#guess who got procreate and is using it for Crimes

[dxppercxdxver]

y'all remember watching this guy in science class? 🧪💉🧬

link to shirts/stickers/&c in the reblogs

inspired by this conversation with @chiropteracupola:

[ersatz-ostrich]

Baby Fever pt. 2: Baby Fever

Connor x f!Detective!reader (I guess?)

The baby fever takes hold.

Warnings: Mentions of domestic abuse and drug (Red Ice) use (happens before the story takes place)

<< pt. 1

read here on ao3

“We could be here for a long time. Are you okay going into the room without your daughter?” The woman nodded, glancing into the corridor where Connor was shifting her daughter in his arms. From what she could tell, he was doing it right, supporting her head and neck and all, but he looked somewhat bewildered, like a fish out of water. It was obvious that he had never held a baby before. “We’ll make sure she’s safe and cared for. In the meantime…” You showed her into the interview room and took a seat at the solitary table. From the other side of the mirror, you knew your fellow officers and detectives were watching, recording the conversation, taking notes, and cross-referencing them with their other notes from the ongoing investigations. “...let’s start from the beginning.”

Outside the interview room, Connor softly rocked the woman’s daughter. His system was running dozens of processes at a time, searching the web, employing executables, trying to figure out this new feeling of holding a tiny human in his arms. 

“Tin-can! What the hell are you—” Gavin, passing on his way to one of the holding cells, stopped dead in his tracks. “Is that a baby?!” 

“Yes, Detective,” Connor replied placidly. 

“Did you learn to procreate or something? Where’d you snatch it from?”

“ She is the daughter of Detective L/N’s interviewee.” Connor cast a sidelong glance at the detective. “Until they are finished, I will be caring for the infant.” Gavin made a face.

“Geez, if only Miller were here. He’d know what to do with the kid,” Gavin remarked. “Say, does Collins have any kids?” 

“Hey, what’s going on with you two?” Hank appeared in the corridor, a mug of coffee in his hand.

“Get your alcoholic ass outta here, Anderson. It’s bad for the baby!” Gavin gestured at Connor and the infant. 

“First of all, Reed, I’ve been sober for months now. Second of all, you wouldn’t know how to care for the little one even if someone shoved a baby book up your—” The lieutenant stopped himself and dragged a palm down his face, groaning. “It’s been a while since I’ve taken care of a little kid.” His eyes softened as he approached Connor and the baby. “Well, at least you’re doin’ something right with the way you’re holding ‘em. Have they been fed? Changed?”

“Maybe the baby’s better off at the children’s hospital,” Gavin suggested.

“Her mother explicitly stated that she would prefer not to be separated from her child,” Connor replied. “She is about six months old. Her mother said she fed her some formula this morning. However, according to growth charts for her age, she seems to be somewhat underweight.” 

“Hmm. She and mom must’ve had it rough.” Hank mused. “Tell you what, just keep her engaged. Make sure she’s comfortable.”

“Got it,” Connor nodded dutifully to his partner in the Android Crimes Division. As Hank moved to return to his desk, Connor felt the baby begin to squirm and fuss in his arms. 

“Uh-oh,” Said Gavin, backing away.

“Lieutenant, what’s going on?” Connor asked, panicking slightly as the baby continued to wiggle. He extended his arms slightly, as if to pass off the baby to Hank.

“She’s probably been swaddled like that all day. Let her down, let her crawl and play with her a little. Just,” Hank jabbed a finger at Connor. “Make sure she doesn’t get hurt. Keep her away from the choking hazards and anything that could fall on her.”

“Got it,” Connor repeated, unswaddling the baby from under the thick blankets her mother had wrapped her in to protect her from the elements. Underneath the baby wore a soft but too-big white and pink onesie. Hank sighed and went on his way, Gavin trailing behind him and casting a few glances back at Connor and the baby, who was now exploring the floor of the hallway.

“I’m too old for this,” Connor heard Hank mutter. “Don’t miss it at all.”

“Yeah, right, old man,” Gavin retorted.

Connor returned his attention to the child. Blinking, he revisited the information box in his HUD.

“Alexis,” He said tentatively. He knelt on the ground, observing the child crawl unsteadily. The baby made a garbled sound that sounded something akin to “Ba?” 

Connor questioned the functionality of his auditory sensors. When the infant repeated the sound, he questioned the functionality of his thirium pump.  

“I’m not your father,” He replied gently. “Your mother will be back soon.” Connor sat down cross-legged on the floor, holding his hands out to baby Alexis as she crawled towards him. “Your mother must have named you. She chose a beautiful name.” Alexis made her way towards Connor’s outstretched hand and tried to grab it. He helped her latch her tiny little hands—so soft!—onto his artificial ones. 

“Oh—! Oh!” Connor exclaimed. “There you go!” He gently lifted Alexis to her full height, watching her try to find purchase on her stubby, socked feet. Little Alexis squealed, stumbling a little while Connor tried to support her. Connor found himself grinning with delight at the sight of the baby standing shakily before him. This feeling was new to his software—he had never felt such a bright, warm emotion before, not even when he had first met you, or when he had first become deviant. Perhaps this was why humans valued parenthood so much—or at least, some people did.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a figure approach him and gasp.

“A baby!” It was Officer Chen, rushing to fawn over Connor and the infant. “Oh my God! Connor, where did you—Collins, you gotta come see this!” Connor heard footsteps in the hallway behind him, but he kept his attention on Alexis. 

“Chen, what the—” Collins watched in disbelief as Connor helped Alexis stand. 

“Aren’t they so cute?” Tina gushed. “I wish I had my phone on me. This is adorable!”

“She is cute,” Connor admitted. He let go of the giggling child’s hands momentarily to scoop her up, hands under her armpits, hoisting her into the air. Kicking her feet, the girl’s squeal attracted more curious officers, who began to cluster around Connor and the cooing six-month-old. 

Meanwhile, you listened intently to Alexis’s mother, Samantha, as she recounted the past six months to you.

“I gave birth to Alexis alone,” Samantha began. “At Henry Ford. My husband was coming home later than ever. I couldn’t reach him on the phone. He wasn’t there when I went into labor, so I called an automated taxi with what little money I had.

When I returned home with Alexis, he was still out. When he finally came back, I could tell he was still coming off of a high. But then…” Samantha lowered her gaze. “I noticed he had wads of cash in his pockets. He had it in brown lunch bags, plastic baggies…money from his deals. 

I kept Alexis far, far away from him in those times. I doubt he even registered that she’d been born in those first few days; he was always high. So, when he was really out of it, really dissociating, I started taking some of the money from his deals. 

After a few weeks, he started to notice. He got more careful in counting the money he made. He started suspecting me, threatening to hurt me or the baby. He’d never hurt me before, but losing his job and taking up Red Ice really…transformed him. Not long after he started threatening me, I found a gun…” Samantha started sniffling. You reached out a hand to gingerly comfort her, massaging her trembling shoulder.

“It’s okay,” You soothed. “Take your time.”

“I found a gun in the TV console,” Samantha shook her head. “That’s when I knew I had to get out. But I didn’t have enough money to pay for a place to stay. I tried, I really did, to stall as long as I could. Maybe steal an extra ten dollars or so. But he chased us out. Threatened me with that gun. And here I am.” 

“I’m so sorry, Samantha. You and your daughter deserve someplace safe and secure.” She held your hand in a tight grasp as she wept quietly. “Did you know where he was going when he left the house? Who was he with?”

“All those nights, I don’t know where he went off to,” Samantha answered, shaking her head yet again. “But…people kept calling him. Unsaved contacts. I caught some of the voicemails, from people talking about someone called Nate…”

“Nate…” Could it be? “Nathan Lance?” 

“Who’s that?”

“A prominent drug dealer, with control over almost forty percent of the Red Ice going in and out of Detroit. I’ve been on his trail for weeks.” You stood up. “Do you have any idea where your husband could be right now?” 

“He’s probably gone off to get high somewhere,” Samantha answered. “I’m sorry. He could be anywhere.” 

“We’re going to find your husband, Samantha, and take him in. If we can get through to him, we can get to Lance. With your testimony and any evidence we gather, we could press several charges against him. Illegal possession of a weapon and illicit drugs, threats of bodily harm, the like.” You squeezed Samantha’s hand. “He won’t ever lay a finger on you or your daughter if I can help it.”

“Thank you,” Tears welled in Samantha’s tired eyes. “This means everything to me.” She stood from her seat and made her way around the table to embrace you. You smiled sentimentally, returning the hug. 

“You’re a strong woman, Samantha.” You said. “I truly wish for the best for you and your daughter.”

When you stepped out of the interview room, you caught sight of Samantha’s daughter gumming contentedly on a plain rice cake taken from somebody’s snack stash. Someone had also brought a small stuffed leopard from their desk for her to play with. Your eyes lit up when you saw Connor watching the baby gnaw on the puck of puffed rice with a look on his face you’d never seen before.

“She’s cute, isn’t she?” Connor smiled warmly up at you. “Hank left to get some unsweetened applesauce for her.” 

“Looks like she’s having fun,” You replied. 

“I’m so glad,” Samantha sighed. She lowered herself to the ground and wrapped her arms around her infant daughter, running a gentle hand over Alexis’s barely-there hair. “Thank you for taking care of her, Connor.” Alexis giggled. 

“Looks like she likes you,” You remarked, grinning at Connor. You offered your finger to Alexis, like her mother had earlier, and Alexis nearly dropped the rice cake. Connor quickly caught it, leaving the baby to play with you. 

“The baby fever’s spread like wildfire, eh?” Hank emerged from the bullpen with a six-pack of baby applesauce and some papers.

“Who can help it?” You replied. “Alex is such a little angel.” Hank rolled his eyes.

“By the way, Connor, Ben gave me the list you asked for. Women’s shelters around the city, willing to accept Samantha and Alexis for a time.” Hank handed him the list, which Connor leafed through before handing to Samantha.

“Wonderful. You and Alexis should have a safe place to stay until you can support yourselves again,” He addressed the mother as she flipped through the packet. 

Finally letting go of little Alexis’s hand, you stood up and adjusted your clothes. 

“Once the paperwork’s done with, Connor and I can take you to whichever place works best for you,” You offered. Samantha stood as well, scooping Alexis up in her arms. 

“I would like that very much,” She replied. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Late that night, you unlocked the door to your apartment. You hung up your jacket, kicked off your shoes, and tossed your bag onto your couch. You flopped onto the cushions with a sigh. Connor followed you in, depositing his own belongings and taking his spot next to you on the couch. 

“So…” You mumbled, resting your head on his shoulder as you felt your tired body melt into the cushions. “...the baby.”

“She was cute,” Connor replied. 

“Oh, yeah?” You teased. “I bet you’re thinking of getting your own baby, huh?” You didn’t miss the slight tint that colored Connor’s cheeks.

“Unfortunately, that can’t happen for you and I.”

“Yeah. Not unless we get one of those YB model prototypes Cyberlife was working on before the revolution.” That had been a weird case for the Android Crimes Division—investigating the project Cyberlife had put on hold when deviancy exploded across the country. 

“Y/N, you know that wouldn’t be the same.”

“Well, there are other options.” You shuffled closer to Connor, who took you into his arms and rested his chin on your head. “Adoption, maybe.”

“Maybe.” You leaned on Connor’s chest, savoring the reverberations of his soft chuckle. 

“Baby fever got you good, huh?” You grinned up at him.

“I may be an android, but it appears I am not immune to this ��baby fever’.”

I wrote this all in one go in the middle of the night, because that's how I function sometimes (: it was NOT supposed to include mentions of domestic abuse or Red Ice when I first started brainstorming I SWEAR anyways hope you enjoyed! x

Let me know if you want to be part of my general, Connor, or Detroit taglists!

[thelamentknight]

Sceptre Vaughnwood

380 (19 in human years)/Trans Male

Welsh

Half Ghost

Asexual Bisexual

Sagittarius 

Hometown is Ghoul City

Twisted from Spectra Vondergeist

Diasomnia

3rd Year

His Best Subject is History of Magic

He’s in the Journalism Club (Founded the club. He’s the only member)

His Favorite Food is Spicy Korean Ramen

His Least Favorite Food is Red Beet

Dislikes being called a Liar

Hobbies include Internet surfing, playing online Uno, Floating around NRC, binge watching Mystery Shows, playing on his DS or 3DS, and trying different coffees

Talent: Solving Riddles

Ghosts don’t have UMs

One of the most disliked students at NRC, Sceptre is quite a mystery. Sneaky and mischievous, he loves to cause chaos in his own quiet way. He tends to not talk a whole lot, as not only does he prefer to listen than talk, he doesn’t like to reveal too much about himself. He prefers to keep to himself, and doesn’t mind being alone. It isn’t uncommon to see him typing away on his Laptop, typing on his phone, or scribbling in his notebook.

Spectre is the result of his human Mom and ghost Dad getting…uh, freaky during Halloween. A bit after Spectre was born, his parents got married and his Mom turned into a ghost (his parents didn’t kiss beforehand, so his Mom stayed human). His Dad works as a photographer while his Mom works as a fashion reporter. Spectre’s love of gossip came from the fact that every time his parents came home, they would gossip/complain of whatever drama happened at work.

Fun Facts:

+ Runs a blog called “Raven’s Writing Gossip,” an in school blog that documents the drama that happens at NRC. For a while, no one suspected it was him because majority of people suspected that it was run by an Octavinelle student

+ His Mom is Human and his Dad is a Ghost…it’s better you don’t know how they procreated. You really don’t wanna know.

+ You know when there’s an episode in a show where there’s a mystery that needs to be solved, and the character playing detective monologues in their head like they’re a mystery crime protagonist? Spectre does that a lot

+ He can turn invisible. He tends to use this to sneak around NRC, get juicy gossip, and to spook people. 

+ Has a board in his room that has notes, strings, pins, and pictures

+ Speaks in soft whispers

+ He hates Ángel because he was the one who found out Sceptre was the writer of Raven’s Writing Gossip. And not only can he see Spectre when he’s invisible, Ángel always points him out

+ Fanfic Reader

+ Bad at keeping secrets (who would’ve guessed)

+ As he finishes his work for Journalism very quickly, Spectre will float to different clubs and sneakily watch what happens (he doesn’t bother turning invisible in the Fashion Club most of the time because Ángel is in that club)

+ Half the time he has a lollipop in his mouth

+ Interestingly, he never posted/blogged about the Overblots

+ Due to the fact that he runs Raven’s Writing Gossip, he doesn’t really have friends, and most people treat him with hostile cautiousness. He is very caring and protective for the ones who are nicer to him.

+ Always has a pen and notebook with him. ALWAYS

+ Loves shows like Gossip Girl and Pretty Little Liars (basically shows where there’s a mysterious person texting/posting about the characters secrets)

+ Likes Korean food (Note: Spectre is NOT a creepy Koreaboo, he just likes Korean food)

+ Has lots of Sherlock Holmes and Nancy Drew books

Voice Claim

[collectivefandomstuff]

Title: A Hindering Hand Type: Fanfic, crossposted to AO3 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270097) Status: Complete. Chapter: 1/1. Fandom: DC/Batman Rating: T Warnings: Language. Beta: No beta we die like Jason Todd and also Damian Pairings: None. Word Count: 4k+ Genre: Humour/Comedy Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne. Summary: When Dick is refused the opportunity to coddle Damian, he decides to lavish his other siblings with his questionably helpful assistance. They are palpably ungrateful.

Excerpt: Damian didn’t answer the first time, so Jason made use of his annoying gene(s) and called him over and over until he picked up. “Todd,” Damian snarled, “I am at school. I realise that you were incapable of finishing your formal education but-” “Your fucking Dick of a brother broke into my apartment and re-decorated my living room.” Jason informed him. 

”You have got to be kidding me.”

Jason stared at what used to be his perfectly clean kitchen; now a hollowed out shell of its former self. Cabinet doors were thrown open, his carefully organised supplies haphazardly shuffled around. Every single counter and parts of the floor was covered in flour, cocoa, and something wet and heretofore unidentified. He didn’t even want to look closer at the stove or the sink, both filled with sticky, clearly misused, pots and pans. There was a smell hanging in the air, the same one that had set his inner alarm bells off when he entered the apartment: burnt sugar and something that smelled suspiciously like rotten fruit. Jason took a deep breath to stop himself from just whipping out his guns and shooting at the mess. It would be cathartic, but ultimately unhelpful. Instead, he fished his phone out of his front pocket and thumbed through his contacts.

He got through two rings before the line opened.

“He got you too?” Tim said on the other end. His tone reminded Jason of Bruce, which was usually a clear indication that Tim was fucking done.

“How can he be this useless?” Jason ground out.

“He was raised by Alfred.”

“So was I. And you.” “Fine. He was spoiled by Bruce.” “uh-huh,” Jason agreed, daring to move into his living room. Thankfully, the carnage hadn’t spread there, though there was an oven pan, placed strategically in the middle of his coffee table. The contains looked like what Jason imagined “dubious food” in Zelda looked like in real life. “I have to stop hanging out with you,” he told Tim. “Why?” “I just made a video game reference in my head.” “Which game?” “Not the point.” “I mean-” Tim began, but before he got any further into arguing why the specific game was “of import” to the discussion -fucking dweeb -Jason cut him off: “I’m going to kill him.” Tim was quiet for a moment. “What did he do exactly?” “Hi Little Wing,” Jason recited from the note that had been stuck underneath his brand new fucking oven pan Dick you bastard that was expensive. “I made you some brownies!” Jason stopped to look closer at the brown sludge that he was pretty sure was stuck to the bottom of his new pan. Martha herself recommended it, Dick goddammit. “I hope they turned out all right! Don’t work too much! D.” There was a pause. “Did they turn out all right?” asked Tim. “No,” Jason gritted his teeth, “No, they did not.” “He’s really on a spree this week.” “Yeah?” Jason muttered absently, poking at the sludge with his gloved finger. It jiggled. Somehow, that made everything so much worse. “Mm,” Tim said, and Jason could hear the tapping of computer keys in the background which meant that he had about 30% of Tim’s attention. “He hit Cass and Steph a few days ago. I guess since Cass is staying there when she’s in town he thought it was two for one. Tried to do their laundry.” “Why haven’t they killed him?” “They’re working on big drug bust. So, no time.” “Well I have time.” Jason groused, already trying to reorganize his plans for the evening. He would need at least three hours to repair the damage Dick had done to his kitchen. “Good,” Tim said, his voice cold, “because so do I.” Jason stopped trying to figure out how many new appliances he would need to buy to focus for a moment. “What did he do to you?” Tim was silent for a long while, then: “He tried to clean my apartment.” Jason shuddered. On one hand, he understood the compulsion. His replacement’s usual idea “clean” was “nothing hazardous is currently growing somewhere”. Still, the only thing worse than Dick trying to clean was Bruce trying to clean. Or cook. Or do laundry. Or vacuum. The Batman he may be, but Jason had never met a more incompetent homemaker in his life. Once, Bruce had tried to dust a little and they had to call the fire department. “And?” He prompted. “He moved everything,” Tim said, deceptively calm, “and threw out at least thirty-four irreplaceable things.” Oh shit. There was a reason why Jason stomped down the urge to clean Tim’s apartment. He once moved an old magazine when the younger boy wasn’t even there and the next day he got received three upset calls and a computer virus for his trouble. “He re-organised my desk. My cases. My clues.” Tim continued to rattle off. “And he didn’t even manage to clean properly. I’m pretty sure he tried to scrub my TV with vinegar.” Jason bit his lip to keep from laughing. Looks like Tim got it worse. “Shut up,” said Tim grouchily. “I didn’t say anything.” “You were laughing at me.” How- Jason’s hand clenched around the phone. “I told you to stop putting cameras in my apartment.” Tim snorted. “So find them and take them down. Think of it as practice,” he said, lilting the word “practice” in the same way Bruce usually did. “You’re such a creeper.” “Says the murderous crime lord.” “At least I’m not a stalker.” “Have you checked your bottom cabinets yet?” Jason stilled at the sudden change of subject. “Why?” “Looks like the re-organising urge lived on.” Oh, he had better fucking not. Jason stepped back into his kitchen and, with the care of someone opening a bomb case, edged open the door to his pots- and pans cabinet. He came face to face with his toaster, nestled between a pasta drainer and three boxes of cereal that he had not owned this morning. It was the sugary shit too. “Son of a-” “I think he put your spatulas in the fridge,” Tim said cheerily. Jason was going to wring his little neck. Right after he had stomped on Dick until the unbridled rage in his chest went away. “This is why I don’t want any contact with this family for-” “You know why he’s doing this right?” Tim queried lightly. Jason frowned. “I don’t keep track of the family gossip, pretender. I have better things to do with my time.” Tim made an offended noise at being called “pretender”. “Fine. Then why don’t you try to make him stop and call me when he’s tried to clean your guns?” Jason rolled his eyes. The dramatics, honestly. Bruce 2.0. “Why is he doing this, Tim?” He asked reluctantly. Tim sniffed. “Damian told Dick that he wasn’t needed at the moment, which was the little brat’s way of trying to get Dick to take some time to de-stress, but obviously Dick took this to mean that Damian has cast him aside and considers him a bad parental figure.” Jason spent a good few seconds rethinking the whole “moving back to Gotham” idea. He could just… leave and never talk to this insane family ever again. It was entirely doable. Just, one little call to Roy and hasta la vista you absolute nutjobs. He sighed. “So we have to talk to the demon child?” He asked tiredly. “Yeah pretty much.” “I still think my first plan was better.” “If you kill Dick, the family will never leave you alone.” That was a surprisingly good point. Dammit. “Can I punch him a little?” “I’d encourage it.” “Hey,” said Jason suspiciously, “just what are you planning to do him exactly?” “Honestly?” Tim replied. “I’m going to send a false tip to the department of Agriculture, fabricate evidence, and make them recall his favourite cereal.” Jesus fucking Christ this family was a pizza bagel of crazy with a sociopath topping.

-

It took them a while to track down Robin during patrol, and when they managed to find him they were met with immediate resistance. Which, taking into consideration who they were, wasn’t all that surprising. “Calm down.” Red Hood said placatingly while he jumped out of range from Robin’s swords. “We just wanted to talk to you about N-” He dodged a batarang that was clearly aimed at his throat. Add psychopath topping to that pizza bagel. “Would you knock it off,” Red Robin snarled, spinning out of the way when Robin spun to aim a kick at his stomach. Hood seized the opportunity and darted in to restrain the tiny beast that, let’s be real, was absolute proof that Bruce should not be allowed to procreate. Robin thrashed in his hold for a good three minutes before he finally settled down, glaring murderously at Red. “What do you want?” Robin spat. Even when Hood could feel him literally vibrating with supressed rage, he still kept perfect syntax. No abbreviations here. Little freak. “We need you to call N,” Red said. He looked a little ruffled and more than a little miffed. “I will do no such thing,” Robin sniffed. “Think again,” Hood said in his ear, letting his voice drop into a menacing tone. “Look,” Red Robin said. His hair was sticking up at the back after the struggle and he looked real fed up with this. Hood could relate. “N is running himself ragged trying to prove he’s a good parent or something and you need to make him quit before he injures himself.” Robin stilled. “What would Grayson be doing that would cause him such stress?” “He’s cooking,” Hood drawled. “And cleaning,” Red added. Robin’s whole body tensed. “I will take care of it.” He declared imperiously. Hood looked at Red, who shrugged. Yeah, good enough, I guess.

-

It was not good enough, he guessed, Jason realised as he took in what used to be his living room, but was now a cut out of a living room no one would ever willingly ”live” in from Garishly Tasteless Designs Magazine. He had his phone up and dialling before his eyes had even swept up the full length of the dirt-yellow curtains. It took a while to get the full effect of them, because he kept getting distracted by the frills and the suspiciously Nightwing-esque pattern. “Yeah?” Tim answered on the other end of the line. His voice said he was knee deep in something and wasn’t really paying attention. Probably his revenge plan, which Jason was seeing in a whole new light right now. “He redecorated.” Jason’s voice was so low it was almost a growl. There was a pause. “It didn’t stop?” Tim sounded much more alert and aware this time. “No it did I just went out and bought this lime green couch myself from Blind, Bath and Beyond,” Jason snapped. He heard Tim groan into the receiver. “But we even talked to Damian,” his replacement whined. Like he had anything to complain about. His living room didn’t have- was that a fucking Billy the Bass? Jason was going to shove his guns so far- “I’m calling the brat,” Jason ground out before hanging up and redialling. Damian didn’t answer the first time, so Jason made use of his annoying gene(s) and called him over and over until he picked up. “Todd,” Damian snarled, “I am at school. I realise that you were incapable of finishing your formal education but-” “Your fucking Dick of a brother broke into my apartment and re-decorated my living room.” Jason informed grimly. “He- you must be mistaken.” “Look, kid, there aren’t a lot of things I know, what with my not completing my formal education and all, but if there is one thing I will never unlearn it’s how to spot Dick Grayson’s fucking taste in fabrics.” “I see.” No, you little shit. You don’t see. Jason was the one who was cursed with seeing this absolute monstrosity of a- was that crystal?! “You said you were handling it,” Jason reminded him, firmly putting his back to the living room. Looking at it was bad for his blood pressure. “I do not understand.” Damian said seriously. “I specifically told Grayson to stop bothering you and go back to Blüdhaven where he could be of use.” Oh. Oh Damian. Jason resisted the urge to smack the phone into his face. Sometimes Damian’s age and social inexperience really shone through. Jason took a deep breath to keep from screaming. “Listen, Damian.” Jason said carefully. “Dick is feeling a little neglected right now, and what he needs, what we asked you to do, was to start hanging out with him again.” “-tt-” Damian was probably rolling his eyes. Jason could have Tim check later, he was sure the little creep had cameras in every building in the city. “That is preposterous!” “No,” Jason said dangerously, “it’s not. So now would you just call him and tell him you need help with your homework or something?” It was truly a testament to Jason’s level of desperation that he was willing to be this nice and patient. “Grayson needs to rest-” “Just FUCKING CALL HIM!!” Ok, so there was a limit to that patience. Oh well, he was only human. Damian, however, apparently thought that this was one indignity too far because the call disconnected. Jason glanced behind him and immediately regretted it. Porcelain figurines. Oh, how he missed the days when he was a big-name villain, and the only thing Dick did was fight him. In the corner, a cuckoo clock struck seven and a tiny robin popped out and chirped at him. Jason’s vision blurred with sickly green for a moment. Yeah, he was staying in a safe house tonight.

