#he’s doing illegal math experiments or whatever

[la-stelle]

Foundation University AU

Brother Constant is getting a masters degree in religious studies. She’s a GRA. Hober doesn’t actually GO to FU, but he somehow manages to sneak in and attend classes, to the extent that the professors think he’s a major student. They’re at a party 🤠

Other AU Stuff under the cut:

Gaal is attending on a full ride after solving the Abraxas Conundrum. She was supposed to be a TA for the famed Hari Seldon, but he got fired after their first class (but why is Raych always lurking around the old, Campbell building? What’s going on in there?)

Day is President of the university. Demerzel is the VP. If you ACTUALLY want stuff done, she’s the one you email

Dawn wants to study photography/technology but Day is making him get a master’s degree in business

Professor Poly is teaching a class on how group think dynamics and sociology affects religion. Hober and Constant meet in that class

Bel is campus head of security

Salvor studies criminal Justice and political science. Everything’s going fine, but there’s something… off about that one math major chick halfway across the lecture hall. Just a feeling, a vibe.

[ladykissingfish]

Very Random Akatsuki Headcanons

Sasori would 100% have a garden, and most of the stuff he grows would be illegal or highly toxic. He would ask Zetsu for tips a lot and force Deidara to help him weed it even though Deidara will LOUDLY complain about it the whole time. Sasori will gently sing to/ talk to his plants when he thinks no one is looking.

Kisame the type to nag others about how important it is to drink water and stay hydrated but. He has never fully finished one single bottle of water. Any place they are, you can immediately tell that Kisame’s been there because every surface area will have plastic water bottles sitting on it with various levels of water in them.

Hidan has many, many bad teeth, mostly in the back of his mouth. Missing, chipped, cavities or straight rotting. Always in some level of pain but never seeks out help because you know, Lord Jashin encourages personal suffering. Was finally tentacle-held to a chair by Kakuzu and forced to let Sasori do what repair work he could after the others got tired of hearing him curse and grumble all night over his mouth pain. Absolutely loves his new smile afterwards but never admits it.

Every single member of the Akatsuki has at some point had a crush on Konan. Including Zetsu. But it went away once each member started seeing her as a sister or mother figure. The only one it didn’t go away for is Nagato, but he’d never admit his true feelings because he values their friendship and working relationship too much.

Itachi likes to collect rocks. He’s an amateur geologist and enjoys finding different types of stones when he’s out on missions. The others learn this about him and will sometimes take the time after missions or when traveling to pick up “pretty” rocks to bring back to him.

Deidara has a lot of anxiety and restlessness, and keeping himself busy alleviates that. He prefers doing things with his hands which is why he’s always making little sculptures with his clay. If no clay is available he’ll tap or drum his fingers on things or fiddle with his hair. The faster his fingers move it means the more anxious he feels. Sasori would get annoyed by this behavior so he created for Dei what would essentially be a ninja world version of a fidget-spinner. Deidara loved it and he makes sure to pack it with him whenever he leaves on missions.

Nagato’s fingers are often bloody because he’s a nail-biter to the extreme. He’ll chomp those things down right to the quick of the finger. The others will “gift” him gloves to try and prevent this from happening, and it’ll work for while, but sooner or later he’s right back at it again.

Deidara once gained ten pounds in two months because Tobi kept convincing him to stop at sweets cafes while they were out traveling, and then to have seconds and thirds of whatever they were eating.

Kakuzu figured out that Hidan didn’t know how to read when Hidan would avoid looking at the map on missions and kept giving Kakuzu wrong information about sign posts along roads. After a lot of convincing that he wasn’t “making fun of him”, Kakuzu finally got Hidan to let him teach him basic reading and math skills over the course of a year.

When Orochimaru was a part of the Akatsuki, one day he managed to get Konan alone and was hitting on her in a very creepy Jiraiya-esque way. Turns out that he was merely trying to get her to trust him so that, when he ultimately left the Akatsuki, he would be able to convince her to follow so he could study her body and paper-jutsu. Having had no close experiences with women other than Tsunade, who always responded favorably to flirtatious behavior, he’d assumed that this was how ALL women would react. If Itachi hadn’t driven Oro away, Konan would have blindsided and killed him first.

Nagato (in a Pein body) gave the sex talk to Deidara, Hidan and Itachi. All three of them hadn’t the slightest clue about how anything worked in that regard. Sasori gave him diagrams out of his medical books to aid in his talk. Nagato kept having to add on to his talk because of the questions. “What if you’re a guy who likes guys? How does that work?” “What if you don’t like anyone like that, or you don’t want to ever do those kind of things; is that okay?”

In strong sunlight:

Konan burns bright red.

Itachi and Hidan brown.

Zetsu withers.

Nagato dehydrates within two minutes. As does Kisame.

Deidara sprouts freckles.

Sasori smells like a fire.

Obito and his Hashirama cell DNA photosynthesize like a damn tree.

Kakuzu also turns into a freckle-factory but because his skin is already so dark, it’s unnoticeable.

Sasori has fairly moderate misophonia and especially can’t stand the sound of people chewing. It was one of his primary reasons for turning his body into a puppet; so he no longer had to endure the sound of himself eating. He thought he’d died and gone to hell when he found out that Deidara chews food with all three mouths.

Deidara likes Tobi to read to him at night. It gives him a very comfortable sleepy feeling. The more Deidara nods off the more Tobi lets his voice become more natural/Obito. This is pleasant to Obito because doing the “Tobi voice” all day puts a huge strain on his throat, so it’s nice to be able to break character once in a while and speak normally.

Hidan is extremely sensitive to the cold and will do anything to avoid having to travel or do missions in the winter.

Konan has kept a diary of her life ever since she was a child. She picked up the habit of writing during the period when Jiraiya was staying with/watching over her, Nagato and Yahiko.

Deidara developed a hell of a crush on Kakashi after “meeting” and getting his arms blown off by him and the Konoha nin. He’d gush about Kakashi for days afterward … to Tobi. Tobi who had to grit his teeth and not start screaming over how Kakashi unintentionally attracted everyone that Obito was ever interested in.

Best Smelling to Worst Smelling:

Konan

Tobi/Obito

Deidara

Kakuzu

Kisame

Zetsu

Itachi (would be higher but often smells like strong, bitter medicine and night-sweats)

Nagato (his actual body, not a Pein body)

Hidan and Sasori tie for worst because both smell like blood and corpses

Obito never killed his grandmother during the Uchiha massacre. He used a very powerful jutsu to erase her memory and then relocate her to a place in a village far away that took care of the elderly. He pays the facility with the money he earns/steals during missions, and every so often he’ll go and visit her at night, when she’s alone in her room. She doesn’t know who he is and just thinks that he’s a nice young man that’s there because he’s visiting somebody else.

Kisame loves to bake. It started because he was worried over Itachi being so thin and never seeming to want to eat anything other than desserts. So Kisame taught himself how to make cakes and pies and cookies, etc. Over time it became a zen-like activity to him that helps him relax and clear his head when he’s stressed out.

Kakuzu is as vain over his hair as Deidara is over his own. At least once a week they’ll get together and give each other trims and deep conditioning treatments. Sometimes Itachi will join if he feels up to it. Hidan mocks them for this but is secretly trying to grow his hair longer so that he can join them.

[lansplaining]

Who are the most and least morally ideal characters in mdzs/cql?

I've run the numbers on this and some of the results are pretty shocking. Please don't get mad, it's just science.

This is so obvious it goes without saying, but it's important to state the scientific principles underpinning one's work, so: as we all know, only morally ideal characters deserve love, and the more love a character has, the more morally pure the author is trying to indicate that they are. So:

Jin Guangshan. This isn't the shocking one, obviously. A pillar of the community, a leader, someone who steps up to unify a chaotic post-war jianghu. While you could argue his wife doesn't love him, she is canonically jealous of his indiscretions, and why would she be jealous if she didn't love him? He then has two additional lovers that we know of, Jin Guangyao and Mo Xuanyu's moms, and that's just the minimum count. Untold lovers, untold moral paragon.

Jin Guangyao. Stay with me. I wasn't expecting this result either. But we have to look at the simple facts here. Not only does he have the 3zun triad, he is also married to Qin Su, who likes him for whatever reason, and Mo Xuanyu is in love with him as well, arguably as is Su Minshan. I'm as shocked as you, but we have to trust that MXTX is doing something deliberate here.

Wen Chao. Not only Wang Lingjiao, but a wife who is, as with Mme Jin, jealous-- indicative that he has minimum two women in love with him, and the book hints there have been others.

Jiang Fengmian. Ranks below Wen Chao because while he also has a jealous wife, it's unclear exactly whether he and Cangse Sanren actually hooked up or not-- but there was something there, and MXTX wouldn't drop a hint like that for no reason.

Nie Mingjue and Lan Xichen. Like Jin Guangyao, each has two lovers thanks to their position in the 3zun grouping. However, given the state of shifting loyalties and resentments amongst the group, they have to rank below the stable, responsible married men.

Xiao Xingchen. See above, really. Song Lan and Xue Yang both drop off the list because they only have Xiao Xingchen, and that one gets a bit complicated for both of them, perhaps indicating that while they possess moral purity at one point, they lose it due to their actions.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. Surely, you argue, Wangji's intense love counts as at least two? That's not how math works, Kelly.

Bottom of the barrel, no love and therefore no moral standing whatsoever: Nie Huaisang, Jiang Cheng, Lan Qiren, Wen Ning, Wen Qing.

[Unranked: The Juniors and A-Qing. They're minors, it's illegal for them to experience love.]

[christmasintheloonybin]

when I was in school I swear we went over the history of the United States every single year until graduation, repeating the same shit over and over and over. most of what is taught in schools could be dropped and it would not have any kind of negative impact on society, even with all the nonsense they teach in schools, many graduates are borderline illiterate! so clearly it doesn't work very well.

I would say that school should be divided into four hours of learning and four hours of physical activity, I mean training and also outdoor time, tending to some kind of garden and walking around in the woods, which is what children want to do naturally! it's really a crime against humanity to beat the life out of children at such a young age. the learning part of the day would focus on basic math going up to maybe geometry, you really don't need anything more than that. and history, English, etc, basic shit. but this would really only be to guarantee that children do not grow up to be complete morons, they really only need to know the basics. the rest of the classes would be based around local people teaching children about what they do in the community, a much stronger emphasis would be put on apprenticeships in the community and working with whatever environment the community is situated in (for example, green pastures would have many cattle farmers, coastal villages would have many fishermen, etc). schooling should be a representation of the community and of what is beneficial to the community, not what is beneficial to the economy or what will get you a job etc.

I would also say that school should start later in life, maybe age ten, and go for a shorter time, maybe eight to ten years. if a child is drawn to a specific niche then this should be appreciated and applauded, and the child should be allowed to focus on this even at the expense of other subjects (after all, it is quite easy to learn the basics of math, and if someone is interested exclusively in history then math would be of very little use, and anyways they can always learn it later). it is insane to force everyone to be semi educated in everything when different people have different inherent strengths and weaknesses. if someone is born interested only in math why should he be punished for not having an interest in literature? school should accommodate differences, and this would be made easier by significantly smaller class sizes due to the inherently LOCAL and community centered approach to schooling. in my utopia also there would be limits on reproduction as well and cities would not exist beyond being slightly larger cultural and government centers, most people would live in rural areas and the focus would be on rural life. cars and planes would be completely illegal, the only way to get around would be on horseback, on bicycle or on foot. most roads would be closed. if someone for whatever reason needs to travel across the country they could either go on a quest (which I think would be a beneficial experience to most young people) or take the one train which goes on a loop and would arrive in major settlements once a month or so.

[mr-tony-stark]

Tony nods. "Yeah. She took him," he says. He can here the wrongness in Clint's voice, despite the fact he's trying to hide it. He supposes that Clint could probably hear the wrongness in his own voice. He knew the question was too light but he doesn't know what to do at this point. Does he keep digging at it. Does he keep trying to lance the boil until the core comes out and Clint spews toxic goo all over the place and finally, finally he might be able to heal? Or does he try and give him breathing room to lick his wounds and maybe see that what he's feeling has nothing to do with Tony and all he wants is for them to be okay.

The math is broken. The math is never broken. It's math. He just has to figure out the missing part of the equation.

He heads down the several flights of stairs and clicks the unlock button on the Spyder. He's parked illegally, but there's not really any such thing as parking illegally when you're a billionaire with an Avengers ID card. He pops the trunk because while there's no trunk space to speak off, there's no back seat at all, and while he waits for Clint to put his bags in, he jumps into the driver's seat and starts the car. It roars to life and he squeezes the steering wheel tight enough to make his knuckles turn white and leans his head on it, the rumble of the engine making it vibrate his skull.

God, how he'd like to drive this car right into the sun. Then he wouldn't have to deal with any of this. Not whatever is making Clint hate him. Not his biological mom. Not the fact he doesn't even know if he's really him or some cheap AI copy that will never truly know what the Tony Stark experience is. None of it.

How was he going to make it through whatever this was? Those thoughts aren't just circulating about this impromptu London trip that he was taking. It's in general. He's been in the gutter, circling the drain for months and now he's going to be stuck in the air with someone he's at odds with. It's all his own making of that.

The other day when he had let Tony, it was easier to bullshit himself into being fine. Appearing as if him losing his phone was an accident because he was being the classic Barton, a blonde ditz with a heart of gold and flashy smile. The problem was that he wasn't that and when the banter got good, it got flirty, that the other Clint slipped right out and slept with one of his oldest friends. Best friends even if they were never the best with each other.

Christ, he's really messed up and he's glad for the few months alone because he doesn't know when Tony's gonna let him out of his sight next.

When the panic subsides or more he kills the feeling and sends it to twist up his stomach, not his lungs and chest than he re-emerges with the goal to get through the long flight first and than he'll figure out what he as going to do when he got there. Part of him hopes that Tony's mother works out or at least consumes most of the time.

A bitter part of Clint wants to snap at Tony as he asks a mundane question. Oh, now we are going to act normal? After you dredged up a demon I buried. He hadn't buried it, all he did was stop looking or pull a curtain. It was still there.

❝ You'd have to ask Coulson for that. It's like I've been to Rio to but I only remember the reports with red tape. ❞ Why is it that every time he travels; he either won't get to keep the memory, it was a mission, or he was in a mentally shit place?

❝ You can google a video for that time. Idiot goes streaking and it's not even Carnival. ❞ Maybe he should google his name and London to see if he has popped anywhere without the memory of it.

As they walk down the hall toward the stairs. He really needed to see what it would cost and if the neighbors would mind, to get an elevator in this place without it being torn down. Consider the times he's needed crutches after a particularly bad fight. That's been on his to do list for years.

❝ Next door take the dog? ❞ He remembers to ask because he knows the girl like Lucky a lot and her mom liked Lucky too, because she got a dog without having a dog twenty-four seven, three sixty-five.

[gukyi]

the love project | jjk

summary: from running to mcdonald’s at 3am after a halloween party where the two of you dressed up as the teletubbies to timing how long it takes for him to drink a cup of monster mixed with mountain dew and iced coffee and then do fifty push-ups, you’re used to your best friend jungkook asking you to do all sorts of crazy things. but, of all the shit the two of you do, letting him follow you around for a week with a camera and take candid photos of you for a photography assignment might just be the craziest of them all.

{college!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy word count: 12k warnings: college antics, hopeless pining, slow burn a/n: me: this fic will be 10k max! also me: actually nevermind on par for the course of this blog, i hope you enjoy this fic! it was so much fun to write and it definitely got me back into the ~writing mood~. more fics coming soon!

These days, the weeks pass you by like trains on a platform. They whiz past you, the only discernible features being the beginning and the end of them, with the middle nothing but a blur. 

At least, that’s how it feels when you’re in college, and the days bleed into weeks bleed into months, and suddenly you’re one year closer to graduating, one year closer to figuring out what next to do with your life, even if you’re still missing that one general education requirement you forgot to take in your first year so now you’re trying to cram it into your schedule at the last minute.

Okay, you’ll admit it. Introduction to Astronomy is kicking your ass. That’s what you get for putting it off until junior year, when you’re supposed to have reached the point in your History major career where you don’t have to look at numbers anymore and the idea of doing basic math is absolutely unfathomable. History majors don’t do math. They just don’t. It vanished from your academic arsenal long before now, alongside your ability to interpret word problems and understand science textbooks. 

Perhaps in another universe, you would have actually retained those skills past high school, but that universe is not this one, and so your problem sets can solve themselves or not be solved at all. 

Your best friend would have to disagree.

“It’s not even calculus!” Jungkook exclaims over a mouthful of a Starbucks tomato and pesto panini, pointing to your laptop in exasperation, as if the answer has been staring you in the face for the past fifteen minutes. “It’s just algebra! All you’re doing is plugging the numbers into the formula and finding the missing variable!”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff, furiously erasing at the notebook in front of you as you get yet another incorrect answer. Who knew math could be so difficult? Oh, that’s right. You did. “You took that advanced differential equations class for fun last year. It’s not even required for your major. You’re just a masochist.”

“Says the person who convinced their advisor to let them take seven classes because they, and I quote, ‘all seemed so interesting’ and you ‘didn’t want to miss out.’” Jungkook rebukes pointedly. “Because your life would be so terrible if you didn’t take Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe.”

He’s got you there. Seven classes is a lot. In your defense, Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe was very interesting and you got a 4.0 that semester. So who is he to judge? Jungkook’s favorite pastime is pretending that taking three different computer science classes in a single semester isn’t going to single-handedly kill him.

Jungkook watches you struggle for a few moments more before he sighs, like he can’t take looking at someone so mathematically incompetent any longer. He stuffs the remaining third of his Starbucks panini into his mouth all at once like the ravenous beast he is before he reaches over the tiny table you’re sat at to look at your problem set himself. He turns your laptop towards him and grabs hold of your notebook, furrowing his eyebrows as he enters Work Jungkook Mode. 

Work Jungkook Mode is the mode of him you see most often during finals week or the rare occasions where you meet up to actually try and get work done. Work Jungkook has tunnel vision for whatever assignment is currently in front of him, which he will do either in one sitting or die trying. Work Jungkook lets his coffee get cold and forgets to answer your text messages, even when you’re sat right across from him and you know that he can see the notification on his laptop. Work Jungkook refuses to turn in anything that he hasn’t devoted his entire being to, even if it’s something as simple as a discussion board post. Some of his other friends say that when Jungkook is in Work Jungkook Mode, they won’t even try to contact him, lest their messages get lost in the flurry of his coding assignments. 

But you are not “some of his other friends.” You are his best friend. So rules do not apply to you. And Jungkook has long accepted that fact.

“Hey, don’t mess up my work—” You exclaim defensively, grabby hands reaching over the table to retrieve your notebook. “Wait, how did you do that?”

Jungkook scribbles something down in nearly-illegible font, determined to solve the problem in front of him. He thinks for a few more seconds before eventually jotting down an answer, circling it with his pencil. Holding the notebook out so both of you can see, he scoots his chair over to your side of the table, your shoulders pressed together in this tiny corner of the Starbucks, right by the bathroom, and explains, step by step, what he did. 

