she had more of a mental maturity (in addition, of course, to her  immaturity) which would still be reflected. we know that she has to be older than 5, and isn’t yet a “tweenager”. the definition of tweenager varies a little, but in my experience refers to ages 10-12, although the internet tells me sometimes it counts 9 years old too. at the very least, we know that she can’t be 10 or older. so roughly she has to be ~6-9 years, which ~7,8 does fit. 

a lot of this is probably excess text and i prob could have written it much shorter, heh. but basically, judging from different hints in the book that all seem to support each other, this seems around right. 

heh

i get the wanting them all together for the final defeat, although i really, really loved the saferoom stuff with kate+constance+the ten men. kate vs the ten men always got me so intense bc of how much danger kate was in bc it was like. personal. and also i loved the emotionalness with the girls. i think the reason i can let the separation slide is because this was a very unusual thing. because it was like in the end all a setup, so like there wasn’t a traditional ‘final defeat’ kind of thing. it was also kind of a parallel to the end of the first book in that separation kind of thing, because it had been sticky, reynie + constance, kate; (then sticky, reynie, constance + kate) -- they had regrouped and were together for the ‘final defeat’ of curtain, but this was kind of subverted in roa bc it turns out curtain wasn’t an antagonist and was in on the setup. 

this book in particular felt like, pretty different to the main trilogy. like i mentioned in the original post, it seemed focused on the Society (+Tai) and thus neglecting much of the other characters, and made it seem pretty...i dont know if ‘contained’ is the right word?? but like...lacking something?? which doesnt necessarily make it bad but it was definitely like. different. i’m not sure if this comparison makes any sense at all but it’s kind of like if roa was a gaiden to a manga series? im not sure if thats an accurate comparison but..like roa didn’t seem like a legit regular installment but not in like a ‘it was bad’ kind of way? if that makes sense.

i hope my ramblings and stuff were okay ha. thanks for the reply!! i’m happy to talk about mbs + roa so feel free to say anything heh

[beangods]

Pls tell me abt maron 🖊️

imagine you’re 23. you look like a ken doll, as in, no pores or internal organs. you never blink. you’re basically a failure because you have no magic, so while you should be living large as a god-prince of black holes, instead you’ve been in the air force since you were twelve. your main hobby is working out and your favorite food is raw potatoes.

then one day your dad (magical monstergodking of black holes) wants you to build a telescope on a random planet. to do that, obviously, you have to invade, because . . . honestly you’re not sure what the thought process on that one was, but, whatever, what dad says goes.

pretty much a week after you show up, you get your ass kicked by three magic tweens, one of whom is clearly NOT an alien. or, rather, not an alien native to this planet. you decapitate him in self-defense, but his head turns into a black hole and sucks up his body and the other two tweens.

so that was kind of a sucky day for you, and it turns into a sucky few months because being a nameless grunt of an interdimensional empire is a sucky job.

then your dad gives you a personal call for the first time in years, acts like he forgot how old you are, and tells you to get your dud ass back planetside and use your nonmagical powers to hunt down a magic-user in the time of jimmy pop. this is great, because jimmy pop’s entire lifespan is locked to all magical beings because of some dumb prophecy, and now you have a chance of actually seeing what all the fuss is about.

it turns out that 1) bloodhound gang isn’t really that big of a deal, and 2) the magic-user is none other than the tween you decapitated and his two dweeby friends. apparently, he’s your older brother by some five thousand years, and the reason you had no idea he existed is because he SHOULDN’T. and because your dad is purposefully keeping you in the dark and has actually bound your magic. you’re a dud by design.

your older (younger? he looks and acts 13) brother knew your mom, because of course he did. she’s totally dead, but before she died she gave your brother a recording for her son. you pop that bad boy in the DVD player, and . . .

it’s not for you. it was meant for one of your brother’s dweeby alien friends, who conveniently has a mom who skipped town when he was a kid AND has some of her magic powers.

so, your dad kept you weak on purpose, and your mother never knew you existed and probably wouldn’t’ve cared if she had. and you’ve gone from being an only child to having two half-brothers, who aren’t related to each other and have some kind of weird teenage dirtbag tension going on.

oh, and your brother unlocked your magic, so now you’re finally losing your baby teeth and growing pores. BECAUSE your magic is unlocked, your father thinks you’re a traitor, so you have no choice but to tag along with your tweenage brothers and company, who commit many crimes.

this is your life now. you are so tired. your favorite food is now raw potatoes with salt.

[choices-owns-my-ass]

Why pb holds a special place in my heart

This will just a long story about my experience playing pb’s app game High School Story and Hollywood U and some background about why pb is important to me and my tweenage years

Back when I was a kid, probably 4th grade or so, and playing on my parents phone, playing High School Story, you could pair up two women or two men to date each other in the little date function and later during the photo booth update where you could date a character of your same sex, none of the characters or the plot really addressed it, because it didn’t matter to any of the characters, it was just two teenagers dating, and it was really important for both young me who had never heard of the lgbt community before and later when I started playing more seriously around 6th grade, baby gay me who had just figured out she was bisexual.

Pb has a lot of problems but I think a lot of us forget being newly out baby gays when just the idea of representation and being part of a community was exciting to us. The fact that pb gives this option in choices to many younger players who might have never really interacted with an lgbt person before, I think that’s important too. It’s 2019 and in certain games and media gay people still don’t exist and though pb is nowhere near perfect both in the aspect of lgbt representation and other aspects, it’s still really nice that lgbt characters are available in every book and treated 100% normal and no one ever bats an eye (except of course in historical books but that’s kind of necessary.)

And this is just personal preference but I hate the prevalence of melodrama in lgbt media and I understand that many pieces of media are representations of the real world where homophobia and intolerance are still very real problems but it’s nice to go to a world where it’s not addressed every 5 seconds and people just accept that two women or two men love each other. Not to mention the great trans characters pb has released which seem well researched and accurate representations of a trans person, I’m cis myself so I can’t really speak on it much but I’ve seen many others outside of the binary applauding the characters so I assume they aren’t offensive.

Anyway pb still has a lot of problems but they hold a special place in my heart nonetheless and I know they can make spectacular content. I still clearly remember parts from HSS and HU. Like that guy who manipulated HSS MC into making themself look bad and MC is at their lowest point where most of their friends have turned on them, this evil dude calls MC over to have dinner together, he’s just gloating about how he manipulated MC and the narrative just takes a second to note how when he cuts into his steak, blood spills out. And it’s such a novel concept and I’m sure it’s been done to death but 12 year old me was shaken to my core about how cool that part was and I’ve always remembered it. One time I remember there was a New Years special in HU where the bitchy female character was the point of view character and when MC speaks, from her perspective MC is just saying like “blah blah blah” and that’s what the bitchy villain character hears when MC speaks because she’s so self involved and that’s why she hates them, I thought that was really clever and creative.

I don’t really have a point with this and I’m not trying to defend pb or anything because they really need to fix their issues with the paywalling of female LIs and all their race issues but I just want to say pb can and have done great things before and I haven’t given up hope that they can keep doing it and inspiring people with their writing. Storyscape is not the end of choices by any means, they’re definitely different apps and they use different storytelling techniques, not to mention that Storyscape hasn’t had the time/resources to build up the huge expansive library that choices has over the last 3 years so there’s only so long you can play right now without replaying, I’m sure in time they’ll release more but for now, choices has much more options.

Anyway I’m trash, choices is trash, and I have nothing better to do with my life so I’m not leaving any time soon lol