-

It took for days of no progress and Tim having his entire coffee-stash replaced with decaf (“cheap decaf, Jason. Low-level, buy in bulk decaf.”) before they threw in the towel and went to the manor. The estate looked as menacing to him now as it had when Jason first saw it as a little kid from Crime Alley. It probably always would, no matter how many times he was back. If Tim was feeling apprehensive, it didn’t show. He just looked grumpy, like a particularly displeased cat. His replacement rapped his knuckles on the door and stepped back to cross his arms, frowning. He looked very intimidating. Like a squirrel with an anger management problem. The door swung open to reveal Steph, dressed in a t-shirt that Jason was pretty sure wasn’t supposed to be a splotchy pale blue. Her jeans looked new. “He’s not here,” Steph told them in a biting tone. “Who?” Tim asked. “Dick. Though for the record we have to come up with a new name for him because ‘Dick’ is going to be real ironic soon.” And whoa, Steph did know how to look properly intimidating. “What’d he do?” Jason asked her. Stephanie stepped back to let them inside. “There was an incident with a waffle iron,” she said icily. “He tried to cook?” Tim guessed, taking off his shoes. “He tried to laminate.” Steph corrected. Tim grimaced. “Is Damian here?” Steph snorted. “Damian is useless. We need to strike back.” She lowered her voice, her eyes cold. “And strike hard.” Damn, if this continued, Dick wouldn’t even be allowed back into Gotham. Actually, yeah he would. Only Batman could bar people from entering Gotham, apparently. Because Bruce was only one with any rights around here, that fucking- He was getting off subject. Also, not paying attention. “-alking to Dick,” Tim was saying, “trying to talk to him is a good way to make this worse.” “I wasn’t suggesting we talk to him.” Steph said, cracking her knuckles. Tim looked unimpressed, which frankly impressed Jason a little. Stephanie was scary. Not Batman scary but- Hang on. “Hang on,” Jason said, holding his hand up for emphasis, “Batman is the only one who can bar someone from coming to Gotham.” “What the hell is your point, zombie boy?” Steph asked, crossing her arms. “We don’t need to redirect Dickies attention back to Damian. We just need to redirect it. To someone.” Jason grinned at them and it probably only looked about 30% insane. “Someone with the power to stop him.” Understanding dawned on Stephanie and Tim’s faces. “Someone who deserves to have his clothes ruined,” Steph whispered reverently. “Someone who has time to redecorate because he doesn’t have a job,” Tim added gleefully, “someone who flounces into board meetings too late and does nothing.” “Exactly.”

-

Tracking down Nightwing turned out to be the easiest thing they’d had to do so far. He didn’t even try to avoid them. “Hey guys!” N smiled cheerily at them as if he hadn’t spent the last two weeks putting them through some kind of Donna Reed inspired psychological torture. “Nightwing.” Red Robin greeted coldly and, yeah, in costume the replacement could totally pull off intimidating. “Whoa, what’s with the murder faces?” Nightwing said, stepping off the ledge he’d been standing on and walking closer. Hood crossed his arms. “You’ve been busy lately,” he commented and even the helmet couldn’t filter away the unvoiced insult at the end. “I guess?” N replied. “Did you like the brownies?” Hood tried to remember that they weren’t here to beat him senseless. Based on Spoiler’s clenched fists it seemed like he wasn’t the only one struggling with that. “N,” Red Robin said with the calm voice he usually reserved for interrogating suspects, “we appreciate you trying to… help us.” On “help us” Red’s voice broke through the calm and straight into “I’m going to kill you and bury you in store-brand decaf coffee” territory. “But we really are doing fine on our own.” Nightwing pursed his lips. “You are all working so hard-” he started, but Red cut him off. “Yes, and that’s why we appreciate it. But we’re actually worried about someone else, who needs your help a lot more than we do.” Nightwing paused and Hood could almost see the gears in his head whirring. “Who? Damian?” “Not Damian,” Red said, because they all knew it wouldn’t work to say it was Damian, “B.” Nightwing crossed his arms. “You think B needs help?” And here was the fragile part of their plan. Hood cleared his throat. “B,” he said, trying to keep his tone civil, “works himself to the bone and he doesn’t accept help from any of us.” “He has Alfie though,” N argued. “Alfie is busy taking care of Damian, since you’re not helping him as much anymore.” Spoiler rebutted. And damn, blondie, good answer. “We struggle too,” Red said, “but we help each other, right guys?” “Uh-huh,” Spoiler agreed. “Right.” Hood lied, thankful that the helmet veiled his eyeroll. “You guys help each other out,” Nightwing said with obvious disbelief. “You.” “Red is always helping me with cases,” Spoiler said, “and studies and stuff too. And I help him with staying alive and acting like a human.” Red nodded. “And Red and I work together on cases,” Hood said truthfully. “And sometimes Hood makes sure I eat and stuff,” Red added, “and I help him with security.” “They also hang out and play video games and watch nerdy movies,” Spoiler revealed. The little snitch. “Really?” Nightwing said, looking between the three of them. “That’s great!” He shuffled around a little. “So, you guys don’t need me either, huh?” Oh god. Oh dear god it was the voice. The patented Richard Grayson sad-and-feeling-neglected voice. The voice that could inspire shame and guilt in the most hard boiled criminal. At least he was wearing the mask so he couldn’t give them the accompanying puppy eyes. “Well,” Spoiler said and Hood could see her wavering. She didn’t have the years of experience needed to withstand Dick’s manipulation. “But B does!” Tim exclaimed, dragging Spoiler to stand behind him. Good move. “And the little brat too, even though he doesn’t admit it.” Hood added. Nightwing bit his lip. “Look,” Red’s voice was genuine now, “we all really do appreciate it, but B and Dami need your help more. And frankly, the last time I saw B he looked dead on his feet. We’re all good. But he isn’t. He sleeps less than I do.” Maybe that was even true. Huh. Were they doing B a solid here? Wait, no. No they weren’t. It was recommended by Martha, Dick you absolute menace. “Ok, I hear you.” N said solemnly. “I just wanted to help out.” Martha. Think about Martha. “We know,” Red said, patting N on the back. It was really awkward. “Did I tell you B has started eating power bars for dinner?” “Wait, seriously?” Nightwing looked disturbed. “That’s so bad for you.” “Yeah,” Hood said as if he hadn’t watched Red do that at least three dozen times, “he’s really setting a bad example for li’l D, isn’t he?” He thought Red might have done the wave if he could have. Hood certainly wanted to give himself the wave for that stroke of genius. “Okay, I know you guys are manipulating me,” Nightwing told them drily. Shit. “But you have a point.” Oh thank Jesus. N stretched. “Well,” he said, “I’m going to make sure B doesn’t kill himself. And yes, I’ll stop helping you guys.” He shook his head. “You three should really open up more, you know?” They nodded, because at this point they would do anything to make him stop “helping out”. Red cleared his throat. “So, good luck, uhm...” Nightwing grinned. “I’ll stop, but you all have to give me a hug before I leave.” Fuck. N pounced on Red like a jaguar on a gazelle, completely ignoring the scandalised (and very undignified) “meep” Red let out. Hood turned around, ready to make a run for it. “If you leave before a hug I’ll make you dinner next time!” Nightwing called cheerfully, still holding onto Red Robin like he was a life vest. Triple fuck. Hood sighed. The things you do to not have your living room secretly re-decorated.

-

As awful as it was to get cuddled by Nightwing, it was all worth it about a week later, when Tim climbed in through his living room window for their bi-weekly movie night. This week: when the great go bad- The Godfather 3, X-Men: The Last Stand, and Matrix Reloaded and Revolutions. “I see you got rid of the ruffles,” Tim remarked. “You didn’t see that on your stalker cam?” “I’ve been busy watching Bruce lately.” “Oh?” Jason prompted, putting the pizza boxes on the coffee-table. “He tried to call me five times today,” Tim said. He walked over and got two beers out of the fridge. Jason sniggered. “It’s that bad?” “He’s only got one target now. B is about to break.” “Tell me more, tell me more,” Jason said, making himself comfortable on his new -fucking stylish thank you very much -couch. “Like, did he do something to his car?” “I can’t believe you just made a Grease reference, you absolute nerd,” Tim commented flatly. “Musicals are cool,” Jason told him. Because it was true and he would fight anyone who said otherwise. “Was Olivia Newton John your childhood crush or something?” “Who’s to say it wasn’t Travolta?” Tim gave him a deadpan stare. “Because,” he said drily, “unlike Dick, you actually have taste.” Jason mulled that over. “Touché." He shrugged. "Now tell me about B.” Tim looked up from where he was connecting his computer to the TV and grinned sharply. “You want to experience what the Germans call ‘Schadenfreude’?” “Hell yeah I do.” Tim hit a key on his laptop and the Cave flickered into view on Jason’s TV. At least, he thought it was the cave. “Is that?” “He re-decorated the cave.” Tim laughed. It was not a nice laugh. Jason approved. On the screen, Bruce had just entered through the door to the storage area and was making his way to the computer. Trailing after him with a plate of questionable looking sandwiches was Dick. Jason nabbed a beer from the coffee table and leaned back against the couch. “Oh we are so watching this tonight. Sofia can wait.” “I made a compilation of the past week,” Tim said smugly, picking up the other beer and folding himself into Jason’s new armchair. It was beige and, most importantly, neither pea-green nor suede. On screen Bruce collapsed into his new, avant-garde office chair and put his head in his hands while Dick chatted pleasantly in his ear. “You know,” Tim said thoughtfully while Dick re-arranged Bruce’s files, “sometimes I think he’s being purposefully bad at this.” “Why?” “Oh just,” Tim reached for the pizza and Jason handed him the box, “whenever he starts doing this, we all have to interact with each other to make him stop. Like how you and I only started hanging out to begin with because he kept breaking into our safe houses to make ‘breakfast’. Well, that and that time he gave you a haircut in you sleep.” Jason stilled with his beer halfway to his mouth. “He…” Oh god. “That’s totally what he’s doing isn’t it?” Tim looked at him over his slice of pepperoni. “Yeah, probably.” Jason slammed his bear down on the table. “THAT SNEAKY FUCKING BASTARD!” Jason glared at Tim, the proof of Dick's successful manipulation. He didn't even like the replacement. Why the hell was he hanging out with him? Stupid, meddling big brothers who ruin your life. "It's okay," Tim reached over and patted his hand, "I just confirmed that they're taking his cereal off the shelves this week." And yeah, that made it a little better, actually. "I still don't like you." He told Tim. "I know. Wanna watch Bruce find out that Dick redid his wardrobe?" "Yeah ok," Jason grumbled. Maybe, he admitted to himself only, the replacement wasn't all bad. The screen zoomed in on Bruce's expression as he came face to face with a sequined suit. Yeah, Jason thought, taking another sip of beer, not all bad.

[ubemango]

one time, in your room (m)

note: I wrote this after receiving such an enthusiastic response to my virgin!jk drabbles. I really can’t thank you guys enough for expressing interest in this story, it really helped jumpstart lunyua lol 😭😭🥰🥰!!!!!!! I’m happy she’s back:) I would be absolutely nowhere without it heheh. My thank yous are also due to Violet and my crème de la crème for helping me write this back in March--I love you both very, very much!!!!!! Enjoy :D

DISCLAIMER. there’s one scene based off a tweet that I can’t find the link to lol... it’s about getting fingered till u cry. You’ll know when you get there 😭

PAIRING. jeongguk/reader GENRE. romance, college au RATED. M WORD COUNT. 17.3k WARNINGS. alcohol, oral (f receiving), cum shot, fingering, sexting, phone sex/masturbation, face sitting, riding, talks about Babies, jk loving oc A Lot SUMMARY. There are papers to write, and virgins to daydream about. (You can think about Jeongguk’s dick later.)

                                          part 1: emergency tactics

It started five months in.

Jimin probably didn’t mean anything by it. There’s talk and then there’s inebriation, and Jimin slurred roughly between the two like the drunkard he is. But Jeongguk was still hurt and you didn’t know what to do.

“He called me a pussy then told me to fuck one instead,” Jeongguk said under the strobe lights, the plastic ones you buy at the dollar store and you know it’s Hoseok who got them because he’s frugal, not cheap. The couch was itchy under your skirt. “Am I—is it really that bad? Like am I doing this wrong? Am I taking too long, or—”

“No, oh my god. Babe,” you said, and the cooler in your hand found the floor before you cupped his face. He was pouting. “Doing things—like that—it’s—it shouldn’t be something you stress over, okay? Don’t listen to other people. I like you. And Jimin is a whore.”

Jeongguk snorted. You could still see the doubt in his eyes, though. Shiny because he’s tipsy, but that downward droop still there. “You’re the best,” he said as sincere as he could sound.

And he’d left it at that. He got way more drunk though, definitely influenced by his post-teen-pre-adult angst but what’s a 21-year-old supposed to do with ample service of alcohol and an aching heart? You’d left him to it and cleaned the vomit on his shirt after. It was an okay party.

It stayed okay for a bit, too. Jeongguk isn’t an insecure person, but his bouts of uncertainty were getting more and more frequent. Especially when all his friends were naturally horny and really fucking stupid.

“So you’ve been dating for almost eight months and you—still haven’t defiled him,” Jimin says, now absolutely sober and still absolutely dumb.

You can feel Jeongguk’s ears heat up. “Dude.”

Jimin ignores him and turns to you. “Aren’t you like—bored?”

“When will you stop talking,” Jeongguk murmurs through a bite of his burrito bowl.

“I’m not,” you answer Jimin, flipping through another page of a study on birth control. A convoluted piece of shit, as Taehyung put so eloquently, but he left a couple minutes ago for a study group. “And stop bullying him.”

“I’m just shocked,” Jimin continues. “How does someone so hot end up with someone even hotter and like—not immediately participate in procreation. This is a crime!”

“Look.” Your textbook flips closed. “I don’t know what your obsession is with this guy’s dick over here, but it’s mine to worry about.”

“I think you upset her,” Jeongguk says.

“I know what it’s like to be pressured into sex,” you say. You feel Jimin lock up. “Look—sorry, that was baggage and I’m stressed.” Jimin nods. “But seriously? It’s—he’s—Jeongguk’s fine the way he is, alright?”

You taper off. It’s silent save for the milling of other students in the quad, but the air is thick. Sliced through with your anger but you’d rather have this conversation in private, without Jimin and his probing. Unnerving Jeongguk was like lighting the fuse in you, and maybe it was the instinct to preserve whatever purity Jimin keeps insisting on but you’ve never seen your boyfriend so upset about something. It kind of hurt to see him like this.

You get back to taking notes when Jimin talks again. “I’ll go,” he says. “Jeongguk I—”

“It’s fine.” Doesn’t sound like it though because he’s tight-lipped. 

Jimin salutes and sidles away. A bubble of unfinished conversations swells around you.

“Thanks for—that, I guess,” he says.

Your highlighter squeaks against the paper. “Jeongguk.”

“M’yeah?”

“Do you want to have sex with me?”

Maybe that was a bad start because Jeongguk sputters. You think he squawks, too—and he’s definitely fidgeting, lots of cut-off noises in his throat as he tries to say anything coherent. You look at him and he finally takes a breath in. “I—”

“You’re worried.”

His face contorts in confusion. “About what?”

“I don’t know. But I can feel it.”

“Same wavelength,” he laughs. Empty but he knows you’re just trying to help.

“Look.” He doesn’t but that’s because you’ve turned back to your books. “We have sex when we have sex. And if someone tries to—bother you about it, you can tell them they can suck on my fat cock.”

You hear him chortle. “I’ll do that.”

The conversation ends. You study. You still feel Jeongguk fidgeting.

Now there’s three weeks left till the term is over.  

“My—brain. It’s exploding. There’s too much going on.”

Jeongguk’s desk is a cramped space—the only place you can prop your textbook up against is his sweatshirt wrapped into a wrinkly ball. Graciously taken from his hamper because he still hasn’t done his laundry. The chair creaks when you spin to look at him: a dejected blob of comfy clothes surrounded by looseleaf paper and sticky notes. “Break time?”

He slumps against his pillows, arms out like a sad toddler. “Break time.”

This probably means you’ll cuddle for the next three hours but there’s little to complain about when Jeongguk purrs into your hair once you settle into his chest. There’s a warmth to him you can’t get anywhere else. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he huffs. “Just working too hard.”

“Okay,” you murmur. Jeongguk’s breath evens out the way it does when he wants to stop thinking. You can hear the hum of the fridge outside. 

“Want this to be over.”

You trace your nail over his collarbone. “I know.” 

“When’s your awards ceremony?”

“In two weeks,” you say.

“Same time as our final game.”

You lean your head up when he sighs, watching his eyes flutter in the afternoon shade of his curtains. A calmer period right after a hectic schedule of school, because you have Professor Kwon to thank for her excessive meetings about tutorials and assignments. It never occurred to you that you might’ve been imposing when you showed up to Jeongguk’s dorm with your homework, but he’d been studying too. Same wavelength, he’d say.

“Jimin been bothering you lately?”

“No, thank god. Don’t think I could take anymore prodding.”

This is the first time you’ve asked since that afternoon in the quad, though now Jimin’s been less annoying whenever you see him with Jeongguk. You know he’s just itching for your boyfriend to finally get his dick wet. 

And you can’t blame him—that was his intention when he finally got Jeongguk to ask you out. Friendship with Jeongguk was a weird stretch of time, especially when he’d spent the entirety of it silently pining for you: involuntarily single, but so preoccupied with the care and keeping of your GPA you’d been blind to any advance. Not that he tried anything, though. 

He’d been in his second year, still getting used to the enormity of campus grounds as a scholarship-bound athlete. And on top of all his schoolwork he had to balance the fragility of having a crush on an upperclassman well on her way to PhD candidacy. It was a good thing he was cute, though, and Jimin had no qualms about embarrassing Jeongguk any chance he got when you were around. The blush when Jimin had pushed him to your desserts table at one of the indoor Farmers’ Markets still burns in the furthest love-lit corner in your mind.

“You remember when you asked me out?”

“God.” A too-late night in the library that prompted the chivalrous part in Jeongguk because he’d brought you to the bus stop too close for campus police to escort you. You’d been good friends for a while already, the hurdle of skirting around each other knocked down when Jeongguk finally got the guts to insert himself in the your friend circle. In that wet shelter, a quivering lip. The sure that now has you seven-and-a-half months down the line with arguably the best thing that’s happened to you since you started your college career, but you won’t tell him that. “Why are you bringing that up?”

“I don’t know. Just—feels like forever ago.”

“Sappy.”

“Maybe the stars are aligning,” you say.

“Is that a good thing?”

“I don’t know, just. Sometimes when I lie down with you I feel like I have to—lay myself bare.”

“Then bare yourself.”

You pause. “I’d like to suck your dick.”

“I’m gonna—I’m gonna need you to elaborate,” Jeongguk says like he’s winded.

“Two weeks of me finishing assignments and you at hockey practice. You know. Take advantage of the time we have with each other.”

“Good point. But I have a counter offer.”

Jeongguk is always a giver. “Which is?”

“I eat you out instead.”

“You’re too good to me,” and this is the only response you can come up with without sounding too shocked. Or horny. Not that you’d ever shy away but Jeongguk had a way of burning you up from the inside. “You’re down for that?”

“Always,” he says, then rolls you over. All that muscle from his workouts barring you from even thinking about fighting him back so you let him push you till you’re comfortable. But this isn’t about you. Not at the moment, anyway. 

“Take your shirt off.” Jeongguk does this so quickly his face almost crashes into yours when he comes back down, gasping a laugh that he breathes into you when his mouth meets yours. A quick tangle of your legs around his waist has him lying over you with ease, caught in his cage of pressed-down elbows and intimacy. 

“Wanna—take care of you.” He trails his mouth down your neck, bed squeaking when his knees pad down. Lips tasting lower and now he lifts your shirt up to your chest, pressing wetness to your stomach and you’re quick to discard your clothing if only to see Jeongguk pause at the zipper of your jeans. “Can I—?”

You nod. 

His fingers don’t shake but he’s blinking fast, pulling on the waistline of the rough denim and shucking it past your feet, sighing when your panties come into view. A short-lived reverence when he leans down to mouth at your sex above the thin cotton and your legs spread wide for his arms to cling onto.

“Tell me—tell me what you like,” he says. A shy demand.

“Take my underwear off then I’ll tell you.”

There’s warmth lost when Jeongguk slides your panties down to one ankle but he’s over you in the second it takes for you to flick it off. No pause in his eagerness but now he lies in wait for your instructions. The way he pauses for you is so agonizingly hot you might combust.

“It’s—I like it when… I feel you lick at my…” God you sound fucked. But Jeongguk’s a wild card and takes it in stride, hands once again finding purchase around your thighs and you feel his hard tongue on you, a wet slide that has your stomach caving. It’s the natural twitch in your fingers that prompt you to keep a loose grip in his hair, other hand tight in the bed like your proxy anchor. “Oh. Yeah. Yeah…”

Jeongguk laves your core, pressing harder the higher he goes. Contingency he takes advantage of because you get louder. It’s the lick on your clit that has you sighing. “Oooh, you—use the… tip of your tongue. And lick right—there.”

He’s so pliant you feel like you’re throttling him. There’s a forward insistence of his head until you feel the flat of his tongue pressed fully against you, his neck rolling with every shift of your hips. In control of your pleasure and he makes it feel like this is what he was made to do. His fingers get tight. “You taste good,” he exhales right onto your sex and you nearly crush his head with your thighs.

“Oh my god.” Your breaths are lost. You might hide your face but that would mean losing sight of Jeongguk providing a service only he can spell out with his tongue. “Ah—”

There’s a little squeak further down the bed and you notice the small flutter of his groin caught in the warmth of him and the sheets. His lips close around your nub before you can say anything, slurping that has your gut wrangled, your fingers gripping his hair as you get lost in his love. Your eyes roll back. “Oh fuck, that—agh—”

He’s made you come before. And the familiar tone of your incoming bliss is something he can memorize—he probably already has judging by the train wreck of your throat and the sounds he pulls from you. A swindler of your orgasms but you’d gladly hand yourself over if it meant deceiving your pussy into its own demise.

“Fuck you’re—so sexy like this,” Jeongguk mumbles. You whine at his attention but now you’re running even hotter than ever.

You’re not even telling him what to do anymore but you know he knows it’s good, a message sent with every twitch of your sex into his mouth and now his fingers are splayed along your pelvis to keep you from bucking up. He doesn’t even need his fingers. It’s the hardened tongue, the little slashes on your clit as his head swings back and forth that have you squealing: “Yes, like that. Oh I’m cumming—fuck—!”

Jeongguk hums when you jerk your hips up, convulsions in all your sweetest parts and your throat is dry from all your moaning, the swell of your lungs so hard to keep up with but he always has you losing your breath. Spit collects in its warmth down your ass but it’s a lost thought when Jeongguk lathers you into your come-down, legs like jelly and he helps your knees together when you finally stop trembling. You don’t realize your eyes are closed until you feel his lips on your mouth, complaint of catching a break right behind your teeth when you kiss with what little strength remains in you. 

“That was. Really good,” you whisper. Jeongguk laughs. And he doesn’t say anything, just looks at you with his wet mouth and red cheeks. “Do you wanna cum?”

He looks like he’ll say no. A bitten lip instead of confirmation. “I—”

“Please, I want you to.” Like a switch turned on he lights up, head bobbing and now he’s shoving his jeans past his ass, underwear down too. “You wanna—come on my face?”

His eyes look like they’re leaking out of his face. A strangled noise escapes his throat. He probably thinks you’re on crack but it’s just in his nature for him to assume a dazed auto-pilot whenever you say shit so outlandish. “You—I—I-I—Can—?”

“You can cum—god you can cum anywhere. I’m yours. Remember?” Reaching behind, you feel for the clasp of your bra, flinging it off before you pull on Jeongguk by the dip of his back until his knees straddle your ribs. “Is this good?”

“Can—could you—spit… on it.” His voice dwindles like he’s caught between the threshold of dirty and pushing it. You don’t answer because your neck straining for the tip of his dick and down the rest of his shaft is all he needs for one. Jeongguk bucks into you. “Oh fuck—ngh—ah!”

If his grinding on the mattress was a ticking bomb, your tongue on his cock is the thirty seconds till detonation. And by the sounds of Jeongguk groaning into the mid-afternoon sun slipping through his curtains you know he’s almost there. “Lie down, lie down,” he instructs, hand replacing your mouth in a stroke so quick you’re scared he might get cum in your hair.

“Agh—fuck yeah I’m—”

A spurt of his cum stains your lip, then your cheek. You feel some on the tip of your nose too but Jeongguk points his dick down to your tits, spilling all his hot frustration on your even hotter skin and you might cum again from the visual of him looking so spent. “Wow.”

“Yeah, that—” Jeongguk swallows twice— “I… wow.”

His dick is getting soft. There’s sweat pooling where your body meets the sheets. “Wanna pass me tissues?”

“Oh fuck. Yeah, yeah—here, sorry.” Jeongguk makes soft passes with a wad of cotton over your chest, handing one to you for your face. “Do you—do you like it? When I… cum on you?”

“Yeah.” You think about making a weird comment about sipping on his juice but you’ll save it for later. You focus on not letting his spunk flake on your cheek. “It’s hot. Really.”

“Good,” he says. Flopping down after shooting the soiled tissue into the basket and now he seems exhausted. “Do you feel gross or is it just me.”

“Gross how?”

“Gross like I need a shower.”

You can’t deny him. “Wanna shower?”

“Yep,” he says with no hesitation, and he doesn’t let you say anything else when he grabs you by your wrists. Somehow, everything feels lighter.

Sometimes Jeongguk invites you out to practice. It’s boring and you don’t know a single rule about gameplay, but the presence of him despite being a ways away on the ice is still a comfort on its own. 

The arena is frigidly cold, and while you aren’t without distraction (re: Assignments) it’s still one you can barely get yourself to really focus on. You rub your face in frustration. You hear the sound of the hockey puck passed around in harsh slaps.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

“Jimin,” you acknowledge. He drops down next to you. “Here to spy on hockey ass too, huh.”

“That and Hoseok promised to get me dinner later.” You raise your eyebrow. “Did one of his assignments.”

“Forgot you were a chemistry genius.” Clicking your tongue, you watch the big 97 of Jeongguk’s jersey as he glides around behind the glass. He waves when he sees you looking. You’d greet him back but your hands are too perfect where they are in the heat of your sweater pockets so you wave your head in what you hope looks like excitement. 

“Been holding up okay?” You turn. Jimin’s eyes are a blaze of concern. “The other week, in the quad. You were pretty stressed.”

“Final paper.”

“Dissertation?”

“Working up to that,” you say.

“So you’re a scholar scholar.”