He does that for the following two problems in your set, walking you through the kind of math he was doing in freshman year of high school like it’s nothing, answering all of your stupid questions and giving you tips on how to finesse the system by taking as many shortcuts as possible. Teaching you things you never learned, or possibly had just forgotten. Things that a professor would think is idiotic to re-teach to a junior in university. Things that Jungkook wants you to know because he just wants you to have a little more faith in yourself. 

“Does that help?” He asks when he’s finished, still doubting his fantastic teaching abilities despite the fact that he just taught you more in the last thirty minutes than your professor has managed in a month and a half. 

“It actually does,” you tell him, pleasantly surprised. Looking back down at your notebook, what was once a shapeless blur of numbers, letters, and formulas is suddenly a clear and organized outline of each and every step to follow. “I didn’t know it was that easy.”

“Anything can be easy if you just commit yourself to learning how to do it,” Jungkook says, one of those random sentences that are too wise for a college student surviving off of RedBull and Starbucks food, the ones that always make you think Jungkook is secretly an immortal sage with life experiences far beyond your own. “Except coding. Which is hard no matter how good you are at it.”

“Aw, you can do it,” you rally, reaching up to pinch his chin in between your fingers and squeeze it tight. “It’s also too late to change your major now, so you’re stuck.”

“Wow, thanks for the encouragement,” Jungkook chides, hand coming up to rub at where you held his jaw, rolling his eyes. “You should let me help you with your Astronomy work more often. Gives me a break from Python.”

“I would have made you help me whether you liked it or not,” you tell him pointedly, because he is your best friend and he doesn’t get out of things as easily as he thinks he can. “But thanks. I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

“Of course,” Jungkook says with a good-natured grin, always so selfless and kind and giving. He practically signed himself up for a semester’s worth of TA-ing for Introduction to Astronomy despite the constant mountain of work he has himself. Just because it’s you. 

“My very own personal genius,” you muse, wrapping your hands around his arm and snuggling into his body, a whisper of a language only the two of you share. It’s something the two of you have long gotten used to, pressing your fingers all over each other’s bodies like it’s second nature. One of the things that makes you feel so certain about having Jungkook in your life. About wanting him to stay with you for the rest of time. “I’m never letting you go.”

Jungkook smiles, a warm hand coming to rest atop of your own. He breathes, in and out, chest rising beneath your touch. “Like I’d ever let you,” he says.

There is no question about it. Jungkook is one hundred percent, absolutely, undoubtedly, positively, indisputably smarter than you are. It’s something that the two of you used to jokingly fight about (because Jungkook claims that he’s a bad essay writer, even though he’s not), but at this point it’s cemented in stone—he’s a damn genius. A genius who is inexplicably good at everything. A double threat. Triple, if you count the fact that he’s built beyond belief and could probably chuck you into next week if you really, really ticked him off. 

The truth is that, ninety percent of the time it is you who is going to Jungkook for help. Whether it be an assignment you need assistance on (namely Astronomy, because Jungkook probably couldn’t help you on your Mesopotamian artifact and primary source analyses despite his best intentions), a date that was a lot worse than you were hoping it would be, or even just the right coffee to order from that expensive place on the corner. Jungkook knows how to fix everything. 

So when Jungkook slides into the seat across from you in the food court after his Mastering Photography class with that I’m in trouble look on his face, you know something is horribly wrong. 

“Are you alright?” You ask, concerned as you watch him devour the sushi takeout in front of him, stuffing the spicy tuna rolls into his mouth like they’re Skittles. His camera hangs haphazardly out of his open backpack, like he barely had enough time to stuff it into the pocket while he was making his way here. There’s a worried expression written all over his face as he fumbles with the chopsticks in his hand, losing his grip on them every ten seconds. 

It’s not until Jungkook has finished the container of spicy tuna rolls in front of them that he finally seems to work up the courage to answer you. 

“My Photography class is gonna be the death of me,” Jungkook exclaims, exasperated. 

“I thought you liked it,” you comment unhelpfully. Jungkook had been so excited to be enrolled in it, because you needed a recommendation from a different professor and you had to submit a portfolio in order to join the class, making it one of those exclusive (and thus, much better) courses. Not to mention the fact that Jungkook is basically already a professional photographer if his Instagram is anything to go by. He’s going to walk out of university with a Photography minor whether he realizes it or not.

“I do,” Jungkook insists, even if right now it sounds like the two of you both need convincing of that fact. “But this project is ridiculous. I don’t even know how my professor expects us to have the time to finish it.”

“What do you have to do?”

Jungkook sighs. Just thinking about it seems to stress him out. “I mean, it’s only really a week long. So I guess it’s not too bad. But we’re supposed to compile a portfolio of the same subject, taken over the course of the week, with them in all sorts of different poses and lighting and locations, to express a personal theme.”

You scrunch your nose up in confusion. “I might be wrong, but isn’t that what photography… is?” You ask cluelessly. 

“Yes,” Jungkook argues, “but also no. Photography is taking pictures of things just for the hell of it. Not because they necessarily speak to a part of your soul. You just like the look of it. You want to capture the scene. That’s it.”

“Oh,” You say dumbly. 

“And our subject can be whoever or whatever we want, but he recommended choosing a person because taking pictures of our water bottles in different places is boring,” Jungkook huffs, though his professor does have a point there. Modern history wasn’t made out of photographs of store windows and miscellaneous items. It was made out of people, out of events in their lives that shaped the rest of the world, out of personal experiences that changed their point of view. “But I don’t even know anybody who would be willing to let me photograph them for a whole week! I’d basically have to follow them around like paparazzi!”

“I’ll do it,” you suggest casually, because it seems like the most obvious choice to you. There’s no one Jungkook spends as much time with as you. 

Jungkook’s eyes pop out of his head. “What?”

“I’m serious,” you insist. “Think about it. You need a subject for your project that you can photograph in a wide variety of places and over the course of a week. Who else do you spend that much time with, other than me?”

“Well..” Jungkook begins, trying to fight your reasons with his own. “Would you even be comfortable with something like that? I mean, I’m literally going to constantly be taking photos of you.”

“Like we don’t already do that on our phones,” you tease, having amassed quite the album of terrible Jungkook pictures over the years. 

“A camera is different from a phone,” Jungkook protests weakly. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’m just saying. It won’t bother me,” you say with a shrug. Why is Jungkook being so… weird about your suggestion? You thought he would be jumping at the offer, especially considering it means he won’t have to go out of his way to find and photograph someone else for this assignment. But he’s being rather hesitant. You watch as he glares down at his empty sushi takeout box, eyebrows furrowed in that thick, nervous way. “But you don’t have to,” you backtrack. “It was just a suggestion.”

He breathes in and breathes out, expression solid. Even from here you can see the cogs whirring in his brain, placing each and every potential result into a pro and con list inside his mind, trying to work out whether the benefits will be greater than the cost. 

Quite frankly, you don’t know what all the holdup is about. 

“You’re… sure about this?” He asks, looking up at you, determined to ensure your comfort. As if that’s even an issue. “You’re cool with being photographed and everything?”

“Only because it’s you,” you tease lightheartedly, expecting some sort of equally cheesy response. Instead, it makes Jungkook do something weird. He freezes in place, darting his eyes away from your gaze for a split second, collecting thoughts you can’t see. “Yeah,” you say loudly, trying to bring him back. “I’m fine with it.”

He inhales, exhales, closes his eyes, and opens them. “Okay then. I guess it’s settled. You’ll be my subject,” he declares, an almost unnoticeable wobble to his voice. It’s probably nothing, so you don’t think too hard about it.

“Can you at least pretend to be a little more excited about this?” You ask, jabbing him in the chest with a wooden chopstick. “It’s the first time we’ve ever gotten to be part of a project together!”

“Yay,” Jungkook says, lifeless. 

“How about a photo to commemorate it?” You suggest, reaching over to pull the camera out of his backpack, pushing it into his hands. “This can be the start of your portfolio.”

“Fine,” he eventually caves, bringing it up to his eye as he turns it on, twisting the lens to perfect the focus. Even caught off guard like this, he looks like a professional, like someone who was born to be behind the camera. He’s a computer science major but you know that photography will always be something special to him.

You strike a dramatic pose, holding your chopsticks out, one in each hand, with a wide, excited smile on your face. “How do I look?” You ask, scrunching your eyes together. 

Jungkook’s finger hovers over the silver button. “Perfect,” he tells you, voice soft and honest. 

Click.

“So, how many photos are you supposed to take for this portfolio?” You ask as you flop around on Jungkook’s bed, pretending that the open tab on your laptop with your fifty-page reading doesn’t exist. You don’t even know why professors assign readings that long. Do they really expect you to read all of it?

From across his room, you can make out the top of Jungkook’s fluffy brown hair over his sleek gaming chair, one of the ones that look like high-tech airplane seats. “I don’t know,” he says. “He said at least twenty. And no more than fifty. Which really makes me wonder if someone once submitted like, one hundred photos for this project that he had to grade them on. But yeah.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you say. When you’re around a cute animal, you can easily take twenty photographs. Granted, they aren’t exactly award-worthy photographs, but it’s not a physically demanding task. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Hypothetically you could finish it in a day. But it looks really obvious.”

“Well, how many do you have now?”

It’s been a day and a half since Jungkook agreed to let you be his so-called muse, but already you’ve lost track of how many photos he’s taken of you. He loves his camera, you know that, but you didn’t realize exactly how much he loves his camera. And with you as the sole subject for his project, he’s practically letting it hang from his neck all day long, just waiting for the right time to snap a photo of you standing in line at the food court, frowning at your textbook, or waiting to meet up with him. Every time he sees you he snaps a picture, even if the lighting’s bad, even if you haven’t had your morning coffee yet, even if it’s midnight and you look like a zombie. In his mind, there are no bad pictures. Just memories.

You wonder what the hell he sees in you. 

“A lot,” Jungkook answers unhelpfully, making no effort to elaborate on that statement. 

“Have you counted?” You ask, getting off of his bed to join him at his desk. 

Jungkook doesn’t seem to realize what you’re doing until you’re standing right next to him, placing a hand over his shoulders as you lean down next to him. He fumbles around for a second, the mouse slipping through his grip, and you catch a glimpse of one of the photos he’s taken of you, a sliver of your pursed lips, the wrinkles between your eyebrows. 

It’s from the library yesterday. You didn’t even know Jungkook had taken a picture of you there. You had a stupid reading to complete last night, one that made no sense and was terribly-written, and you spent an hour just trying to figure out what the damn argument was, and Jungkook captured it. You were there for an hour and Jungkook was there too, watching you like it was nothing, waiting for the perfect moment. He was there, sitting across from you, camera at the ready. You didn’t even hear it click. 

He closes it before you get a closer look at the photo, frantically hitting the little red dot at the top corner of the window before you have a chance to ask why. 

“What, I’m not allowed to see?” You chide, a little bit hurt but more confused than anything else. Why is Jungkook being so secretive?

“No,” Jungkook spits quickly. making you raise an eyebrow in alarm. “I mean, it’s a surprise. You get to see when it’s finished. I still have to… uh, edit. And stuff.”

“Edit? You think I’m that ugly?” You tease, knowing that he probably means color correction but enjoying the way that he gets all flustered when he hears your voice.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at that, like he just realized he made a wrong turn and is desperately backtracking. “What, no! I don’t—I don’t think you’re ugly.”

You laugh, letting the sound of your voice ease the tension in his shoulders, reveling in the way his big doe eyes seem to soften when he realizes you were just teasing. He looks like a kid caught stealing a candy bar from a gas station, looks like one of those boyfriends in the viral videos where the girl reveals that she got him a present or something instead, all nervous and full of explanations. 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you assure him, rubbing up and down his arm to soothe him, calm his heart down. “You don’t have to show me. I’m just excited. No one’s ever taken photos of me like this before.”

“I would,” Jungkook speaks up softly. “If you asked. I would.”

“I know,” You say. You’re not sure if there’s a thing in this world Jungkook wouldn’t do for you, and you, him. If he asked, you would pluck the stars from the sky for him. Bring him back a piece of the moon. Stop time. Anything. Everything. Just for him. “I know.”

 “What are you doing?” Jungkook asks, changing the topic as he whirls around in his gaming chair. 

“Just another reading, like always,” you dismiss, because you’re positive the last thing Jungkook wants to hear about right now is your primary source reading on irrigation techniques in agrarian Europe. You don’t even want to hear about it. “But I could use some help on Astronomy.”

Without another word, Jungkook gets up from his desk and the two of you head over to his bed, where an untouched problem set waits on your computer. He grabs a notebook from his backpack along the way before sitting down next to you on the edge of his bed, bodies pressed together. Slowly, he begins to coach you through each problem, step by step, drawing pictures and diagrams if he has to, until you finish all ten problems. 

The truth is, you didn’t really need help with this unit. Astronomy’s gotten a lot easier now that Jungkook has taught you the strategies to tackle it. But Jungkook sometimes feels like a ghost when he works, especially when he’s sitting at his desk, quiet and focused and almost invisible. And call you clingy, but you like it when you can look up and see his face instead of the back of a chair, a little tuft of wavy brown hair. You like it when he’s right beside you, in a place where you know you won’t lose him, where you can hold on if things get rough. Where you can see his stupid brown eyes and his goofy smile and know that he’ll always be there for you. 

When he’s finished, Jungkook doesn’t get back up to sit at his desk. He flops down on his back, staring up at the white ceiling of his room, eyes tracing the cracks. You join him, side by side, pretending that there’s something there. Looking up at the sky would be nicer, but it doesn’t really matter, so long as you’re with him.

“I didn’t know you took so many photos,” you say.

“I never want to miss anything.”

“You should give me more warnings, next time. I feel like I look so ugly in some of them.”

“No, you don’t. Don’t say stuff like that.”

“You don’t think I’m ugly?” You ask him, for real this time. It’s not that you think he’s going to say that he does, it’s that you want to know what he really thinks. How he really sees you. You turn your head to him, back pressed against his comforter, barely a foot apart. And he turns back to you, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, big brown eyes wide and blinking. He’s right there, how could you miss him?

“No,” Jungkook says, honest and true. He looks at you, looks right at you, right into you, and he muses to himself, chuckling. “Why would I ever think that?”

At the end of the day, you can’t really be bothered to put on real pants in anticipation of Jungkook’s trigger-happy camera-taking tendencies. He’s seen you spill a boiling hot bowl of tomato soup all over yourself in the dining hall. He’s seen you at four in the morning in the library the night before finals begin, eyebags down to your knees and mismatched shoes on your feet. He’s seen you in the middle of a frat house, sweat dripping down your forehead and smelling of nothing but straight alcohol. Getting dressed up just for him would be antithetical to the very foundation of your friendship. 

You have, however, become keenly more cognizant in the last few days of when Jungkook is about to take a photo of you. Mostly because you glance up at your surroundings every three seconds to make sure you aren’t getting sniped from across the food court. Nobody else needs to see a picture of you picking up three pieces of sushi with your chopsticks and stuffing them all into your mouth at once. And, from what you can tell, you’ve been pretty successful, which either means you’ve gotten better at telling when Jungkook might be taking a photo of you, or Jungkook’s gotten better at hiding it. 

Either way, he’s got a lot more pictures of you reflexively flashing a peace-sign in his direction when you hear the telltale sound of his camera lens focusing, so you’re not really sure what that means for the fate of his portfolio. 

Besides your newfound hyper-awareness of the sound of a camera lens adjusting, the strangest part of you and Jungkook’s little project is how quickly the rest of your friends adjusted to this brand new dynamic. 

This is not to say this assignment is the weirdest thing you and Jungkook have done together, because there was once one week where you and Jungkook challenged each other to only eat bananas for every meal to see if anything would happen to either of you. Nothing did, but after that week you swore off bananas for the rest of your life and have had little appetite for them since. 

It’s more that your other friends have just accepted the fact that ridiculous, extravagant shenanigans are a necessary part of you and Jungkook’s relationship and have simply chosen not to question them anymore. At least, most of them have. 

“So, how’s you and Jungkook’s little photography fling going?” Maisie asks, and even through the phone you can hear the way she’s wiggling her eyebrows. 

“It’s not a fling, and it’s fine,” you hiss back, trying to keep your voice down as you pack up your belongings, phone pressed between your ear and your shoulder. “Stop speaking so loudly, everyone else in the library can probably hear you.”

“Good, because they’ve all probably noticed the way Jungkook’s been following you around like an unrestrained fanboy for the past four days taking pictures of you,” Maisie says pointedly, voice so sharp it causes you to look around at the other tables to make sure no one’s listening in. 

You frown, hoping your deadpan expression is audible through the phone. “It’s not like that and you know it.”

“Don’t you think it’s even a little strange that you’ve given Jungkook full permission to take photos of you like you’re a model and he’s some sort of weird, professional paparazzi?” You can practically see Maisie’s face in front of you, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows as she makes her point.

“No, it’s what we agreed on,” you remind her for the umpteenth time. There’s nothing weird about this. You’re helping him with a project, what more could it be? “Jungkook needed someone to take pictures of for his photography project and I thought it would be a good idea if I was that someone.”

“Hmm… wonder why…” Maisie trails off, deliberately vague and suggestive all at once. 

“You’ve been going on about this ever since Jungkook and I met, Maise,” you say with a roll of your eyes, tossing your backpack over your shoulder. “You know that Jungkook and I are just friends. Like we have always been.”

“Friends that take candid photos of each other under the guise of a project,” Maisie adds, and you can see the air quotes around the word “project” right in front of you.

“Friends that help each other out because that’s what friends do,” you correct. “You’re just going to have to accept the fact that Jungkook and I are always going to be just friends and nothing more. No matter how much money you’ve bet on us getting together.”

Maisie gasps. “I have not bet money on such a thing! This is slander!”

“Don’t think I don’t see you and Jimin’s damn Venmo history.” You pull up to the front desk of the library to check out a primary source book needed for one of your classes. It’s the first edition, and it’s battered beyond belief, but it’s better than paying for it. “Just this, thanks.”

“The only way you could convince me that you and Jungkook are just friends is if you go on a date or something,” Maisie comments snidely. “I don’t think I’ve seen either of you romantically interested in someone else the entire time you’ve known each other. Isn’t that proof enough?”

“You want me to go on a date with someone?” You demand, determined to get Maisie to hop off your ass about this. 

You and Jungkook are just friends. If swiping right with someone on Tinder and getting dinner and a movie with them is what will convince Maisie of that, then that is what you will do. It’s not as if being friends with Jungkook is mutually exclusive with you going out with other people. Should be easy, right? 

The boy behind the counter tells you your book is due back at the end of the semester, and you nod your thanks before heading out of the library.

“Fine, I’ll go on a date with someone. If it’ll get you to stop trying to convince me that Jungkook and I are gonna get married and have babies,” you declare, pushing your body against the door handles as you leave, five minutes to spare before your next class begins. 

“You guys would have really cute babies, I’m just saying,” Maisie points out like it’s nothing. 