“Mm.” Your laptop screen blinks to black. “Something like that.” You hear Jimin snicker. He’s coiled up, stomach caved in a tiny laugh, eyes crinkled. Too amused. “What?”

“I’m just—” Jimin takes a breath in to stem his impending laughing fit— “so confused. Like, there’s Jeongguk who can eat eight cups of spicy ramen and literally bomb the bathroom with his shit—and then right next to him is Jane Goodall but with human babies.”

“He loves spicy ramen,” you comment.

“Yeah but do we like his stank? Nope. And you really just compared pronatalism to liking ramen. You know you’re out of his league.”

Jeongguk, completely oblivious to Jimin’s really weird anecdote, brings a fist up in cheers when he shoots the puck into the net. “Well. At the very least he’s cute.”

Jimin heeds with a hum to watch the play on ice. Seeing the team skate around with their broad-shoulders and thick helmets is an odd kind of relaxation. A team of huge men cutting the ice with knives on their feet but the sound is a swish satisfying enough for those kinds of videos that put you to sleep. Rough and gentle, just like Jeongguk. “I’m glad Jeongguk met you,” Jimin starts again.

“Mm. I think he has you to thank.” You boot up your laptop once more in the hopes you get inspired to type, but now Jimin has you distracted even more. 

“He just… used to be so quiet. And I’m gonna brag here but he’s got good friends. But meeting you was a game-changer.”

“Hm.”

“He was so passive.” You think to Jimin almost two years ago, pushing a slightly-smaller Jeongguk towards your table at the market. One look in your eye; pointing to the donut closest to him. Your finger touched his palm when you dropped the chocolate-glazed on it and he looked lost. “But now he’s just. Happy. All the time. It’s nice to see.”

There’s 97 again. Then Jeongguk turns and glides closer to the rail. He holds up ten fingers. Ten till over. You give a thumbs up. You feel yourself shivering but you’re not cold anymore. “Then I’m glad, too.”

“Good kid.” Jimin waves too, and Jeongguk skates off without looking at him. “Bitch! Anyway.” He leans back on his hands, feet perched on the row in front. “You guys… good now?”

And your screen fades to black again. “Oh god.”

“Sorry, fuck. Sometimes I think—no sometimes I don’t think. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, whatever.” You turn to Jimin looking very apologetic, keeping mum with his lips folded in. “It’s—he’s. A lot more eager, I have to say.”

“And are you okay with that?”

You hesitate. “I mean if we’re getting vulgar here—”

“Absolutely not, you are not telling me what he did with his dick.”

You raise your hands in surrender. You wouldn’t have told him anyway. It’s just nice to see a flustered Jimin, especially after what he’s subjected you and Jeongguk to. Good-natured but overtly so, and now you’re both blushing. “It’s been good.” 

Great. Now you’re thinking about Jeongguk and his cock again. Obviously it’s not unwelcome but riling you up is getting too easy.

“Then that’s good,” Jimin says. You hear the blow of the whistle. A congregation of fist bumps forms at the exit of the rink, and Jeongguk lets everyone pass him to get off. “Well I’m gonna go get ready for some free food. See you, yeah?”

He offers a high-five you hit hard. “Bye.”

“Oh. And good luck on your paper. You coming to the game by the way?” Jimin asks. He jumps off the bleachers, leaving you to stare at your honest attempt at getting work done. You close your laptop with a sad click. 

“I have an awards ceremony that day,” you explain. “I’ll try and catch it.”

“Don’t work too hard.” Just then, Jeongguk runs up behind Jimin not at all silently—his gym bag is ginormous—to catch him in a headlock. “Wha—”

“Why are you talking to my girlfriend,” Jeongguk interrogates. He’s probably wet with heat because Jimin scrunches his nose and shoves him off.

“You’re a pig, did you even shower.”

“Smell my armpits and you’ll get your answer.”

“Anyway,” Jimin groans. “I’m off.” He walks to the changing room in a swagger so calculated you’d yell at him for showing off his ass. But Jeongguk drags your attention away when he steps in front of the bleachers, leaning over until you greet him with a kiss.

“Hi,” Jeongguk says against your mouth.

You plug your nose for effect. “So you didn’t shower.”

“I rinsed! Don’t be mean.” He watches as you shove all your things into your bag, his hand poised for you to give it to him, and inside you falter at his generosity but you shoulder the strap and use his outstretched palm to help you up instead. “I wanted your bag, miss.”

“No, you already have a heavy one.”

“Let me carry it for you—” But you shut him up with a tiptoe and a peck to his open mouth. “Don’t distract me!”

You ignore him, grabbing his wrist and dragging him toward the exit. “Let’s go, I might miss my bus.”

Eight p.m. is a dead hour on campus grounds. You see only a handful of straggling students going back to res, even more going into the library building. The lamps guide your every step. Jeongguk’s fingers tangle in yours. “So you aren’t free at all the rest of the week right?”

“Yeah.” You try not to look at him because you know he’s pouting. “I didn’t get any work done thanks to your shouting.”

“That was Yoongi,” Jeongguk defends. “And sorry.”

You reach the bus shelter. “I’m kidding.” The neon sign overhead says your bus is due in three minutes. “I’m—I like going to your practice.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I like seeing my star hockey player tear it up on the ice,” you joke. Jeongguk laughs into your lips when he bends down lock them with his own. 

“Was it sexy enough for you?”

“Oh yeah. Got my pussy rumbling.”

He balks. “You’re so annoying.”

Two minutes. “It’s starting again.”

“What is?” In the dark light of the evening moon rising, you are reminded of this bus shelter seven months ago. A tower of nerves over you. If you think hard enough, you can still hear the shaky question he’d let dangle from his tongue, the one that has you here with him now. But now Jeongguk is nervous for different reasons. “Oh, like when you disappear on me for like five years.”

You see the light of the bus coming. You wrap Jeongguk in your arms. “Yeah. I’m only free next week.”

“Take it easy,” he says. Only one person gets off at the stop. “Just text me. Don’t need a repeat of last time.”

Last time—a month into your relationship. When you texted him every four days because of your midterms and he’d gotten so worried he genuinely wept when you showed up to his doorstep. It was a good thing you’d brought food too; not that you were expecting a cry fest but he’d felt better once he was filled with fried noodles and your affection. You concede to his request with a nod.

He lets you leave with one last kiss to your forehead. “See you,” you say. The air is alive with what you have to leave behind for the time being.

The week is rough. Professor Kwon asks you to submit marks sooner than you anticipate, so the need to get your paper done becomes a lot more urgent. One student hasn’t even handed in her assignment, which—fine. You don’t have any qualms about the zero you input. But the angry email with the threat to report you to an academic advisor the next day has you so on edge Namjoon agrees to grade half your assignments next time.

Jeongguk, somehow, eludes you too. Graduate school demands more tears than sweat and blood and while he tries his best to comfort you during your work-filled days, he’s been getting busier with hockey practice too. The added thought of starting to study for your exams is just another cake-topper. And it isn’t as if you’re going days without talking to Jeongguk, but it’s still a sting to the romantic part in you that misses him.

A week and a half before your big paper is due is a Tuesday. The girl who dissed you in your email doesn’t show up to tutorial. Everyone is dismissed for the evening. It’s good. 

Nothing beats the giddy jump in your step when you find a cubby in the library close enough to an outlet, though.

Then you get a text from Jeongguk.

[8:07 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I’m free the rest of the night!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Let me love u bich u really deprived me of touch for an entire week  [8:07 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Wya

He meets you at the library with sweaty bangs and indents on his cheek from his helmet. You briefly contemplate jumping him. The feeling is quelled with the reminder that the library doesn’t tolerate loud noises and Excessive Romantic Gestures, so you opt for:

“Sexy.” You’re up on your feet to give him a quick hug and he makes a disgruntled face before dropping a kiss to your mouth.

“You wet yet?”

You glare to hide the need to balk. You plop back down. “You ate pussy once, don’t think this gives you free points to get so cocky.”

He pauses. “Sorry?”

“Sit. And don’t—ask me that again.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jeongguk cowers into the seat next to you. “What’s my scholar up to tonight?”

“Researching about Western Europe and their refugee policies.”

He doesn’t look like he’s interested but he makes a contemplative noise. “Very… educated. But anyhow. I’ve been thinking.” Uh oh. “And I have something. It was a week-long thought process but I have it.”

Your pens roll along the wood of the desk. “Have what?”

“A plan.”

“For?”

“For how I’m gonna fuck you. Eventually, I mean.”

“I leave you for a week and this happens,” you answer, but he’s not fazed. You feel yourself melting. Something you learned about Jeongguk during the preliminary stages of your relationship was that he liked getting things right. And if that meant practicing until he was ready—well. There’s a part in you that fears for the livelihood of your vagina. “Babe. That’s—you know we don’t need some sort of… five-steps-to-success thing.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” He pouts like you have it all wrong. Maybe you do, but it doesn’t sound so convincing to your—to be frank—non-virgin ears. “Good practice.” 

You knew he would say that. “You have something in your noggin already, boy?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna elaborate?”

Jeongguk shrugs. “What do people normally establish before they start having sex?”

“Well I don’t have lice in my pubic hair if that’s what you wanna know,” you offer.

He scrunches his face. “Don’t—joke about that.”

“Sorry.” Jeongguk gives you an incredulous look because you both know you don’t mean it. “But you really wanna do this here?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, lay it on me.”

“Wait—really?” 

You’re starting to think you won’t get any work done for the night. Like all the nights you spend with Jeongguk and you realize the pattern now, so you might as well indulge in him. “Yeah, go pull on all your pornographic roots.”

“Ha ha.”

“I’m not into getting tied up, first of all.” You flip a page in your textbook to feign nonchalance as Jeongguk wheezes.

“Stop that!” But he just takes a piece of paper and readies a fist to write. “You’re so crude.”

Now you really can’t focus. “Are you seriously going to write about my sexual preferences?”

“No, I’m writing a detailed observation about how to go about. You know.” He purses a lip in thought. “Navigating the ocean of your pussy and its desires.”

You didn’t think the library would be home to both of your sexual awakenings, but Jeongguk makes it hard to be shy when he’s this motivated. “Weird way of asking me if I’m into watersports.”

“Okay you have to take back asking me about my pornographic roots because it sounds like you’re the freakier one.”

“You like me being freaky?” 

He reddens. “Anyway!” (Silently, you revel in your power to tease.) “I was thinking. Since we can’t hang out too much the next week-ish, that we save all the good stuff for later.”

Good point. “Define good stuff.”

Jeongguk gets smaller. Eyes drilled into yours, he whispers, “Putting my penis inside you.”

“Okay now it’s getting weird.”

He drops his pencil in disbelief. “Only now? Tell me how any of this wasn’t weird in the first place.”

“You’re literally the one who took out a pencil to jot down my sexual preferences, don’t act like you’re innocent.” Now he has the decency to look sheepish. He doesn’t say anything. “Jeongguk. It’s fine to be nervous. But I don’t want you to feel like you need to do this.”

You might as well be talking to the wall but he nods anyway. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No! Just… you don’t owe anyone anything.” Something in you longs for him to understand that. You hate to make him nervous but Jeongguk is so adamant you almost want to wrap him in your arms from the sexually-inclined horde that came in the form of Park Jimin. “Remember that.”

He deflates with a sigh. “Then… can you come over tomorrow?” He’s squirming. “I’m done practice at seven.”

“If my advisor’s nice enough she’ll let me off at six,” you confirm.

Jeongguk takes a notebook out but makes no effort to open it. “And. I missed you. Just. Wanted to get that out there.”

There’s only so much texting can do, you get it. The pit of your stomach simmers with affection for the dumb boy sitting next to you, legs jumping the way they do when he’s nervous. “Love you.” And he smiles. Fuel for your listlessness. There are papers to write, and virgins to daydream about. Especially about the one who just propositioned you with absurdities. But now his pencil is out, and the moment is lost. 

You can think about Jeongguk’s dick later. For now, you settle in the quietude of his presence with yours.

It’s a colder day today.

“Hi!” Taehyung opens the door, bouncing in his pyjamas from the rush of freezing air. “Come, come. Please don’t ask me how I’ve been, I’m so tired of school and that’ll be my answer and I don’t want to talk about it.”

You swallow your pleasantries down. He’s a stressed Neuroscience major. “Fair,” you greet instead, toeing your boots off.

“Coming from somewhere?”

“Tutorial evaluation,” you say. Taehyung lets out a low whistle, closes the door behind you. He knows your shoulders are stiff because of Professor Kwon’s watchful gaze. Sitting at the back, ramrod straight with that black clipboard, taking down notes on your performance as a first-time TA. 

She’d let you go after with a smile, though. Let you know you did fine. You’d practically glided to residence when she’d given you the go to leave for the day. 

“I have a question for you,” Taehyung says. He sits on the couch, watches as you take off your snow-soiled scarf and jacket. “Has Jeongguk been more… fidgety lately?”

So he’s noticed too. “Yeah, I’ve—seen it. Why?”

“I don’t know, he sort of just—” Taehyung scoots over when you plop down next to him— “he came out of the room yesterday squealing, then ran around the living room for a bit then just. Went back into his room.”

Oh. So that’s what he was off to do when said he needed to get something after you linked him to your favourite porn accounts on Twitter.

“Maybe it’s just. I don’t know, pre-game jitters,” you lie. Taehyung’s giving you the look. Like he’s not satisfied with your answer and the only way to sate him is if you let him do one thing. “You can ask.”

“Did you fuck him yet?”

No reservations. As expected, because he’s just as nosy as Jimin and the rest of their friends annoyingly concerned with Jeongguk’s hesitation in the bedroom. “Nope.”

“Okay but like—can you fuck him already? I’m gonna be rolling in my grave by the time his penis passes the two-inch border of your personal space.”

You can’t keep in your snort. “Oh my god.”

“Just. We really don’t mean to be so standoffish but he just likes you so much it’s insane. Like I’ll see his phone light up and he will too. He’ll literally—he just glows. It’s kind of creepy actually but like. Cute creepy.”

The rush of praise runs through you. You don’t like to brag, but you really did snag the campus boy crush. You were popular enough with academia, but after the first time Jeongguk posted a picture of you two at the Christmas market, though—the entire student body went ballistic. It was the nascence of a fairy tale; movie romance budding in the grey concrete of campus grounds. 

No one saw it coming. And knowing that the one everyone has their eye on has its eyes on you—it’s a good kind of blow.

“He’s my baby,” you say, and Taehyung coos. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him.”

There’s a rattling of the door knob. The sight of a ragged Jeongguk stumbles in, gym bag dropped on the floor and he disappears down the hall with the call for a shower and a brief smile your way. “I’ll be five minutes, babe.”

That’s Taehyung’s cue. “Well—I’m off to study group. Take care of him, yeah?”

“You know it.” You offer a fist bump. Taehyung’s knuckles are bony on yours. 

The trek to Jeongguk’s room isn’t unfamiliar. You bounce back on his bed, willing yourself not to close your eyes because you know you’ll just crash. A headache prepares right behind your temple, as imminent as rumbling thunder. Something in you calls for Jeongguk to hurry the fuck up before you succumb to Stress and those horrible, horrible thoughts of due dates.

It doesn’t take that long. There’s the squeak of the shower handle turning off and the black of your closed eyes, the scurrying of an unseen body; the lifting of your shirt for a very heavy weight of a hockey player blowing raspberries into the skin of your stomach. Jeongguk chortles when you nearly break your back trying to dislodge him. “You’re—oh my god—hey stop!”

“Hi,” he says, laugh caught in his breath, “I’m clean.”

“I see that.” He’s in his pyjamas. You let him settle on your side. The lingering heat from his shower makes you clammy but you let him hold you tight. “How was practice?”

“It was nice.” This is code for: I wasn’t yelled at by Yoongi. “I’m excited for our game, I’m feelin’ good. Did you find out if you could make it?”

You were blessed by the gods, because not only were your days coinciding, they were also starting an hour within each other. You’d be at the podium with a flowery speech while Jeongguk tears the ice rink with his pretty skates. And if every award recipient’s was longer than a minute then you might miss the entire game. Two hours past Jeongguk most likely scoring the winning goal; an infinity lost to see your star in action. 

(And seeing Jeongguk play is really attractive.)

You settle with: “I’ll try my best.”

“Okay,” he says. The crown of his head digs into your neck. You feel his lips when he speaks. “How are you holding up?”

“Barely.”

“Did you get your paper done?”

“Barely.”

“So it’s done.”

“Let’s not talk about school,” you dismiss. He leaves the conversation to wither with a suction to your skin. Wet where he lines your neck with quick kisses and you soften into the sheets. “Is this your way of—executing your plan.”

“Hm?”

“You know—your—guide to putting your penis inside me.”

He leans up on his elbow. Unimpressed because his eyebrows are scrunched. “Funny.”

“You love me.”

“And what about it?” His eyes shine the way they do before he tells you he loves you too. “It isn’t even a plan it’s just—a buildup. To when my penis goes inside you. Like a countdown but with orgasms instead.” You snicker. He drags a light hand down your front, settling his palm right over your pussy. “Let me touch you.”

You forget how to breathe for a second. “Yeah—I’m—yeah. Please.”

“Sit up.” Jeongguk plants himself near the wall, not unlike the position he was in when you sucked his dick for the first time. Instead of the afternoon heat, you’re caught under the dying evening rays of sunset: not as hot but still you feel the spark in your belly when Jeongguk lifts your bum to settle you between his legs. His nails play with the button of your pants. “I wanna try something.”

“Sure.” And he helps you wiggle off your clothes, bottom bare to his graces. Doesn’t say anything, just lets his mouth meet yours slowly, tasting the day off your tongue, your worries behind his teeth. 

“Anyone ever fingered you so hard you cried?”

“You wanna make me cry?”

“Don’t say it like that.” Jeongguk nips at your lip. “But yeah, I guess.”

You’re wet. This is a fact you come to realize when you feel him spread your legs, feet planting in the mattress in an attempt to ground yourself.  “Okay,” you agree.

His mouth’s busy with yours, lips unyielding like he could do this all day. It’s almost picturesque, the way he has you: head turned over to meet him in his love, arms wrapped around your own. Yours for him to savour and he always tastes good.

He doesn’t wait anymore. Your clit throbs with the passes of his fingers, head falling back to rest on Jeongguk’s shoulder when he dips in the pool of your heat and drags it back up. Groaning when he spins tight circles like you taught him and your hands find his thighs. “Feels—good,” you utter. Already you’re gone but Jeongguk feeds into your pleasure with no qualms for your embarrassment.

“Can I—put in a finger?” He asks shyly, but playing with your slick like he’s known how to make you putty in his hands this whole time.

“Yeah. Please.” You welcome the insistence in your sex with the buck of your hips. Jeongguk curls his middle finger up, the heel of his hand smooth on your clit and you sigh, “Ooh, fuck yeah.”

He kisses your cheek. “Another one?”

“I can take it,” you say, and he has another finger in you, hooking into your nerves. You might moan but Jeongguk turns your head and molds his mouth into yours, stealing your breath with his tongue. He curves in a little too hard and you squeal. “Oh my god, too—much.”

“Sorry.” He adjusts, fingers straight again. “M’gonna go faster, if that’s okay.” You nod, restless, and then he adds: “And you can’t look away from me.”

“Yes please—”

You couldn’t look away even if you tried, because the hand not fucking you into oblivion catches your cheeks, locking you to Jeongguk’s gaze. It’s a fucked out one too, and now you notice his hard dick pressed up against your back. 

It’s a storm of thrusting: wet and more wet and now he abruptly pulls out, smears your slick on your clit in a rub so fast you would squeal louder if it weren’t for his lips swallowing your sounds. 

“Oh-h—!”

You burn. Jeongguk enters you again and your cunt feels swollen. Fucking all the deepest and dirtiest parts of you and you take it, yielding to the draw on your tight walls. The squelch gets louder. So do you. 

“Oh yeah—” And you don’t cry but the feeling of him inside is so overwhelming and all that you need and it’s there— “Fuck, y-eah. Gonna cum soon—”

“Give it to me.” Punctuated with a twist in your sex so rough you would have twitched him off but his legs cage you. Jeongguk smiles. “Come on babe—”

“Nnn—ha J-Jeongguk—” You grab his wrist, the one knocking his fingers so good though he doesn’t stop under the tight hold— “B-Baby—”

“I want it, I want it,” he chants into your mouth, like he’s eager for a release conducive to your early death just so he can say he did that. Awful cocky but you can’t dwell on it. “Just cum for me.”

“Fuck—” He makes you look at him when you do, eyes wide to his imploring ones. He has it in his fingers, a climax that wrangles the most obscene noises from your throat. Your hips grind up uncontrollably, clit a pulsing pain but his thumb rubs it all the same. Jeongguk doesn’t stop till you whine, “God, please—I can’t."

“You’re crying.”

“Am not.” But you feel the sting of heat in your eyes. Jeongguk rubs his nose with yours, wrapped in his arms and affection.

“Was it good though?”

“Was it good, he says.” You kiss him with no bite. “Loved it. Best ever.”

Jeongguk lights up, corners of his mouth lifted into a sated grin. “Woo,” he says. You’re about to ask if he wants one rubbed out but he continues speaking. “So plan’s going well if you wanted to know.”

“Shut up. Shut up!” You make a point of getting up with as much force as possible, disturbing the coils the mattress as Jeongguk laughs. “You’re so gross.”

“You love me.”

Your panties are sticky against you. You turn to see him staring at you already. “I love you.”

The room glows in the last few minutes of red, coated darker and darker. But the look Jeongguk gives you—maybe astonishment, maybe longing—casts a glow that blazes within. Like all he wants is for you to be here and you do too. He breaks the silence with a smile. “You’re the best, you know that?”

You climb back over him, unable to resist anymore. “So I’ve been told.”

“I mean it though.” He shifts so you’re lying down again, head on his chest. Warm again. “Sorry if I’m—pushing the agenda. And I know I say Jimin’s not getting to me and it’s true but it—makes me want you. All the time.”

You settle for the truth with a kiss to his sternum. “I have no free time after today though.” 

“That’s okay,” Jeongguk whispers. “Just love me now and you can always love me later.”

“I can do that,” you say. 

He lets you dig into his side even further. “Are you sure you don’t wanna talk about school?”

“Mm.” You know it’ll help to air your dirty laundry. But knowing Jeongguk has his own shit to deal with is enough for you to hesitate. “Nothing I—haven’t said before. Just stressed.”

“About your last assignment?”

“Mhm.”

“You’re smart. And for whatever reason, really into baby-making in foreign countries.” Jeongguk groans when you pinch him. “But I know you. And you’ll do well. Also it’s official that you’ll do well because you’re dating someone really good at what they do, and I was just inside your body so technically my energy transferred to you.”

“Very solid process.” 

His breathes warmth into your skin. “Believe me. You’re gonna be fine.”

And it’s not the end of the world, not being able to see him for a bit. You both know this. You hug him tighter to you regardless, like making his skin stick to yours was an actuality. You know he feels it too when his arm locks just a tiny bit harder. An unspoken longing for the mold of your body.

You’ll get there.

It’s been four days since you’ve seen Jeongguk, so Namjoon takes the responsibility of keeping you sane. He books a study room for three hours and meets you with a two cups of coffee and three extra pens just in case they run out while you mark your assignments together. He takes the stack of papers from you with a frown, and you work.

The paper is coming along well. You think you have a good five pages to go, but the amount of hounding Professor Kwon has done is scaring you into another late night-in. More and more marks are due, and Namjoon has his own work to deal with. You hate to burden him with your own but now you’re really feeling the Stress from school.

[6:01 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Hey what are you doing [6:02 PM] You: i’m doing work :(( [6:02 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Poo poo [6:02 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I’m bored [6:03 PM] You: 💩💩 [6:03 PM] You: sorry bout it !!!!!!! [6:04 PM] You: wait how can u be bored ur @ practice ?? if ur just…. doin practice [6:05 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: On break [6:05 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: And I miss you [6:06 PM] You: omg!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [6:06 PM] You: my heart

Namjoon’s eyebrows are scrunched. “I can’t tell what this student is saying.”

“Read it out loud.” 

“I will argue that the legalization of crack cocaine will act as a beneficial potential towards the bettering of society. With the advent of legal marijuana usage in Canada—yeah.”

“That’s… an abuse of thesaurus privileges,” you comment.

He hums. “They’re young, let them live.”

Again, Jeongguk texts you.

[6:09 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: When are you free [6:10 PM] You: tonight [6:10 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I’m not 😩😩 What about Wednesday? [6:11 PM] You: i’m only free rn baby :( might have to wait till after friday [6:12 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 [6:12 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Damn [6:12 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I need to go now text me when you’re done k?????? Love you [6:13 PM] You: okay ! 💜

You hear Namjoon snapping at you. “You’re getting distracted.”

“Sorry.” Your pen twitches in your grip. This is your third cup of coffee. “Just—need a goddamn break.

You can sense Namjoon’s nerves grating too. “I get it.” He looks at his watch. “Well. We need to leave in five minutes.”

You graded almost all of your half of assignments. You let yourself breathe a sigh of accomplishment, clearing your work into your bag. “Thanks for helping me out.”

“Buy me lunch someday and we’ll call it even,” Namjoon says. He swipes the papers your way to collect. “And by the way—” he takes one last sip of his coffee— “I caught wind that one of the Commissioner-Generals is coming to the ceremony.”

You stare. “From which agency?” 

“No clue. But I just thought you should know.”

Of course he would. The one time you don’t clear your search history and now Namjoon is up your ass helping you find any potential global PhD programs. And it wasn’t unimaginable either, some higher-up coming to see the semester-end awards the department heads organized, and the student chair had a lot of say in it, current one being Kim Namjoon: a lobbyist, a smart guy, and Twitter-sort-of-famous for being really damn loud about inequality.

But they’re probably not recruiting me, you think. Best not to get your hopes up lest it go to a well-deserved head who apparently doesn’t get distracted by the potential of finally squeezing their boyfriend’s dick. 

Namjoon sighs. “Hey, isn’t the ceremony the same day as the game?”

“Yep,” you confirm. For a split second, an image of Jeongguk giggling pops up into your head.

“Do you think you’ll make it?”

You sling your bag over your shoulder, standing outside the door until Namjoon turns off all the lights. “I’m gonna try.”

The hallway to the main entrance of the Humanities wing is quiet. “Speaking of the game. Any intel about your current… predicament?”

“Jimin?”

“Jimin.”

“About Jeongguk?”

“About Jeongguk.”

“Fuck,” you murmur. And you thought he’d be kind enough to keep your secret, but Namjoon is to Jimin like a big is to a little except they’re both too posh to be in a frat. “Not really. And stay out of it.”

“I will,” he says. He opens the door, winter wind as brutal as ever. You think about Jeongguk walking you to the bus stop but he’s probably already back at his dorm. You shiver. “But if I catch you distracted on your phone again I might have to ask.”

You cower into embarrassment.“Sorry.” 

Namjoon waves you off. “Just get home safe, yeah?”

Getting home isn’t that bad; late enough for the absence of the rush hour crowd and you get to sit on the bus the rest of the ride. You all but book it to your place to escape the frost nipping at your cheeks and into the nest of your textbooks. Plans to demolish at least a tiny bit of your not-so-tiny pile of work come to a stand-still when you hear your phone vibrate.

[7:46 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Hey did u finish yet [7:46 PM] You: fuck sorry forgot to text [7:46 PM] You: yeah i did, i just got home [7:47 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: That’s good [7:47 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Do you have a lot of work to do tonight?? [7:48 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Please say no [7:48 PM] You: ….. [7:48 PM] You: why [7:48 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: The plan [7:50 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Still building [7:50 PM] You: should i be scared [7:51 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: No!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [7:51 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: But [7:51 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I know you wouldn’t like it if I didn’t ask, and I’m a good boy, so [7:52 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Can I send you a picture of my dick?

A boot hangs limply from your toes from when you were trying to tug it off. Dumbly, you’re gaping. Gaping at this transition from shy Jeongguk to… whatever the fuck this was. The pulsing of your sex betrays your shock.

It’s not like things were changing fast, either. That moment in his bed—after he fucked you with his fingers—was the last time you’d been together. A solid evening of knotted arms and Jeongguk’s breath down your neck. He’d only let you go because your complaints to do homework got too loud for him to sleep properly, and you left him in his room like that: heavy-eyed and full of low murmurs for you to come back.

“You’ll miss me, right?” He’d asked. It sounded so innocent. Looked like it too when he stood next to you as you slipped on your shoes. The answer was easy.

“Duh.”

And it wasn’t like you weren’t affectionate. Sure, gaining the impulse to hug and squeeze him was one you had to work up to, but this came with new relationships, that novelty of being someone else’s: one that Jeongguk had no problems getting used to. Took you a little longer to warm up to his kisses in public but you’re here now. Here, slack-jawed at this distant intimacy. Feet mired in your shock, on the carpet of your front door.

You don’t remember feeling this desperate for Jeongguk before. 

[7:54 PM] You: i [7:54 PM] You: definitely wouldn’t be opposed

You lock your screen fast. Fling your shoes off, slap your jacket onto a hanger. You nearly bust your bedroom down in your hurry to get the fuck on the bed, like the rush of a late night with a stranger but Jeongguk is wholly familiar and isn’t even here to touch you. The ding of your phone is enough to keep you on your toes. You don’t swipe yet because already you’re sweating.

Aa…Jeongguk❣️: 1 Photo and 2 Messages

Should you take your clothes off? Or is he supposed to ask you to do that? Should you ask? What the fuck. This was too much.

You open it. It takes one second to download.

That’s his dick. Jeongguk’s dick, flash on, held up by the tips of his fingers at the base like he knows his angles. The tip is flushed with a wetness you’d lick right up if you were there just to feel the way he shivers under you.

[7:55PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Baby I’m so hard [7:55PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Wanna kiss you all over

You squeal. 

This was your boyfriend, mister-campus-hotboy, the one literally everyone got hard over and now he’s sending you his own personal dick pics. Maybe you do need to thank the high heavens one day because

What

The

Fuck is going on.

No matter. 

[7:57PM] You: i want u to [7:57PM] You: want u on top of me [7:57PM] You: with ur lips on my neck [7:58PM] You: getting me wet. u always make me. wet

You can’t wait anymore. Your shirt is off, bra tossed, back bare on your sheets. You shimmy out of your pants just as Jeongguk texts back.

[7:58PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Fcurck baby [7:59PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Can’t stop thinnking abt u [8:00PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: The way u sounded [8:00PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: When I was e ating u out [8:01PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: u tasted so good on m y tonguel fucckkkk [8:01PM] You: are u jacking off rn ??? [8:02PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Yess [8:02PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Touch urself [8:02PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Please?

Panties come off. It’s not a surprise when your finger is soaked in your arousal, teasing your clit and you sigh.

[8:02PM] You: fuck im so wet [8:03PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Yeah??? [8:03PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: What r u thinkgnin about [8:03PM] You: your mouth [8:04PM] You: on my tits [8:04PM] You: my cunt [8:04PM] You: u got me off sooo good [8:05PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Fuucckckk baby [8:05PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: You’re so hot ho ly shit [8:05PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Want u so bad [8:06PM] You: how??? [8:06PM] You: u already treat me so good [8:06PM] You: maybe i’’ll take care of u now hm? ?? [8:07PM] You: mymouth on ur dick [8:07PM] You: taste so good [8:08PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Shit

Everything was jumping out of your head so quick your one hand couldn’t keep up. The two fingers on your pussy dipped again, jolts of sweetness straight through your nerves when you rub yourself faster. Focusing on his texts was as easy as trying to stave your orgasm off, which… really wasn’t going too well, pelvis meeting the palm of your hand in a desperate kick.

[8:08PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Take your clothes off [8:09PM] You: past that

It takes him a minute.

[8:10PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Could you send a pic [8:10PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Pleas e

Oh. Okay.

You lean up on your elbow, push your chest against your bicep in the hopes that your cleavage could somewhat be evocative enough in the weak light of your phone. (You notice you forgot to turn the lights on.) The picture cuts off right above your nipples, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t do that just for the possibility of a desperate plea. You lie back down.

Sent.

[8:13PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: urruhguhgkehrdhfg [8:13PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Baby pleease I want more [8:14PM] You: of what ??? [8:14PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: FUck [8:15PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I want you [8:15PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: On top of me [8:15PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Grnding yuor pretty pussy on my dick [8:16PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: You’re wet ik ur wet

Of course he would. He knows your body better than ever before, and you might tease him but the throbbing you’re attending to is too much of a distraction.

[8:17PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Can you imagine that [8:17PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Teasig my cock into you [8:17PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: But I won’t putnit in yet [8:17PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Bc I want u squirming o n top of me [8:18PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Ik u don’t beg [8:19PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: But I would ask u anyway if u want me to sink u down on my cock

Oh my god. The soft sucking sound of your fingers inside your cunt isn’t enough to drag you out of this reverie. It just sinks you deeper into this bliss Jeongguk spells out for you so well. He has you like putty. Your knuckles curve you into a hopeless whimper.

[8:20PM] You: i want that [8:20PM] You: iwa nt that so bad pleas [8:21PM] You: let me feel your dick inside [8:21PM] You: u want that so bad baby [8:21PM] You: to feel me squeezing around u [8:21PM] You: im so tight and wwt [8:22PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Wanna hear u  [8:22PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Ft [8:22PM] You: just call

You don’t think you could handle seeing his dick now. Especially when the build in your pussy is this close to tipping you into a climax he probably wants to hear.

Your phone blares in the quiet. “Baby—”

“I’m so close,” Jeongguk says. He sounds like he’s panting. “Tell me you are too. Please—!” He cuts himself off with a gasp.

“Y-Yeah.” You burn in his desperation, curling into your cunt in the spot you know would have you keeling over. “Ngh—!”

“I wanna hear you. Wanna—hear you when I fuck you. So—good.”

“Oh fuck—”

“You want that too baby?”

You heave. “Yes!”

“Let me hear you cum. Please. I’m so fucking close—”

“Jeongguk!” You sputter, moaning loud, crying in the extremity. It zips through your core, has you reeling, legs shaking as you rub it out so hard you arch from your bed. You barely register Jeongguk’s own completion.

“Fuck I’m cumming—shit!” He groans, long, noisy on the line but the image of his cum onto his hands has your stomach clenching. Clobbered by his own doing and it’s almost endearing how fucked out he sounds. There’s a moment where you hear fumbling, a distant breath; shifts in the mattress probably. “Baby…”

Your phone lights up again. 

Aa…Jeongguk❣️: 1 Photo

You don’t hesitate this time. 

His dick is wet, probably with his spit, but now his entire first is closed around it, dregs of his cum pooling in the suction of his palm against the pink skin. The urge to put your mouth on him is so over-whelming you groan in frustration.

“Want it in my mouth,” you say.

“You’ll make me hard again,” Jeongguk murmurs with a laugh.

It’s just past 8:30. “So. What got you so hard that had you begging for me over the phone?”

“Hm.” You move until you’re under the covers. A makeshift warmth because you don’t have Jeongguk to cuddle you for post-sex softness. “I don’t know. Just missed you. Again. Sorry if you had work to do.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yeah I’m not.” You think you hear him in the washroom. The vent is loud. “Made a mess.”

“Not my fault.”

“Uh, it kinda was. Hoping for more nipple next time.”

“Now you’re asking for too much,” you sigh. There’s a sleepy pull in your head, dragging you through the waves of feelings that currently bombard your heart. “I miss you too. Hope you’re not working too hard.”

“I have a bruise on my ass! Oh my god I forgot to tell you. But Hoseok checked me so hard for no fucking reason and—boom. Landed right on my booty.”

You coo. “Aw. Want me to kiss it better?”

“Yes please, it’s on my fatter butt-cheek I think.”

It dies down again. “So what stage are we at for your build-up?”

“Close to the finale.”

You can’t stop yourself from smiling. There’s only three days left till your prospective hells come to a head. Then it’s back to loving Jeongguk but closer to him this time, not through the cracked screen of your phone. “Can’t wait.”

“Me too,” Jeongguk says. “Guess—I should leave you to your work?”

As much as you want to say no, the pile of essays on your desk is calling for your ass to get moving. It sends a quick ripple of nervous tension down your spine but the sooner you get it done the sooner it is to texting Jeongguk again. You know he’s impatient too. “Yeah. Might stay up.”

“Not too late, okay? You’re almost there. And make that tea I bought you, it’s supposed to help with your headaches.”

You’ll cry. “I love you.”

“Love you too. Text me when you’re gonna sleep.”

You’re probably ovulating because a tear really does slip over your cheek. The stickiness between your thighs rubs your skin when you finally get up, avoiding the offensive stack of work in your periphery when the hints of a new headache start to come up. 

Jeongguk probably knew you were heading straight into another painful night of working. There’s a tin of loose leaf tea sitting patiently for you in your cupboard. And maybe taking on the teaching position wasn’t such a good idea, but then again, dates where everything loomed over you were inevitable. School’s a bitch. But you have an attractive boy waiting for you to finish, and that’s what prompts you to face the music. One more time.

Three more nights. 

The first night is actually okay. You get a page and half done, and Namjoon checks in with a text in the evening to make sure you aren’t pulling your teeth out. Jeongguk has practice the whole day. 

During the second night, you forget to save one of the articles you cited, and you spend a frantic hour searching through all your sources to trace it back. It’s a painful process and you almost cry, but you text Jeongguk and he sends you a selfie of him sending you a thumbs up. Your phone lags trying to scroll through the gigantic box of of hearts he texts you. You find the article. It’s good.

Third night and you’re about ready to give up. Jeongguk and Namjoon are both out of commission because apparently the universe hates all of you and you’re all busy with your respective work. But you have a page to conquer, and the onus is on you to show up with nice skin tomorrow because the department likes to take pictures to post online. The tea Jeongguk got you steams as you type diligently.

One

More

Word

Andit’sdone.

“Oh god,” you whisper to yourself. You scroll through your paper, making sure all your citations are right. Page numbers there. No excessive use of the first-person, your professor’s name spelt correctly. Formatted correctly.

It’s done.

You bask in the harsh light of your desk lamp, weight lifted off your shoulders the instant you save your document to submit online.

The assignment page loads, and you hit the button.

The line of your phone rings twice.

“Hello?” Jeongguk groans. It’s three in the morning. “Babe? Are you okay?”

“I FINISHED I SUBMITTED IT IT’S IN!” You yell. A genuine rise in your throat that has Jeongguk whooping with as much energy as his sleep-ridden voice can allow on the other side of the line.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I wanna hop on your dick right now.”

Jeongguk just snickers. Your eyebrows raise, because for sure he would’ve been choking. But maybe it’s because he’s tired. “Don’t tempt me into a boner, it’s too early for this.”

“Fuck—sorry. You have your game. Okay I’ll hang up. I’m gonna—sleep. Try to. Okay I love you! Sorry bye!”

“Sleep well. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You knock out the second your light is off and your head hits the pillow.

You asked Namjoon earlier in the day to call you awake because your ringtone is more annoying than your alarm. And even though the ceremony is later in the evening, you’re scared that you’ll sleep the entire day away. 

Jeongguk texts you before you’re up. A congratulatory message, and another saying that he’ll be at practice the whole day so he’ll try to text you at lunch. But the afternoon sun sees no text from him and you know it’s because he’s sweating his balls off on the hockey rink. Stubborn like you know he is but now you miss him again. 

One thing that sticks in your head the rest of the day: the thought of it being over. Because once you get your awards and hopefully get to see the end of the game, you get Jeongguk to yourself again. Two weeks of agonizing to get to this point all but crashes into your loins to spark a frighteningly hot fire, and now, once again, you’re left to fantasize about Jeongguk’s dick. You force yourself not to dwell on it too much, makeup a risk to your fidgeting and if the reason why you have an ugly picture up online is because you were longing for dick then—well. 

It’s Namjoon who greets you when you get to the conference hall downtown.

“You look good,” is all he says. 

You stick your tongue out at him. You had to redo your lipstick twice. “Shut up.”

He leads you to where he was sitting: the massive table stuck in the middle with the microphones sticking up along the perimeter. Maplewood and entirely unfitting for the green carpet, though Namjoon beats you before you can say anything mean. “If you look up front, that’s the Commissioner-General I was talking about.”

You look. She’s a petite woman, scarily thin, wearing a bright scarf. “Yoon Soomin,” you recognize.

“Correct.”

“Namjoon!” You hit his shoulder, and he winces with a grin. “Why didn’t you tell me!”

“Because I knew you’d get stressed!”

Well he’s goddamn right you’re stressed now. Yoon Soomin, Commissioner-General of one of the programs you had your eyes on for the past year now. Applications are open next week. You’ve had yours done for a solid six months, and now the head of the program is right here. In the flesh. Watching you about to get your award.

The chatter of all the other students is drowned out when the program head gets up for the commencement speech. “Good evening everyone. My name is Bae Joohyun. Thank you—”

Ding.

Namjoon kicks your shin. You silence your phone. It’s Jeongguk.

[7:39PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Hi babe hope u had a good day!!! Sorry I got distracted [7:40PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: But I know ur gna win like fifty awards so advanced congrats!!!!!!! Proud of ur big brain [7:40PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Love you [7:41PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I hope you make it later pls try ur hardest but if u can’t it’s okay but like I would really appreciate if you. Came [7:41PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: OJO [7:42PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Heh Taehyung said that looks like me 

There’s clapping. You don’t know why everyone’s clapping but you do it too.

[7:42PM] You: pls don’t break any limbs while i am here i won’t be fast enough [7:42PM] You: love u. play smart not hard. i’ll be there for ur final goal 🤪 [7:43PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Anything for my scholar [7:43PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: You r so cute please come soon [7:44PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I have to go now I LOVE You

“I will now invite the Student Chair Kim Namjoon forward to deliver a speech,” Professor Bae says.

No last text to Jeongguk because now you join the applause once more. Namjoon gets up with practiced ease, staggered steps of confidence because if anyone is going to get a PhD first, it’s him. And you know he applied for the program too.

It starts simple: “Thank you for coming today.” A celebratory gathering, gratitude for everyone’s hard work and commitment. A call for everyone to continue being ambassadors for the Humanities. Nothing you haven’t heard before. 

“I would also like to announce that the department has decided to award a special recipient tonight for their academic work and contribution to graduate research,” Namjoon continues. “The award will be presented by Yoon Soomin, Commissioner-General of the Anthropology for the Humanities Global Network. Please give your warmest applause to Doctor Yoon.”

Oh god. Your literal idol because she was just as interested in babies as you were and Jeongguk would for sure be goading you into a frenzy because of your shaking. But you clap as normally as normal clapping goes, and Doctor Yoon takes the mic.

“I’ll just head straight into it,” she says with a pretty smile. You catch Namjoon looking at you. He raises an amused eyebrow, and now you’re suspicious. “It is an honour to call upon ___, for their recent submission of pronatalist work based in Europe for the research study funded by the Global Network.” That’s—you. That’s you, and these are your legs moving on their own accord to the beat of the eager applause. You don’t look at Namjoon but you can hear him, because he’s clapping the loudest. “___ has been recognized before: for an outstanding submission in undergraduate research on cultural genocide, as well as active participation in the Anthropological department.”

Yoon Soomin extends a hand to you, as well as a pretty certificate gilded with bold letters in the form of your name. Again: all offered by Yoon Soomin. Again, you are shaking. 

“T—hank you,” you stammer, and her hand is soft in yours and you really just might cry but it’s probably because you’re exhausted. You’d slept for a solid ten hours but no amount of rest would have ever prepared you for her pretty voice congratulating you again. “I—It’s an honour.”

“Picture time,” Namjoon interrupts. He’s got his phone up. “Smile!”

“Congratulations again,” Doctor Yoon says. She grins like she knows something too, and the rest of the ceremony is static in your ears.

Like always, it’s repetition. A name called, award presented. Your name is exhausted three more times, and you’d cower under the attention but you worked too goddamn hard not get to this point. You think of Jeongguk, probably three to none even though it’s only been half an hour into the game. You and Namjoon are practically trembling when Professor Bae dismisses everyone.

Your jacket is on, purse about to swing over your shoulder when someone comes up to you.

“Hello.” Doctor Yoon again. “Oh—are you in a hurry?”

“Not at all,” you rush out. You can feel Namjoon vibrating too. “I—Thank you so much for presenting the award.”

“It was my pleasure. The overseas program application opens next week,” she advises, and you really might scream but you will yourself to stillness. “We don’t know where it’s based yet, but I hope that doesn’t discourage you from submitting your application.”

“Oh she’s been interested for years,” Namjoon offers. You elbow him. Doctor Yoon laughs. 

“I’m glad to hear that. Keep up the good work!”

You all but skirt around her with a quick thank you again! and make a mad dash out the building and to the underground train because Namjoon sucks and can’t drive on highways yet. “Good thing you didn’t wear heels because you’re so fucking slow.”

“Shut up,” you growl. The people on the sidewalk offer no space for you to slither through, and you grind you teeth with impatience. “And don’t give me shit when I beat you four to one.”

“Not everyone’s into babies like you are, genius.” You reach the closest subway entrance, a seedy staircase down into the dirty cement and your fare is paid with a drop of a coin; running for the departing train and you make it by the wisp of your hair. You sigh into an empty seat, Namjoon right next to you. “Time.”

It’s nearing 9:00. “Oh my god it’s almost done.”

“You’ll make it,” Namjoon says. The jostling ride is another twenty minutes, and you know it’s cutting it short but you promised Jeongguk. He’s so close. You’re out of breath. “So you’re free now, huh.”

“Yeah.”

“You worked hard.”

You scrunch your face in embarrassment. “Thanks Joonie.”

“I mean it,” he says. “No one deserves this more than you. Yeah? Cut yourself some slack.”

“I know—it’s just—I couldn’t be there for Jeongguk as much as I could have—” And it’s all coming out now. There’s only one other person on this cart other than Namjoon so you let yourself have the moment, the breakdown. The awfulness of preoccupation and missing your boyfriend and too much work. You don’t want to cry but the screech of the metal tracks makes it easier to hide. “‘M so fucking tired.”

Namjoon pats your back when you heave. “Two more stops. Then you can curse the gods all you want.”

Good incentive, because once the doors slide open on your stop you book it up the escalator as fast as your fatigue can allow. Luckily campus is right around the corner, cars taking up all the space on the road. Probably all here for the final match of the year, your university against the one a city over, and the cheers are so loud you hear it from the two sidewalks over. “Let’s go let’s go!”

And you and Namjoon run again, down to the set of doors of the arena nestled into the corner of your school. The doors are heavyset but you yank them like you’ll die if you aren’t inside within the next twenty seconds, and it’s only now that you feel the buzz of your phone from a text.

[8:58 PM] Jimin Bimin: I’m on the east side with taehyung, third from the bottom bleacher, mostly in the middle. hurry!!!!!!

Namjoon’s no doubt just following the beeline you make because even you can’t feel where your legs are taking you. All you know is the rush of school pride and the deafening yells of the crowd, lost bits of popcorn on the floor scrunching against your shoes as you search for Jimin. You see Taehyung first: warpaint on his face and he waves you over quickly, scooting over with a pull on Jimin to make room for Namjoon too.

“You made it!” Jimin screams and it still sounds like a squeak with the roar of the people everywhere.

But you ignore this, laser-beaming the rink for that familiar 97. You catch Jeongguk closely following the puck, stick clenched tightly in his fists, legs quick in their glide as the offence. You feel everyone’s bated breath, hands grabbing Jimin’s arm—the other team’s members flying past Jeongguk, the raise of the wood, a slap to the puck—

The red blares. The crowd goes wild. 

“HE WON!” Jimin screams and so do you, the wave of excitement passing over you like fairy dust and now everyone’s cheering. You have no idea what went on. But now all the boys off the rink jump over the barrier to grab Jeongguk in a hard throttle, arms tangled around each other, chant lost on your ears but they look so happy. 

Somehow, a body breaks away from the huddle, and now they’re skating in your direction. 

Jeongguk waves. You smile. A wave back, and now you have each other again.

You wait outside the building, watching as the throngs disperse. Namjoon, Taehyung, and Jimin already said their goodbyes, last felicitations from them both and a promise for lunch from you somehow gets squeezed from the conversation too. The brick is hard against your back.

[9:30PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: WHERE ARE YOU [9:30PM] You: i’m outside already!!

A door bursts open. There’s an inhale, then you turn your head. Jeongguk drops his bag the second you charge for him, arms ready for your attack as you jump and wrap your legs around his waist, arms caught on his neck. You think you hear someone gasp but it’s all lost on you now. “Oh my god I love you,” he breathes, and you cry. “Babe—”

“I watched you,” you sniffle, and you frown when he laughs. “Watched you win.”

“I’m glad.”

You kiss him. “Missed you.”

Jeongguk looks like he might cry too. “Mine again?”

“Yours again.” And you mean it. 

“I would—I would invite you over to the after-party but I’m sleepy,” he says in between presses of his mouth, “and I ran out of contact solution the other day so I can’t invite you over and also Taehyung’s probably sleeping right now.”

“Then you come over.” You melt into his tongue, his feet staggering in your grind and he bites your lip.

“R-Really?” 

“Yeah, actually get some shut-eye.” He lets you off when you wriggle your ass against his hands, dragging him to the bus stop before he can put them back against your jeans or else you might really fuck him this time. “Because Taehyung snores too loud anyway.”

The ride to your apartment totals eight minutes because it’s late, and living on the edge of the suburbs means no one’s up this late anyhow. Jeongguk hadn’t even let you find a seat, balancing through red lights on his feet just to fly out the door when you’d reached your stop. You’ve already done too much running today but Jeongguk still rushes you up to your floor, and before you can get the key to your door he has you pressed up on it instead.

“Want you,” he says. Hard against your throat like he means it.

“God—let me—open my door and you have me,” you say through your teeth, gritted because the hallways echo and now Jeongguk has his thigh pressed up against you. “Babe let go—”

He does, but only with a lingering kiss promised by your burning attraction. You don’t fumble with the lock but you do stumble in from how quick you open the door, slamming shut in your haste and you hear his duffel bag meet the ground and now your back meets the hard metal again. “You have to stop shoving me into this thing oh my god.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jeongguk whispers. He’s kissing you again. Lifts you up with no warning and you yelp into his curious mouth, dick grinding into the rough of your pants. “Fuck I—”

“Did—you want to—”

“No—wait yes, yes—I just—” He doesn’t let up. You can feel his cock straining against his sweats, flimsy layers you could just shove down but his hips are glued to your own. “I can’t—cum. Right now. Too much. Wind—wound up.”

Your tailbone is starting to dig into the door. “Then let me down and let’s just—sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. One last kiss, nose meeting yours. “Still on my hockey grind.”

���Ew,” you snort. “Also don’t wear your pants to bed.”

“Oh.” He shoves his shoes off when you do. 

“I don’t like it when people wear their outside clothes on my sheets.”

“Oh.”

“But it’d be nice to wake up to your dick on my ass,” you add. Jeongguk makes a strangled noise, then carries you to bed.

“I’ll brush my teeth tomorrow,” is the last thing you remember him saying. 

The morning rushes in too soon. Your curtains aren’t closed and Jeongguk hogs the blanket, sprawled on your side of the bed no less. You weren’t kidding when you said you wanted to spoon but at least his cock is warm with something just as soft as your ass.

You settle in the calm. Jeongguk isn’t one to snore but his soft breaths are just as jarring, disbelief apparent when you realize this is the first time he’s ever slept-over at your place. As convenient as it is to live somewhere that only needed one bus ride, you’re on campus all the time; making sense meant taking up space in his res instead. But now the lump he occupies in your bed is something you think you could get used to.

(Even if he hogs the blanket.)

You’re still in your clothes from last night, but at least you had the decency to shuck off your jeans. And you’d gotten up well past Jeongguk-sleeping-hours to take off your makeup because it took you forever to pry his ridiculously strong arm off around you. You get up with a kiss to his mane of bedhead and a silent reminder to grab an extra toothbrush.

The next plan to execute on your list after washing the tired off: breakfast. And you know you don’t have eggs but you open the fridge like you’ll see the carton sitting there anyway.

You’re standing, coming to a blank for what feels like forever. You think briefly about ordering in, then remember the guilt of just grabbing groceries instead. The internal battle is cut short when you hear the creak of your bed, a long groan. Then, footsteps.

“You look sad,” Jeongguk croaks two seconds later.

You frown for effect. “I want eggs. And why are you up.”

“Come here, egghead.” Jeongguk is groggy. The sexy kind too, because his voice is a tenor that scratches the needier part in you, the one telling you to bury your face in his chest and you do just that. “I felt you move. Sorry I couldn’t wake you up with my dick against your butt.”

“S’ok. And go shower because you’re stinky.”

He lets you go. “Good morning,” he says for the first time. A domesticity you feel lightheaded from. “You should shower with me.”

“Unless you’re scared of detachable shower heads I think you’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be cocky,” he whines. “And you’re dirty too, you sweat a lot just like I do.”

That’s true. “But it’s not even a hair washing day.”

“Why are you resisting me, woman.” He brings two hands up, wiggling his fingers. “I’ll tickle you.”