You roll your eyes, taking the phone away from your ear as your finger hovers over the red button. “See you, Maise.”

You’re barely three steps out of the library, still rolling your eyes at the Call Ended screen on your phone when a voice catches your attention. 

“Y/N!”

You turn your head just in time to see Jungkook’s devilish grin disappear behind his camera, and you don’t even have time to blink before he begins snapping away, finger mashing the silver button at the top as your expression morphs from surprise to defeat, unable to counter his sniping abilities with a signature peace sign. Even from twenty feet away, you can hear Jungkook laughing as you take the opportunity to pose for a few moments, like you really are a model and he really is your personal photographer. The sound of his giggles fills the air, music to your ears, lingering between you like dandelion wisps, blown by the wind. 

Another voice breaks you from your trance. 

“And here we have our resident celebrity and her paparazzi,” Jimin says, motioning to the two of you as he speaks to an enormous tour group of potential applicants and their parents. Caught in front of them, the heat suddenly rushes to your cheeks as you instinctively cover your face, embarrassed to have been pointed out by Jimin, whose amicable, lovable personality is both a blessing and a curse when it comes to his part-time job as a tour guide. 

The worst part is how some of the parents and students seem to believe him for a second, that you really are famous and that Jungkook really is your photographer, looking at the two of you inquisitively as you shrink beneath their gazes. 

“I’m kidding,” Jimin quickly continues as Jungkook joins you where you stand, laughing at the way you look like a deer caught in headlights. “They’re just some friends of mine who we happened to catch outside the library, which is our next stop. But don’t they look so cute together?”

“Are you guys dating?” One of the students pipes up, asking what no one else dared to. 

Your eyes widen at the notion, wondering if you and Jungkook really are cursed to always be mistaken for a couple when you two have never been, and most likely will never be one. Shaking your head, you force out a laugh, “No, we’re just friends.” Beside you, Jungkook is noticeably silent. You suppose he’s gotten just as sick of explaining as you. 

“Bummer, right?” Jimin asks his group, earning a couple of disappointed nods from innocent high-schoolers that still believe in love. “But I’m working on that, so don’t worry. Anyway, this library will be your main destination for studying, book-reading, and everything in between, and is conveniently located two minutes away from the freshman dorms…”

The conversation finally drawn away from you and Jungkook, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding in. “Weird, right? Even high-schoolers think we’re together.”

Jungkook doesn’t meet your eyes, fiddling with the settings on his camera just to keep his hands busy. The quiet makes you wonder what is going on up inside his head, makes you wonder what it is he’s thinking about, what it is you’re not seeing. Lately, it’s felt like there’s something on Jungkook’s mind you wish he felt comfortable telling you. 

“Hey, you alright?” You ask, giving him a little nudge with your side. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Jungkook says, voice soft, barely audible. It doesn’t make you feel any better. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Don’t you have class soon?”

“Oh, shit, you’re right, fuck,” you say, checking your phone only to find you have barely a minute to get to your next class. Guess you’ll be using one of your allotted absences today. “Thanks for reminding me. Dinner tonight?”

“I’ll text you,” Jungkook promises, and you nod your agreement as you dash off, determined to turn a five-minute walk into a one-minute one with the power of exercise. As you leave, you watch as Jungkook flounders outside the library, staring down at his camera and scrolling through his photos, and you still find yourself feeling like you’re missing something. What is Jungkook not telling you? 

What do you not know?

By the time you reach your class, two minutes late and completely out of breath, tardiness is the last thing on your mind.

This project was just meant to be a friend helping out a friend. So why does it feel like you and Jungkook are losing each other?

Using Tinder is easy. Dangerously so.

You’re no expert in app design, but its simplified “yes or no” mechanic has you swiping through people like it’s an extreme sport, barely giving some of them a second glance if their Tinder profile description doesn’t make you laugh within the first sentence. 

Tinder was, admittedly, not your first choice of potential date-finding methods. Call you old-fashioned, but whatever happened to asking someone in person if they wanted to get a meal with you? To showing up at their doorstep with a rose bouquet and a toothy white grin? Perhaps all of those old-timey movies you and Jungkook always watched have given you unrealistic expectations. But can you blame them? 

Even if Tinder wasn’t your first choice, it was certainly the fastest. It takes a second to look at someone’s designated Tinder thumbnail, two to read their description, and three to decide if they’re worth a swipe right. Compare that to actively meeting up with someone, getting their contact information, and then continuing to dance around each other until you finally decide to get dinner together. That’s the sort of thing that could take weeks. Maybe months. And in some cases, years.

Besides, it’s not like you had very many options at your disposal. You don’t trust Maisie to set you up with someone because she’ll probably just choose one of the many boys from her management class and call it a day. Asking someone yourself is absolutely out of the question. And, for some strange, unknown reason, the idea of getting Jungkook to hook you up with one of his friends just doesn’t sit right with you.

So, Tinder it is. And as it turns out, chivalry isn’t dead. It’s just archaic.

An hour into your mindless swiping, you get a message notification. Two hours after that, you’ve got plans with a nice senior boy whom you’ve never met. 

And for the first time in a very long time, there’s something to mark on your calendar for Saturday night.

The little blue block on your Google Calendar tab stares back at you from where your open laptop sits on your desk, the red line that signifies your current time slowly inching towards it as you fumble around in front of your mirror, more dressed up than you have been in weeks. Maisie was right. It’s been so long since you’ve gone out with someone that you’ve completely forgotten what the dress code is for something like this. A dress? Heels? Makeup?

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you will anyway. What if he’s wearing a hoodie and sweats while you look like you’re about to attend the goddamn Academy Awards? Maybe the eyeshadow was a little too much.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks it’s inevitable that you do. The door to your apartment swings open, and you can hear heavy footsteps making their way to your bedroom, that easy gait of his familiar as always.

“Hey, do you think we can just get some take-out and watch a stupid old noir movie, or something? I’ve had a day,” he shouts out, the sigh audible in his voice.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you definitely have when you turn around to see Jungkook standing right outside your bedroom in the floppiest sweater you’ve ever seen and jeans with holes in the knees, mouth agape as he stares straight at you. It’s impossible not to notice the way his eyes are blown wide at the sight of you, at the way they rake up and down your figure, like he can’t even believe what he’s seeing. It’s impossible not to notice how he seems to flounder at the sight of you.

The only thing that breaks the both of you out of your stupors, frozen in place like two criminals caught red-handed, is the sound of his hulking black backpack thudding to the floor. 

“Whoa.”

“Do you think it’s too much?” You ask, voice wobbly. God, why are you so nervous? It’s just Jungkook. 

“Too much for what?” Jungkook blinks, deliberate and slow, as if he’s determined to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “Where are you going?”

“I think we’ll have to do a raincheck for the noir movie and takeout,” you say sheepishly, pursing your lips together in fright as you force out a small, tense smile. “I’m… going out. With someone.”

“Like,” Jungkook begins, and even from here you can hear the way he stops himself, hear him breathe out every word, thick on his tongue. “On a date?”

“Yeah.”

It’s a one-syllable word and yet it takes nearly all of your willpower just to say it. Just to confirm what Jungkook’s already thinking. Just to tell him, your best friend, your ride or die, your number one, that you’re going out on a date. 

“Oh.” Jungkook’s voice is lifeless. “Do I know them?”

“No, uh, it’s just some guy I met on Tinder. I don’t know, I just wanted to see what all the hype was about, I guess. And I haven’t really been on a date in a while, so I figured I might just take up the opportunity, so we’re probably just going to go out to a restaurant and maybe go to a club afterwards if we’re still in the mood, and—” You cut yourself off, so nervous that you’ve resorted to your terrible habit of rambling to try and ease the tension. “Why? Do you think it’s too much?”

“You use Tinder?” Jungkook asks instead. It sounds like he’s shocked to hear this. 

“Yeah…” you trail off. “Why?”

Jungkook freezes at the question, but it’s not because it seems like he doesn’t have an answer. It’s because it seems like he does. Only it’s an answer he doesn’t want to share. 

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he eventually settles on, shaking his head. “You, uh, you look good.”

“You think? I feel like it’s a lot. I don’t know how to dress appropriately for stuff like this anymore,” you ask, palms sweaty as you furiously straighten out the skirt of your dress. “Should I change into pants, or anything?”

“No, no, I think that’s fine,” Jungkook says with an honest smile. “You look nice like this.”

“It’s probably been like, a year since you last saw me in a dress,” you comment mindlessly, turning back to face the mirror as you fiddle with your makeup, finger wiping away a bit of smudged lipstick or a stray bit of mascara. “I miss my sweats. Hey, whoa, wait, what are you doing—?”

You whip around to find Jungkook slowly fishing out the camera from his backpack, hand gripping it tightly as he brandishes it in front of you. 

“I, um, I just wanted to see if I could maybe take a photo of you,” Jungkook says, a small, little grin decorating his features. “Since you’re all dressed up.”

“Seriously?” You ask in disbelief. 

Jungkook nods, holding the camera out in front of him. “Just one.”

He looks so small, standing across your bedroom. He looks so small and delicate and intimate, body curled in on itself ever so slightly as he looks at you, the yellow glow of your ceiling light reflected in his hazelnut eyes, drowning beneath his clothes. He looks like he has never seen a moment more perfect, never seen an opportunity as clear, looks like he thinks that if he blinks he’ll miss it. 

Looks as if a photo will be the only way to remember it. 

And you nod. Because he is your best friend, and who are you to deny him of something so simple? Of a press of a button? It doesn’t feel like a project anymore. It just feels like a memory. 

Jungkook brings the camera to his eye, and you smile at him, soft and gentle and warm. He grins back, focusing the camera lens before snapping away. 

You wonder what he sees. 

(You wonder if it’s as beautiful as what you see.)

“Have fun tonight, okay?” Jungkook asks of you as your Google Calendar notification sounds, letting you know you have approximately two minutes before he’s supposed to pick you up outside your apartment.

You nod. “I will. And if I don’t, then I’ll come over afterwards. And we can watch that stupid noir film.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes, a shrug of his shoulders. 

“But I want to. So I will. Okay? I’ll text you,” you promise. “Don’t think I’ll forget about you.”

Jungkook smiles at your little tease, at the way you cup the side of his jaw with your hand as you head towards your front door. 

“Wait, Y/N,” Jungkook sputters out, running after you. He reaches you right as you get to the door, hand grasping the doorknob. You turn to look at him, blinking. “I hope tonight is everything you dreamed of.”

There is something so distinctly sad in his voice. It makes you wonder who has broken his heart. Makes you wonder what you can do to fix it.

“Even if it’s not,” you say to him, taking his hand in your own and squeezing it tight, reminding him that, no matter what, you’re still here. “I know you’ll always be there to take care of me afterwards.”

Your phone buzzes with a message from your date, and you scurry out the door. 

For some reason, there’s a part of you that wishes you never even left. 

The date is okay. Not bad, but nothing to write home about. By the time you finished eating, it was obvious neither of you had any interest in continuing the night elsewhere, whether it be a club or a karaoke bar. He pays for your meal despite your insistence that you can handle the check perfectly fine on your own, thanks you for a nice night, and drops you right back at your apartment. And so goes your one and only Tinder experience, blowing away like a leaf in the wind. 

You look down at your phone. It isn’t even nine o’clock yet. 

[November 7th, 8:48PM]

You: you still game for that movie?

[November 7th, 8:50PM]

Jungkook: you finished your date already?

You: is that a yes or a no

Jungkook: my door is always open, you know that

You: you’re gonna get robbed one day and it’s gonna be by me You: i’m coming over

The walk from your apartment to Jungkook’s is six minutes and thirty seconds on a good day, and seven minutes and fifteen seconds on a bad day, which is usually dependent on if the traffic light over the main road has decided to be extra slow or not. You could walk the damn route in your sleep if you really wanted, having done it so many times in the last year and a half, ever since he moved out of on-campus housing and into his own place.

Tonight, it takes you nearly eight minutes to get to his apartment, but you mostly chalk that up to the heels you’re wearing. If you cared any less about your dignity, you’d probably take them off and walk barefoot like a defeated heroine in a romance movie, shoes dangling from your fingers as they hang low by your side. 

But you aren’t defeated. You didn’t have the world’s most spectacular date, but the night isn’t over just yet. 

Jungkook’s waiting at his front door by the time you arrive. 

“Eight minutes, huh? You’re getting old,” he asks snidely, looking down at the invisible watch on his wrist. 

“Your counting is just off,” you retort easily, falling into that same friendly rhythm, that familiar little beat that the two of you share. You push past him and into his apartment, instantly feeling more at home, shoulders sinking and heartbeat soothing as you soak in the scent of his room, of his home, of him. 

“How’d it go?” Jungkook asks, eyes hopeful as they watch you tug off your heels. They were hardly three inches tall and yet you still want nothing to do with them. 

You shrug. “Eh. It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Jungkook asks, sounding seriously upset for you. Upset that you didn’t have a good night even after you promised him that you would. Upset that it didn’t turn out to be everything you wanted. 

“I don’t know,” you admit, looking over at him, dejected. “It just—I just had this feeling that it wasn’t going to work out.”

Jungkook scowls to himself, eyebrows furrowing like he’s trying to figure out what exactly you mean by that. And the truth is, you’re not sure either. The date was fine, and he was nice, but even when you first met it felt like you weren’t going to get what you wanted from him. Like you were just going on the date to go on the date. Like you already knew that it would mean nothing. 

Jungkook was going to be waiting for you at the end of the night whether it went amazingly well or terribly bad. And knowing that, strangely enough, almost made you want the date to be horrible. Like it would make seeing Jungkook afterwards that much sweeter. 

“Oh,” Jungkook says lamely. “Well, I’m sorry. It seemed like you were really looking forward to it.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him. “Can we just watch this movie now and make fun of how sexist it is? Please?”

To that, Jungkook easily agrees. As he’s queueing up the movie, you raid his closet for a hoodie and sweatpants, desperate to strip yourself of your dress and tights and cozy up in clothes that are much more appropriate for your comfort level. At this point in your friendship, Jungkook doesn’t even question it when he sees you march into his room, fishing through his closet and drawers for your favorite matching set of his, this grey pair that he’s worn so much it still smells like him even after it’s come right out of the wash. 

He only stares back in awe when he sees you emerge from his bedroom wearing them. 

“Ready?” You ask, breaking him from his resolve.

Jungkook blinks wildly from where he’s seated on his dinky old couch, as if to clear his vision. “What? Oh, yeah, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Then hurry it up, Mister,” you demand, sitting down next to him and curling into his body. It’s instinctual, at this point, wanting to be close to him. To feel the warmth of his body radiate upon your own. To feel his chest beneath the palm of your hands, his arm wrapped around your side. “All good?” You ask, looking up at him. 

Jungkook looks down at you, and you swear, you’ve never seen him more at home. “Always, when I’m with you.”

The movie is predictably good and predictably sexist, but your favorite part by far is when Jungkook reaches around on the coffee table in front of you for his camera, holding it up to his eye and snatching a picture of the television, the film grainy like an old polaroid, faded like an antique photograph. He clicks away at the scene in front of him before turning on you, the lens so close to your face you’re almost certain all he’ll manage to capture is your nose. You laugh, pushing yourself away from him as he snaps, and snaps, and snaps, image after image after image, until his camera battery has died and there’s no more room left on his card. 

“Guess I’ll have to charge this thing, then,” Jungkook sighs as he declares his camera dead, screen black. 

“You aren’t going to include any of those, are you?” You ask, an eyebrow raised. 

Jungkook shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t you have enough?” You deadpan, thinking back to the hundreds of photos Jungkook must have taken of you over the past week, and even more that you don’t know about. There’s certainly no shortage of them in his current camera inventory. That’s for sure. 

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. He stretches out an open arm, and you don’t have to think twice about falling into it, letting him wrap you up in his hold, curling into his body. 

The black television screen crackles before you, DVD player waiting for Jungkook to turn it off. There’s no need for either of you to look up at each other. Not when you’re strung together like this. Not when you already know exactly where he is. 

“It’s due on Monday, right?” You inquire softly, fatigue slowly overtaking you. 

“Yeah. I’m almost finished, just have to do some curating and editing.”

“I want to see it.”

“What? My project?”

“What else?”

“It’s just a project, it’s not that exciting.”

You pull away from him at that, looking up at him with furrowed brows and scrunched-up nose. “What do you mean ‘it’s not that exciting’? It’s your photography project. You’ve spent a whole week working on it.”

“Yeah, but it’s just you, you know?” Jungkook objects. “Like, you know what you look like. It’s just going to be a bunch of photos of you, like I said it’d be.”

“That’s exactly why I want to see it,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You took pictures of me for a whole week. Don’t you want to share them with me?”

“If you really want some of the photos, I’ll send you some, but you don’t need to see the whole portfolio, you know? It’s just for my professor,” Jungkook says stiffly, surprisingly resistant. What’s the big deal? It’s not like there will suddenly be new information about you that you didn’t know before. You want to see what Jungkook has been working tirelessly on this entire week. Where’s the harm in that?

“Why are you getting so hung up on this? It’s just photos,” you say with a frown. 

“Why are you getting so hung up on this?” Jungkook challenges back. 

You sigh, sinking back into him, defeated. Even a little disagreement like that is enough to knock the wind out of the both of you, so you decide not to push it much further. 

“Do you promise to show me eventually?” You ask, hopeful.

Jungkook pauses for a moment, and you almost expect him to say no, considering how protective of his work he’s being. “One day,” he declares. “One day, I will.”

And that’s good enough for you. 

You lose track of how much time passes after that, feeling your eyelids getting heavy as the warmth of his body envelopes you, drowsiness settling in. There’s just something about this moment, right here, right now, that makes you want to fall asleep.

You’re on the verge of slumber when Jungkook’s voice breaks through.

“Why didn’t you think your date would work out?”

“I don’t know,” you respond sleepily, barely even opening your eyes. “It just felt wrong.”

“How do you know what feels right?”

Good question. Perhaps if you had the energy, you’d answer it. But right now, all you can think about is how cozy you feel in Jungkook’s hoodie and sweatpants, how the scent of him surrounds you, that indescribable, boyish aroma that can’t be replicated. Right now, all you can think about is how easily your body molds into his, like two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together. Right now, all you can think about is him. 

The worst part about each and every week is when it ends. Because the end of one week signifies the beginning of the next, and when you’re in university, the beginning of the next week means a whole new batch of assignments that you have to complete and a whole new batch of due dates to meet. 

So, yeah. The weeks have been blurring together for you lately. But what else could you expect?

Sunday evening, as per usual, finds you right back where you always are: Jungkook’s apartment. 

The two of you have been regularly getting together on Sundays to study, ever since you both realized you work significantly harder when motivated by the other, determined to finish all of your work on time so you can spend the rest of the night fooling around by mixing Monster with as many unhealthy drinks that you can possibly think of. And it’s been working out well for the both of you so far. Jungkook powers through his coding assignments and you whiz through your readings, intent on keeping up to date with your tasks so they don’t all come crashing down on you at the end of the semester. 