“You will not—”

“I will tickle you and if you don’t shower with me I will cry.”

You huff. “Fine.” He leads you down the hall to the bathroom, satisfied in his quick win, back flexing when he takes his shirt off. “And I’m the cocky one.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says. You know he’s baiting but you don’t want to resist him anymore. “You need to turn the shower on because I don’t know how to.”

Getting naked is a different kind of intimate when you’re not in the bedroom. You know this because Jeongguk can’t even look your way when you’ve stripped, but you’re shivering like he’s staring.  You step into the tub before he can back out. He doesn’t come in till the water’s running.

You like it hot. Jeongguk—not so much by the looks of his hesitation, so you compromise with a slight shift of the knob and a switch in place so he’s under the pelt of water. He’s all hard muscle under your hands. “Hope you like cherry blossom.”

He doesn’t say anything. Grabbing the loofah you spurt your pink soap, lathering it on his chest first. Jeongguk just stares. “I really missed you,” he says.

You nod. Nodding fast to keep yourself from thinking too hard because then you might start getting soft. “Me too,” you croak out. “Want me to wash your hair?”

Jeongguk just brushes his lips against yours in answer. You’ve just reached over his shoulders to get the back of his neck but he forces you back into the tiles, back inundated with cold hardness and there’s no room for complaint when your tits press against Jeongguk’s skin like this. He groans a desperate sound into your pliant mouth. “I—I don’t wanna wait anymore.”

You pause. “For what?”

“I don’t—know—I—just having you here again. Makes me want to do everything.”

You are enveloped in mist and so much longing. “Let me finish then we’ll—go back.” You don’t know if you want to focus southward because one look at his dick and you’ll fall to your knees. “Turn around.”

He does. The glass of the divider fogs up in your intimacy. You give a half-hearted scrub along his skin, focusing on the grime you can’t see. Can’t think.

“Okay you know—I think we’re good,” you say, voice tight.

“Come here.” Jeongguk spins to find you again, a hard kiss into you and you feel his dick press up against your stomach. “Towels.”

“Turn off the shower.” You push open the door, shaking legs dripping onto the floor as you scramble to wrap yourself in warmth other than Jeongguk. He grabs the other one, quick passes over his skin before he drops it to the floor and nearly bowls you over to get you out into the bed room.

It’s bright. Jeongguk reads your mind. “Can I—shut the blinds?”

“Please.”

He goes to twist the plastic while you dry off the last remnants of water clinging to your skin, and before you know it Jeongguk has you lain flat across the tangled blankets, legs dangling from the side of the bed. “God I tried really hard to have a normal morning with you but I—just can’t anymore.” He kneels over you. “Please tell me you feel the same.”

You could go on about how quick the one-eighty was. From your thoughts about breakfast to this absolutely insatiable need for your boyfriend to insert whatever valid body part he could use into your pussy. But you and Jeongguk are never conventional, and going too fast is an illusion now. 

You have each other again, and no one’s counting the seconds anymore.

“Will you fuck me?” You ask.

“Yes,” he decides, and he unwraps the towel you’d clung onto before pressing downwards and caving into your lips. “I—have never wanted you so goddamn bad in my life, oh my god.”

“Good,” you choke on your breath because Jeongguk slips down your throat with his tongue and a pucker of his lips. “Ah—!”

A bloom of your slick runs through your cunt when he sucks hard on your skin, thumbs a shy presence on your breasts but they peak under the pressure. “You have the cutest tits,” he says. 

“Shut up.” You flare with embarrassment. “You can—be more rough.”

Jeongguk twists your nipples and you pant. “Like that?”

“Suck on them too. Make it—hurt.” His eyes flutter, determined in your command. Mouth a hot suction, laving you with his spit. His teeth graze in a bite and you moan. “Fuck—yeah. That’s so good…”

He stays like this: feeding into your sounds with sloppy grips of his tongue, suckling till your tits pop out his mouth and your hands find the nape of his neck in desperation. “Ugh—please—”

Jeongguk slurps on a nipple. “Get up there.”

You scramble up the bed, comfortably nestled in the centre and Jeongguk’s fingers go to spread your pussy,   cheeks heating in the sound of wet. He sighs.

“Do you want to cum now?”

You dip your head. “Please.”

He settles on his stomach, diving in to latch onto your clit, sucking that has your head thrown back further with every inch he covers with the jerk of his tongue. Honed in on the dangerous tip that could have you teetering over in a second and your hips pull back, but his hands take your bucking and locks you down to his attention. Too much so and now you wail. “Oh my g—od.”

Curses caught in the grit of your teeth because now he licks the stretch of your cunt like he’s thirsty. Jeongguk’s good at making you want more when you don’t know what means. “Gonna—use a finger.”

“Fuck, yeah. Yeah.” He curls in and up, a sweet crevice touched. Eyes rolling back as you puff. “Holy fu-uck yeah, finger it.”

“Wanna beg?” He suggests. Challenging.

“You’re asking me to?”

“I’m begging you to,” Jeongguk snickers.

“Then—” you settle up on your elbows, watching the minute thrusts into your cunt like a lazy cartoon— “please use another finger. And—make me cry this time.”

His eyes bulge in your confidence. Pulls out; now there’s two hard intrusions and it digs into a sweeter part inside, a touch that has you keening right into the pillow, drool smearing on the sheet. Clit sitting pretty on his wet tongue and you’d let him have it all day if he asked. Then Jeongguk thrusts in a drill so hard you vibrate. “O-O-Oh my fuuuuuuck—”

He curves into your loudness. “So fucking sexy,” he praises, rushing right through you and onto his fingers. “So wet—”

“Ugh—!” Your sobbing isn’t a tearful one but the scratch in your throat is smarting. Jeongguk swipes right over your nub. Leans up, fingers still a consistent presence and now his tongue is teasing yours, a muscle spasm more than anything and you can’t fucking breathe.

“Sit on my face,” he says.

“You—really?”

“I might cum.” Oh. He looks at you, eyes a wonder of pleasured agony. Probably because he’d been grinding into the sheets like last time but now you’re even more gone.

“Okay,” you gulp, and Jeongguk rolls over. Knees above his shoulders, using his elbows to slide along the mattress till you’re settled comfortably over his eager mouth. “You okay?”

“Fuck yeah.” He pulls on your thighs until his neck doesn’t strain up anymore, a stretch you can ignore if only to feel the traction of his rough love on your sensitivity. “This is—so hot.”

“Are you—pulling on pornographic roots right now?”

He hums into a suction. “Yeah.”

“What else have you thought about?” You can’t see his entire face from your view, but his forehead is scrunched. Thinking hard for you.

“Nothing—crazy,” he says. He kisses your leaking cunt. “Always wanna make you feel good. But it’d be hot if I choked you, yeah.”

“Oh—”

“Whatever you like,” Jeongguk decides. “I like whatever you like.”

“I would like it if you made me cry,” you contend.

He doesn’t say anything else. Jeongguk squeezes your ass, neck straining to get you dribbling on the tip of his tongue, pleasure pulled from the bottom of your stomach into moaning so loud you’re worried for the thinness of your walls. “Oh my god I’m close—don’t stop—”

Your pussy grinds right into it. His fingers are lax on your skin like he’s given up if it means you feed into your own demise. And you do: grating all your nerves from Jeongguk’s insistence into your sex and your hands tangle into his hair. “Oh fuck I’m—Jeongguk—!”

The feeling settles heavy in your pussy. Taken with a vehemence you’d praise forever and Jeongguk is nothing but passionate, a power translated through all his work and one he insists on when he paints your cunt like it’s his favourite thing to do. His hands tighten their grip on your ass, nearly falling over when his tongue slides like that—

“I’m cumming—oh my god I’m—fuck!”

Your eyes sting. It bursts—starting on Jeongguk’s tongue and spreading so fast you can’t tell up from down.  Moans wrenched from your chest and you can’t catch your breath, even when you push yourself off from Jeongguk because you can’t stop riding into it. “Ah—oh fuck.” You’re sniffling.

“Babe wait did I actually make you cry?”

“Yes you idiot, come here.” And Jeongguk crawls over you, kiss-ready, lips wet on yours. “Do you—is it—are you okay? Do you wanna try now?”

“Sure,” he says. “I just—might not last too long.”

“We take it slow,” you say. He nods. “Got condoms?”

Jeongguk looks sheepish but he nods again. “Please don’t ask me why I have them on me.”

“I’m asking why you have them on you.”

He groans. “Let me just—get them from my bag.” And he runs, hard penis and all, outside to the bag he’d left outside in your haste to the bed. He’s not even gone for two seconds before he has the string of foil in his hand. “Remember there was a party last night? Taehyung gave them to me just in case—you know. Something happened.”

“Good friend. Do you—have lube too?” 

Jeongguk pales. “No.”

“Come here,” you order instead, because you’re ridiculously wet anyhow. He gets closer, lying down when you push his chest down. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. Just wanna kiss you.”

He lets you. You stay in this moment, a precursor to a new era if you were being dramatic about it. But having him so soft and yielding under you like this makes you want to enjoy it, bit by bit. “I love you,” he says.

You mold into him. “I love you too.” Reaching over for one of the foils, you tear it as Jeongguk stares with a still chest. The condom rolls easily. “Okay?”

“Yep.”

Then you sit on top of him, your own breath caught in the butterflies jumbled in your stomach, a flit when his hands come to rest on your thighs. Nerves tangling with his and you feel the low tremors in his body. Your pussy glides along his dick lying pretty on his stomach. You tangle your hands with his. “Don’t be nervous,” you whisper.

Jeongguk gulps. “Just—kiss me again.”

You lean back down, his hands tightening yours when you meet him again. “Are you okay?”

His eyes are closed. “Yes—yes. You can put it in. Please.”

“Just—say the word and I’ll stop.”

He nods.

There’s a lump in your throat. You want it to be good for him. The griping all his friends did had done a great deal for your sex life, yeah. But the point of his comfort was crossed so many times you feared he’d back out by this time. And now he waits: waits for your go, on your own time, because the last thing he wanted to do was pressure you too. You know it in his attention, his quiet insistence on making you cum first. His patience for you to come back to him. Waiting so that you could get comfortable before he did, because he’s only ever comfortable when you are. 

You hold the base of his dick, tip straight below your core, positioned at the height of both your breaths.

You sink down.

It’s a scarcity, to feel this good from the get-go. A prodding that pinches a little stretches you right, Jeongguk’s length gloved in your heat, so much heat because he groans. “Oh my god.”

“Is that—okay?”

“Yes—”

His hands find your hips when your knees drop down even further. Slow, slow, slow; so wet because he makes you feel it—until you bottom out. Jeongguk shivers. “Tell me—when I can move.”

You watch his eyebrows scrunch up, teeth gritting when you shift to ease the weight on your legs. “I’m good. I’m good, please move, fuck.”

You do. You pick up to an easy pace, not straining yourself but enough for the tip of his dick to hit a spot in your gut that has you cooing. Your hands find his chest. “Ooh—fuck yeah.”

“Is it good—for you?” Jeongguk pants, bucking his hips when he watches your tits bounce. 

“Yeah. Feels so good…” You trail off, getting used to the feel of something so much thicker than his fingers. A burn you can’t say you haven’t missed, teasing your insides and you squeeze.

“Baby—that—fuck—” He’s sweating. His forehead shines, hair caught on his skin. His chest is a flushed, wet where your palms meet him because you’re getting a little winded now. But the little grunts he lets out every time you bounce is enough to keep you going. 

“Do you think—you can cum like this?”

His grin is sheepish. “N-No.”

You opt for a closer grind then. “How do you want me?”

“Your back,” he says, hesitant. “Let me—fuck you from the edge of the bed.”

You can do that. You lift up till his dick lies wet on his belly, sheets a mess under your bum when you let Jeongguk get up to move you the way he wants. He stands, one knee on the mattress as he spreads your legs, pussy served like it’s his to take. Makes a grab for his dick; jostles around a bit on your clit to see your hole tighten, stomach clenched. 

He presses in slow just to see you shiver. In control of your pleasure again, and you sigh into the sheets. 

“Oh my god.” You grasp the blankets, elbows strong to watch what you now know is the visual of Jeongguk fucking you. A little stilted in his rhythm, but only because he’s getting used to the feel of your pussy like this. 

You don’t care for the semantics of proper fucking. As long as his hips meet your ass in the beat you can only call nasty. The squelch of your arousal is loud. “Fuck—baby…”

“Yeah—feels so good.” Buried deep in your walls and maybe you could learn the ridges of his dick like this: lain here for him to use, cunt fit only for his pleasure. A position you’d gladly take everyday from now on because fuck if this isn’t heavenly. 

You know he feels it too when his chest picks up in his panting, dick a piston now and you mewl. 

“Yeah—faster, baby—like that—!”

“Shit—” Smearing your walls with your own slick, made for him to dirty. A push so vigorous you would be sliding if it weren’t for Jeongguk’s tight hands on you, and all you can do is take it. “Babe I’m close—”

And he bends down, kissing you with a pant into your mouth because he’s getting spent, efforts all going into your pleasure. He still thrusts. “Cum. Cum when you can, fuck.”

“What about—”

You shut him up with another press of your lips. “I’m fine.”

He leaves it at that. Jeongguk leans up again, adjusting one more time till he’s got both knees on the bed, cock a heady presence inside your sex and he gives it hard now. You’re trying not to squeeze so hard around him but it’s getting difficult; seeing him so focused, his eyes wild, sweat dripping on his shoulders. Sweltering in your heat and love and novelties—defiling him but in the best way possible. “I love you,” he chokes. “Oh my god I might—”

“Give it to me,” you whisper.

He does. Your pussy is still in Jeongguk’s indulgence, his whines escalating until he groans out: “I’m cumming—”

Jeongguk slams into you, a final push for your core and he croons into your neck. Streams of his pleasure in the form of a long sigh, his pulses inside. And maybe you’re dumb but you’re laughing and crying again, arms wrapping around his neck, swaying him back and forth as he calms down. 

“How was that?” You ask.

He’s crying, too. You wipe his under-eye when he takes one more kiss. “Best ever,” he says. “I’ll make you cum.”

“You don’t need to—” But his thumb is already on your clit, still wet from his doing and you force your hips to stillness— “Jeongguk no—”

“I wanna feel you cum around my dick,” he says, and the plea is enough for you to tighten and cry even more. It hurts, a nudge of pain but it’s already beginning to spread into pleasure—

“Jeongguk—”

You cum into his kiss, walls clenching into an orgasm so sweet your toes tingle. A ripple of pleasure running through all of you and he moans like he feels it too. 

Out of breath. It’s hot under his skin.

“So. Who do we tell first?”

Jeongguk laughs. “Maybe we can decide over breakfast.”

And you feel something, better than orgasmic bliss, the pleasure of a tryst: the simplicity of being in love. Jeongguk makes you feel like you can do anything.

“Eggs?” You ask.

His tongue is sweet. “Eggs.”

[anon-e-miss]

Primus Help the Outcasts 6

It was difficult to believe. He was waiting for the rug to be ripped out from under his peds but he could not be frozen in place by fear. Even if this reprieve was only temporary, Prowl needed to seize it with both servos for his creations’ sakes and to take full advantage. He needed to get healthy and strong. Then he could better plan for the battles to come. Prowl did not want to believe anything could be worse than had already befallen them, but he did not dare chance fate by making such proclamations.

There was a chair ready for him at the table. Someone had arranged cushions on it so that it might be more comfortable for his doorwings. They had done the same for the two Smokescreen and Bluestreak occupied. As he had always instructed his creations to, Prowl washed up, and then took his seat. Just walking to the table had exhausted him. The crash had trained what fragile reserves he had been clinging on to and now they were gone. He felt weak as a cyber-kitten and considerably more helpless. Sprocket served him a navy blue cube of energon with flecks of minerals floating in it. Medgrade. Prowl felt anxious and frail and he did not know if he could even hope to eat, let alone keep it down but  Bluestreak went on in great detail how he and his friends had helped the Twins’ grand-genitor make everything from the dough to the sauce completely from scratch. He was so proud, of course Prowl had to eat a slice of chrome-alloy pie.

“What was that scandal wit yer origin ya mentioned?” Jazz asked.

“He assassinated Zeta Prime.”

“Woh. What now?” Punch gasped. His sparkmates froze. “Yer originator was Camshaft?”

“You know of my originator?” Prowl asked, surprised. He looked to Jazz, who seemed equally surprised.

“We worked in the same business,” Punch replied. “Sometimes for the same side. After it was done, he went silent. We figured the worst.”

“He escaped,” Prowl explained. “Off world, I believe. I was attending school in Simfur at the time. He sent me packages without any return address from time to time. I was questioned regarding the matter repeatedly when I was young. I found the last package on my desk at the precinct shortly before I went on leave to have Bluestreak.”

“It was a brave thing he did,” Sprocket said. “He knew his life would be over but no one else could get close.”

“My originator was angry he had played a part in the tyrant’s successes,” Prowl replied. He remembered how angry Camshaft had been when the Institute’s crimes had been revealed and then the news so perfectly and ruthlessly oppressed. “The assassination would have been restitution to him.”

“It’s a small world,” Punch said and he shook his helm. “He never hinted to havin’ a creation or a Conjunx. He didn’t let ya become a target. No choice for us. Our whole family was in the business, that was the lot. Jazz and Ric had to grow up quick.”

“I remember Camshaft,” Jazz said. “Sometimes I’d try to eavesdrop on ya’ll. He caught me ‘bout as often as ya. I loved it when ya let me in on what ya were plannin’. The last time he game round, ya spent joors in Geni’s workshop, ‘n I came snoopin’ round again. He caught me. Shook his helm ‘n said this one wasn’t for me.”

“We weren’t sure if it might come back on us,” Rumbler explained. “We were makin’ plans to disappear if it got warm, let alone hot. But no one ever sniffed at us. We never heard from ‘m again.”

“The authorities knew when he sent me parcels,” Prowl explained. “I imagined my progenitor or the school informed them. He was deeply angry by my originator’s actions. The scandal forced him to step down from the senate. He had me surveilled. He was certain my originator would come for. He may have tried. He likely wanted to. But I was too closely monitored.”

“Yer progenitor arranged yer bondin’ then,” Jazz guessed.

“He picked a mech like himself,” Prowl declared.

“That don’t sound like a compliment,” Jazz replied.

“It was not.”

“He was nasty,” Bluestreak declared. “He smacked me because I was talkin’.”

“Bitty Blue, that’s awful,” Rumbler hissed.

“It’s okay,” Bluestreak said. Prowl flicked his doorwings at the memory. Bluestreak smiled up at him. “O’gin punched him.”

“Ya got a tough, Ori,” Jazz declared. “Took after his ori, I think.”

“Thank you,” Prowl said, he found himself relaxing as he found himself around friends and not merely benefactors. “I like to think so.”

The revelation that his originator had been friends and colleagues of Jazz’s procreators made Prowl feel safer in depending on their aid. Camshaft had paid a very personal price for being the triggermech for the assassination plot. Prowl had paid one too. Though he had not lost his originator completely, somewhere out there he new Camshaft lived, Prowl had never seen him again. His creations had never met their grandoriginator, who would have spoiled them if he had been able. They had only known their grandprogenitor who had treated them with no more grace than he had his creation. The boarding school in Simfur had been Camshaft choice for Prowl as his duties had taken him further and further afield. The distance from Praxus had protected him from his progenitor’s scornful impatience.

“Smokey helped me set up yer hab,” Jazz revealed after they finished dinner. Prowl offered to clean up but he was firmly refused.

“I got it,” Punch declared. “Ya got quartexes o’ rest to make up for before I wanna see ya liftin’ a digit. Go on up, get settled in.”

Smokescreen and Bluestreak each took hold of one of Prowl’s servos and let him out of the apartment. The stairs loomed and Prowl did not entirely trust his peds but he let himself be guided up. Jazz was close behind him, closer than Prowl normally cared for, but in this instance it was reassuring. If he felt, Jazz could stop him. The Twins followed after their progenitor. They were excited to have their best friend so close. Prowl was happy Bluestreak had made friends as generous and devoted as these two. Had they not gone to their progenitor wishing to help their friend... friends really, Prowl did not care to think what this next dark-cycle would have brought. Smokescreen entered the door code and the door slid op with a soft swish. The mechlings led him inside.

“This is amazing,” Prowl said as he looked around the open concept room. There was a table and chairs in the kitchen. A solid couch sat in front of an entertainment centre. Smokescreen hugged his arm.

“They asked me to help pick what we needed. The couch is as close to one back home as I saw and we caught lost of cushions to make it even better.”

“It is perfect, Smokescreen,” Prowl had static in his voice and tears in his optics.

“It reminded me of our place... when it was just us. Not that stuffy stuff he liked.”

It was not unlikely the simple, comfortable furnished Prowl had purchased for the habsuite he had rented. Those seven vorns had been the best of his life. Bluestreak was the only solace that had come from returning to that bonding. He was the only boon. Prowl hardly trusted himself to remain standing but he wanted to see what else they had chosen, Smokescreen was so pleased and so proud. His creations led him to the first berthroom. It was theirs to share. Two berths with drawers built into the frames sat against opposing walls. A blue geometric patterned quilt covered the berth that would be Smokescreen’s and a red and black striped one covered Bluestreak’s berth. There were two desk, a bookshelf and a chest of toys. The furniture looked solid, like it was meant to be lived on. Pictures covered the wall at the head of the berths. They were image captures from his mechlings own memories. Family moments, moments with their friends, Prowl teared up again.

“You do not mind sharing?” Prowl asked.

“We like it,” Smokescreen promised him and for now it might have been true. That was enough. “I hope you like what we did for your berthroom.”

“I am sure I will.”

A berth was all he could possibly imagine wanting. It could have been stiff as rock and that would have been enough because it was not in the shelter. There was no looming threat of someone wandering in. The door opened and Prowl saw it was a great deal more than a berth, though it was a wonderful berth. Smokescreen had chosen a heavy black and white quilt to go over red sheets and pillows. A bright red armchair sat in the window and a desk sat against the opposing wall, with bookcases on each side, bookcases that were full of datapads.

“Do you want to lie down?” Smokescreen asked. “You’re tired.”

“I would rather sit with you in the other room,” Prowl replied. He need to sit before he collapsed. This was all incredible and overwhelming. They led him out to it and Prowl did not quite collapse into it, but he did sag. The pillows were blissful. Smokescreen burrowed into his side and Bluestreak climbed into his lap. Jazz stood by. “Thank you. This is more than I could have imagined.”

“Y’all deserve a comfortable home,” Jazz declared. “There’s plenty o’ fuel in the pantry, but ya won’t need to cook wit my genitor downstairs. He’ll bring ya whatever ya could possibly want, hot ‘n ready to go.”

“I am a terrible cook,” Prowl said.

“We can teach ya, if ya want, when y’re stronger,” Jazz replied. “Rest for now, we got everythin’ else taken care of. Box over here has the makings o’ a shrine for the Festival. I thought that was somethin’ the three o’ ya outta do together.”

“Yes, thank you,” Prowl said. “Thank you so much.”

[clodiuspulcher]

Heyy just curious bc you seem more knowledgeable about it - what WAS the point of the trial of Orestes then? I guess I found it a little infuriating (pun?) the kangaroo court and weakass verdict from Athena, but I only read it casually, without extra study

This is a valid question because to be honest it is infuriating. It seems like a bizarre and anticlimactic end to the story and I felt the same way when i first read it. Even the famously misogynistic Ancient Greeks knew the mother played an essential role in heredity; Lucretius adapting the Greek Epicurus emphasizes that both the male And female “seeds” are necessary for procreation and in Aeschylus’s own time, both your parents had to be Athenian citizens for you to be one, which doesn’t make sense if the argument Apollo puts forth is a widely accepted belief of Athenians at the time. Also, it’s wild that APOLLO of all the gods would be the one to say “the mother doesn’t have a real blood connection to her child” when, you know, he and Artemis were literally ride or die for Leto and are probably the gods most attached to their mother in the Greek pantheon (Dionysus also a contender). It’s baffling from a characterization standpoint then as well as a biological one- it doesn’t make sense! But I don’t think the actual argument made here is the point of the trial scene at all - what’s important is that Orestes gets acquitted.

To me, the most cohesive, meaningful, and lasting theme of the Oresteia is that revenge is a futile and destructive effort. The blood justice enacted by members of the House of Atreus and the crimes they commit against each other in the name of vengeance - Atreus on Thyestes, Thyestes on Atreus, Clytemnestra and Aegisthus on Agamemnon, Orestes on Clytemnestra - doesn’t meaningfully work towards true justice. There is no possibility of restitution and healing; killing Agamemnon doesn’t end the curse on the House of Atreus the way Clytemnestra thought and hoped and truly believed it would, it only continues the vicious cycle of violence and brutality. It results in her children growing up under tyranny and her partly wishing for the death of her own son, it leaves her dead by his hand and Orestes himself wracked with guilt and tormented by the furies. Blood justice and violent vengeance just leads to more cyclical destruction and violence; it leaves the House of Atreus devastated, the walls of the grand palace soaked in the blood of previous crimes, the last male heir to the throne tortured and frail and begging for Apollo’s help. So Apollo’s play here is focused entirely towards breaking the chain of destructive violence, because vengeance is counterproductive and only precipitates more cyclical violence. The trial of Orestes is Apollo putting his foot down, refusing to let the House continue to devour itself with violence and replacing blood “justice” with something more sustainable and less violent.

In this vein, Apollo’s literal only goal is to get Orestes acquitted: to let the furies have him and do what they want with him would again simply feed into that cycle. Eumenides Apollo is basically 100% ancient lawyer 0% actual deity, and he’s going to act exactly like an ancient lawyer whose only goal is to acquit their client, by any means possible. So it doesn’t really matter if Apollo’s argument is based in reality- ancient law is more about who’s the better rhetorician than who had the stronger case; ancient law was emotionally driven; playing the audience and using good rhetoric are what matters and literally anything goes. I haven’t read ancient Greek legal texts in depth but I have read Cicero who was inspired by Demosthenes, and he had such great legal hits as “I deserve to have this property back because my opponent once dressed up as a woman to do mischief and therefore will always be in the moral wrong” and “Even if my intern was involved in conspiracies against the state, Whom Among Us WASN’T seduced by Catiline back then? Therefore he did nothing wrong.” An ancient audience used to lawyers genuinely using arguments like “my client went on a sea voyage recently and his boat didn’t sink, if he was guilty the gods would have sunk his ship so therefore he’s innocent”  (real example) wouldn’t be thrown by Apollo’s argument being obviously wrong because Apollo is simply utilizing effective rhetoric and playing to the jury he has. He’s just being a Good Lawyer and acquitting Orestes so the violence plaguing Atreus house can END.

You can also look at Apollo’s argument and the fact that it sways the jury and frees Orestes more cynically - like, even if this is a superior form of justice, it still has its own weaknesses, such as the susceptibility to empty rhetoric clearly not based in reality and the fact that a system like this would be extremely vulnerable to corruption and manipulation (but hey, at least no one gets axe-murdered). It could be a way of admitting the legal system is still deeply flawed, or that any system for addressing crime and trying to establish “real” justice is going to fall short in one area or another. Orestes got acquitted and thus the cyclical violence and the curse associated with it can finally be broken, but is it truly a just system if Orestes was acquitted by such a bizarre and easily refutable argument that only worked because of the jury present at the time? Was Apollo’s manipulation of the jury and the prejudices/ideas he knew were unique to that group of people “just”? It might be more Just but is this an Ethical application of the law? It’s still better than Blood Justice (which is The Point) but still. .. Something To Think About…. 

Eumenides is also really an etiology for the Areopagus as much as anything else - it’s establishing the importance of justice based on something less destructive than Uh Vengeance in the world of the trilogy but also in Athens in Real Life. So perhaps the argument Apollo makes to acquit Orestes doesn’t really matter, but it is a huge sticking point for a lot of people who read the trilogy so I’ve tried to explain my Take on that aspect the best I can.

Very long post that is to say, it is a truly bizarre characterization take on Apollo from Aeschylus, but in my opinion, Apollo just needed to Acquit Orestes Any Way He Could to end the cycle/break the curse, even if the argument he made was buck wild - ancient law really was just like that sometimes! And the point is that now we can all move on instead of killing each other Literally.

[incorrectdeceptionquotes]

A History of Secrets Chapter 8

Chapter 8

“Oh God…” Cameron whispered as they reached the crime scene.

From the outside, one wouldn’t be able to even tell something happened inside. Kay turned her head to him, “You recognize this place?”

“I recognize the name of the restaurant.” Kay raised an eyebrow at him. He explained “They make these signature dishes that they claim is unique to each customer. No two dishes are ever alike.”

“They’re not ridiculously overpriced?”

“Oh, no, they’re overpriced as hell but apparently no one’s ever left this place disappointed.” He noticed a look of hesitation on Kay’s face, “What’s wrong?”

Kay took a deep breath, “I know you’re pretty used to seeing dead bodies by now but I do have to warn you… this might be a little more intense than even we’ve done.”

“Thanks for the warning but I think I’ll be fine.”

Kay pursed her mouth for a moment, “Alright then. Let’s head in.”

(~**~)              (~**~)              (~**~)              (~**~)

As Cameron and Kay walked in, they were greeted by Mike, “Unfortunately, this is a case that required all hands on deck. I’m sorry you had to put a stop on your search for Berossi”

Cameron waved his hand, “Don’t worry. You know how this goes anyway; she’ll have us find her when it’s convenient for her.”

“So how many victims do we have?” Kay asked.

Mike shook his head, “They’re still counting but it’s clear that they all died from the cause, we just don’t know what that is yet.”

Kay raised an eyebrow, “How many are there so far?”

“So far, we have four victims.”

“Four?!”

“It’s not pretty.”

When they got to the back where the kitchen was, Mike handed them both a mask to place over their nose and mouth before he himself put one on. However, upon walking inside, not even the mask could cover the smell of the horrors inside the kitchen.

Cameron scrunched his nose as Kay and Mike did the same. “How long have the bodies been here?”

“From what I was told, it’s only been twelve hours.” Mike explained, “The only connection we have is that all of our victims were part of the staff in some way.”

“So there’s little chance that it’s because of any of the food that’s been sent to the customers seeing as none of them have been affected.”

“That we know of.” Kay reminded, “Apparently, the restaurant’s been closed for two days and they haven’t once closed their doors since they opened this place five years ago.”

“Any reason why?”

“Renovations it seems.” Mike replied.

“And now four people are dead.” Kay added, “Okay, we’ll need a list of the rest of the staff, the renovation crew-”

“You don’t understand! I must have my kitchen by tomorrow night! The grand re-opening is going to be our most successful night of the year!” A tall man in a white chef’s coat exclaimed as some officers tried to keep him out of the kitchen.

“Excuse me!” Kay called out as she walked towards the man and the officers, “I’ll take it from here.” The officers left as Kay looked to the man, “And who might you be?”

The man gave a wide, charming smile, “I am Philippe Winter. Head chef here at Originale, and you are.”

Kay held up her badge, “Kay Daniels, FBI. We’re here about the four dead victims in your kitchen?”

“Yes, yes. Very tragic. Can you ensure they will be removed by tonight so I can get the kitchen ready by the morning?”

“Sir,” Mike said, “You don’t seem too broken up about this.”

“They were all just servers, Agent…”

“Alvarez.”

“Agent Alvarez. It’s very sad but I cannot let it slow down business. Especially since I have an important family dining at the end of the week.”

“Who?”

“The Blanc family.” Mike, Kay and Cameron’s eyes all widened as he went on, “Can you believe it? Even after the horrors their father and mother put them through, they continue to press on. It’s inspiring, really.”

“Yes…” Cameron replied, feeling his nose flair slightly, “Inspiring.”

(~**~)              (~**~)              (~**~)              (~**~)

“This can’t be a coincidence.” Cameron blurted out. “I mean, people die in a restaurant my sister’s in-laws are meant to make this big public appearance at and…” He sighed, “It just seems too easy.”

“I agree.” Kay spoke up, “It is too easy.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, “You better watch what you say Cam. If Deakins thinks you’re too close to the case to make impartial calls than she won’t hesitant removing you.”

Cameron took a deep breath, “You’re right… any news on our victims?”

“We’ve only been able to ID them. Veronica Lang, age 24, she was studying to be a photographer and worked part-time as a waitress while also supporting her eight-year-old son.”

“And the father?”

“Not in the picture but Veronica’s parents are both alive and well and she had two sisters and a brother so there will be someone to take care of the kid.”

Cameron let out a tiny sigh of relief, “Good.”

“Hassan Golbadi, age 32, worked part-time at Originale as well as worked for a limo company part-time to support his wife and two children.”

“How old?”

“One is five, the other is seven.” Cameron nodded as Kay continued, “Celina Waters, age 36, worked full-time to make some spending money for her kids.”

“She had kids too?” He grimaced.

“Four of them. Her husband’s on his way to identify her body.”

“Continue.”

“And Bernard Karwitz, age 28, has a three year old daughter with his girlfriend, Sara. Four victims… and their only connection to each other is the fact that they all worked at Originale…” She sighed, “And they all have children. We’re still waiting on reports from the morgue.”

Cameron ran a hand down his face, “All of them were so different yet so similar.”

“Question is, were they targeted or was it just them being in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“And how were they killed? Because they clearly weren’t shot.”

A couple of hours went by and still nothing from the morgue and all Kay could get was statements from the victims’ families. When it was just her and Cameron in her office, Kay turned her head to him, “I don’t know about you but I could really use some peace and quiet.”

“And some wine?”

“Well, I was thinking scotch for your sake but since you offered.”

“I could ask Johnny to babysit tonight. It could be just you and me.”

Kay sighed as she gave him a tiny smile, “That would be nice.”

(~**~)              (~**~)              (~**~)              (~**~)

Cameron and Kay were meant to have a quiet and calm date night at Kay’s place… but after a bit of wine and officially being completely alone for the first time in a month, they quickly skipped dinner to be very alone in Kay’s bedroom.

Kay rested her head on Cameron’s chest as he had his arms around her and sighed contently. “That was amazing.” He smiled as he gently ran his hand through her hair. She smiled softly as she stroked his jaw line with her thumb.

Kay chuckled as she turn her head to the side to look at him, “It was. You certainly live up to the ‘Amazing’ in your name.”

“Agent Daniels” He smirked, “Are you flirting with me?”

“I might be…” She returned his smirk, “Got a problem with that?”

He grinned before pulling her in for another kiss, “Uh-uh.” They both laid back down when Cameron asked a bit of an unexpected question, “So do you have any thoughts about a date?” Kay let out a tiny sigh as she ran a hand through her hair, smoothing out the slight tangles that had formed “Hey…” Cameron gently pressed as he shifted slightly to properly face his fiancée, “Is there something wrong?” Kay bit her lip. Cameron gently brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear, “Is it about the wedding?”

Kay let out a sigh, “Not exactly…”

Cameron kept his gaze on her, “Is it about the wedding night?” He smirked as he leaned in to press his lips against hers, “Because if whatever we do then is anything close to what we just did a little while ago than I don’t think we have anything to worry about.”

That got a chuckle out of Kay as she lightly slapped his face, “No, you goof.” She sat up, keeping the blanket to her chest to keep her fiancé from getting distracted. “I mean, the day after the wedding… and all the days that come after that. Cameron, when we get married, it’s going to change our lives forever.” She noticed Cameron’s mouth form a tiny grin, “What?”

His grin only grew, “You said when we get married.”

Kay couldn’t help but smile herself, “I’m serious Cam… I mean, in all the excitement, we haven’t really talked about any of the… big things that come with being married.”

Cameron’s goofiness had faded as he furrowed his brows trying to figure out what she meant, “Like… moving in together? I mean, we practically do that anyway.”

“Well, yes but there’s also considering where we’ll live, do we want to get a bigger place? I know that we have to consider what’s best for Farrah and I love her to bits but what if we have more kids? Do we want to have more kids?”

Cameron let out a tiny laugh, “I guess those are important things to consider.” He gently pulled her into his arms and looked into Kay’s dark eyes as if doing so would give him all the safety he needed, “I honestly… never thought I’d be able to find someone as amazing as you that I would want to spend the rest of my life with so… I never really thought about having kids.”

Kay’s eyebrow quirked slightly in amusement, “Really? You never thought about it?”

He shook his head, “Not until we found Farrah.”

“What about now?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know… I mean I’d love to have kids with you one day, but only if you’d want kids too.” He took hold of her hand and intertwined their fingers, “Do you want kids?”

Kay smiled at him, “I guess the thought of having kids has always been in the back of my mind but because of work and… previous relationships not working out, I kind of put the thought to the sidelines.”

“And now?”

She gently stoked his cheek with her thumb, “Well, I don’t know if it’d be the smartest thing in the world to procreate with you-”

“Hey…” Cameron smirked, failing to sound offended.

“But I’m not against the idea.” She grinned as she pulled him in for another kiss. Her smile faltered slightly, “Do you… do you think I can do it?”

Cameron’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, “Do what?”

“The whole… I mean…” She placed her other hand on his cheek, “The whole… mom… thing, I guess.” Cameron rested his forehead against Kay’s as she continued, “I mean, you have this dad thing down to a T-”

“Hey…” He gently interrupted, “You of all people know that it wasn’t so natural for me at first. But I got the hang of it and…” He chuckled, “If I’m being honest, I can’t think of anyone better to be Farrah’s mom.”

“Don’t you mean-”

He smiled, “I know what I said.”

She rolled her eyes before she kissed him one last time, “I love you Cam.”

Cameron couldn’t wipe the giant smile on his face as they fell back against the pillows once again. As they settled in for some rest, he whispered, “I love you too Kay.”

(~**~)              (~**~)              (~**~)              (~**~)

The night after next, Dina had insisted that they all needed to have a quiet night as friends… meaning that in order peace and quiet the men and women were to have their own guys and girls night, respectively. The women would be in Kay’s apartment while the men went to the archive for the first time since their mystery woman went missing. If she wasn’t there then maybe they could finally return to their home once again.

“You sure you don’t want us to stay and help out with Farrah?” Jonathan asked as Farrah kept pulling on his hand, making little grunts when her uncle wouldn’t move from his seat.

“Oh, stop trying to worm your way into our girls’ night.” Dina smirked as she unpacked a grocery bag. “We need this Johnny… and you and Cameron need a night where you’re not watching a pumpkin turn into a carriage so I think watching horror movies with Gunter, Jordan and Mike is just what you two need.”

Jonathan snorted, “At least I’m not the one who hums Disney songs when he’s cleaning up.”

“Yeah, no, that’s very true” Cameron shrugged, “Unlike some people who sing them to get their niece to take a nap.”

“You of all people know how hard it is to get Farrah to take a nap.” Jonathan scooped up Farrah and pulled her in for a hug making her giggle, “You don’t like making things easy for us, do you Farrah?”

She lightly slapped his cheeks in response.

“Thanks for that Munchkin.”Jonathan chuckled, “Are you excited to be spending some time with your aunts?” Farrah leaned over and opened her mouth as she practically bonked her face against his cheek. Jonathan gave her a slight smirk, “Oh, she knows exactly what she’s doing.”

Dina chuckled, “And what’s that?”

“Every time she doesn’t want us to leave, she tries being extra cute and the worst part is… it usually works.” He gave his niece a stern look which only made her giggle more, “But not this time.” He got up from his seat and passed Farrah over to Dina who was more than happy to take the child into her arms, “You don’t get to win this round Farrah.”

Farrah turned her head to look at Jonathan as she stuck out her bottom lip. Dina laughed as she watched Jonathan try to hold his ground against his toddler niece, “Well, it seems she’s already learned how to manipulate men at a year three level.”

Kay walked out of her guest room and went towards Cameron, “Alright everything’s set up for Farrah in the guest bedroom. Whenever she needs to sleep, she’ll be fine here.”

“I could just come and pick her up at 9:00.” Cameron offered.

Kay shook her head, “You need this Cam. Farrah will be fine with us.” She noticed Cameron look over to Farrah who was babbling on about something to Dina and Dina was just eating it all up. Kay gave him a tiny smile, “If you want, I can text you a picture of Farrah every hour so you know for sure that she’s okay.”

Cameron gave a relieved smile, “That would be great.”

Just then there was a knock at the door. Jonathan got up from the couch, “I’ll get it. Everybody else is ignoring me, maybe there will be someone who I can actually have a conversation with.” Cameron chuckled and rolled his eyes at his brother’s comment. Jonathan opened the door to an unexpected surprise, “Lara?”

Lara let out a chuckle as she gripped the strap of her shoulder bag, “Jonathan.” She gave him a playful smirk, “You seem to be behind every door I knock on lately.”

Hey guys! Sorry to have been away for so long. I just… I wasn’t feeling the best. I just couldn’t get anything written, hopefully I’m past it but I make no promises. I hope this chapter was worth the wait and I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please let me know what you thought, tell me your favourite part, what you think might happen, I want to hear it all! I hope you have an amazing day and I will see you guys next time!

[lovedinapastlife]

3x12 “Bizarrodale” - Riverdale Reaction

Not gonna lie, I was kinda hoping from the title that this episode would have things like terrifying Jughead with a giant carving knife from outtakes of the fever-dream sequence of season one. Or floating babies. What we got was a generally cohesive plot with the minor characters. So like...I’ll take it? 

Let’s see some “inspired lunacy,” Riverdale!

“I’ll check my calendar, Sierra” — OOOOOH BURN. They didn’t even tell you the day, Marcus.

Hermione has no investment in procreations now that she’s not getting laid. DO IT YOURSELF is her new go-to response.

Who is this smug bug for finding Kevin and Moose in some random room making out? You want a gold star? A pat on the butt?

Oooof, Josie! Using ‘em and losin’ ‘em while wearing cute clothes! Sweet Pea wants something steady now that he can’t play G&G with his boyfriends on the regular.

Twice-widowed?! Did I miss something??? Maybe there’s a deleted scene of Penelope marrying Tall Boy. Or Malachai (who could be dead for all he’s been in this season). Or Claudius? That seems extra shady.

Is Tom just unemployed and Sierra’s sex bunny now? Because that’s weirdly adorable. Also if people could get more beds in this town so I’m not horrified wondering if it’s the same place Bughead has canoodled that would be great.

So…the main reason Kevin doesn’t want to break up with Moose is because…he doesn’t wanna cruise in the forest? Too much effort to get laid? This episode is not doing their relationship any favors for me, even if they’re both attractive young men. It’s like Kevin has to convince himself he even likes Moose outside of his enormous appendage.

Anyone else get chills when Cheryl reached out to touch Kevin’s hand? I was fairly certain she was going to set him on fire. Maybe that’s just me worrying about Cheryl in general. Let the former fat kid stress-eat!

Did they run out of costumes? Why is that one kid in full ROTC uniform and nobody else is? XD I get it. The metaphorical “divide” between Moose’s dad and their relationship but wow. That hat stands out in a classroom.

Cheryl getting excited for their first fight and then quickly crumbling into pleading is so…sad? I feel like Toni could probably manipulate her really horribly. Or for the better. Um. We’ll see. I’m not holding my breath.

Josie can’t drive? She ran her own band, her mom was mayor, dad’s a jazz star, but no car? No driver’s license? Shoulda taken advantage when she was dating Reggie to get a great deal on a ride! I know the pictured scene is later, but Archie is just so excited to be someone’s date and play music again that I wanted it up here.

Also it’s been 15 minutes without Bughead and I am physically in pain.

Oh good. Veronica finds robbing banks impractical, but she’s all about encouraging “inspired lunacy.” I think that’s how the show would describe itself.

The bad parents club is at it again.

“50 Shades of Blackmail” - the Choni spinoff

“I can’t believe I was shot…” — Reggie, unaware of what happened to Veronica’s “exes.” Honestly, seems like he got let off easy.

Archie - mauled by a bear, branded, buried alive

Nick St. Claire - “Car accident,” multiple ass-kickings

Now THAT’S what I call “dirty money!”

Okay I liked the throwback to the beginning of this season when Kevin surprised Moose with locker kisses

I don’t know how to feel about Choni cheating their way into a broken system. I like their outfits? I don’t care?

Ohhhhh Gladys. “More teenagers.” You and me, both. If only drug dealings could be kept between adults. I’m so annoyed with these people! Stop being involved in shade! Clearly you’re boss bitches and can manage an actual legit business instead of “borrowing” fancy cars and laundering dirty money with a bunch of rowdy teens and gang members. SET AN EXAMPLE, LADIES

Ha. Throwback to the Midnight Club entering through the window is kinda hilarious. What is with this poison-drinking nonsense? Again?!

OH MY GOD they’re setting it up for “jealous” Mason man to be the Gargoyle King. Yep. He is. Okay then.

30 minutes in, I get my shot. I’m crying. The hair. The beauty. I can’t handle it. DON’T STOP. My Bughead heart needs this! They are so lovely! Someone light their face and silence all the phones, k thanks.

Why does Kevin presume Betty would infringe on bunker boinking? She’s probably the one who came up with the damn schedule!

They look so damn satisfied. Can no one have peaceful pillow talk in this town?

What is with all this “gay=weakness” nonsense? Love is love. Sit down, ignorant, self-hating villains.

I squealed when I heard Jughead’s voice and saw him come in. Oh man. And now my heart is broken. Because the Jones girls are faking it. And Jughead’s gonna get his heart broken. NOOOOOO! I knew it the second JB hugged FP.

Good call Sierra and Kevin just keeping a giant cake for themselves with that bizarro topper. Was he sunk into the cake? On his knees? What are you two up to?

Goodbye, Moose! Bon voyage! Kevin seemed proud of him being out but sad he loses another boyfriend to crime in Riverdale.

It’s like this episode wants to highlight all the minors having reasons to cry. Ironically, Reggie was SHOT and was the least teary.

Oh, really?! A new gang/FAMILY? Of strangers?! In leather?! We need more aesthetic options in this damn town. The Pretty Poisons. My guess is if they can get the rights, Cheryl and Toni are gonna dress up as Harley and Ivy. Because they already dressed up like Catwoman.

I’m sorry, Archie and Josie, I can’t hear your duet over the sound of my heart breaking.

I don’t know, was anyone excited about Archie OR Josie dating someone new? Y’all need some time to work on yourselves. Revisit this after some therapy. Time is good. Look what it did for Tom and Sierra. I can’t imagine Julliard is much for aspiring pop stars anyway, but what do I know? She’s about to go to her own spinoff so I’m not emotionally invested.

I don’t know when I’ll get to see my darlings get the short end of the stick again. Oh well. Time for fanfiction, I suppose. Every time I think we’re thinning the ensemble they just swoop in with more. Fingers crossed our favs get to finish spectacularly next time ;)

[keepforward]

7SEEDS: Last chapter, translation and thoughts

TL;DR: I translated the very last 7SEEDS chapter. KEEP IN MIND IT’S THE VERY LAST ONE, AND MIGHT BE SPOILERIFIC. Also, I have a lot of feelings, thoughts about the romantic couples, Ango’s situation, and more~

Of course, Spoilers for EVERYTHING. 

Finally, about a year after its release, I finished translating the last chapter for 7SEEDS. It’s been a wild ride, and I am honestly impressed with how far I’ve come, and how much I’ve managed to learn along the way. Resources like Romaji to Kanji and Jisho have been an invaluable source of help and knowledge, which I feel deserve credit here.

Since this might not be making much sense: I’ve been translating the unreleased 7SEEDS chapters on Otakumole (if anyone has an account there—hello!! This is lisahey :D). Unfortunately, the very last one was not updated there, and I have no photoshop skillz, so.. this is as close as I can get to releasing my own version of this chapter, partly as a tribute to Tamura’s wonderful work.

Now, to talk about the ending…

Let’s talk about the pairings. I’ll admit it: I’m a huge shipper. Aramaki and Ayu were probably my favorite couple, and I would have loved to see at least an awkward little first kiss between them. Still, I know—both still have a long way to go, and I feel like Tamura made it pretty clear that they would eventually pair up. When Ran mentions something about having a lot of couples, we can see a shot with Semimaru/Natsu, Aramaki/Ayu, Gengoro/Akane, Haru/Koruri, and, naturally, Hana/Arash, so I believe we could call it canon. Even so… I still long to see more of my favorite characters T_T Perhaps I will have to resort to writing fanfiction to get over all these FEELINGS.

In that same topic, I recently saw an illustration with the 7SEEDS couples, which features Ayu holding both Aramaki and Tsunomata’s arms. Could Tamura be trying to say both could work? I believe so, but—I get the feeling that, from now on, Aramaki will be more proactive in their relationship (he did admit to Haru that he felt jealous), and eventually win over, whereas Tsunomata just… doesn’t care. I mean, he did just find out about his dead girlfriend, and his frozen baby, so— the guy might need some time to process that. Weirdly, I could see him pairing up with Botan… if only for the fact that he mentioned that he likes older women with big breasts, lol.

It is also worth mentioning that Ango is #foreveralone on that illustration, but also sort of… blends in with Ryou and Matsuri? … I’ll admit, with how close Ryou is to Ango, I could picture a threesome there. They WILL be travelling together for a long time, after all.

Natsu/Semimaru is… alright. Now that he’s decided that he likes her, Semimaru is clearly quite proactive (I believe he’s kissed her several times already?), while Natsu remains somewhat insecure. Clearly, she cares about him, but… is it really in a romantic way? I feel like Semimaru will have to learn to be more tender before he can truly win her over.

Karita/Ran was just… weird, to be honest. It sort of made sense for Karita to have a crush on Ran (she IS pretty awesome), but for Ran to return those feelings seems a little out of the blue. Karita… is a good guy, but I don’t believe he’s an equal to Ran in terms of maturity or, ahem, intelligence. I kind of get the feeling that Ran is using him for sex, and because, while not terribly bright, he’s loyal and reliable. I guess that might be enough for her? Still, Ran/Nijiko makes a lot more sense, in my eyes. There is that sexy panel with them discussing about the house—and, let’s face it, Nijiko is more on Ran’s intellectual level. Buuut I guess that, in this world, procreation is important…

Sakuya is also alone, apparently looking in Hana’s direction. Am I the only one who found him irritating? My guess is that he eventually paired up with someone… but whom? Who’d be willing to put up with his condescending, smug, unbearable ass? D:

Character bashing aside… I’ve seen some criticism for Ryou/Matsuri, but, personally, I enjoy it. Ryou can be mean as hell, but I think he’s demonstrated that he both needs and enjoys the company of cheerful, caring people, like Matsuri and Koruri. Matsuri sees the world differently than he does, and she has the courage to face him when he’s being a dick—and I think he’s come to realize that he needs that. While he might not be able to return it, he needs Matsuri’s cheerfulness, and her caring. Otherwise, he gets trapped in his own world— something I think is laid bare during the ‘ship and atom bomb’ arc, where he was constantly on edge, thinking of reality as a “test” full of traps. I have a lot of feelings for them! <3

…Though, I do wish we had seen more interactions between Ango and Matsuri, seeing as she is basically dating his best friend now, and they will be travelling together—possibly for YEARS.

Other than that, I wonder about the children. Will Hibari ever become less of an insufferable brat? After the dogs saved her, I thought Tamura might choose for her to work with the animals, but that seemingly wasn’t the case. On the other hand, she’s working with Momota, so that might lay the grounds for them to pair up in the future. I wonder about a triangle with Hotaru, further amplifying Hibari’s hatred and jealousy, but… I DO hope it wouldn’t come to that. Maybe Hotaru can find ~love~ in someone older, seeing as most of them are only about 4-6 years older than her.

Now… to talk about something a little more serious: what did you guys think about Ango’s redemption arc? It kind of broke my heart that there was clearly no going back, and that even close friends like Koruri and Gengoro were turning their backs on him. In a way, I think he’s self-exiling, trying to atone for his crimes. Will they manage to open the Ark? And if they do… will he be able to live a normal life with the others? Or will he keep travelling the world? Either way, I just hope the kid can finally find some peace.

In that vein of thought: was anyone else slightly irked that everyone was acting pretty… sanctimonious-like? Like, hey, Gengoro… remember when you okayed using Momota, a 12-year-old child, as bait for dinosaurs? Remember how you did nothing to help him as Ango forced him to climb a cliff, claiming you “understood how he felt”?

I also regard Ran’s comment about them “paying their respects to Izayoi” with a grain of salt. Akio and her, are believe, and some of the greatest offenders—and yet, no one ever brings it up, or tries to hold them accountable for any of it! They acted as villains at some point, stopping Ryuusei from getting water (which he needed for Kurumi, who was pregnant at the time), they locked in Hara and company inside that underground shelter, leaving behind their own teammate to possibly DIE down there, had they not managed to escape— they beat their team if they didn’t finish their chores, they stole and killed Izayoi’s animals, driving him to a failed mass murder attempt—BUT NO, Ango is the ONLY bad guy here, amiright!?!??! Poor Izayoi! They were such close ~*~friends~*~.

And, now, don’t get me wrong—I know Ango did something horrible, and I actually think that Hana’s fear of him is very legitimate, and well executed. I just wish the others would admit that they, too, aren’t perfect.