Studying with Jungkook has always been easy, largely due to the fact that it’s the one allotted time during your friendship where the both of you deem it best to not speak to each other for the sake of your work. The moment one of you opens your mouth it’s over, so you sit on opposite ends of the room and pretend that the other person isn’t even there. 

Jungkook told you earlier today that he had already finished his photography portfolio, so there would unfortunately be no sneaky glances over his shoulder to see if you can catch a glimpse of one of the pictures. Which is fine by you, you’re just a little embarrassed that Jungkook had told you this outright. Not that you were planning to do exactly that, but you were planning to do exactly that. 

Part of you. more than anything, wants to know why Jungkook won’t just show you himself. Why he’s being so secretive, so protective of his photography project when you both know already exactly what’s in it. For God’s sake, he just spent the entire week taking photos of you non-stop. It’s like not as if any part of this is a mystery to either of you. What more could he have done?

Whatever. You aren’t going to force it if he doesn’t want you to. You suppose that maybe one day, far into the future, he’ll finally decide that the time is right. 

“I’m so fucking tired,” Jungkook declares lifelessly as he gets up from where he’s sitting on your bed, dead inside. “I need a break.”

“Are you going to the kitchen? Can you make me some tea, please?” You ask him, looking up from the laptop on your desk. 

Jungkook nods wordlessly before disappearing out of the room. 

You and Jungkook’s best study practice to maximize productivity is the taking of each other’s cell phones so that the other cannot be tempted to look at it. It’s worked plenty of times before and will probably work plenty of times again, because as they say, out of sight, out of mind. 

Unfortunately, it’s hard to pretend that your phone is out of sight when it’s been buzzing on your bedside table for the past five minutes, and your fingers have been itching to get over there and answer your damn notifications. So, while Jungkook is out of the room, you decide to cheat a little by dashing over there just to see what the heck is going on in the rest of the world. 

As it turns out, nothing much. Just Maisie texting you as she binges yet another television show, giving spoiler-free updates anytime anything remotely dramatic happens. You have a couple of new emails as well. 

The thing that actually catches your attention the most, is Jungkook’s laptop screen. 

There’s just a Word document open on it, but a Word document is a far cry from his usual coding program or Photoshop. Because you can’t help yourself, you peer over to see what he’s written. 

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Hard to say that I have. I don’t think I learned something about myself so much as I confirmed what I already knew, cementing it as a real thought in my brain, rather than just a daydream. Nothing changed in the way that my best friend and I interacted, and I can almost confirm that nothing changed in the way that she feels about me, just as nothing changed in the way I feel about her. I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her. 

What?

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Not as a reference but to remind myself of this very moment in my life—a single week over the course of my life that I felt was worth saving. I imagine that there will come a time, far in the future, where my best friend and I have separated a little bit, found our own lives and created our own families with our own people. And when that happens, I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now. 

This feels personal. Maybe you should stop reading. But there’s just one more question left on the page… 

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. If it meant getting to spend more time with her, take more photos of her, see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over. 

“Y/N?”

You hadn’t even heard the kettle whistling. 

“Jungkook,” you say, breathless, caught red-handed. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, placing your steaming cup of tea down on the desk as he stares back at you in horror, in surprise, in worry, in something. Something that gives you this imminent sense of impending doom. 

“Uh—”

“Were you reading my computer screen?”

It’s not like you could say you were doing anything else. 

“I couldn’t help myself, I came over here to check my phone since it’s been buzzing like crazy and your computer was right there and I just…” you sputter out, thoughts swirling inside your head. 

(I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now. 

If it meant getting to see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over. 

I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.)

“What do you mean, how you feel about me?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. Because the sound of his voices echoes in your head like the beat of a drum, over and over and over. Because you’re staring back at him and even if he just caught you snooping through his computer you can never be worried when it comes to him. Because everything he has ever done puts you at ease. 

“Y/N, that is private, why would you read something like that?” He asks, each word a sucker punch into your heart. 

“Because I just had to know, okay?” You shout back. “I had to know what you were hiding from me.”

“So you decided to snoop through my computer to see if you could figure it out yourself?” He demands, storming over to you. 

“So you are hiding something?”

“That’s not the point, the point is that—”

“What are you not telling me, Jungkook?” You cry out, watching as he approaches you, dark eyes piercing your gaze. “Why won’t you show me your goddamn portfolio? If there’s really nothing to be afraid of, why are you keeping it from me? I’m your best friend, I’m the fucking subject of your project? Don’t I deserve to see it? Why won’t you show me?”

“Because then you’d know!” Jungkook shouts back, leaving deafening silence in his wake. You look up at him, blinking. In front of you, Jungkook is out of breath, chest heaving. 

He looks so strained. So tired. Like he’s been carrying around this secret for months now, maybe even years, and this is the final straw. This is what has sent the both of you crashing down upon each other. This stupid fucking project. You’ve known Jungkook ever since the beginning of your freshman year, and never before have you seen him so hopeless. 

“Jungkook—?”

“You’d know, goddamnit,” Jungkook says, hand coming up to rub at his forehead, dragging down his cheek. “And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.”

“Know what? What would I know?” 

Jungkook closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Opens them again. “That I’m in love with you.”

The words drift in between the two of you, hovering in the air like feathers. You see them, clear as day, in front of you, hear them echoing in your head, over and over and over again. Feel the way your blood is pumping, the way your heart is beating. 

“You’re in love with me?” You ask him. 

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Jungkook admits. “Or at all, really. But I have been, for a while now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid that I’d lose you.”

You chuckle, a small, little thing from the back of your throat. “You must have known I’d never let that happen, hmm?”

Jungkook smiles softly. “I was scared. Can you blame me? You’re my best friend.”

“And you are mine,” you remind him. 

“It’s just—” Jungkook begins, like the gates of a dam are opening up. “We’d known each other for so long, and we have such a good thing going as is, always texting and calling and hanging out together, studying together on Sunday nights and seeing each other during the week, and I didn’t want to ruin anything. And then my professor assigned this project, and the only person I could think of to take photos was you, but I didn’t want to ask that of you in case you thought it was weird, but you suggested it anyway so I said yes, but I knew. I knew then that the moment I took one goddamn photo of you it would be obvious, and that if you ever saw you would just know. Stuff like that is easy to pick up in pictures, because a camera is like, tunnel vision for whatever it is you want to focus on most, and that’s you, that’s always been you, so I—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt, reaching out to him, pressing a soft hand to his cheek. “Just, shut up, okay?”

And then you cup his head in both of your hands, and press a kiss to his lips. A small one, if nothing else, but a kiss nonetheless. You press your lips against his own and immediately you feel the sparks rush through you, this flash of heat that settles into something softer, something sweeter. It ignites and soothes you all at once, like a stray lightning bolt out on the open ocean. Like a single clap of thunder and the pitter patter of rain. 

You press a kiss to his lips and when you pull away, Jungkook’s eyes are closed, lips parted ever so slightly. And for a moment there, you almost think you did the wrong thing. 

But barely a second more passes before he’s scooping you up in his arms and pulling you in close to him, his lips finding yours like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He holds you tight, hands pressed against the small of your back as he kisses you, warm and fiery and full, as if he can’t get enough, as if this is his only chance. You gasp into it before relaxing in his hold, cold hands on his warm cheeks, body melting at the feeling of him, of him all over you, of his hands and his mouth and his chest, this perfect, solid figure. 

He kisses you and it sends heat shooting through your body, filling you up from the inside out, like your heart has burst and filled your bloodstream with fire, with sparks of warmth that tingle all over. He kisses you, and everywhere his hands press is another sizzle to your skin, an electric shock that makes you giggle into his mouth. 

He kisses you and it feels like a storm has settled, feels like gentle rain after a hurricane, feels like waves crashing against the shore. He kisses you and it is the only thing you can think about. 

By the time you part once more, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Jungkook so blissed out. 

“See?” You point out softly. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

Jungkook looks positively dazed. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Ooh, was I that good?” You tease.

“I’m dreaming.” He shakes his head. “I’m definitely fucking dreaming.”

Jungkook sinks onto your bed, hitting the mattress with a thud. He stares mindlessly in front of him, like his brain needs time to process. 

You smile to yourself. He can have all the time in the world. 

“Is this real?” He mumbles when you sit down next to him, press another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Are you real?”

“Just like you,” you promise him. “I didn’t know this is what we had been missing, all this time.”

“It wasn’t missing,” Jungkook assures you. “It was just hidden.”

“I love you,” you whisper, watching him swallow the words like a glass of wine. “I think I always have. You just needed to say it first.”

“Oblivious as always.” Jungkook grins, smiling against your lips. “But I’m glad. If this is what it would take, then I’m glad.”

“You wouldn’t change anything?” You ask him, eyes wide and curious. 

It’s hard to know how long you and Jungkook have been secretly pining over each other. Hard to know how long Jungkook has known that he’s loved you, how long it’s been since you started to feel the same, even if subconsciously. It’s hard to know how long you would have kept going if not for this project. It might have been months. Years. Years that Jungkook was willing to spend holding back, if only it meant keeping you by his side. 

“No,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest answer in the world. “I have you now. Why would I?”

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Previously, I had responded to this question by saying that I hadn’t learned anything, and felt that nothing changed in my life. Then, some things happened. And after those things, I learned that I am the luckiest man alive. To know my best friend is one thing. To love her is a privilege. To have her love me back is nothing less than a miracle.

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Every day for the rest of my life. I don’t think I’ve ever been as thankful to receive a homework assignment as I am, right now. I owe everything to this project. It is the reason I have her. 

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. I want to take photos of her for the rest of my life. I want to save every memory we ever share together. So that far into the future, we can look back on them together and say, “Remember that?”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[ablednt]

No but the nuclear family model is so dystopian when you think about it.

Your born into a family and cannot leave them for at minimum 18 years. Nothing is done to assure your parents can emotionally or financially provide for you. You cannot do anything without their permission, they are encouraged and allowed to control every aspect of your life and your identity.

If you're in a (Christian) traditional home you have a dad who can if he wants be a tyrant and take out all his problems on you. He's supposed to be emotionless and he's Not Your Friend. You're supposed to treat him like you'll treat your bosses in the future even though you're a child without the mental capacity for those levels of maturity cause did I mention all of this is a trial run of unethical capitalist models?

Moving on! Your mom has unbelievable amounts of trauma because she's the subordinate in this relationship and expected to do everything whether or not she thinks she's empowered by this or not is irrelevant. As her child you're the only thing she's ever had power over in her life... if you're lucky she tries her best to actually recognize your autonomy and realize she's not playing dolls anymore. A lot of people aren't lucky! She's expected to do whatever your dad wants but she can take all of this out at you and/or make you take care of her to make up for the affection she's not getting now and because she was told having children would fix her childhood trauma and so good luck being a therapist as a child without pay or training.

Most likely you attend school on top of this to hear colonialist propaganda and prepare to work far too many hours for far too little pay you're punished for the slightest mistep, your peers all take out their problems on each other, etc. Your parents are expected to punish you for struggling in school even though schools do very little to actually teach you so you eventually give up unless you happen to be naturally good at studying. Everyone in your life is so angry at you all the time.

The media is consistently sending messages that you're either a cute object with no real features other than obedience or a raging monster who's disgusting and needy with no in between. You're taught to apologize and beg for forgiveness for crying, to know how much money your parents have before you can do basic maths so you don't bother them by asking for too many things (marketers advertize things to you instead of your parents because they know you have no idea how money works and are easily hyped up by things. If your parents scream at or hit you for this it's not their problem.) Doctors and psychiatrists all tell your parents not to listen when you're in mental or physical distress and you're mocked by adults for being suicidal or self harming. If your parents are especially "worried" they'll scream at you until you break and act like they fixed everything or they'll lock you up in a glorified prison where you will be traumatized into submission using physical force and drugs under the guise of "treatment"

And even then you're probably luckier than the kids who either lost their parents or were taken away from them probably not because of the actual abuse that may or may not have occurred and more likely because more middle class white couples want more kids in their home for aesthetics so the government wants their money. They suffer all the same things but at the hands of the state and they're stigmatized because why not! Most people subconsciously think they're broken, because they're vulnerable and no other reasons. Maybe your parents say at least you're not one of them, maybe sometimes you think you'd be better off that way but logic wins out and you know better. No system exists that will actually help children, because they're seen as a nonhuman class and are always at someone's mercy. In fact animals are more protected than you!

If your parents want they can find ways to monetize you and make money, both legally and illegally. No one cares and no one talks about it. You're now being treated like cattle but it's fine try not to think about it.

Then after everything, after 18 years where you're not seen as human, you're immediately expected to become an adult and keep up with them. Maybe you still live with your parents. Maybe they kick you out because they can do that too now. You desperately try to find ways to help the children in your life, or any children at all, without feeding into the system that dehumanizes them. Meanwhile people a few years older than you start to forget the past, forget the way they were treated or how it felt. They start to say children are the problem actually for being needy and messy and annoying. Some of them start having kids.

You sit helplessly with all of this and realize that you're unable to change a goddamn thing.

Obviously not everyone lives in a nuclear family or experiences this and not all parents are like this but that's the way society is setup to operate, that's the system that we've all normalized and take for granted as an unquestionable foundation of human societ and it's fucking horrifying.

[venialsun]

to begin with, take warning (2/3)

[read on ao3]

1 | 2 | 3

When Damian found his way to his first class of the day, having missed something called homeroom and the first ten minutes, the instructor shook his head playfully and made Damian introduce himself and explain what he had done over the summer. He could not say he had spent the past few months traipsing across the globe, hanging out with killers and thieves, and dying more often than not as he tried to escape the oppressive feeling that had descended upon Gotham after years of tragedies and increasing catastrophes. So he said he spent some time with his mother’s family on their private island, which was close enough, took a seat at the back of the room, and listened to his classmates reconnect with old friends and talk about their vacations and holidays with an increasing sense of annoyance.

The rest of the morning classes were no better. The teachers would guide the students through introductions and some small talk, go through their syllabus, and sometimes begin a lesson that Damian was entirely bored by. A few of his classmates tried to speak with him, asking him questions about his family, about himself, and smiling welcomingly at him, but the last thing he wanted to do was talk about that can of worms. He was not sure what he would say, how to spin his life into something half-truthful yet still benign. He’d never had to before. The rest of the students ignored him, and he was more than happy to ignore them right back.

By lunchtime, he was contemplating leaving and telling his Father he was done with this whole experiment. But Yanez’s yellow slip burned in his pocket, and Damian was not one to give up so easily. He would make it through the day, if nothing else.

The technology atrium was between the main academic building and the arts auditorium. A squat addition to the main building with walls made of glass and supported by steel beams, it stuck out like a sore thumb against the dark slate stones and high neo-Gothic arches and spires of the rest of Gotham Academy. Damian glowered as he neared and realized this was not only the technology atrium but, according to the placard over the main entrance, the Kenneth H. Wayne Technology Atrium.

Of course.

Inside, rows of computers and long tables encircled a central desk where a young woman sat typing at a laptop. She looked up as Damian approached and asked, “What’s up?”

Damian fished out the yellow slip and showed it to her. “Principal Yanez assigned me community tutoring or whatever.”

She took the slip and scanned it. “Already? Dang, kid, what’d ya do?”

“Nothing.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say. Hold on. Let me pull her notes.” She busied herself clicking and scrolling, then paused. “Oh, wow. I see. Well, hi, Damian. Glad to have you. I’m Miss Daisy.” She handed him back the slip.

“Daisy?” he repeated, incredulous.

“Well, Miss Daskalakis, but I got tired of all you runts mispronouncing it.”

“Miss Daskalakis,” said Damian, exactly.

Daskalakis smiled. “That was pretty good, actually. Okay, in about ten minutes, we should have some of the PSAT and SAT kids show up for their first prep. Make yourself comfortable at one of the tables, eat some of your lunch, and when they show up I’ll introduce you and explain the rundown.”

“Lunch?”

“You brought something to eat, didn’t you? Or you can go pick something up at the cafeteria.” She glanced at her laptop. “There’s still time, and since it’s the first day, there’s no rush.”

Damian hesitated. “Principal Yanez said I was to report here.”

“We’re not going to make you skip lunch, Damian,” said Daskalakis. “I’m pretty sure that’s illegal. Here, what do you want?” She pulled out her phone. “I’ll message my assistant to bring you something. He should already be at the cafeteria.”

“Anything vegetarian,” he said.

Daskalakis gave him a thumbs up. “Got it.”

He went to sit at one of the long tables. Surreptitiously, he pulled out his phone to figure out what in the world the PSAT and SAT were supposed to be. He was puzzling his way through the most confusingly worded, backwards maths questions he had ever read, when the door opened. Damian glanced up and froze.

The red-headed boy at the entrance to the atrium also froze, eyes wide like he had seen a ghost.

“Colin!” called Daskalakis. “Hey, this is Damian. Thanks for grabbing lunch.”

“Colin,” Damian said.

“Damian,” said Colin Wilkes. “Oh, my god. Damian. Dude!”

“Do you two know each other?” asked Daskalakis.

“No,” said Damian, at the same time Colin said, “Yes.” Then Colin said, “No,” at the same time Damian said, “Yes.”

“Cool,” said Daskalakis, dragging out the oo. “Cool, cool, cool. Can you guys figure that out? We have, like, five minutes.”

Colin approached and deposited what looked like a rice dish with vegetables in front of him. “Um, this is for you. I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got you a taco bowl minus the taco.”

“Thanks,” said Damian, accepting the not-taco bowl.

“So.” Colin sat across from him. “Long time no see, huh.”

Damian snorted. “I’ve been busy,” he said.

“No shit. Your family has been freaking out for like the past six months, saying you’re missing and Robin went rogue or something. Then the old Robin came back. The Titans restarted. Then there’s video of another Robin sword-fighting crime all over the world. I assume that was you. Dude, I thought you were dead.”

“To be fair,” said Damian as he opened his taco bowl and mixed the ingredients, “I was. A couple of times. Doesn’t seem to stick.”

Colin laughed. “Your mom?”

Damian chuckled, startling himself. “Something like that. Though the first time was a few years back. I was—gone—for nearly a year, and my Father resurrected me with alien magic.”

“Sick. I remember that,” said Colin. “You dropped off the face of the earth. Didn’t come by the orphanage anymore or sneak out with me for patrols. People were saying Batman went crazy. I thought you just decided you didn’t want to hang out anymore.”

“I—” Damian spooned some rice into mouth. Chewed, swallowed. Colin looked at him throughout, unrelenting. “I didn’t ignore you deliberately. And then after I came back, things were so…”

Colin waved a hand and unwrapped a greasy slice of pizza. He took a bite. “It’s cool, man. You literally just told me you’ve died multiple times. Plural. I can get over my hurt feelings. Seems kind of trivial in comparison.”

Damian frowned and ate some more rice. Colin ate his pizza. Then Damian set his fork down, resolute, grip tight on the handle. As evenly as he could, he said, “I apologize for not being a better friend to you.”

“Whoa.” Colin’s eyebrows shot up. His expression pinched with worry as he searched Damian’s face. “What happened, man?”