Despite my complaints, I still regard 7SEEDS as one of the best mangas ever written. It was a pleasure to translate it—and, I admit, I got somewhat teary eyed when I typed in the final “*END*”, as well as Tamura’s last, grateful goodbye.

Thank YOU, Tamura, for giving us so much throughout the years. You made this world come alive, to the point where I could simply never get enough of these many, beloved characters. I want to see them continue to grow, to mingle, to develop— but I understand that all good things must come to an end. And what an ending! I enjoyed that little background about Chimaki’s father, and was very touched when it turned out he did, after all, remember that single memory he had with his father. I hope you enjoy this translation, and, if you have any questions or recommendations, please let me know!

Wow this turned out long o_o

[emilyplaysotome]

Chapter 20 - Hard Choices

Catch up on all Chapters here: http://emilyplaysotome.tumblr.com/post/173554646607/down-the-voltage-rabbit-hole-the-sequel-master 

It was nearly impossible to concentrate at work considering the morning I’d just had. Here I was, supposed to be excited about seeing Zyglavis and my heart kept aching at the thought of Hijikata.

On top of that I heard my own nagging negative ego spoken in Meg’s voice echoing my head, playing devil’s advocate.

“Why do you even care about either of them? If you weren’t so insecure you’d try to find something real instead of falling into the same otome traps over and over again.”

I glanced up, through the glass walls of my office and looked at the activity beyond it.

Young men and women milled about, living their lives - no doubt dealing with all the difficulties this world presented while for the past few years I’d retreated into a fantasy land. I wondered how they’d been strong enough to do it. I wondered if it had been luck or perseverance that had brought them theoretical happiness and as I judged myself for having neither and not really trying these past few years.

In a sense, the games coming to life bled into my instinct to avoid “real” men in this world on apps or through other means. They provided a perfect excuse to erect walls around my heart and never leave seeing as how inside my world I happy and safe. Before I’d even landed in the otome-verse I’d used the games to avoid putting myself out there for years and so in a sense my prayers were answered when I’d been inexplicably thrust into this strange but familiar world.

However at this point in my life, I was being forced to ask myself what I really wanted.

I’ve never thought of myself as a cowardly person, but I’d recently come to realize how fearful I was in my personal life. I had a narrative that it never worked out with the people I liked, but when I thought back on who those people were I realized that these relationships were often doomed from the onset.

There was something about choosing people that deep down I knew would never be right as a way of protecting myself. This wasn’t about me having bad taste or liking the wrong things - it had to do with me running away from success and failure. Time and time again I reached for the man who was emotionally unavailable and when he disappeared it hurt, but not as much had been ready and decided to go with another.

In a way, dating and living within the otome world was no different and Meg had brought that to my attention. Both options kept me sheltered from putting myself out there in a meaningful way and thus, feeling the sting of rejection that came with someone knowing you for exactly who you are.

Yet, having lived this way for so many years it was going to be hard for me to just reject what they provided all of a sudden. Beyond being comfortable for me, it also felt hasty and when I really searched my feelings I couldn’t say honestly that the things these otome men made me feel were less real than what my experience might be with someone of this world.

If anything, it wasn’t about feelings or success or failure when it came to my current situation but this question of choice that Meg had harped on.

She had me questioning if it was possible to pursue a relationship with an otome man all the while understanding that the nagging voice in the back of my head might never be quelled? That years from now, should I marry and procreate with them would I wonder if for not this miracle if I would have been strong enough and worthy enough to find happiness with another...

“Naomi!”

The voice shook me from my thoughts and I saw a concerned looking Toma standing in front of me.

“Sorry - what’s up?”

“Are you alright? I was calling your name again and again...”

“Just thinking about stuff. Do you need something?”

Toma gave a brusque nod and slid an iPad over to me.

“Oh nice. The mockups look great.”

“Yeah, I worked with Cara and Roxie on the visuals. We have a few copy placement options for you to pick...A,B, or C.”

Toma flicked through the different layouts as he spoke. There were several options of each.

“More than a hotel,” had become our main tag and then depending on the image there was additional copy. “An exclusive fitness club for NYC VIP” was overplayed on an image of a boot camp happening on the roof, under the stars. “An oasis in the city” fell over images of the luxury spa - our option for Nee Yorkers who couldn’t necessarily afford a membership but wanted the occasional pampering. “A restaurant worthy of New York” showed off some of the delicacies from the flagship hotel eatery - mouthwatering images of truffle gnocchi with fresh chickpeas and perfectly presented filet, still tender with potato whip and garnish.

“Toma - these are amazing,” I finally said. “I defer the placement to what the team likes, but I’m leaning towards B if you really want my opinion.”

Toma brightened at my praise and retrieving the iPad said, “Us too.”

“Great! B it is. I’ll confirm with Anita what time the presentation tomorrow is but we’re in a great shape.”

“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean? Is there something you feel I’m missing?”

Toma flashed me an abashed smile and shook his head, “I just feel like there’s a catch...it’s not even lunch and we’re feeling good about this stuff. I’m used to a guaranteed late night before a presentation of this magnitude.”

I smiled and shrugged, thinking of my time at Addison & Rhodes and how often I saw the people around me putting in crazy hours.

“I don’t give feedback for the sake of feedback. If you feel like there’s more to do by all means, I won’t stand in your way. I love what the team has done though.”

Toma blushed a little at the mention of “love” and saw himself out, feeling good about being to relay such positive feedback to the others. With the knowledge that the LT Hotel account was in good shape, I tried to refocus on my other work that needed attention.

For a solid hour and a half I managed to put emotional blinders on and commit to my work and when I’d finished I realized that the clock read 3 pm and I’d forgotten to eat. On top of that, I grabbed my phone and saw that I had a missed call and voicemail from Terek Bishop, the NYPD officer who’d arrested Soryu.

I was curious as to why he’d be calling and put his voicemail on speaker in my office as I got ready to grab a quick bite.

“Hi Naomi, this is Terek Bishop of the NYPD. I got contacted by a Jin Namba who is trying to locate Soryu Oh and said he was working on your behalf. If you could give me a call back I’d like to discuss this with you directly rather than go through a proxy. Thanks.”

I figured Terek wanted to confirm that Namba was indeed working on my behalf so called Detective Bishop back immediately. When I did he advised me against working with a PI and informed me that he was concerned that our meddling might affect Soryu’s case.

He admitted to not knowing Soryu’s whereabouts but confidently relayed that he didn’t think he would pose any threat to me. Having missed his court date, Soryu was now a wanted man and would have a hard time flying under the radar let alone committing another crime.

“I understand and respect your desire for justice,” Detective Bishop said, completely unawares as to the real situation, “but please leave this matter in the hands of NYPD professionals.”

“But Mr. Namba is ex-NYPD!” I insisted. “He used to work at the TriBeCa precinct. If you don’t believe me you can ask Patrick Fitzgerald. He goes by ‘Fitzy’ - he’ll tell you there’s no better person to help you.”

There was a pause and I could tell Detective Bishop was slightly taken aback by my passion before he said, “Alright. Usually we advise against this but maybe we can figure something out. I’m doing this for you though…”

Perhaps I’d been around too many otome men the past couple of weeks but there was something that last statement that made me wonder if there was more to what he was saying. He agreed to talk to Jin so long as we didn’t get in the way or derail the NYPD’s investigation and we hung up shortly thereafter with a promise that he’d update me in a couple of weeks.

I didn’t think much of it, but figured I might as well stop by Jin’s office before picking up lunch just to let him know I’d spoken with Detective Bishop.

“What can I do you for little bird?” Jin asked plainly.

He was looking through various letters that littered the surface of his usually clean desk, sitting casually on the edge rather than his office chair.

“I wanted to let you know I spoke with Terek Bishop - the officer who arrested Soryu,” I said only a few steps in from the door, feeling as if I’d interrupted something.

“Ah yeah. I left a message for him.”

“He said he’d be willing to work with you so long as we didn’t get in the way. I guess Soryu skipped his court hearing so he’s in more trouble than I thought.”

Jin nodded at me and I instantly saw that there was something different about his demeanor today.

He was wearing a nicer dress shirt than usual, but he’d rolled the sleeves up and unbuttoned a few buttons making it feel less dressy than it actually was. The light blue of his shirt was complimented by fitted navy slacks, and resting on the corner of his desk was a folded up tie that he’d obviously removed before my arrival.

He didn’t seem as lighthearted as usual, and I couldn’t tell if this was about a different case or something personal but reading the room it made sense not to wear out my welcome.

I smiled at him and quickly said, “That’s all. I figured he’d be in touch soon but I might as well swing by.”

I turned to leave but Jin called out, “Hey wait. Can I ask you something?”

I paused and spun back around only to see him looking at me with a conflicted expression.

“Fitzy and I got lunch today and he asked me how it was going with all this,” he said gesturing between me and him. “I…how come you won’t tell me how we knew each other?”

The question was asked in earnest, but I was unsure how to answer it. He was clearly searching for something specific but I was unsure as to what that might be and I didn’t think the king would appreciate me telling him the truth.

I thought about the history we had back in his world, as well as the memories we’d made in mine. I thought about the last time together in the onsen, and the look on his face in the penthouse suite when I told him that I was choosing Zyglavis.

I kept returning to this idea of choice that the spirit of Meg had been torturing me with, and how it felt that out of all of the men Jin always had the emotional maturity to make it clear that he always choose me - no matter how free his will actually was.

Not wanting him to hear I’d broken his heart time and time again, I felt like all I could do was smile and say, “Someone once told me it’s best to let memories return as they’re meant to, but if there’s something specific you want to know and if I can help I’m happy to try.”

It was obvious by the way he looked at me that he could see through me. His eyebrow twitched slightly and with a scoff he said, “This city is filled with beautiful women, you know?”

Unsure as to what he was getting at I stood uncomfortably near the door and nodded. He ran his fingers through his hair as he spoke, and his movements made it all the more evident that his muscled physique was still very much intact from what I remembered back in the otome world.

“This weekend I went out with one - smart as a whip, sexy as hell, and kept throwing compliments my way the whole date.”

The comment took me completely off guard and left me taken aback to say the least.

This was the first time I’d heard about the secret lives of these otome men, now that they were away from me. If Jin was going out on dates I had to assume the others were as well. It was a strange thought that some woman unbeknownst to her would go out and not realize or understand who she was actually with.

It was selfish of me to feel possessive over them all when I’d made my choice all those months ago but I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness as he spoke. I did my best to hide what I was feeling from him but as a result I felt as if my smile was plastered on, and I was too afraid to move for fear he’d see how much the thought of him on a date bothered me.

“Yet the whole time I was with her I was thinking - why do I feel so indifferent about her...about this? She was everything anyone would ever want from a partner. When we said goodbye, she kissed me and I was surprised at how little I felt. I’m a man, you know? Most men are wolves.”

He said the last bit in a tone that I was more familiar with. He was flirting with me, being playful and goading me to see what my reaction would be. I responded by daring not to move as he continued speaking.

“And then today at lunch Fitzy brought you up and ever since I can’t shake the nagging feeling that...well, that I was never indifferent about you.”

The way Jin delivered that statement made me momentarily weak at the knees.

It was self-assured, fearless, and direct in a way that provided the type of validation any woman would want. No matter what I may have felt about him he was secure enough to let me know that his feelings were steadfast and true. It took real bravery and a complete lack of ego to say such a thing to a woman you barely knew and hardly remembered and it made me recall why I’d been so drawn to him in the otome world.

This was a man in the truest sense to me and under his direct gaze I felt as if I owed him some sort of transparency shy of the whole story.

“You’re right. You never were.”

“Then?”

“I was engaged.”

“Was?”

I nodded, my eyes finally falling from his.

“I see.”

I found the silence that followed that statement to be awkward but couldn’t find the right words to say. As I struggled to form a reply I failed to notice that Jin had gotten up from his desk, and gently taking my hand said, “So I guess this is the part where I go for it, eh Little Bird?”

He lifted my hand to his lips, and gently placed a kiss on my ring finger.

“Jin…”

He gently lowered my hand back to my side, and placed his hand on my waist. Gazing into my eyes our faces drew closer together until his passed my lips and instead came close to my ear as he whispered, “Oh no. I’m not that easy. If you want me, you need to choose me.”

Choose.

There was that word again.

I stood stunned, frozen and stammering as he pulled away, chuckling as he took a seat behind his desk.

“I’m a PI Naomi Lee. I know everything that I could know right now…and while I’d love to take you right here on my desk and pleasure you until you can’t think straight, I don’t mess around with women who juggle men the way you’ve been doing. Let me know when you’re done with all the others and I’ll consider taking you on the best date you’ve ever had in your life.”

My face must have been bright red, but Jin was no longer paying attention to me. Instead, his eyes were on the papers in front of him and he went back to work as I slinked out of his office and onto the street, realizing that choice was something that went both ways.

If you’ve enjoyed the story, please show your support by sharing it with a friend or buying me a coffee (https://ko-fi.com/emilyplaysotome)!  

Thanks for reading :)

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[valnotyourpal]

Interview Task:

Thursday 29 April 2021

30 mins

What’s your earliest memory of drawing or being creative?

Do you draw for yourself? 

What is your favorite art medium?

Acrylic, I live water cooler, ok, I’ve done most of that and I really actually enjoy that, I often mix you know like acrylic guoache, watercolor, they have things that work well

I love collage I don’t really do it do you feel something is stopping?

Collage is useful when you have magazines and materials, 

Im not a spontaneous artist at all, im a terrible perfectionist

First step is a sketch, refining sketching before brio

Last year a lot of biro, 

Fineliners are a it too thick with biro same textures as pencil, you can use with anything 

I go over things many many times I f its digital, first sketch you know second, line work, 

Unless its life drawing, im less strict I hate most of what I do

Why do you hate it?

Haha therapy session

Hate is strong word, disonent not hate, I say ok I like the element of work, sometimes is boring or not as striking

I guess people see in t things I don’t see

Benefit of the fresh eye

Do you struggle to have a fresh eye in work?

Often nearly all the time, I finish after working a lot on it, ugh whatever it exists in the world

And people say omg I love it, which is surpising and enjoyable

Its quite short lived, that grace period of liken work, lasts 5 minutes

Value your work on the comments?

Not always, if tis something I think is really awful no comment can change that

I don’t judge my work on terms comments most of the time

A warmer gaze

So yes and no haha

Fave piece you did?

When you asked me to bring I was like hmm I don’t have much on me, I’ve only been here a year so that’s all I have, my drive from years previously

So either its work have 2 years ago or work ive done this year I haven’t got omg this is amazing but ive got reasonably content about

My older works

I enjoy seeing work 

What was story of work?

Extremely broad with briefs, I was terrible with following

30 minute spiel, I can’t even remenerbrief, I have wonderful fine arty ways of explaining it

Next work:

Camouflage? Transformation?

Went a completely different route SERIAL KILLERS!

The man is ind of sissapearing behind the crimes, loses human side, 

Hes dead now, he used to skin people. House full of skin furniture

I used these kind of pits of material,

Do you use mixed media?

I always love mixed media

The work is childish to me, slightly naive

I haven’t evolved much since, fond memories of that, I enjoy shocking people

What I love about ill is incite emotions from people and convey a certain atmosphere and mod I ,love dark and gloomy pieces Bec very expressive, im quite happy person and bubbly or whatever

I do love creepy paintings and stuff, especially if im making them and watching them shocked and really disturbed

Very entertaining 

Where did the come from to shock?

Who knows? Im nt very good at psycho.. I dint know, a bit out of the refinery and I enjoy bits out of the ordinary, I don’t know to be honest..

Least fave? 

Ive got lots to choose haha…

From the poetry competition I even did sev ver of this shit hing

How did it start?

I was extreme insipid by poem, chicken town really cool grunge poem, quite rude, quite different how  see the world

A bit moros e yeah and capture the essence of the poem

I mean ive captured this air of boringness

Perhaps not textured enough

Ive got this other ver frankly not any

When did yo0u decide you didn’t like?

Most of the way, usually half way through, I don’t beat myself up too much about this thing not like oh gosh I should 

Internat debate?

Yes, you know Eloise you get better with time, its normal you learn dn kind of progress

Recent? (Animation)

How do you feel about it?

Days it took me to make, weeks maybe, 

Comments?/

Overall im acc quite happy with it now, animation reasonably fluid, I want every scene to develop, I had a lot of constraints, small amount of frames I had, it was procreate, its ok, idk, im very harsh

Do you see a clear path how to fix?

Yeah I tell myself im only on beginning, its perfect normal im learning, I prefer showing things I actually like.

How do you feel sharing your work?

I acc not got many problems to be honest, ive never, so one of my main horrors is to appear like im boasting, I inherently hate cockiness, most of all in myself oh god is that cocky? Its not all consuming, I do enjoy showing Bec its fun people kind f like what I do, usually people have a kinder gaze than Ido, not ego stroking, soothes my critical eye

Fave food?

I love food. One of my main pleasures in life, and friends and family, lasagna, sweets ice cream, not cake always, caramel

Sweet tooth.

Pressure to be short and concise 

Eloise

Extremely rarely draw for fun, I must draw, I should enjoy

 How did you learn languages?

Born in England for 4 years

Mother spoke to me in French

Different language at home than out

When I have a goal in mind

Motivated to give presents

[arielle0808]

Sea Stars- 5

Here is chapter 5 of the Yoosung x mermaid fic :3

You can also read it on AO3.

I woke up to see a pair of golden eyes looking at me behind some glasses. I was going to gasp in surprise when Seven put his hand on my mouth and did a gesture for me to be quiet. I started to grow conscious of my surroundings, and that’s when I felt Yoosung’s arm round my waist and his chest stuck to my back. My face started heating up at my realisation and I turned carefully not to wake him up and looked at him. He looked so peaceful in his sleep. I was going to caress his cheek when lots of water started to fall on us. I gasped in surprise as I sat up, and so did Yoosung, completely awake now. Seven was laughing at us, bucket in hand.

“Good morning!” he exclaimed.

“Seven!!” Yoosung yelled at him, throwing him his pillow.

He looked at me and gasped, as if he had forgotten he had gone to sleep with me last night. He hadn’t forgotten, he just thought it had been a dream. He looked down at me and suddenly blushed. I followed his stare and realised the water had made my breasts-concealer visible through my clothing. Maybe that was its function. To prevent breasts from being seen if somebody threw water at you.

“Are you alright?” Yoosung asked. I nodded. “Seven, go and give her a towel, you asshole!!!”

Seven ran away and Yoosung started following him. I was freezing. Was this a human thing? I didn’t think so since Yoosung seemed mad at Seven. I went out of the room and found Zen down the corridor.

“Oh, my God, what happened to you?” he asked me.

“Seven woke us with a bucket.”

He looked down at me and blushed, like Yoosung did.

“Us? Nevermind, put something on first,” he said. “I’ll scold Seven.”

“Yoosung is scolding him already,” I smiled.

“Yoosung is too soft and always ends up playing around with him.”

I wanted to play around too, but I didn’t say it because everyone seemed mad at Seven and I know you shouldn’t encourage bad habits.

“Is throwing water at people to wake them up a bad habit?” I asked, just to make sure.

“It is,” Zen chuckled. “You’re so cute, princess.”

“Thank you,” I blushed.

I heard Yoosung and Seven’s yells approaching.

“Yoosung, ruuuun!!!” Seven exclaimed.

“It was not my fault!!!”

Seven had Elizabeth 3rd in his hands and the two men in black were persecuting them. I could see Seven laughing and Yoosung pouting in fear, so I decided to help them. After my friends passed next to me and before Zen could realise what I was doing, I stood in front of the men in black with my arms extended to my sides. Jumin appeared behind them. The three of them stopped and looked at me, puzzled. And I started to run.

“Umi, you’re amazing!!” Seven laughed. “You got us some time!!”

“Umi!!” Yoosung exclaimed, stopping stretching his hand for me to catch it and run together.

They got us. Yoosung and I were scolded and Seven sent home. He declared it had been worth it. Yoosung looked as if he was about to cry as they scolded us, so I held his hand the whole time until they let us go.

We had breakfast, and I loved tea. I asked them to give me more, which became a problem when we started heading home since I couldn’t stop going to the bathroom. Fortunately, Yoosung and I took the train, since if we had gone by car with Jumin Han and Jaehee, or by bike like Zen we would have had to stop hundreds of times. Yoosung wouldn’t stop laughing at me when I got up to go, but stopped when he noticed it embarrassed me.

We finally got to Yoosung’s house. I looked around, still holding the bag with the things Jumin had given me, and rushed to the sofa to try it. It was certainly more uncomfortable than Jumin’s, but it still was nice. I looked at Yoosung, smiling, and he blushed, avoiding my gaze and scratching the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry this house is not as big and pretty as Jumin’s. I guess you’re a bit disappointed.”

“I’m not!” I rushed towards him and took his hands. “I really like it,” I smiled. “I like that it’s small so that I don’t have to walk that much to go from one place from another and risk tripping on the way,” we chuckled. “Besides, it has your scent and I think that’s nice.”

“Eh?”

He was blushing like crazy. I realised what I had said and started blushing like crazy. We stood there for a while, our face competing with Seven’s hair.

“Letmeshowyoumyroom,” he said.

I chuckled and followed him, still holding his hand.

Yoosung returned to his classes. I would see him to the building and let him there. He would always blush and turn lots of times to look at me, still waving goodbye as he approached the building. He liked it when his friends in school asked him if we were dating.

While Yoosung was at school I decided I was going to make the best of my time in the human world, planning to see all the interesting things they had. I went to parks and saw the trees, the birds, dogs, cats and squirrels. And there was also a lake with ducks. I walked down the streets and saw the houses and lamplights. Lamplights are so cool. Once, Jaehee took me to a library, which is a place in which you can read books and take them home, but you have to take care of them because you have to give them back. I chose a book titled Emma but I still had to ask Jaehee to help me reading it. It was beautiful.

Some afternoons, we went to Seven’s house to play videogames, which are images you can control and appear on a screen, but I didn’t like them because they were too difficult for me to play. What I did like was listening to the music. The first time I heard music, I started crying, so Yoosung looked at me panicking and embraced me, not knowing what to do. But when he did, I cried more, because I was listening to a beautiful sound as a beautiful person embraced me, and it was too overwhelming.

The evenings were quiet and calm. I liked lying on the couch, my head on Yoosung’s lap, as he told me what he had done that day in school, which I thought was fascinating. They listened to a professor, who is a person who knows a lot, and take notes of what he said. I decided I wanted to become a professor one day because it must be super cool that people write down what you say, but then I remembered I didn’t have much time left in the human world and became somehow sad. But I cheered up again when Yoosung told me he had answered to a question a professor had made. He must be super clever to be able to explain something to a professor.

“He actually knew the answer,” he explained, blushing, when I told him so, “but wanted to make sure if I knew.”

“Why?”

“To know if I am prepared for the exam.”

“What’s an exam?”

He explained it was a set of question which he had to answer to pass the subjects and become a vet. Then he explained what subjects and a vet were. It was fascinating.

When Zen learned about my taste for music, he invited me to one of his musicals. Yoosung had to buy the entrance himself, though he didn’t tell me.

It was fascinating. I enjoyed every second of it and I decided musicals were my favourite thing in the human world after Yoosung and Seven. Afterwards, Zen took us to a fancy place to have dinner, which was great, though Yoosung and he spend a lot of time at the beginning of the meal on their phones, sharing some glances from time to time.

Yoosung bought a small tank with two fishes to make me feel more at home, at which I blushed, finding it endearing.

“You don’t have music down the ocean?” Yoosung asked one day.

“Not like you do,” I replied. “We have songs that we sing ourselves, but all of them serve for certain purposes. We don’t use language, but melodies,” I explained. “Some mermaids can’t talk. I can because my parents taught me how, but I heard some of them only communicate through music, and I’ve encountered them too. Personally, I think language is better since you can express more things with it. Songs are too practical. Language makes you understand more things and know them, for without it one could not conceive them. It’s bad in a sense, since it makes you know about things like property, and thus robbery and other crimes, for example, but it’s also good since I can name my feelings. With songs I could only express things like sadness, happiness and desire to procreate.”

Yoosung blushed.

“So you think the word came before the concept?”

“I don’t know in your world, but in mine I certainly think so. We don’t own any property as such, to continue with my previous example, but it’s true that if someone ever took some of the things I had kept in the boats I frequented I would have felt offended, since I think those things are mine in a way.”

“But that’s because you have a certain feeling of attachment to them,” he replied.

“It could be, but then I would only feel sad for losing them, not offended.”

He thought for a while.

“Can you talk to fish?” he asked.

“I do,” I smirked.

“Really?” he exclaimed, surprise.

“Yes! Oh, what do you say?” I said, putting my ear on the glass of the tank. “What? You’re saying that Yoosung should give me his dessert today?”

“You silly!” he threw a cushion towards me, which I caught, chuckling.

“I can’t talk with fishes, but I can use a song to attract them.”

“For real?!” he asked.

“Indeed! Look.”

I started to sing, putting the tip of my finger in the water and the fish started following it as I moved it.

“Awesome,” he whispered, coming closer to me to see it better. I blushed. He was so close. “Can you sing some other thing?”

The first thing that came to my mind was my pairing song. That’s the only song which varies depending on the mermaid, and only the person you belong with will feel attracted to it. I started singing it without thinking too much, and at that moment Yoosung’s eyes darkened. He seemed on a trance. He leaned closer to me, his hand on my cheek, closing his eyes. I close mine.

I don’t want it to happen this way, I realised.

I stopped singing and opened my eyes, and he did so too. We looked at each other for some time and he moved back, blushing and apologising. I was disappointed. I wanted to kiss him, but not when he was hypnotised by my song. I don’t know. Maybe I should have let him. I just wanted to cry and ask him to love me already.

I was falling for him. He was just too sweet. He would sleep on the couch, leaving me his bed, and made me breakfast every day. I tried to cook dinner too, but the first time I did it got burned. He ate it anyway, declaring that it was delicious taking into account that it was my first time cooking on my own all over the dinner. I cried quite a lot, but smiled at his words and his own grin. It was quite embarrassing, but I cooked again for him because he seemed to love the idea. Nevertheless, we agreed that we preferred doing it together.

The fourth day it happened.

I was lying on the couch reading a book, as usual, and Yoosung was studying beside me. I scratched my leg and noticed something strange on it.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” I said, and Yoosung only nodded.

I lifted my skirt and saw scales forming at random places all over my legs. I held back a gasp. Immediately, I brought a hand to my neck and noticed the gills starting to arise from the sides. I looked at myself on the mirror and saw my hair had started to turn white on the roots. I started sobbing uncontrollably and sat on the toilet, hating every inch of my legs and neck, scratching the scales as the tears started to roll down my cheeks.