Damian swallowed.

Then the door opened again, and an older boy—sixteen or seventeen—peaked inside and asked, “Is this SAT prep?”

“Sure is,” said Daskalakis from the central desk. She stood and indicated Damian and Colin to follow her. “Come in, come in, I’ll set you up right over here.”

Damian stood. “Later,” he said in an undertone. “I’ll explain later. I promise.”

“Okay,” Colin agreed. “But if you disappear on me again, this time I know where you go to school, so there’s no use hiding.”

“Have you known me to ever hide from anything?”

Colin smirked and said nothing.

Damian’s face felt suddenly warm. “Shut up,” he said. “We have work to do.”

•

Surprisingly, tutoring his fellow students was not the disaster he thought it would be. There was some initial skepticism from the upperclassmen about being tutored by a fourteen-year-old, but after Daskalakis declared him “a genius prodigy or something, according to Yanez,” that eventually quieted. It helped that though the PSAT and SAT problems and questions were simple enough, the wording and specificity grated on him, and soon he was insulting the intelligence of the College Board and standardized tests in general. That endeared him to the upperclassmen, and afterward the rest of the lunch hour passed without trouble.

Colin sidled up next to Damian as he gathered his materials to leave and showed him a crumpled-up piece of paper. “What’s your next class?” he asked. It was his schedule.

“Physical education,” said Damian. He had already memorized his own.

“Oh, really? Sweet. Me, too. We’ll go to PE together. I met Coach Freeman at the orientation. I think you’ll like her. What about after?”

Damian listed off his afternoon classes: physical education, then biology, then ancient rhetorics, and ending with a free study period. They shared no core classes, only homeroom, lunch, and physical education. Colin teased him for taking the honors track, and Damian started to complain that the classes were not interesting let alone challenging. But then he got sidetracked by wondering why Colin was somehow not in the honors track but still Daskalakis’s assistant for community tutoring (which, Damian insisted, was a dumb idea for punishments and an even dumber name). Colin laughed and explained he mostly helped with the younger kids. He said he was good with them, thanks to all the practice he’d had helping the nuns wrangle traumatized orphans and foster kids while growing up in the orphanage.

“After all that, spoiled rich kids are easy,” Colin said. He nudged Damian in the ribs. “It’s why we’re friends.”

“I thought that was because we both liked beating up on creeps a little too much,” said Damian, wry.

Colin grinned, and for a moment his face seemed to take on the grisly severity of Abuse—Venom-distorted and menacing. “That too.”

Physical education—“Just call it PE, dude,” Colin said—was a bore, more than Damian had anticipated. After changing into their gym uniforms and the requisite round of introductions, Coach Freeman set them on an obstacle course made up of rubber tires and colorful ropes. Damian was not impressed. But he remembered what his Father had said about damaging school property and refrained from destroying the so-called obstacles as he passed his struggling classmates and returned to Coach Freeman.

“What now?” he asked. To his frustration, he had hardly broken a sweat.

“Excuse me,” said Freeman. “Why aren’t you on the course?”

“I’ve finished it.”

“You’ve finished it?” Freeman checked the stopwatch hanging from her neck. “In slightly under six minutes? I don’t think so. Did you take a shortcut?”

“No,” said Damian. “It was easy.”

“Right. Well, if it was so easy, then hop to it. Do it again,” she said. “And this time, I’ll be watching you.”

“Weren’t you already supposed to be doing that?” asked Damian, but he did not argue further and restarted the course. It was better than doing nothing and standing around like an invalid, anyway.

This time he forced himself to go slower, aware he had done something abnormal. But it wasn’t his fault he was above this child’s play. He jogged the 100 meters to the start of course, climbed up the wooden incline, jumped down, belly-crawled under the mesh ropes, alternated jumps between tires then between wooden slats, climbed the rope to ring a bell, balanced across the too-wide beams, swung from bar to bar, and finished off by climbing over three wooden walls of increasing height. At the last wall, he paused and pulled a girl who had been struggling for the last two minutes up and over. Then he jumped down and high-fived Colin, who had finished his first runthrough. Going slower had forced him to focus the strain on his muscles, and the burn in his body and clarity of mind was starting to feel comforting and familiar.

He jogged back to Coach Freeman. “Shall I go again?”

She clicked her stopwatch and stared at it. Then she stared at him. “Slightly under eight minutes,” she said. “What’s your name, son?”

“I’m not your son.” He crossed his arms. “And name’s Damian. Damian Wayne.”

“Wayne, huh?” Freeman grinned. “Well, Mr. Wayne, Gotham Academy’s happy to have you. What’s your poison?”

“Pardon?”

“Your sport, Mr. Wayne. Your sport. Everyone’s got one. And if you don’t, not to worry. The Academy’s got a team for everything. You’ll be attending the end-of-day assembly, correct?”

“It is mandatory,” said Damian.

“Perfect,” said Freeman. “The main teams will be doing showcases there. Scope them out, see what you think. General tryouts are in two weeks, and I expect to see you there.”

Damian grimaced. “Do you now.”

Freeman nodded. “Sure do.” Then her attention drifted; her nose scrunched, she blew her whistle and screamed across the field, “You two, under the mesh! Keep your hands to yourselves! No one needs to see all that!”

•

The rest of the day passed quickly. He ran the course twice more, for the hell of it, alternating between pausing to help a classmate over a particularly difficult hurdle or shouting at them to hurry the hell up so Damian could finish already. He got used to the rhythm of it, the formula of general teacher attention interspersed with student social-play. By Ancient Rhetorics, he was an old hat at describing his incredibly fun island adventure halfway across the world and not scowling whenever anyone bemoaned their envy at the life of a rich socialite without responsibilities or true problems. He had even managed to hold a few short conversations with two or three of his classmates, though for the life of him he could not remember their names. A day of nothing but introductions had thoroughly fried his brain and prevented him from retaining anything more complicated than Jessica—because there did seem to be an awful lot of Jessicas.

His phone buzzed as the early bell rang and he merged into the streaming crowd of students heading for the auditorium for the back-to-school assembly.

It was a message from his Father:

Dinner tonight.

He frowned and tapped out a quick reply.

“Hey, Damian, over here!”

Damian looked up. Across the auditorium, Colin was surrounded by a group of teenagers and waving him over. Damian approached, pocketing his phone as he went. Then he paused and groaned when he recognized the small girl with yellow hair ribbons hovering excitedly between Colin and another group of older-looking students.

Fuck it. Damian ducked behind some large boys in jerseys and helmets—not hiding, per se, just utilizing his extensive array of evasive maneuvers to achieve a desired outcome—but it was too late. She had already spotted him.

“Oh my crap! Damian! You’re here?!”

Damian sighed and accepted his fate. With as much dignity as he had left, he emerged from behind the football team.

“Of course you two know each other,” he muttered.

“Huh?” said Colin.

“It is you!” exclaimed Maps Mizoguchi. “Olive, look who it is!”

From the group of older students, a girl with platinum blonde hair glanced over and, seeing Damian, scowled. “Oh,” said Olive Silverlock. “I did hear a Wayne was coming to Gotham Academy. Weren’t you expelled already?”

“You’ll find I’m hard to get rid of, Silverlock,” said Damian.

“Yanez is a softie, of course she let you back in,” continued Olive, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Hammerhead would’ve rather died.”

“You guys know each other?” asked Colin, looking concerned and glancing between them.

“No,” said Damian and Olive, at the same time Maps said, “Heck yeah! We’re all friends!”

“Doth mine ears deceive me? Did I hear Wayne—as in billionaire, more-money-than-I-would-know-what-to-with, bordering-on-unethical-wealth Wayne?” An older boy with sunglasses popped up behind Damian and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Good sir, might I interest you in—”

“Remove yourself from my person at once before I break your arm.”

The boy held up his hands and stepped away. “Got it, got it. No touchy. I can respect that,” he said. “So, Wayne, how do you feel about acquiring some fireworks for your own personal mischief?” He tilted his sunglasses down, conspiratorially. “At a discounted price, of course. Us trouble-makers have to stick together, y’know.”

“Quit it, Colton,” snapped Olive.

“Yeah,” laughed Colin. “That was Damian being nice.”

“You associate with these people?” Damian asked.

Colin shrugged. “I’m a part-time member of the Detectives Club.”

“Pizza club,” corrected Maps.

“The what.”

“Nerd club that solves school mysteries and shit,” said a girl from Colin’s group of younger students. She waved. “Hey, I’m Jess. Nice to meet you.”

Another fucking Jessica.

“Damian,” said Damian, putting up a hand in greeting.

This started another round of introductions and names he immediately deleted from his memory. Who knew Colin was so popular? It was the first day of school; he had not thought it was possible to align yourself with so many friends so quickly unless your name was Dick Grayson.

Slowly, both groups of younger and older students shuffled forward to their seats, helped along by the half-hearted encouragement of manic-looking adults. Somehow, Damian found himself squished between both groups, Colin on one side and Maps on another, as they chatted across him about summer and clubs and the teachers they already hated. Sensing an opportunity Damian told them of his run-in with Headmaster Hammer that morning, which triggered another round of commiserating laughter and louder complaints about what a hardass Hammerhead was—for they called the headmaster Hammerhead. Olive and Maps were the only ones to defend him, citing his one-man defense of the Academy when Joker had tried to take over the city two years ago.

“So?” said Damian. “Joker’s a bitch. He tries to take over the city all the time. That’s not impressive.”

By which a stuffy-looking blond boy in the row behind them became offended, scoffing, and Damian begrudgingly felt his respect grow for Colin’s friends as they immediately dog-piled on the boy for his shit opinion. Then no one could agree who of the Gotham rogues wasn’t a little bitch. And the argument devolved from there until Olive said Batman was a little bitch, too. Everyone laughed.

The lights dimmed. An off-key note rang out as the school band warmed up, and Headmaster Hammer and Principal Yanez stepped on stage.

Slowly in fits and starts, the auditorium quieted, and the assembly began.

next ->

[edtozier89]

 The One Who Holds You Owns Your Bones

You could say that this all started when Richie's teacher discussed rightless omegas. You could also say this started the day Richie presented as an alpha. ~ In a world where omegas are sentenced to rightlessness instead of prison, Richie is willing to do anything to keep Eddie by his side.

Read on Ao3

Richie really liked being an alpha. And it hadn’t been a shock to anyone when, on his 13th, Richie presented as one. For some people, it wasn’t obvious which second gender they’d present, as for him, it had been as clear as day since he was a little kid. He wasn’t complaining, he loved being an alpha. Who wouldn’t love it? Being a male alpha meant that he was the top of the food chain, the best of the best.

It also wasn’t a surprise that Eddie had presented as an omega. Which put him at the opposite end of the food chain, a male omega was nothing to aspire to be. Eddie Kaspbrak was the only male omega in Derry - and one of the few omegas overall. Over the years he had started to become accustomed to it. But Richie knew that he still wished to be, well, anything else.

Even if Eddie didn’t like being an omega, Richie loved it. He loved that Eddie was an omega because after all, weren’t omegas designed for alphas? They were made for each.

He could still clearly remember how he had gone to Eddie’s house early on his 13th birthday only to find him sobbing silently in his bed. He had refused to go to the party their friends had set up. He’d begged Richie not to make him go. Richie hadn’t, instead he climbed into bed with Eddie and let him cry. But the idea of ordering Eddie never left his mind. Yes, he had acted on it but only ever in little ways. Like getting Eddie to get him a drink or to cuddle with him.

Sure, he’d set certain rules and such. But never had Richie ordered Eddie to do something he knew that Eddie wouldn’t like. Why would he? No, Eddie didn’t mind their dynamic.

One of the best features of Eddie being an omega were the outdated laws that surrounded society. There were protests and groups trying to change how omegas were treated, and Richie didn’t exactly disagree with them. Sure, he didn’t think that omegas deserved some of the shit they went through. But, then again, if omegas were granted the same rights as betas or alphas, then Richie and Eddie wouldn’t have been able to do a lot of the things they had already done.

Like how people couldn’t legally mate-mark until they were eighteen. Unless it was an alpha and omega pair. Which dropped the age of the youngest partner down to sixteen. Which was exactly what happened with Richie and Eddie. God, Richie could still remember Bill’s horrified face when the two of them had walked into his house on Eddie’s 16th. How all of the Losers had yelled at Richie while Eddie had just shrugged and said that he was fine with it.

If the protesters had gotten their way, Eddie and Richie would have had to wait another two years. Richie could see why the protesters wanted what they wanted, but he and Eddie were perfectly happy.

“See you after class?” Eddie asked, like every week.

Richie kissed his forehead. “I’ll come and get you.”

The two of them were standing outside of Eddie’s class. That was one downside to them presenting; they had different second-gender classes. Every Thursday for two hours. It had always been so funny watching Eddie get flustered as the teacher talked about sex and reproduction when they were twelve. But now, at seventeen, Richie had to drop Eddie off and then go to his alpha class like he had been doing since they were fourteen.

He’d always wondered what went on in the omega’s room. There were only twenty omegas across all the school years which meant they all shared a class. That was versus the twenty-odd alphas in Richie’s class. The three alpha Losers, himself Bill and Bev, all had different classes and had done every year. Something about the school not wanting to put alphas of the same ‘pack’ in the same alpha class.

Richie hadn’t really paid attention when he was told. Too busy slightly panicking about the fact that he and Eddie would be on opposite sides of the school. Sure, he understood that they were far away for the omegas protection and he liked that a lot - but he still didn’t feel comfortable being so far away from Eddie. He was fourteen, his hormones were wild and demanding that he protect Eddie, it had been a big deal. Beverly had called him psychotic.

“Rich?”

“What?”

“I said that you’re going to be late.”

“Probably,” Richie shrugged. Eddie rolled his eyes, one of the younger omegas walking into the classroom. The omegas always watched them. Eddie had once said they were jealous of the two of them. Richie found it cute. “Teach doesn’t give to shits, he’s got bigger problems to deal with.”

Eddie laughed, “alphas.” Richie pinched his side causing him to laugh again. “Well, my teacher does care if I’m late so go. I’ll see you after class.”

“Love you.”

“I love you too.”

Another omega waved at Eddie, causing Eddie to give Richie’s hand one last squeeze before he took off after her. Richie waited until he couldn’t see Eddie anymore. Their omega teacher, and the security guard down the hall, would keep him safe until Richie could get back to him. He’d be fine. They’d talk about how omegas actually do deserve respect and how they make babies and then class would be over and they could head to maths together.

“Settle down please,” the teacher ordered as Richie walked into the room. The teacher, a dick of a man, looked over to him. “Ah, Richard, I thought you weren’t gracing us with your presence today.”

“Had to go and woo the omega’s teacher. You know how it is.”

“Sure.”

Giving a little mock salute, Richie went and sat down at the back of the room. Richie almost never listened in his alpha class. It was the same shit every year: don’t abuse your mate, don’t knock an omega up, this is your rut, this is a heat, as alpha your job is to look after your mate and pack. Boring shit. He knew how to be a part of a pack, he was in one. He knew what a rut was, he had them. And he was the only alpha in the class who knew how to handle a mate because he was the only one who had one. Besides, the omegas got lessons on alphas as well, and Eddie always paid attention to this kind of shit.

“We finished reproduction last week-” a few of the students hooted “-thank you. So this week we’re doing a one-off lesson. We’re going to be talking about a rightless omega.”

Richie’s attention perked up. This had never been covered before. He only knew the very basics, it was when an omega did something illegal or some shit like that. And it wasn’t something that was talked about in society. Taboo or whatever. He also knew that some people were super opposed to the whole idea. Perhaps Richie would actually listen to what his teacher was saying.

“Hopefully this isn’t something that any of you have to experience in your life, as it is not something that any person - omega or alpha - aspires to. Does anyone know what a rightless omega is?”

A few kids put their hands up. Richie didn’t.

“Isn’t it when an omega breaks a law. And, if they’re mated, they don’t go to prison.”

“Sort of,” the teacher nodded. “It’s when an alpha-mated omega breaks the law and their alpha chooses to keep them instead of sending them to prison. It was a lot more common before I was born, but now that omega-rights are becoming a talking point a lot of alphas chose to send their omegas to prison instead. But, it does happen, that an alpha chooses to keep their omega rightless. When this happens, as the name suggests, all rights granted to the omega class get stripped from the particular omega for a certain amount of time.”

Richie was actively listening now. He had never thought about Eddie like that. With no rights, completely dependent on him. It was interesting, to say the least. He had to wonder how Eddie would respond. Would he become submissive to Richie quickly or would he fight it every step of the way? Honestly, Richie could imagine either.

He doubted that Eddie would ever do something illegal so he couldn’t think of a time that he had thought about it. Eddie wasn’t exactly the kind to go and murder a dude. But the questions sat at the back of his mind. Would Eddie rather go to the prison or stay with Richie? He must prefer to stay. It wasn’t like Richie was an alpha-supremacist or anything, he wouldn’t abuse Eddie just because he could.

“So they’re like a kid?” A girl that had once spat on Bev asked.

Their teacher shook his head. “Worse than that. They have zero rights. Their alpha could kill them and the alpha would be protected under law. A rightless omega isn’t allowed to go outside by herself without permission. The alpha has complete control over their mate. On the flip side, they have to do everything outside the home for their omega.”

“Why?” Some kid called out.

“Why what?”

The kid shrugged, “why would an alpha choose to keep their omega? Sounds like a lot of work.”

“Who doesn’t want complete control over someone?” One of the doucheir alphas answered.

“It’s not just sexual control,” their teacher replied and a few of the students giggled. “As alphas, you're prone to that side of things, yes. But this is a commitment that extends beyond the bedroom. Your omega wouldn’t be able to go grocery shopping without a written note explaining that they have permission. That’s a lot of work on your head.”

The first kid called out again, “so why would anyone choose that?”

“Yeah,” another one called. “I couldn’t imagine having to deal with all that just to keep an omega.”

Richie made a face to himself as the kid talked. It was painfully obvious that no one else in this class was mated to anyone. They had no idea what it was like. Richie loved Eddie, their entire lives he had loved the boy to pieces, but when they had mated it was something different. There was more to it that the kids in his class couldn’t understand. The love had shifted into something so much more potent.

“Richard,” the teacher called, gesturing to him. “You’re the only one in here with an omega mate. And clearly you have thoughts on the matter, judging by your face right now. Would you choose to keep Mr Kaspbrak as a rightless omega or send him to prison?”

This was something Richie hated about this class. His teacher always asked his opinion on topics because he had already mated an omega. It was really fucking annoying. He shrugged and answered solely because Eddie didn’t like it very much when he acted up. He answered truthfully as well. No point in lying. “I’d keep him.”

Read more on Ao3

[reggiedonovan]

The Bits, but not ‘those’ bits...

PART 1: THE BASICS

What is your full name? Reginald Alan Donovan

Where and when were you born? In Belfast, Ireland. Somewhere in the late nineties or whatever.

What is your occupation? I see dead people. Communer of the dead or what have ya, a Medium; for all you ‘particular’ folks out there.

Are you right- or left-handed? Lefty Lucy.

What does your voice sound like? It sounds a bit like, like heavenly angels sent from above. You know? Kind of like, if the Lord’s wee lit’le angels were foul mouthed lit’le bastards who were devilishly good lookin’ but not proper speakers and all that nonsense.

What words and/or phrases do you use very frequently? Twat. ‘Cause it’s very short and get’s the point across.Tit, comes in handy every now and again, as well. Also, fuck, fuckin’, fucker, fuckery. It’s one of them words that can be used for everything. Kinda like them Swiss army knives, with all the lit’le gadgets.

PART 2: GROWING UP

How would you describe your childhood in general? It was swell for a bout ten years, well... I suppose that really depends on how ya categorize swell. Oh, who am I kiddin’ it was alright, I guess. Until me mum and dad split and he skipped out on us. It was all kind of bollocks from then onwards, if I’m bein’ entirely honest. 

What is your earliest memory? Walkin’ in on me dad fuckin’ his mate’s wife at their child’s fifth birthday party. 

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up? An astronaut. I fancied it for the whole skippin’ and a hoppin’ on the moon thing, and the whole Vader voice thing just sort of tied the whole thing full circle.

As a child, what were your favorite activities? Those moments in between the activities me mum had me doin’ to fill in the time, when I could just lay about doin’ absolutely nothin’.

When and with whom was your first kiss? Sandra McDough, she was a year older than I was and she was always goin’ on about how she was goin’ to be the last girl in her class to kiss a boy. Dronin’ on and on. I mean, I was about to cut off me ears if I had to listen to her whine about it a second longer. So, I kissed her. Flat out. Right there in the pews, as her class was filin’ out. I was six, she was seven. It stopped her whinin’ and was the first time a girl ever slapped my beautiful face. An introductory lesson into the female world.

Are you a virgin? If not, when and with whom did you lose your virginity? God no. Well, tossin’ aside that whole... thing with the priest or whatever, I lost it to one of my mum’s friends. Not exactly one of her close friends, but whatever. She was in the middle of a muddy divorce, I'd just turned about 14, or so, and a couple of drinks in and well... you get the idea. In hindsight, I probably should’ve trimmed my hair a bit. She was a bit grabby.

PART 3: PAST INFLUENCES

What do you consider the most important event of your life so far? I suppose the moment, Elizabeth died. She’s the only person, I’ve never been able to talk with who died.

Do you have a criminal record of any kind? Well, that depends on your definition of, criminal. 

What is the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to you? I could write a book on the many embarrassin’ things that have happened to me. Trust me, you don’t wanna read that book.

If you could change one thing from your past, what would it be, and why? Elizabeth dyin’. ‘Cause I never got the chance to ask her to marry me. Sometimes I think... perhaps, in a parallel universe, we’re doin’ the whole family thing. Married and arguin’ and doin’ the whole normal life thing. But in our own fucked up interpretations of what those lives would look like. 

What is your best memory? The first time I took so many drugs that I nearly saw Elizabeth.

What is your worst memory? My dad leavin’ us. Things were never alright with me mum after that.

PART 4: BELIEFS & OPINIONS

What are your religious views? I don’t know if I believe in the whole, one god up in the sky, and all that nonsense. But, seein’ as how I’ve been able to see the dead since I was but a wee lit’le lad, I guess that means, somethin’s out there. 

What are your political views? Just let the people do what they want, so long as it’s not fuckin’ with other people’s rights or forcin’ someone into doin’ somethin’ they don’t want to do.

What are your views on sex? All’s a go, as long as all parties consent. Just, broaden your horizons. Toys. Whips. Whatever. Don’t knock it till ya try it, I always say.

In your opinion, what is the most evil thing any human being could do? Besides murderin’ someone for no reason, probably takin’ advantage of someone sexually. 

Do you believe in the existence of soul mates and/or true love? Sure, but at the end of the day, it’s practically a roll of the dice. 

Who or what, if anything, would you die for (or otherwise go to extremes for)? My half sisters on me mum’s side, if I knew where my aunt moved to. 

PART 5: RELATIONSHIPS W/OTHERS

Have you ever been in love? If so, describe what happened. Yes. They died.

What do you look for in a potential lover? Someone to be a twat with, who won’t take the entire world seriously.

Do you trust anyone to protect you? Who, and why? Not so much anymore. ‘Cause ya can’t depend on people.

If you died or went missing, who would miss you? That there is the million dollar question. I’d like to think someone, somewhere out there would miss me. But, who the fuck really knows?

Do you like interacting with large groups of people? Why or why not? Sure, man. Loads of people, means; happy fuckin’ times. I was never really good at the whole maths thing, but that equals a fuckin’ party to me.

Do you care what others think of you? Eh, not really, no. Who has time to worry ‘bout what other people are thinkin’? I mean, honestly. It seems like a whole lot of time wasted on fucks you probably wouldn’t hang round if the world were endin’. Besides, I get exhausted havin’ me own thoughts.

PART 6: LIKES & DISLIKES

What is your idea of good entertainment (consider music, movies, art, etc.)? Toss all that together with some hallucinogenic drugs and I say that’s time spent well.

Do you smoke, drink, or use drugs? If so, why? Do you want to quit? Oh, yeah. ‘Cause it’s fuckin’ amazin’. Not really, no.

What, if anything, shocks or offends you? I don’t know, I think I’ve just gotten numb to the whole thing. Ya know? Once you’ve gone through life and gone through some shit, you basically feel like: “Okay, you can survive this.” Then somethin’ worse happens and ya just deal with it when it comes. But nothin’ generally comes to mind.

What would you do if you had insomnia and had to find something to do to amuse yourself? Probably pop a random pill, just to see what would happen. Kind of like an experiment. 

How do you deal with stress? The ol’ Mary Jane. Or some other tie to the illegal family of substances.

Are you spontaneous, or do you always need to have a plan? Spontaneous till the day I die.

PART 7: SELF IMAGES & OTHER

Name three things you consider yourself to be very good at, and three things you consider yourself to be very bad at. I’m putting’ a pin in this.

Do you like yourself? Sometimes.

If you could choose, how would you want to die? Whatever way is the least painful.

If you knew you were going to die in 24 hours, name three things you would do in the time you had left. First off, I’d want to do every flavor from Ben and Jerry’s. Since I’ve never had all the flavors before. Second, I’d want to go back to Ireland and punch that old priest. Lastly, I’d probably shag a stewardess on the way back. I’ve always wanted to join that mile-high club.

What is the one thing for which you would most like to be remembered after your death? Reg, he partied like a proper rock star. God rest his soul. There shall never be another shag quite like him. His curls shall live on.

What three words would others probably use to describe you? Erratic, Eccentric, Lively.

[stuffedeggplants]

Book tag game! List the books you’ve read in the past year, your favorites, least favorites, most disappointing, etc.

As usual, anyone is welcome to do this. I don’t want to tag anyone in case they’d rather be left alone for personal reasons. 

Favorites:

Batavia’s Graveyard by Mike Dash focuses on a mutiny aboard a 17th century Dutch East India Company ship which wrecks off the coast of Australia. The instigator was an incredibly sadistic, cruel, and manipulative person who carries out/personally orders a lot of terrible things. The author weaves in translated journals/reports from survivors, court testimony, and goes into a lot of interesting background on various aspects of Dutch society at the time so that you can better understand the context all these people live and move in.

A Ride to Khiva was written in 1876 by Frederick Burnaby, a captain in the British army. It recounts his attempt the prior year to travel from St. Petersburg to illegally enter the Khanate of Khiva (roughly part of modern Turkmenistan and Uzbekistan) as part of the conflict between the British Empire and Russian Empire in Central Asia. I minored in history and have always been interested in it, so I love reading historical memoirs and first-hand accounts of people from the past and just seeing how they understand the world around them. The author of this book has a lot to say about the political issues of the day and makes a lot of cultural observations, both of which are very interesting to read from a modern day perspective. (I think early on in the trip, he’s sitting on a train next to an Indian man who tells him that Indian independence is inevitable someday. I wanted to go back in time to triumphantly tell this guy that he was right, but felt a little sad at the same time because he likely didn’t live to see his people finally win that ~70 years later.) 

A Deepness in the Sky by Vernor Vinge. This one didn’t initially grab me, but once I passed a certain point I was hooked and couldn’t put the book down. The background and story itself was plenty interesting, but the themes, ideas, conflicts, and the way characters were humanized were are all great. 

Most Disappointing:

Dichronauts by Greg Egan. The concept was interesting, but the book’s primary purpose was clearly to explore what things are like on a hyperbola-shaped world with altered laws of physics. (The author actually has a whole website explaining the math behind the idea.) Egan clearly had plenty of ideas that could’ve been developed into a compelling story, but he never goes far enough with them. The book wasn’t bad, it was just disappointing because I was expecting more of something else while the author himself was obviously more interested in exploring mechanical/physics problems. 

Semiosis by Sue Burke starts off really interesting, but then something happens part-way through the book which I felt led to a series of cop-outs that made me uninterested in reading the sequels and killed what was so intriguing about the book itself. The premise is that Earth colonists arrive on an “uninhabited” planet where it turns out that plants are the dominant form of life and sentient, and for that I’d say it’s worth checking out. I don’t regret reading it, but this is in the ‘disappointing’ category for a reason. 

Heirs to Forgotten Kingdoms: Journeys Into the Disappearing Religions of the Middle East by Gerard Russell is only in this category because I was unable to prevent myself from wanting a comprehensive, more academic perspective coming from someone with a history and/or religious studies background. The author is very clear right from the outset that he’s a British diplomat who speaks Farsi and Dari, and the book is the result of years of his own travels and investigations and speaking with people from the communities he profiles. It’s quite interesting and valuable but by the end of the book I felt a little let down that he wasn’t somebody who could give me the perspective I wanted. By the end I’d had several moments where I questioned why he failed to notice or bring up certain things (like more historical context or tie-ins with related cultures and religions, whatever) that I noticed because of my own experience and background, but that’s entirely on me because the author was, like I said, very clear about his own background so I shouldn’t have expected anything else.

--

The books I read are below the cut.

Shipwreck genre [non-fiction]

Island of the Lost – Joan Druett

Skeletons on the Zahara – Dean King

Batavia’s Graveyard – Mike Dash

Science Fiction and Fantasy

All Systems Red – Martha Wells

Artificial Condition – Martha Wells

Dichronauts – Greg Egan

A Deepness in the Sky – Vernor Vinge

A Fire Upon the Deep – Vernor Vinge

The Children of the Sky – Vernor Vinge

Stories of Your Life and Others – Ted Chiang

Empire of Sand – Tasha Suri

Rosewater – Tade Thompson

Semiosis – Sue Burke

The Cloven – Brian Catling

Fiction

Numero Zero – Umberto Eco

History-related [non-fiction]

A Ride to Khiva – Frederick Burnaby

The Horse, the Wheel, and Language – David W. Anthony

Heirs to Forgotten Kingdoms: Journeys Into the Disappearing Religions of the Middle East – Gerard Russell

Who We Are and How We Got Here: Ancient DNA and the New Science of the Human Past – David Reich  

Ten Restaurants that Changed America – Paul Freedman

The Billion Dollar Spy – David E. Hoffman

12 Strong – Doug Stanton

Where the Jews Aren't: The Sad and Absurd Story of Birobidzhan, Russia's Jewish Autonomous Region – Masha Gessen

 To Finish

One Part Woman – Perumal Murugan

This Kind of War: A Study in Unpreparedness – T.R. Fehrenbach

Hard Contact – Karen Traviss

Cadillac Desert: The American West and Its Disappearing Water – Marc Reisner

[in-tua-deep]

While genetically the Boy and Five are the same there has to be an aspect of nature vs nurture. So how do the two differ? Does the Boy want his own name and not simply a gender or does he want a name to symbolize becoming part of a family? Do the two of them react to situations differently? I love this AU so much and I need more!

(for more commission boy au/clone five au check out the previous posts on it one, two, three, four, five)

oh absolutely they’re as different as they are similar - even identical twins raised together are different people, after all! And that’s identical genes (like Five and Boy share) and similar upbringings ;3c

they’re both traumatized in very different ways (with overlapping similarities, like both of them don’t trust strangers/adults they don’t know as they’re both used to adults only wanting to use them/cause them pain)

Five is fucked up about the apocalypse. Fucked. Up. He still has minor meltdowns over what if the apocalypse happens today despite them having stopped it. Probability maps are scrawled across the walls in whatever was closest at hand when Five’s brain went into meltdown mode

The Boy doesn’t use math as a crutch like Five does (or as a way of keeping his mind busy, or as a self soothing habit, or anything else) because he wasn’t allowed to write on,, pretty much anything. He had to give verbal reports. After Five’s whole “hide my equations and plans from the commission by writing them in secret in a book” thing, they didn’t trust the Boy with any kind of planning materials. The only reason he knows how to write is because he pretty much taught himself, tracing letters with his fingers in the dust or on steam covered mirrors tbh

(his handwriting is. atrocious. borderline illegible. he really struggles writing with a pen or pencil but can fingerpaint letters/numbers just find. it’s a work in progress and on god five is going to get his little clone as fast as five himself is at writing shit on walls)

the Boy is still a little math prodigy but he’s only done enormous mental equations, which he is very good at!! but it’s definitely limited him (so he wasn’t capable of doing the complex time equations that Five figured out)

The Boy and Five present their nerves about new situations very differently - the Boy goes small and quiet and anxious whereas Five deals with it by going on the aggressive and yelling. This is because the Boy is way more afraid of punishment/rejection than Five is and is more unsure of his position in the family and his default is “obey, do what they say regardless of how you feel just power through it or face the consequences”. 

Meanwhile Five’s default was ‘rebel, yell, bring attention to himself because if the spotlight was on him then it was off his siblings’ which is depressing in its own way. The Boy didn’t have siblings to protect, he was alone. Five himself probably wouldn’t have drawn attention to himself if there wasn’t anyone to protect, but there was and he did. He bristles like an offended cat and yells

(but tbh, Five doesn’t actually expect anyone to actually listen to him. both him and the boy learned a long, long time ago that their opinions didn’t matter to the adults, that they might as well not be saying anything at all. The Boy went quiet. Five got louder.)

The Boy is definitely more willing to embrace childish things than Five is, because Five feels he has to protect his reputation and prove that he isn’t a kid 

and if there’s some residual trauma there of children vs. adults where Five is fairly convinced that status as an adult offers him some measure of protection against people like Reginald and the Handler, there’s always that. But Five is also probably more willing to be one of “the children” if that means the Boy isn’t alone as the only child because Five’s “protect” instincts overpower his “self preservation” instincts tbh

the Boy is really enthusiastic about things when he thinks he allowed to be (so basically when he’s around Five bc he sees Five as an ally - though he’s getting better around the other siblings without five as a buffer)

his favorite movie is lilo and stitch no you can’t change my mind. it’s the movie he plays constantly as a comfort thing that he never gets tried of. If this was in the era of VHS he would have worn out the tape. Why??? because the boy points at the screen and is like “!! i’m an experiment as well!” and then watches this little blue alien find a family for himself and he’s like “it me!”

…does that make Five the Lilo in this?? possibly. Allison says that it’s more like the Boy is Lilo and Five is Stitch considering Five is the chaos gremlin between the two of them but whatever

(“This is my family. I found it, all by myself. It’s little, and broken, but still good. Yeah, still good.”)

I keep wanting to say the Boy is more skittish than Five but that’s?? not quite true? they’re both skittish and don’t trust easily and cling to the idea of family but in different ways idk like the end goal is the same but they take very different paths to it u know what i mean?

i think the Boy probably does eventually get a different name. Maybe not a name-name since the Boy’s idea of what a name is?? is kind of skewed? like his fav character is Stitch and his brother is Five and he was raised by someone names the Handler like this kid was never gonna have a normal name let’s be real

honestly he probably ends up stuck with something like. Kiddo. Because i HIGHLY doubt the family actually calls him ‘boy’ and in absence of an actual name to call him by end up with nicknames and to differentiate him from Five “Old Man” Hargreeves they probably call him kid and kiddo

i’m thinking about differences and similarities between them again hmm

Five is definitely more assertive?? Five can read the Boy really well (and vice versa) and tends to act as the Boy’s spokesperson when the Boy isn’t comfortable or something. Usually it’s just Five cutting in abruptly like “back off idiot he wants a ham and cheese sandwich not whatever the fuck that is”

the Boy is more likely to approach an issue with violence whereas Five tends to swear and yell and threaten as a first step. Where’s that one meme?? the Boy is “stabs without warning” and Five is “warns (loudly) before stabbing” 

the Boy is arguably more deadly than Five since he’s been trained in assassination since basically infancy where Five was taught to be a hero which are arguably very different skillsets (the Boy was never taught about minimizing casualties or saving anyone rip) BUT Five is more experienced and has arguably more creativity than the Boy. 

Five is a lot more playful in his fighting because he was because when he was little, fighting was playing. That’s how Five and the other umbrella academy kids bonded - by beating the tar out of one another and outdoing each other. They showed off for each other. The Boy is more straight forward because to him, fighting is a job to get over with as soon as possible

ironically it’s five who has to teach the boy to play, and not the other way around. Jump Tag is a favorite between the two where they just zoom through the house trying to catch each other - Five is a lot better at jumping than the Boy since the Boy wasn’t permitted outside of missions and training, but he’s catching up quick (after all, Five did take a brief 45 year hiatus because his powers burned too many calories in the apocalypse, but it’s a bit like riding a bike in that he never forgot)

even so Five is NOT the person to teach others to play because his childhood was messed up as all fuck

so it’s probably claire that really teaches them how to play

Claire is a well adjusted kid whose confidence, unlike Five’s, is not faked. She has adults she knows, loves, and relies upon. She has healthy relationships with peers. She goes to public school and knows and is friendly with a lot of different people. 

So this like, 8-year-old walks in and meets her two skittish emotionally immature uncles (cousin? depends on if they consider the boy to be five’s brother or son) who don’t know fuck all about anything and is like “ah yes. i am your big sister now. i am in charge here.”

and while Five at least rails against the “big sister” charge, neither of them really protest Claire taking charge?? they’re both very willing to follow along behind her tbh neither of them are leadership material and they both know it. they’re probably both very protective of her

if claire is ever bullied god help whoever chose to pick on her bc Five is absolutely willing to maul a middleschooler and the Boy would be right behind him

well i mean. Five is a follower but he’s a little bitch about it, you know? like he’s willing to go with whatever but also if it’s a dumb idea then fuck you. So he’s confrontational with his siblings but if they were ever like “okay then five you take charge” he would be like “oh no. nuh uh. i’m not taking responsibility over all you idiots my blood pressure would go through the ROOF.”

Five loudly declares that Claire is way more sensible and sane than any of the rest of his family so she’s the only one he’ll take real orders from.