“Auch,” I gasped when one of them started to bleed at my scratching.

“Hey, Seven!” I heard Yoosung on the living-room.

“Hey, hey,” he replied. “Where’s our princess of the sea?” he asked.

“In the bathroom. I’m going to leave this in the kitchen, wait for her at the living room.”

Nevertheless, I heard him knocking at my door. I sobbed and apparently he heard me, for he opened the door and closed it behind him, approaching me.

“Let me see,” he said, serious, as I tried to hide my scales and gills.

He bit his lower lip and looked at me, worried, when he saw the changes in my body. Then he embraced me, soothing me rubbing my back as I cried on his chest.

“We’ll find a way to fix this, we’ll find a way,” he kept on saying.

I nodded, wanting to believe it.

I resolved to put on a long skirt and let my hair fall on the sides of my neck to conceal the scales and gills.

The next day I found Yoosung humming on a mood on his couch with his phone.

“Good morning,” I smiled, rubbing my eyes.

“Good morning,” he grinned, his mood lightening when he saw me.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He made a complaining sound.

“There’s this party the RFA has organised,” Yoosung explained. I knew the RFA were the friends I met at the beach. “And there’s a ball, and everyone seems to have a partner except for me, of course,” he sighed. “I don’t even know why I try.”

I swallowed.

“Have you asked everyone you wanted to go with?” I asked.

“Eh? No. Not really,” he blushed, looking down.

What I didn’t know was that he hadn’t had anyone. He had waited for me to enter the living room and make those complaining sound that prompted my curious nature to ask him what he was up to. But as I didn’t know I was somehow disappointed he hadn’t ask me.

“You should ask, then, if there’s someone else you want to go with,” I advised him, biting my lower lip, expectant.

He looked up at me, blushing, and looked to his phone again.

“Actually...” he hesitated.

“Yes?”

“I don’t know if you want to go? Maybe?” he looked up at me.

“I do!” I exclaimed. “I would love to see a ball!”

“And would you mind too much being my partner?” he had his eyes watery already, probably expecting a rejection.

“I would love to go as your partner!” I exclaimed.

“Really?!” his face light up. “Are you sure? Zen dances better, and Seven is funnier, and...”

“But I want to go with you,” I interrupted him.

“Oh,” he blushed. “Oh. Oh! Cool!” he smiled widely. “Super cool!”

“Yes, super cool!” I exclaimed, taking his hand.

“Do you want to practice?” he asked, standing up.

“I do!”

We danced all over the room, stepping on the other with no music, but I loved it. It was just like I imagined.

“I’m going to a ball! I’m going to ball!” I exclaimed, excited. “And with you!”

Yoosung blushed, smiling uncontrollably and chuckling.

“I’m really excited too,” he said. “Jumin already has a dress for you.”

“Does he?” I exclaimed, surprised.

“Yes,” he smiled. “He knew you were going to say yes.”

I blushed. Had he wanted to ask me all this time? I just hoped the dress was long, since my legs were almost completely covered by scales. I knew Yoosung looked at my hair from time to time, probably wondering if I was alright, but too embarrassed to ask. I hadn’t told him. I didn’t want him to know. Seven knew and he said he was ready to take me to the beach in two days, which I thanked. I didn’t want Yoosung to know. I just wanted to enjoy of his bright company as long as I could. He was like the reflection of the moon on the sea. Like a ray of sun that entered the water to illuminate the wonderful world that was hidden in the abandoned boats. Like the brightest star. I wanted to enjoy that light as long as I was allowed to.

[thecorteztwins]

hexiva replied to your post “Eyyy I found my copy of X-Men Noir! I thought for sure I must have...”

X-Men Noir: What the fuck was that?

I remember you asking me that before and I don’t...really know? I assume you mean thematically rather than the actual story/murder mystery (although that gets a little confusing too). So uh, this gets long, and there’s a lot of mention of eugenics (in a WHOLLY CONDEMNING CONTEXT but still) under the cut, so warning for that:

The issue of eugenics just seems a bizarre topic for the story to start with. A 1930s noir murder mystery where everyone is human, okay, I’m listening. Like, the basic idea of Magnus and his Brotherhood as corrupt cops, ok. Xavier as training criminal teens to be better criminals, ok. I’m on-board. A debate about nature vs nurture, terrific. But then trying to work that in with the concept of “genetic hygiene” and the idea that “sociopaths are the next step of evolution!” (which is completely stupid for numerous reasons) is just...buh?  Now, for the record, I don’t think it’s a bad idea to address eugenics in an X-Men comic. In fact, I think it’s almost an elephant in the room at certain points. And this was the time period for it in America, something people really don’t want to talk about. But then the entire discussion/message is so...jumbled? Like I think ultimately it is aiming to say “it’s bad!” at the end---it’s something the bad people believe in (tho everyone is kinda a bad guy), the villain proclaiming herself merely this way by her nature is killed by the twin of the good guy in an attempt to prove that nurture triumphs over nature, and see it does because the good guy was adopted by a good family and his twin wasn’t so that’s why his twin is like this, and the story-within-a-story sci-fi tale ends with the “carefully bred and created from all the best genes” hero getting rid of the Breeders Council and now going to procreate with the supposedly genetically-inferior natural-bred people, yay! And yet...it doesn’t do a good job of arguing the point I think it’s trying to make. Bad Twin may have gone to a bad family, yet he still grows up trying to be good? He’s the one who stops the villain? And the villain seems to be telling the truth, she really was just born this way? So like, Dukes is right in the beginning when he says it’s really all down to nature. And likewise, in the pulp-style sci-fi story that serves a metaphor for the larger story, the reason that the Breeders Council turns out to be evil isn’t that they’re eugenicists selectively controlling human reproduction like show dogs, that’s explicitly stated not to be the issue ( “The Breeders Council planned not to just retain humanity’s best qualities and remove the bad, but they would also remove every part of us that is spontaneous and unpredictable!”) So like, eugenics are fine until free will is bred out, I guess? But it’s cool otherwise! And it doesn’t help that the coolness and superiority of the eugenically-bred hero BECAUSE of what specific genes were use for him--his super sense of directions from Bedouin nomads, voice from the most accomplished Neapolitan baritones, reflexes from three generations of Hessian sharpshooters---is constantly harped on and shown as working for exactly what it was intended for, whereas the “mongrel” population falls before him easily and is emphasized as hideous.  And like...the reason they’re going to start breeding with the “unfit” population...is it turns out they’re the ones with the “spontaneity genes”...so...that’s...still selective breeding for genetic reasons? Also, back to the elephant in the room...it’s trying to be about eugenics, it’s not shy about that, that word is literally used in the first few pages. Yet the racist and ableist aspects of eugenics never comes up. Not in the noir story itself, not in the sci-fi story-within-a-story. The noir story focuses specifically on the idea of criminal/evil tendencies innate vs inborn; the racist, ableist, xenophobic/anti-immigrant parts of eugenics are never even mentioned. And in the scifi story, it’s averted even harder, with the genetically “superior” people being specifically noted as bronze-skinned and having had their genetic traits picked from all over the world.  So like...they wanna debate eugenics, they wanna throw that right at the center of things straightaway...but not ever mention its really nasty parts? And set it in a time period where those parts are why it was popular? Like, I get wanting to focus on the issue of criminal traits in a crime story, and I get just not even wanting to debate these other parts in the story because there shouldn’t be a debate, but just avoiding the whole thing altogether seems...it just seems wrong. If you’re going to bring up something like that, BRING IT UP. Maybe they wanted to ask the question of “ok but would it be okay if it WASN’T prejudicial about race or disability?” but it seems more like it’s just trying to avoid/ignore that in general for the sake of the story...which I get because there’s a LOT there, but again, if you’re going to tackle something like this, tackle it. Don’t go halfway. Also, given that the anti-immigrant aspect of actual eugenics beliefs at the time means it makes no sense for Magnus, whose background as an immigrant is a plot point because of how it indebted him to Shaw, to believe in it. Which is also never addressed to my memory, not even to call him a hypocrite or even just explain how/why he believes it at all. And of course, making Magneto in any universe, even one set before WWII, a proponent of eugenics is GROSS AND A TERRIBLE CHOICE AND WHY WOULD YOU EVEN i guess because his 616 counterpart’s belief in mutant supremacy makes it seem like a good analogue but oh my god think for two seconds?! I genuinely do not think a malicious message was intended but due to the shitty handling, the moral I think they’re trying to deliver ends up mixed at best. I think they were trying to use the theme of mutants in a noir somehow without actually having mutants, and they got the idea of “well how about people who are genetically criminal” and then that leads itself naturally to a nature vs nurture debate, and it’s a cool idea to have some deeper questions like that within what would otherwise just be a straight murder story. But then I guess they connected the idea of “criminal by nature/born sociopaths” to “eugenics in general” which is admittedly not a huge leap, and it is easy to tie the idea of eugenics to a series whose characters are literally meant to be “homo superior” by virtue of their genes...except in this case they’re not homo superior, they’re a bunch of criminals, and only one seems to have been born that way. Like I feel like this theme would have worked a lot better in the 616 universe, not a human AU.  Basically, I think they were trying to do too much in one story, they didn’t want to tackle all the implications of their theme despite those implications being what it’s most known for, the theme frankly doesn’t even really work with the story or setting that well even though it seems like it should (time period, etc), they don’t seem to realize how to convey their message or even what that message really is (as said, I think it’s nature over nurture, but the story itself seems confused on that) and when you add all that to the convoluted, confusing plot (which is okay for a noir, but when it’s added to all this mess it’s just hard to follow) with the twist at the end, it’s just...what just happened? It’s just kind of a mess, and given the themes they decided to tackle, ends up a mess with some Unfortunate Implications...assuming you can even follow it that far. ALL THAT SAID...I enjoyed it? I know that sounds so terrible to say because of all the problematic shit I just described, but I genuinely liked exploring this world and what everyone was in it, and how their mutant powers in 616 were translated into mundane traits and skills, finding all the little references to stuff from 616, etc. I think they would have done a lot better to just focus on that, on translating the characters into these roles and how to keep them still those characters (instead of people who really just have their names) while in these roles, and just doing a straight noir story with that. I feel like trying to tackle deeper themes ended up just distracting from the story, and then ended up not even really tackling those themes anyway, so it just ended up a mess in both directions. But I think it was a good idea at its core! I really do! And I like what’s there of it! You know me, I fucking love a mess with good potential. Also, two other things--I understand noir means black, but the art is in so much shadow it’s often hard to tell what’s going on, or who is who. Lighten it up some and include some fun time-appropriate fashions. It would be easier to follow and better communicate the fashions, plus look cute as hell. And get another protagonist because why was the protagonist Tom Halloway?! He’s not an X-Men character! Why is he the lead?! LIKE THAT IS REALLY MY BIGGEST QUESTION

[kindaangelic]

BatFam Week Day 5: Legacy

Na na na na na na na na na…BATFAM!

BatFam Week Day 5: Legacy

———

Day 5: Legacy

“Damian, what are you doing?” Bruce asked, wading through the pool of cloth that was surrounding his youngest.

“Tt. I am sewing, Father.”

“Don’t you *tt* at me,” Bruce seethed. “What are you sewing?”

“A costume for myself.” Damian stood up and guided his father to a chair, sat him down, and then climbed onto his lap and took Bruce’s face in his hands. “I want you to listen to me, Father. I am making my costume for when I shall pass on the mantle of Robin and adopt another identity.”

“Huh?”

“It is tradition to adopt another persona before finally stepping into the shoes of Batman. Grayson did it, and practically everyone else has their own superhero identities. I am getting on in age, Father - I am ten years old now. It is high time that I started planning for my future.”

Bruce held back the biggest grin throughout Damian’s speech, and adopted a faux serious expression to address him. “I see. Which persona will you choose?”

Damian held up a black, skin tight outfit with blue highlights that was clearly inspired by Wayne Manor’s resident sentimental blob. “I shall be the second Nightwing, and I will strike fear into the shriveled hearts of evildoers in my city!”

Bruce sat, shaking with silent mirth at Damian’s new identity. He pursed his lips and forced himself looked suitably sad. “Oh, I see. Very well, Damian,” he sighed theatrically, “I will let you go. I’ll have to just fly solo from now on. No Robin, no son, no…” Bruce trailed off sadly and stared into space. “I’ll be fine. It’s just…I thought that I would have a son who wanted to be with me for longer. But I guess I’m just going to have to get used to the fact that I’ll have to patrol alone now. All alone in Gotham, with no partner, no one to watch my back…oh well.”

Damian’s eyes widened until they looked more like coins and shook his head violently. “No father! I didn’t think of that! I can’t simply leave you all alone; after all, you are getting older-”

“Hey, now-”

“-and I cannot trust your deteriorating senses. No, I will stay with you until you inevitably get another child. What with Drake and Todd being virile males, and your compulsion to pick children up off the streets, it shouldn’t be that long, another three to four years at most-”

“It’s not a compulsion, that just makes it sound wrong-”

“-yes, yes, I see now what must be done. Don’t worry, Father, I won’t go anywhere,” Damian said, patting Bruce’s cheek tenderly. “I will find Todd or Drake and tell them to find potential children, either for you or for themselves to adopt. Don’t hassle yourself,” Damian said decisively, jogging out of the cave.

“What about Dick?”

Damian looked at Bruce like he had lost his mind. “Grayson will not be having any more children, not until I’m through with him. That will be for another eight years, and after that, he will be so fulfilled, he won’t want another.”

Bruce sat in his chair, slightly disturbed, as Damian ran out of the cave, yelling for Jason and Tim to gather quickly, as he had life changing plans for them.

————

“Bruce, why as Damian being leaving these pamphlets on my desk?” Tim asked tensely, smacking a stack of papers on Bruce’s desk.

Bruce picked one up and read, “Your Life with Children - Find Fulfillment in Adopting a Child and Embracing Motherhood,” Bruce muffled a laugh and laid down the pamphlet. “I guess Damian really wants to be an uncle.”

“Bruce!” Jason stormed into Bruce’s office, dragging a small, squeaking, redhead behind him. “What is this!?” He cried, pointing at little Colin Wilkes, who was looking adoringly at Jason.

“Damian said that you were gonna to adopt me, Mr. Hood,” Colin said in awe of the gun toting anti hero.

Bruce groaned and slapped a hand down his face. “Damian!” He roared. “Get in here now!”

Damian slunk in and stood next to Colin and nodded approvingly. “Ah, good, Colin’s adoption has been competed. Colin, from this day forward, I am your uncle. We will, of course, remain best friends forever.”

“Damian, you can’t decide who Jason decides to adopt, and even if he wants to adopt. He’s legally dead, for Gotham’s sake! Who let this happen?”

“Jason Todd may not be able to adopt, but my older brother Mason Podd, accountant at Wayne Enterprises certainly can. The press will easily accept that you’ve gone and adopted another child, Father, this will easily pass scrutiny. Now, Colin can begin training as Robin, and I will slowly transition into the role of Nightwing II.”

Jason and Tim gaped at the declaration while Bruce sat stunned. Colin looked as pleased as punch, and hugged Jason’s leg. “I’m going to get a family! This is so cool!”

Jason cleared his threat and looked pointedly at Damian. “Ok, let’s get something very clear. No kid of mine is going to be fucking Robin,” he said, glaring. “I don’t want Bruce giving them any ideas, like righteousness and shit. Any kids I have are going to be trained by me.”

“I’m not an adult yet, so I can’t adopt,” Tim chimed in.

“You can procreate and produce a child, can’t you?” Damian asked vehemently.

Tim shook his head. “Naw. I’m sterile.”

Bruce looked shocked at this information. “What?”

“When I rescued you from that time warp thing, the radiation basically killed my nads,” Tim shrugged. “I’m testing whether I got any meta powers from the radiation of time and space. So far, tests look promising.” Bruce looked apoplectic, and Tim continued. “That means that Damian can’t have anymore paternal siblings, because I’m pretty sure that you’re sterile too, Bruce. You didn’t even test positive for a meta gene, so you suck double now.”

Bruce glared at Tim and then at his own feeble testes. He was Batman, he should have been able to withstand a little radiation from the fabric of time and space, damnit! “You’re not a meta.”

“But I might get cool powers!”

“No.”

“Bruce, you’re so-”

“Silence!” Damian cried. “Cease your useless banter! It matters not that father cannot have another child of his loins! I told you that Colin will train to replace me, and I shall become the second Nightwing!”

Bruce looked at his tiny, seething, son, and picked him up. “What if I don’t want you to?” He asked.

Damian stopped flailing and looked up at Bruce in shock. “W-what?”

“I want you to be my Robin,” Bruce said softly. “Me and my little boy soaking across Gotham, watching each other’s backs and fighting crime together - that’s what I always thought we would do.”

Damian frowned. “But if I do not become Nightwing, how can I become Batman? The day is not far off when you will be too decrepit and old to carry the mantle-”

“Hey-”

“-which means that Grayson will take over. That means that I have to become Nightwing, and after Grayson retires, I have to be Batman.”

Bruce looked down at Damian and burst out laughing. “Being Nightwing isn’t a prerequisite to being Batman,” he laughed. “Dick was the ideal candidate at the time, but he hates the cowl. He just indulges his old father too much, bless him,” Bruce said with a smile. “Any one of my chidlren can take on the mantle if they so choose. Jason-“

“Hell no,” Jason scoffed. “I ain’t touching that suit. It’s probably got Bruce cooties on it.”

“Bruties,” Tims supplied helpfully, high fiving Jason.

Bruce silenced his sons with a glare. “Or Tim…”

“No thanks, I’m good,” Tim mumbled. “Angst isn’t a good look for me. I like a bit of colour in my outfits. You look like a smudge every night, B. It’s not a good look,” he informed his father.

“Fine, then, Cassandra!” Bruce decided. At that moment, his phone pinged. He opened up a new message from his daughter to a text that simply said, “No.” Bruce flung his phone down and looked at Damian. “What I mean is, you can be Batman if you can handle the weight of the cowl.”

Damian sat up straighter on Bruce’s lap, and looked him in the eye. “I will. I will follow in your footsteps and take over the cowl when my time comes, Father. I will make you proud!”

Bruce smiled down his son and ruffled his hair. “That’s my boy.”

———–

“Am I still being adopted?”

Jason looked incredulously at the small red headed child that had followed him home and sighed. “Kid, I’m nineteen, I ain’t adopting no one. Tim can fudge some paperwork and you can be my ward, if you really want to.”

Colin beamed at his new guardian. This was going to be the start of a wonderful new era.

———–

[dannyphantomrpg]

Visual Aid: 10 Years Later, Part 1

So here’s a thing I did tonight. Instead of, you know, polishing Jack’s faceplate to post this week or starting on Maddie‘s (or, I dunno, working on one of my backlog of fics lol) I decided to make a visual aide of...

Butch Hartman’s 10 Years Later video!

Yay...?

I did this mostly for personal reference sidequests FTW. Since I don’t watch online videos too often, I always find it easier to have a still-picture guide. And, you know, I don’t have to keep giving Butch YT views now~

So, enjoy everyone!

Hey guys, it's me, Butch Hartman. How you doing? Thanks for watching my channel this week.

This week, I'll be drawing the Danny Phantom characters as if it were ten years older. Check it out.

Tucker: That's the cool thing about your powers, man, there's no downside. Give me five! *blasted into booth* I'm ok!

(Ignore the Pause display - I forgot to hide it for this image) First, we'll start off by drawing everyone's favorite tech nerd, Tucker Foley. It was funny when I was first creating Tucker, it was back in the days when the movie Rush Hour was out. Chris Tucker was a star of Rush Hour, so ok, that Tucker could be his first name. I always loved Eddie Murphy in the Beverly Hills Cop movies and his name was Axel Foley. So we took Axel Foley's last name and combined it with Chris Tucker, so that's where Tucker Foley came from.

Now, it's time to update him a little bit. Start off by giving him a bit of an updated hairstyle, updated glasses, and even an updated hat. Maybe more of a Rastafarian hat kind of thing, dreads that stick out of his hat and a little soul patch of hair under his lip there. Of course the hoodie and of course he'd got a much more updated phone. I add a presidential pin because he was the mayor of Amity Park at the end of Phantom Planet so I figure, hey, maybe he's running for president - maybe he works for the president. You know, another route for the character of Tucker I was thinking as I was drawing all these, I think he'd be a modern-day Steve Jobs. I think he's so smart and it meant so many things, I think Tucker is a huge part of either the Apple Corporation or of - or the Foley Corporation.

Now, I thought I'd start off with giving Tucker some tech this time, if Tucker's going to help Danny fight ghosts. He's going to have a drone cause he's gonna want to fly like Danny. Instead of giving him glasses, I gave him some goggles that are going to be kind of high-tech he could see like targeting devices inside the goggles that help him control the drone with his own eyes maybe. But this new design of Tucker I've completely changed his clothing colors you can see. I did incorporate the old colors from the old Tucker into his hat: the green pants, the yellow shirt, and the red cap are all incorporated into this new Rasta hat. Old Tucker enthusiasts, there are the colors for old Tucker right in there.

Sam: Goth haiku. Despair without end. *whisper* There's a ghost. *shouting* Utter blackness, nothingness. *whisper* There's a ghost. *shouting* Dora is a ghost.

The character of Sam was tricky because we wanted a girl on the show and we wanted - we almost, at the very beginning, I thought I wanted to give her a psychic power. We were gonna go in with a psychic power where she could, like, mentally talk to Danny all the time but I'm not a big fan of psychic so we got rid of that idea really quick. We decided to make her goth-y because back when Danny Phantom was created, Goths were very big. They were - they were all over the place. They were sort of the hipster of the early 2000s. They don't take everything for face value, and then Sam would be someone who would actually believe in these ghosts that Danny was fighting so we thought that'd be kind of a cool aspect of her character.

Same thing with Tucker, I'm going to just do a few experimental drawings of Same here. I'm going to age her up ten years and see how that feels. I've never drawn her ten years older so let's see what happens. So this version here of Sam, I thought Sam is sort of Danny's sidekick. A lot of the movies that have come out lately - out of the comic book-based movies lately that have come out, you know, one of my favorites is Captain America: Winter Soldier. I love The Avengers movies, and I thought it'd be pretty cool if Danny Phantom was basically Captain America, Sam would probably be Black Widow. So I decided to give Sam kind of a uniform, like a Black Widow crime fighter outfit where she helped Danny fight ghosts with her arsenal of awesome guns and machinery. By this time, Danny and Sam and Tucker have been fighting ghosts about ten years so they really know what they're doing by this point.

We're going to try another version of Sam and we're going to try and update her into a more hipsterfied because, again, her clothes, just like Tucker’s, are more early-2000s, kind of 1990s but this sort of Sam, just kind of - I guess, a regular everyday life ten years older. Put her top knot coming through her hat. I do like this version, but I prefer the superhero one a little more.

And for this version of Sam, I was just having fun and goofing around, still experimenting. I decided to keep old Sam, age her up a little bit, and add a jacket.

This Sam looks outright horrifying. Seriously. That face will be in my nightmares

Now, I thought I'd really go to town and kind of give her the full-fledged superhero thing and giver her some ghost fighting armor. And just really see what she would look like if she took it really, really seriously and became kind of a Lara Croft sort of a ghost fighting gal.

Now here is Sam - it's kind of a mix of a bunch of versions of Sam. It's kind of the Lara Croft meets the Black Widow meets Sam ten years later, and I was just having so much fun I decided to really do an iPad sketch here on the iPad pro. I use the Procreate program which replays your drawings back. She's got weaponry, she's got Maddie Fentons's goggles on her head. I tooks Sam's original colors and I just kind of switched them around a bit. I added her, like, Matrix leather jacket. I took the purple circle off of her chest, incorporated it into the jacket and I gave her a Danny Phantom logo because she's on Team Phantom. IO figured by now she and Tucker are full-time ghost fighters and they are just all on Team Phantom and I think maybe by this time in their life the Danny Phantom logo's become a franchise since everybody around the world knows it.

*Danny Phantom Theme plays*

Now it's time for the man himself: Mr. Danny Phantom. It was going to be Danny Phantom and the Specter Detectors - was be like a Scooby-Doo type of show and they were going to be Ghostbusters-like with packs on their back and stuff but then I decided to make him just: super hero, and have him have the ghost powers himself, you know. And I was even going to give him like an owl, like a white owl named Spooky, and at the time Harry Potter movies were just coming out and Nickelodeon had said you can't give him an owl, Harry Potter's got an owl. I was even going to give him a phantom motorcycle to drive around in and I thought that'd by cool, but he can fly so he didn't need the motorcycle. So what I did was, later on in the show, I couldn't give Danny a motorcycle but we gave one of the ghost villains, Johnny 13, a motorcycle. So that's sort of a backstory on Danny Phantom.

He ages up and his costume ages up too. I think over the years he's been experimenting with different forms of armor, different forms of jumpsuits, you know. Who knows what's been going on for the last ten years in the Fenton labs. He's always got the Fenton Thermos with him. Like he's got it on his hip now instead just having it randomly - be carrying it, he wears it like on his utility belt. Attempt number one!

So this next version of Danny is more like if he was in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. I looked at some pictures of Captain America and just some other characters like Ant-man - things like that, and just trying to update his costume a little more. He's ten years older, he's got a ten year older body, he's like 25 years old but he's really in shake cause he fights ghosts all the time. And so this is more of an armor version of Danny. Kind of getting more to an updated - sort of a sleek sort of look.

I wanted to incorporate elements of Dark Danny in here now, not that this Danny is a bad guy. But I do want to age him up and I thought some of his ghost-y traits would kind of maybe - he would enhance them a little bit. He kind of is embracing his ghost side a little bit so he maybe make his hair a little and have it flow, you know, even giving him a cape. This belt I'm adding is a belt I'm borrowing from one of my very first original concept drawings of Danny Phantom from years and years ago - an homage to that old drawing.

Here's an iPad pro sketch incorporating all the elements that I just showed you and I also thought it was really cool to add some of his dark Danny-ness with his hair. It really was bugging me, the Fenton Thermos, you know, to catch ghosts with. I've always loved the Fenton Thermos because he has to, obviously, catch the ghosts, but it's always been kind of cumbersome and he kind of has to hold it  in his hand. So a friend of mine said, hey why don't you just build it into his glove - build the thermos into his glove, or the technology into his gloves, so Danny's going to have a Fenton Glove, actually, power his suit whenever he sucks up a ghost he gets power from that ghost which continues to power his suit so he can catch more ghosts so you could see the power coursing through his suit, through the D, and through the belt and even through the boots and the gloves. I think that's really a cool idea and, who knows, you might just see that actually animated someday.