(and then Grace walks in and Five will absolutely listen to her as well and not just because the Boy is lowkey scared of Grace and Five is trying to set a good example - as much as he’s capable of setting a good example)

i feel like i’ve talked about their different issues with food, where Five hoards, is food aggressive, and will eat everything whereas the Boy is used to bland nutrition bars and sludge with everything he needs for the day so his issues are more him not knowing what the fuck anything is, being iffy about any strong tasting foods/spices, struggling with eating outside of allotted food times/getting his own food 

there’s a whole post about their differences in nightmares/how they deal with those floating out there somewhere

their fashion sense definitely differs in their own ways? The Boy accepts anything he’s given with no questions and has no style of his own where Five tends towards what Klaus calls “hobo chic” in that he discards clothes he deems not useful to survival. You won’t catch Five in ripped jeans or tight pants that restrict mobility (though admittedly tight restrictive clothing would make the Boy uncomfortable as well but he’ll wear what he’s given with no questions)

both boys struggle with capitalism in that there’s Way Too Many Options for things that are dumb. It’s really overwhelming for them both when they’re sent to the store for like, toothpaste and have to enter an aisle with a bajillion different options for one (1) whole thing

OH the Boy doesn’t shoplift. Five frequently shoplifts because his idea of possessions are “it’s in my hand or in my claimed space/room/etc. it’s mine” regardless of the passage of money whereas the Boy’s idea of possessions is “nothing belongs to me ever” and they’re still working on both of those things

they’re both kind of wary around animals because neither are used to them or know what to expect from them. Mr. Pennycrumb is a therapy dog and no one can convince me otherwise and both boys are instantly smitten with him (but they’re still kind of iffy around like. big dogs that bark. or horses. fuck horses they’re scary motherfuckers.)

the Boy doesn’t like bugs very much after living in the very sterile Commission science rooms but Five will literally pop a wolf spider in his mouth for a snack so yEAH they both have. very different perspectives on that. The Boy is absolutely horrified and the first time he witnesses this hides behind Klaus for half a day because what the FUCK FIVE while Five is unapologetic

they protect each other and support each other and figure things out together bless

it’s secretly a very wholesome au behind the horror of the commission cloning five and training a small child to be a murder machine

[maxfieldparrishes]

intro to genevieve, pt. 1

So I saw this post about ABCs of OCs and decided to do it for my OC, Genevieve. I regret nothing. @ocelotsflatass, maybe this might interest you???

A: Aptitude 1. Viv is very verbal, so she’s good with words, texts, communication, writing, analysis--all of that. She studied Foreign Languages and Literature in the DMC world’s equivalent of college or university, so her main role at the DMC shop is primarily research. She was also pretty decent at biology. Loves plants, would have been a good botanist. EDIT, because I can’t believe I forgot to add this: Viv is a witch, and her strongest areas are plant magic and divination.  2. Um... piano?  3. Viv worked hard to be able to play piano as well as she does. Also chemistry and physics kicked her ass in school, but she genuinely enjoys them as subjects because she does like science, so she worked hard to pass them. Especially since they were mandatory subjects. She works on her magic as well.  4. Please don’t ask her to do anything except basic math. Or draw anything, either, but she loves art.   5. Her most impressive talent is being fluent in like 3 languages, especially because one of those three has a different grammatical system and alphabet. She’s conversational in at least 2 more besides those. Also, making plants grow, scrying, cartomancy. She’s pretty handy.

B: Basics 1. Viv is blonde. I’m still deciding on an exact shade.  2. She has blue eyes, darker than Dante and Vergil’s. Pretty dark, actually. Not very pale. Has a dark limbal ring.   3. Viv is 5′4″, or says she is, at least. She’s kind of fine-boned as well. 4. She’s in her mid-to-late 20′s. 5. Don’t you know better than to ask someone how much they weigh? (for the record, though, the answer is “not that much.”)

C: Comfort 1. Sits pretty normally in a chair, but will do whatever is comfortable for her at the moment, no matter what it is--criss-cross or propping her feet up.  2. Viv is a stomach or side sleeper, usually. Prefers to lie on her left side.  3. Her idea of a chill day is a day when she doesn’t have anything to do, so she can get things that she should do done. Snow day? Pajamas. Netflix. Laundry.  4. Anything starchy and salty, really, but she is fond of hot soup, especially matzoh ball.  5. Her parents are the best at cheering her up, mostly because they’ve had the most experience with her, but her best friend/ex-girlfriend Zoe is also fairly good at it. Dante will do his absolute best, even though it’s not something he’s used to, and he is getting better at it. 

D: Decoration 1. Viv’s style is an eclectic mix of boho-modern with classic with crazy plant lady.  2. Viv is very much about the Aesthetic™, so any kid of hers will have a pretty kickass room. Probably green, because it’s gender-neutral. Lots of stuffed animals, and a reading nook, so she can read to her child or sing to them.  3. Her room is covered in books, her furniture is somewhat antique-looking, there are plants everywhere. It’s organized chaos. The walls are a light, neutral color, and the blinds and curtains are almost always open, because she loves natural light. 100% watches HGTV in her free time.  4. Viv is pretty boho, but she also likes a lot of structure in her outfits and her tastes do veer towards classic. It could probably be summarized as “dark academia/The Secret History groupie meets punk meets an extra from Picnic at Hanging Rock.”  5. Depends on the trend. Viv has no qualms about adopting trends, or parts of trends, that she likes and discarding whatever it is she doesn’t. She does like having short nails because they’re easier to keep clean, and does like to paint them even though they chip after two days no matter how many coats she puts on. 

E: External Personality 1. There’s sometimes a split where Viv is acting like her real self, but gets really insecure about it and tries to overcompensate, versus times where she’s pretty comfortable in her own skin. It really depends on how she’s feeling, and who she’s with.  2. Viv is very good at appearing normal, at the very least. There’s a part of her that realizes compromises need to be made and that blending in can be a very useful and powerful thing.  3. She doesn’t feel obligated to follow trends, but will adopt one if it’s something she likes. She could care less if she was hip or not.  4. Viv likes memes, if nothing else? And Vines. RIP Vine.  5. She feels like her own personality changes. She initially comes across as introverted--not necessarily shy, but reserved and focused. It takes some warming up and some time for someone to discover what she’s really like. 

F: Fun 1. Viv likes to read, hike, garden, and watch movies. She’s big on horror movies, especially supernatural horror movies and psychological thrillers.  2. Ideally it’s something chill and intimate, where there’s a lot of chatter and everyone is close friends. But... she is also not adverse to a rager where there are a ton of drunk people and couples making out in every corner. Something about house parties like those makes her let loose a little. She wouldn’t throw one of them herself, but doesn’t mind going to one. However, once she’s reached her max noise/stimulation threshold, she’s out.  3. Her close friends. She and Zoe, and her previous partners Sonali and Eli, all got up to some shenanigans when they were together.  4. For the most part, the fun Viv likes to have doesn’t really break any laws, but she could definitely be persuaded to do something illegal as long as 1) nobody gets hurt and 2) she doesn’t get arrested.  5. Viv is kind of a homebody, but she does go through periods of intense wanderlust and cabin fever, especially during winter. (She also has a bit of SAD, but that’s neither here nor there)

I’m breaking this up into parts because I hate reading long blocks of text, so hopefully part 2 will come soon!

[yallreddieforthis]

My Summer From Hell: A Tale of Friendship

Fandom: It (2017)

Pairing: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier (minor mentions of Richie’s crush on Eddie)

Rating: T (for language)

Words: 2.9k

Movie canon-compliant.  Also posted on AO3. This is that summer experience essay Richie warned us about.

“Richie Tozier?”

Richie takes a reluctant break from the sick-ass game of MASH: The Wonder Years Edition he’s playing by himself in his algebra notebook to look up at his teacher, who is waving a blue note and glaring expectantly at him.

Blue note. That means Neil wants to see him. Damn, only five days into the school year! New—actually, not a new record. Richie feels like he and the principal should be on a first-name basis by now; Richie’s in his office a lot. He rarely gets punished because most of the things he does toe the line of punishable offenses magnificently—he usually just gets told to stop doing whatever it is he’s doing and then gets sent back to class. If he was down there getting detention every other day, he’d understand what the problem was. But alas, Neil shot down the suggestion of being called Neil right away. So they can only be on a first-name basis in Richie’s head. Too bad.

The Math and Science building is as far away from the Administration building as you can get without leaving Derry Junior High, and Richie takes his time during the walk to Neil’s office, stopping outside the computer lab until Eddie catches sight of him through the window. He makes a gesture that causes Eddie to give him a surreptitious middle finger, hidden from his teacher by the monitor, but his cheeks also bloom cherry red, so Richie counts it as a win because it’s the cutest goddamn thing he’s seen all day. It feels like every other day now Richie’s being hit in the face with how adorable Eddie really is. He’s torn between wanting to pinch his cheeks and kiss him on the mouth, and frankly he’s mostly still straddling the fence on that issue only because he doesn’t want to deal with the answer.

In contrast to having a pretty good idea deep down what direction things are headed in regarding his general feelings about Eddie, Richie has not the slightest clue why he’s being called to the principal’s office the Friday after school started. None of the things he’s done should have been discovered yet. It makes no sense.

Bill is in the computer lab too, and Richie can’t see him from where he’s sitting, so he heads over to the staircase at the end of the hall. Pausing to make sure no teachers are lurking around to give him shit for it, he sits down at the top of the railing and slides down. Actually, he slides about a fourth of the way down before falling off and sort of rolling the rest of the way, but no one saw that so it still counts as a success.

He walks past the yard to watch Stan and Ben running the mile in P.E. Stan is fucking booking it, and Richie dawdles long enough to figure out that he’s a lap ahead of everyone else. Running away from Bowers for a few years will do that to ya. Well, at least it will if you’re Stan. Richie still can’t run an 8 minute mile, so his P.E. grade has stagnated at a B-.

Richie stops in the middle of the hallway in the Language Arts Building, glancing into Mr. Tremblay’s French 1 class. Bev was planning on taking that this year, and she’d be in there if she hadn’t moved to Portland. Sometimes—and Richie hates thinking about this because there’s no use in dwelling on it—but sometimes he really wants to kick himself for not getting to know her sooner. She’s the best bro he’s ever had that’s a girl, and it just really sucks ass that they only got to hang out for like one summer.

Before he even realizes it, he’s walking into the front office. Bertha glances up at Richie through her horn-rimmed reading glasses.

“Mr. Tozier! What’d you do this time?” she asks brightly. Ah, Bertha. She and Richie have a rapport. Richie might go so far as to say she even likes him, at least a little. He’s made her laugh at least seven times, and once in sixth grade she told him he had a real gift after he showed her his best Rick Moranis impression. She doesn't bullshit him, and he doesn’t bullshit her. Well, not very much at least.

“I have no idea,” he tells her honestly, resting his elbows on her desk, which is decorated with a rubber band ball, a Hoberman sphere, several pictures of her nieces and nephews, and the biggest Hershey’s Kiss Richie has ever seen in his entire life. Seriously, it’s almost as big as his goddamn face. Apparently, she got it on a trip to New York, and she’s had it at least as long as Richie has known her. He has never wanted to eat a thing so badly in his entire life, regardless of how old it is. It’s a fucking Hershey’s Kiss. Do those things even go bad? Either way, it’s Richie’s number one goal to take a big fucking bite out of that thing before he culminates at the end of the year. He’s a thousand percent sure it will taste like sweet victory.

“Neil?” Bertha calls over her shoulder. “Did you send for Richie Tozier?”

Neil’s voice floats back through the open door behind Bertha. “Oh, yes. Thanks, send him on back.”

Neil’s desk always starts the year looking pristine, and by the last day of school it is filled with stacks of pure chaos. Richie admires him for trying again at the beginning of each year. It’s like how his mom buys him a binder for each class and book covers and sets up an organizational system for his homework and notes despite knowing that it won’t last a month. It’s nice of her to try, but Richie is pretty sure they both go into it with the understanding that it’s kind of a hail Mary situation.

So right now Neil’s just got like three pictures of his wife, a snowglobe with GREETINGS FROM ST. PAUL written on the base, and a manageable-looking stack of papers in file folders. Godspeed, sir.

“Mr. Tozier,” Neil says by way of greeting, “please have a seat.”

“How was your summer, Ne—Principal McCormack?” Richie asks, plopping down into the chair directly opposite Neil.

Neil’s eyebrows raise. “Not as interesting as yours, based on what I heard from Ms. Pfarrer this afternoon,” he says, reaching into his desk and pulling out two pieces of lined paper stapled together. “Care to explain?”

He places it directly in front of Richie. Richie peers at it. The top right corner reads: Richie Tozier, English 8A, Period 4, September 3, 1989. It wasn’t stapled when he handed it in, he’d just sort of folded the corners over together and hoped for the best, but Ms. Pfarrer must have gone ahead and stapled it for him.

“That would be yesterday’s English homework.”

“Correct,” says Neil. “I want you to read this entire essay out loud to me, and then I’m going to ask you some questions. Okay?”

Richie’s not sure if the questions are about the contents of the essay, or if Neil just can’t read his handwriting. Then again, that sounds like a Ms. Pfarrer problem; he’s not sure why she’d bring it to the principal if she just couldn’t read it. Normally she just hands it back to him and tells him to rewrite it when that happens, or at least that’s what she did last year. If his teachers have suddenly decided to send him to the principal every time he turns in an illegible assignment, it’s going to be a very long year.

But whatever.

  My Summer From Hell: A Tale of Friendship

  If you had asked me at the end of last year what the worst thing about my summer would probably be, I would have bet a hundred bucks it was going to be the trip I took down to Augusta to see my grandma two weeks ago, which sucked. All we did was watch Matlock all week and she made me get a really shi bad haircut, just like last year. It’s going to take me months to grow it out. But compared to what went down in July and the beginning of August, eating soup at Grandma Dottie’s house was NOTHING.

You know how kids just disappear off the face of the earth all the time here in Derry? If you didn’t, that’s a fun fact from me to you that I learned from my new friend Ben (he’s in your 5th period class). Well, while we were looking for my other friend Bill’s missing brother, we found out where they all went.

Underneath our feet, down in the sewers, there lives a killer clown. That’s right, you heard it here first. Like John Wayne Gacy, but 100000x worse because it’s for sure not human. Sometimes It’s a clown, sometimes not. Depends. On what? I have no idea. It was usually a clown when I saw it but one time it started turning into maybe a werewolf. It can turn into anything it wants and it eats kids.

Anyway, It almost killed all of us on the fourth of July. We Bill decided to go try and fight It at the creepy ass house on Neibolt street, and that was an absolute shit show disaster. Ask Ben to show you the sick scar on his stomach if you don’t believe me. Eddie fell through a giant hole in the floor and broke his arm. I got mad at Bill for bringing us all there and he punched me in the face, and then I didn’t talk to him for a month.

Then It dragged Beverly Marsh into its nasty sewer lair and we all went down the grossest well in Derry to get her back. Henry Bowers followed us because he just has to ruin everything, even things that are already the worst. There’s this giant cistern that has a huge pile of broken toys and crap and the clown lives in there. There were hundreds of dead kids floating in the air.

It’s a long story but I beat the shit crap out of It with a baseball bat and we fought it back. We swore to each other that we’d all come to fight It again if it returns. Anyway, the moral of this summer is that you can achieve anything if you work together and also that there is no way Henry Bowers could have caused an explosion during the 1800’s. I want to see him go to jail for taking a dump in my backpack for sure, and I guess for killing Belch, Vic and his dad too, but I know for a fact that he didn’t kill Georgie Denbrough or Betty Ripsom or Ed Corcoran. This town is just cursed.

  Richie looks up brightly at Neil when he finishes reading. Neil takes a deep breath and rubs his temples with his fingers.

“I’m not sure you understood what the assignment was, Richie,” he says. “This is an inventive—and deeply disturbing—story, but this was supposed to be about what you actually did over the summer, not—”

“Yeah,” says Richie. “It is. I mean, I didn’t think Ms. Pfarrer was going to actually read them all. But—”

“This was a nonfiction assignment though.”

Neil’s being real slow on the uptake. Maybe his brain is still on summer break.

“Yeah,” says Richie, nodding. “As in, this is what actually happened to me. Here’s where we swore we’d come back and fight again when we’re old. If It comes back.” Richie holds out his left hand so Neil can see the freshly healed scar.

“Ouch,” Neil winces. “How did you get that?”

Richie rolls his eyes. “I cut it on glass. On purpose. Go get the others—they’ll tell you. Eddie Kaspbrak, Stanley Uris, Bill Den—”

“Please stop with the games,” says Neil. “Just—I’ve had a long week. We all have. Ms. Pfarrer wanted me to look into sending you to the school psychologist. I know you like to, you know, do what you do, but this is taking it too far.”

“Why would I lie to you about this?” Richie asks. He puts both elbows on the desk and leans forward. “Seriously. Why?”

“Attention-seeking behavior is common after the kind of trauma we’ve all experienced over the past year,” Neil says. Super patient, like he’s quoting a textbook and speaking to a preschooler. “I know what happened with Henry was a surprise to—”

“Wait, wait wait,” Richie interrupts. “You think I wrote this to get attention?”

Neil sighs and throws up his hands. “I can’t think of any other reason. If there is one, I’d love for you to give me some insight.”

Honestly? How fucking dare he. It strikes Richie in that moment how goddamn unfair this is. They had to do this with everyone—from explaining those nasty bites on Stan’s face to Eddie being grounded for the rest of the summer, to knowing exactly why there were so many more bodies in the sewer than missing kids from this past year and no one believing them…

“How about this for insight? ” Richie says. “I’ve been through too much trauma this year to come up with another bullshit story that all you adults will eat up. None of you care what actually happened; you just want me to tell you something that means you don’t have to do anything about it. Well, you’re gonna have to come up with your own lie to tell yourself. I’m not doing it for you.”

Neil is gaping. But Richie keeps going.

“I thought it was Bowers before this summer and honestly, I wish I’d been right. And it’s not like I’m sorry that he’s getting all this shit pinned on him even though he didn’t do it. My life is a million times easier without him around—he can get strung up by his ballsack for all I care.”

“Richie, there’s a mountain of evidence against—”

“I don’t give a shit about evidence,” says Richie. “I know what I saw. I know what happened. I know, and Bill knows, and Stan knows, and Bev… What do you care though? You’ll probably be dead anyway by the time It comes back.”

“Is that supposed to be some kind of threat?” Principal McCormack asks. His face has gone hard and stony like Richie’s never seen before; like Richie has crossed a real line this time. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows there’s going to be nasty consequences for this, but he can’t find it in himself to give a shit.

“You wouldn’t believe me even if it was,” Richie mutters. “Just… Fuck it. Send me to the school shrink or whatever. Give me detention; flunk my essay. None of this shit matters anyway.”

“You can bet you’re getting all three of those things,” says Principal McCormack with a mirthless chuckle. “And I’m not sure what’s gotten into you this year, but I feel like—”

“Do I sound like the grownups in Charlie Brown when I talk?” Richie demands. “Seriously, am I making like, actual words to you? Or are you just hearing wah wah wah when I—”

“I’m calling your parents,” Principal McCormack says over him. “Is something going on at home?”

Richie feels blood pounding through his veins. Like it could melt his skin. He looks Principal McCormack dead in the eye, reaches for his essay and tears it to shreds, standing slowly.

“In the end,” he says, his voice shaking and frustrated tears threatening to overpower him, “it’s not going to make any difference if you don’t believe me. We’ll come back, all of us. Me and Eddie. Ben, Beverly, Mike. Bill. Stan. What you think doesn’t change that.”

And as suddenly as it came, the anger evaporates. Just...poof. Gone. It clears, and there’s fucking gobsmacked Principal McCormack sitting there like a lump, staring at Richie. Maybe he heard the individual words, but one thing Richie know for sure: he still doesn’t get it. And he never will. And not just him; Ms. Pfarrer. Even Bertha, whether she thinks Richie is gifted or not. And his parents…

There’s a sick loneliness that kind of creeps in to fill up where his anger was, colder than a January wind. Every time his dad comforted him as a kid, when he’d check under the bed and in the closet for monsters, was a lie. When his mom told him he’d be safe sleeping in their bed. That nothing was coming to get him. That they’d never let him get hurt. Lies, all of it. And it’s not like the adults in his life are lying to him on accident. The truth is right there in front of their stupid fucking faces and they just refuse to look at it.

The chill settles into a stony sort of resolution. Richie has stared the truth in the face and didn’t flinch. Even getting suspended is fucking nothing compared to… Whatever. He’s getting detention anyway. Might as well make it memorable. He turns on his heel and walks out of the office.

“If you’re still alive in 2016,” Richie calls over his shoulder, “I’ll hit you up at your nursing home and let you know I was right all along.”

[darkpetal16]

Pride & Humility - Chapter One

Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood Fanfiction

Genres: Gen, Friendship, Family, Adventure, Hurt, Comfort

Summary: “Friends look the other way. Best friends eat the body.” -Selim B. The story about an innocent and disturbing friendship between homunculus and human. Old soul OC. Surprisingly wholesome. 

Warnings: Violence, gore, death, excessive child abuse, profanity

Beta: Taintedletter

Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood. Elizabeth belongs to Midnightwishes, but I will be borrowing her for this journey. 

Next Chapter

This will be my only beginning A/N.

This is a tribute story to Midnightwishes. I wish you all the love and happiness in the world, and hope you’re able to enjoy your next great adventure. Rest in peace, sweetheart.

This story was originally going to be my very first fanfiction, but I lost motivation when I lost my friend. I made a hard switch to the Naruto/Pokemon fandom, and found it difficult to return to FMA.

When I clearing out my drop box, I found this old story again, and… well, here we are.

This story is a slow build up.

This is NOT an EdOC, AlOC, or RoyOC story. I am perfectly happy with their canonical pairings.

Note about canon / AU: This is to clarify the established canon in my story.

In the manga / wiki it’s stated that Pride is able to adjust the age range of his container by around 5ish years. I’m going to go ahead and AU it so that he can freely adjust the age of his container to whatever he wants it to be.

Did you know that Bradley’s first name is King? I did not until I checked the wiki, so führer Bradley is named King Bradley here.

Mrs. Bradley will also get a lovely first name, because she very much deserves it: Katherine.

Lastly, King Bradley genuinely loves his wife.

Smart!OC, so if you don’t like reading about OCs with high levels of book-smart intelligence, this won’t be your cup of tea.

This story will eventually be posted on Fanfiction.net and Wattpad, but for the moment it will remain on tumblr until I write enough of it. 

✧✧♡✧✧♡✧✧♡✧✧

Death was not the end, nor the beginning. It was a bump in the road, an interlude in the story.

Dying did not mean one ceased to exist, but rather, one’s existence changed.

Memories are not meant to survive the transformation, but there are always exceptions. When taking the first breath in a new body, one can usually remember the last breath in the old body.

But too soon what defined the previous life will fade away, and the new life will be given a (mostly) blank slate.

They’ll likely still retain some knowledge, some experiences, or information too vital to forget. Maybe they’ll remember the face of their lover, or their talent for music. Maybe they’ll be drawn to an old friend, or they’ll retain unexplainable fear over a past lives trauma.

Someone terrified of the ocean might have drowned in their previous life.

A man or women overcome with unshakable insecurities might have been cruelly hurt before.

Regardless, death and birth did not mark the end or beginning for one’s existence.

It simply meant a change in scenery for that soul.

✧✧♡✧✧♡✧✧♡✧✧

This is the journey of one such soul being born in a world it was not meant to be a part of.

It, like all the others, knew it had been reborn at first.

But unlike the others, memories of its past lives did not flee right away.

No.

Oddly enough, they stayed for a solid three years. And even when those cherished memories of dear friends and family left the soul, knowledge remained.

Knowledge of math and science.

Of medicine.

And of an undeniable, insatiable thirst for more.

More knowledge.

More adventures.

More everything.

✧✧♡✧✧♡✧✧♡✧✧

Elizabeth Luxanna was born to the estranged daughter of a retired general. The daughter, Hannah Luxanna, had eloped with a simple farmer after a bitter argument between her father—Crow Luxanna—and mother—Isabella Luxanna.

Hannah enjoyed over a decade of blissful marriage before her husband tragically died from an unknown illness. To make matters worse, Hannah was pregnant, and they had lost their home in a terrible fire.

With nowhere else to go, Hannah returned home to find her mother already dead, and her father consumed with bitterness and regret.

Crow accepted his daughter back with great reluctance, and the time leading up to Elizabeth’s birth was filled with despair and grief for Hannah.

The young woman’s heart gave out after birth, and she left her only daughter orphaned.

Crow Luxanna adopted his granddaughter, but he did so with a thoroughly broken and blackened heart.

He did not know how to handle her.

He did not want to handle her.

So he hired plenty of servants to take care of her for the first year of her life, and dismissed them shortly afterward.

Next came tutors.

So soon? Some might ask.

But Crow Luxanna did not want to raise a granddaughter. No, he wanted to force her to grow up as soon as possible and send her out.

Ideally into the military.

And when Elizabeth Luxanna began to show exemplary intelligence, and whispers of a prodigy started to arise, Crow Luxanna finally took an interest in his granddaughter.

And what a shame, that was.

✧✧♡✧✧♡✧✧♡✧✧

Grandfather Crow was a short, well-dressed man. He was a proud retired general, and had high expectations for all those around him. Rules were meant to be strictly adhered to, and when boundaries were pushed too much he enforced harsh punishments.

He wasn’t one for social visits. Not even for his last living family.

Elizabeth was quiet, well-behaved, and completely devoted to her studies. It became blatantly apparent early on that she had difficulty connecting to her peers, and after enough incidents her grandfather forbade other children from entering their home.

She rarely saw anyone aside from her tutors.

Especially Grandfather.

Which was why when Grandfather told her to eat dinner with him, she was surprised.

Thankfully, he cut straight to the chase and explained why he was there.

“The exam you did yesterday, do you remember it?” Grandfather inquired stiffly, his well-groomed mustache quivering as he tried out a smile. It looked terribly awkward on him.

The young girl nodded at his question. After months of completely devouring her lessons, and answering all of her tutors’ questions they had come together and devised an extensive exam for the heiress. It took Elizabeth six hours to complete, and the trio (one for science & math, one for history & English, and one for etiquette) watched her intensely the entire time.

Grandfather tapped his fingers on the table, his dark eyes staring straight through her. “Mm. Yes, well, you’ve exceeded expectations. Your intelligence is remarkable for someone your age, a true prodigy.” Again Grandfather tapped his fingers, and his gaze didn’t seem to notice her anymore. “The military will want your mind, do you understand?”

Elizabeth mutely shook her head.

“They will want you,” Grandfather repeated. “I am a loyal soldier, so I will not refuse them.”

Her brow furrowed as she tried to follow the conversation. “I’m going to be enlisted?”

Grandfather blinked once, now focusing on Elizabeth. “Yes, and no. You are too young, but… But they will claim you one way or another. I want to make sure you survive, and do our family proud.”

“Why would they claim me?”

“You are a talented child, and I am a loyal soldier,” Grandfather repeated. “Retired or not, I would sacrifice everything for my country, for my führer.”

Including you, went unsaid.

“Your mind… yes. It will be good for the military. For Central. You will serve our führer well,” Grandfather Crow said.

There was no permission to be sought out.

There was no debating, or discussion.

Elizabeth knew in her heart that there was no fighting this.

She was a single little girl, who just so happened to be a little good at math and science.

She had no power to refuse.

No confidence to say no.

Even a hint of disobedience would land Elizabeth locked away in her room, with no lights, or food for however long her grandfather wanted.

She had nowhere to go, and no one to turn to.

So Elizabeth swallowed back her nerves and tried out a wobbly (fake) smile. “Yes, Grandfather.”

The retired general smiled. It was disturbing to see. “A mind like yours… They need State Alchemists. Yes, you will do well there. I will hire a new tutor for you.”

“Yes, Grandfather.”

And that was that.

✧✧♡✧✧♡✧✧♡✧✧

“I am Lisa Delve,” introduced a middle-aged woman. Her graying hair was swept up in a tight bun, and she dressed very modestly. Her dark blue eyes narrowed when she looked at Elizabeth, and a sneer curled back on her lips. “You are my student?”

“I am,” Elizabeth answered quietly, her green eyes lowering when she saw the plain scorn in the women’s eyes.

She knew then that Mrs. Delve would not be any companion to Elizabeth.

“A big game was talked up about you. Do not disappoint,” Mrs. Delve said, her voice clipped. She turned her back to young curly-haired brunette, and began to draw on the blackboard.

All tutoring was done in the small library, where not a window could be seen. It was dark, dreary, and stuffy.

Elizabeth wished she was anywhere but there.

“This,” Mrs. Delve said as she finished her drawing, “is a basic transmutation circle. Memorize it. I am told you already know your periodic table?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Recite it.”

Elizabeth did as ordered, and the alchemist scoffed. “Speak up, girl. You are the heiress of the prestigious Luxanna family, and the granddaughter of one of our greatest generals. Have you not taken any etiquette classes?”

“I have, ma’am,” Elizabeth said, sitting up straighter in her uncomfortable wooden seat. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“It’s not me you be apologizing to, but your family,” Mrs. Delve snapped. “Have you done any reading into alchemy before this session?”

“Only that human transmutation is illegal, and dangerous,” Elizabeth softly responded. She only knew that because it was mentioned offhandedly in a biology textbook.

But that was fine.

Elizabeth had no interest in human transmutation.

No, what drew her focus was botany and how alchemy could be applied there.

She couldn’t find any concrete information on alchemists who worked with plants. She knew it had to be a difficult science since alchemy applied to any living organism was tricky, but she didn’t think it would be that hard.

Plants didn’t have nervous systems, after all.

And if she could find a way to create hybrid plants, she might be able to invent new species of plants that were more effective than modern medicine.

At least, that was her initial hope.

“Rudimentary. Very well, let us begin. Do keep up, as I will not be repeating myself.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

✧✧♡✧✧♡✧✧♡✧✧

Elizabeth Luxanna was largely left alone.

At first, when she was mentally a grown adult who enjoyed her solitude just fine, she had no complaints.

She was an unusually obedient and quiet child, and as long as she was given enough books to read, she didn’t complain.

If she did complain, she’d be immediately locked in her bedroom and forced into isolation for however many days her Grandfather saw fit. Food would be shoved through the slot in the door, and not a single peep was allowed to be heard.

Since Elizabeth was an adult (a very, very old one at that), she was able to comply with these rules without much fuss.

But when her adult memories slipped away from her one night, and she was suddenly left a child without any companionship, being alone started to bother her.

Grandfather Crow was a stern man, and had no patience to raise a granddaughter. All the servants that worked for the Luxanna family were veterans who had to retire premature, and were uncomfortable dealing with Elizabeth.

While she no longer had all the memories that made Elizabeth an old adult, she retained her knowledge of math, science, and other similar topics. She couldn’t explain how she knew what she knew, either, which gave others the wrong impression about her.

At first glances Elizabeth was a child with a seemingly high intellect.

From the Grandfather’s Crow point of view this was to be taken advantage of for the betterment of his country, of his führer. It was an asset to be used to its maximum potential.

But from Elizabeth’s point of view it simply made it that much harder to connect with others.

Children her age didn’t even understand what an electron was, let alone wanted to talk about it.

Adults either didn’t take her seriously, or only saw her as someone to be used.

There was no way for Elizabeth to form any kind of positive bond, let alone a friendship.

For five years she was confined to a bitter home without a single person to care for her.

This made for a terribly lonely little girl.

So painfully lonely she would wish for any kind of friendship.

For anyone to show her even an iota of warmth.

And then came the day that person showed up.

Her only friend.

Selim Bradley.

✧✧♡✧✧♡✧✧♡✧✧

Welcome back to my loyal readers, and hello to new ones!

Cover by @cantrona.

Question: Would you open the gates to Truth? What for, and what would you sacrifice?

Reviews are love!

Next Chapter

[xicana-afrolatinx]

1-78

1: Kitchen counter, couch, or on top of the dryer?

Couch!!!

2: Your last sexual encounter - good or bad and why:

Saturday night after partying with some girl friends. It was amazing.

3: A fictional person that you think would be good in bed:

Jax Teller. DUH.

4: Something that never fails to make you horny:

Touching. Lots of it. 

5: Where is one place you would never have sex:

A landfill.

6: The most awkward moment during a sexual experience was when…

Hmm... When the guy told me I was squirting when I know that I definitely wasn’t lmaoooooo

7: Weirdest thing that ever made you horny:

Public subtle domination.

8: What is the best way to sexually bind someone: handcuffs, rope, or other [if other please explain]:

I like the rope gig. Feels good man. 

9: What is the fastest way to make you horny:

Speak to me in Spanish 🤤

10: Top or bottom?

I love being a pillow princess, but I’m not afraid to be on top.

11: We were about to ____________ but then ______________ [example: we were about to have sex but then his mom walked in]

fuck; I had to finish homework lmao

12: Is one orgasm enough? Are multiple orgasms necessary?

No, and yes. 

13: Something that you have hidden in your room that you don’t want anyone to find:

My butt plug, dildo, and G-Spot vibrator.

14: Weirdest nickname a significant other has ever called you:

Uhh... idk

15: Two things you like [or dislike] about oral sex:

I don’t like that I get impatient about it. 

16: Weirdest sexual act someone has performed [or tried to perform] on/with you:

Rimming. 

17: Have you ever tasted yourself? [If no, would you?] [If yes, what did you think?]

Yes, and it’s whatever.

18: Is it ever okay to not use a condom:

It isn’t okay for me to use one cause it feels weird lol

19: Who was the sexiest teacher you ever had?

Never had one of those. 

20: A food that you would like to use during a sexual experience:

Whipped cream

21: How big is too big:

There isn’t. MAKE ME BLEED DADDY.

22: One sexual thing you would never do:

Pegging. YIKES.

23: Biggest turn on:

A caring dominant manzzzz1.

24: Three spots that drive you insane:

G-spot, neck, and lower back.

25: Worst possible time to get horny:

In class.

26: Do you like it when your sexual partner moans:

FUCK YEEESSSSSS

27: Worst sexual idea you ever had:

I’m sure I’ve had some pretty bad ideas lmao

28: How much fapping is too much fapping:

There isn’t.

29: Best sexual compliment you ever got:

That my head game is 🔥🔥🔥

30: Bald, landing strip, Jumanji:

Finster Addams

31: Is it good sex if you don’t cum:

Nah, gotta reciprocate. 

32: Fill in the blank: “If they ____________, we are fucking.”

Buy me new lingerie. 

33: What is your favorite part of your body:

My thick ass thighs.

34: Favorite foreplay activities:

I like when we’re teasing each other. 

35: Love (>,<, or =) Sex [For those of us who don’t remember our math thats “greater than, less than, or equal to.”]

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

36: What do you wear to bed?

Absolutely nothing.

37: When was the first time you masturbated:

Like, middle school.

38: Do you have any nude/masturbating pictures/video of yourself?

Fuck yeah.

39: Have you ever/when was the last time you had sex outside?

Hmm... a while ago. 

40: Have/would you ever have sex outside?

Yep.

41: Have/would you ever had a threesome?

Nah.

42: What is one random object you’ve used to masturbate?

Hairbrush handle. 

43: Have/would you ever masturbate at work/school?

Yes.

44: Have/would you ever have sex on a plane?

Yes.

45: What is one song you’d like to have sex to?

“Get You” by Daniel Caesar

46: What is something nonsexual that makes you horny?

Intellect.

47: Most attractive celebrity?

There are so many...

48: Do you watch gay/lesbian porn? Why/why not?

No, cause I’m not interested. 

49: If a child was born on the occasion of the last time you had sex, how old would that child be right now?

2 days.

50: Has anyone ever posted nude pictures of you online?

No, cause that’s illegal af.

51: What is one thing that NEVER makes you horny?

Bad hygiene.

52: Do you have stretch marks? (How do you feel about them? Has anyone ever had a problem with them?)

I love my stretch marks. 

53: Do you like giving head? (why/why not)

I do because it gives me power.

I54: How do you feel about tattoos on someone you are interested in?

Depends on them.

55: How would you feel about taking someones virginity?

Again. POWER. lmao

56: Is there any food you would NOT recommend using during a sexual encounter?

Hot sauce???

57: Is there anything you do on Tumblr that you would not like your significant other to see?

LMAOOOOO no

58: Do you own any sex toys? (what is it? how long have you had it?)

Yaassss and 2 for a few years and the other for almost a year. 

59: Would you give your significant other unrestricted access to your Tumblr for a day?

Yeah??

60: Would you be offended if your significant other suggested you get plastic surgery?

Yes.

61: Would you rather be a pornstar or a prostitute?

Porn star-- a glorified prostitute. 

62: Do you watch porn?

Yes

63: How small is too small?

.......when he has to assume he made me squirt....... lmaoooo

64: Have you ever been called a freak? Why?

Yeah, cause I like risks. 

65: Who gave you your last kiss? Did it mean anything?

My boyfriend. Duh.

66: Would you switch phones with your significant other for a day?

Yes, but I like my social media too much lmao

67: Do you feel comfortable going “commando”?

I would leave the house that way if I could. 

68: Would you have a problem with going down on someone if they hadn’t shaved their pubic hair?

Nope.

69: If you could give yourself head, would you?

Maybe??

70: Booty or Boobs?

AAAAASSSSSSSSS

71: If you had a penis/vulva, what would you name it?

Mr. Worm

72: Have you ever been on an official date?

Yes

73: If you had a vulva, what would you name it?

I haven’t named her. lol

74: If you were a stripper, what would your name be?

Spicy thickness.

75: Have you ever had sex in your parents bed? (Would you?)

Nooooooooooo

76: How would you react if you found out your parents had sex in your bed?

I’d be so grossed out and would hope that they used sanitizer on all of the handles. 

77: What was your reaction the first time you saw a penis/vulva?

I wasn’t sure what to do with it. 

78: If you had a penis/pussy for a day, what are five things you would do?

Play with it, adjust it, Find out what it would be like with others, swing it around, and then flop it at night.