#just cynical and it really doesn’t matter

[lienguistics]

多芸は無芸

2023.12.25

私は心の奥底で本当に何者なのか。

と自問したとはいえ、諸々な経験をしたのに聞きかじった程度しか知らないやつだとしか自答ができなかった。

前世ではピアノを弾いたり詩文を書いたりするのを楽���んだとふざけるようにしょっちゅう言っているが、実はただ小学から高校までの期間だった。いかにも素朴で無邪気な子だったんだ。今や、練習の機会が一か二回しかない私はもう前と違ってショパンを滑らかに弾くことができないが、楽譜を見る限りにぎこちなくなんとかできる。母が十年間レッスンにお金を注ぎ込んでくれたのに、なんて恥ずかしいだろう。依然として弾けると告げる権利があるのか。「弾ける」と言うたびに「けど、しばらく練習していなくてごめんね」とも付け加えることになった。

家で両親とベトナム語を話して育ちながら、英語しか話さない国で学校に通って、大学に入る数年前に日本語の勉強も始めたが、「お前のベトナム語が訛りとか文法的には英語っぽい」「英語の話し方は遠回しすぎて、お前が何か言い出す前にいつも一瞬の間を置くのは、何も思いつけないアホではなく、ただ考えを纏めているだけだと時間がたつにつれてわかってきた」と直接に言われた上に「シャイすぎて日本語をあまり話さないけど、たまに何か書こうとすると…まあ、それはごく稀だけどさ」と、会話がギクシャクに進むと相手の戸惑う眼差しで察することができる。

今尚辞典を手許に置かないとこんな文章を書くことができないのは、言葉のうろ覚えの癖がある所為なんだ。「石鹸を風呂から流し台に移動しておいただけなのに、母に甲高い声で悲鳴をあげられた」というのは、元々頭の中でただ「石鹸を風呂から流し○に移動しておいただけなのに、母に甲○○声で悲鳴を○○られた」というだけだったが、辞典で登場してきた言葉を目の当たりにしたとっさに見出し語の中から言いたい単語を抜き出すことができる。日本語を勉強すると、意味・読み方・書き方という三つのことを覚えなければならないのだが、本を読んでばかりいる私は今まで意味と漢字を認められることでどうにかやっていける。その所為で会話でさえ、相手が構わない限りに、私は携帯を取り出して、読み方を忘れたのに何度も見たことのあるからなんとか書けるようになった漢字を指で描いて相手に画面を見せてあげてから、まるで言葉の読み方をそもそもずっと覚えたかように、話をさりげなく続けることが何度もあった。日本語を実際に話すことができるのか、この私は。こんな間抜けなことのために手間取るのはどれほど恥ずかしいのではないか、と毎回心の中で嘆くのに、異様な手段でさえ相互理解と��っていくため、結局別にどうでもいいんだろう。

この間、手作りのクッキーをゆっくりと味わっていた彼氏がとろけそうな笑顔することで、私も最初は喜んだが、恥ずかしくて目をそらしてしまった。

料理が上達するように励んだ期間は元彼と付き合っていたときだった。仕事の後に一緒に晩ご飯を楽しむために、和食やフランス菓子の作り方を身につけて、自分の職場をたまに早く出て、予め夕食の支度をしてあげる習慣があったものの、別れるよりずっと前に、アイツの分が冷めてしまうまで放置させたことが何度もあった。私が悪くなかったのは、予定を守ることができなかったのが私の方ではなかったからだ。

今の可愛らしい彼氏を見つめながら、いつか私のことに飽きてしまうのは単に時間の問題だろう、とうっかりと口を滑らせた。彼がどんな優しい答えを与えてくれたか、私はさっぱりと忘れてしまったが、もう一回言ってくれるように頼んでも、彼は苛立つどころかおそらくあっさりともっと褒めたり慰めたりしてくれる。かまってちゃんでいたくないから、放置しておいた方がいいかもしれないが。

精巧なフランス菓子を作る経験で養われた手際が網膜下の注射のような顕微鏡下の手術にも当てはまることができると思っていた上司は、私がそんな技術もあっさりと身につけることができると最初思い込んだが、「投薬してもらうのは患者ならぬ単なるかわいそうなネズミなので成功率の七十％で十分ではないか」と結局ニヤリと突っ込んだ。どういうわけか網膜下の注射の講習を求める人にしょっちゅう頼まれているのは、きちんと教えてあげるかどうか疑問を抱かせてしまい、個人的に微妙な雰囲気をもたらすことになった。三十%の未熟という意味が仄めかされているなんて面白いんだろう。三回に一回ぐらいやらかしてしまう先生の指導を本当に仰ぐことができるの？とりあえず今のところは、たまに俄然ぞっとした手の震えを抑えかねる所為だと言い訳しておく。しょうがないと言わんばかりに。

大学院に必要な志望動機書は、ただ具体的に私が書いていたものであると同時に親友と恩師との間の競合を象徴した。私がこれまでどんな人生を送ってきたのか、これからどのように成長したいか、もっとも効果的で風流に伝える文章に取り組んでいた三人の藻掻き。親友は、私がどれほど大したことないと思った諸々な経験でも含めることにより、総合的な主観を与えることができると訴えかけたが、然るに恩師は、自分の専門知識を示すために実験の目的と身につけてきた技術と詳しく説明しようと言い聞かせた。読書会��たいな部活や趣味も付け加えさせてもらえる場合は定期的に開催されている限りだ、と。まるで私がそんなにあてのない子だから自分の能力に疑念を抱かれるのも無理はないかように仄めかした、と親友は非難した。私が手の二本でしかない上に、気になるゆえに少し試したことのある様々な経験がほとんど取るに足りないと言わんばかりだ、と私は思った。こんなバラバラで断片的な存在でどうしたらいいのか。自己同一性の修羅場にはすでに嵌っていなかったとしたら、もうすぐ陥りかねない。

だが、誰にも言えない気がした。ましてや親密な関係があるはずの両親に。

分別をわきまえた親は、父が何回も誇らしく言った通りに、父の方だったはずなのに、私が今や思わずにいられないのは、父は現実的に考える力量があると自慢に信じながら真実から執拗に目を背けているなんて情けないのではないか、と。

自由に行ったり来たりしていた父の姿をしょっちゅう見ていたのに、私もたまに出かけたい気分だと許可をもらわなければならないという矛盾をいつか認めていただけると嬉しいのだが。私が単純に十年以上食べていなかったお菓子を買いたかっただけだとわかった上に、一緒に買いに行けると約束したにもかかわらず、「あっ、実は、明日、明日行こう」と何日も繰り返していた父は、永久に先送りすることができないのもわかったはずなんだろう。

こんなに愚かなことで喧嘩を売り出すことにより、向こうの方がいかにも愚かであることを証明するのではないか。私は単純に父の機嫌の変わりやすさに対して自分の不安を言い表しようとしたが、言ったことを曲解され、ただをこねられる必要なんて微塵もなかった。ここ数日間の招待に対して実際に行きたくないとそもそも素直に拒んだ方が、そんな風に癇癪を起こして「余計に外食するのが結構好きだなぁ」と嫌味ったらしく私に言いがかりをつけるよりも、礼儀正しいと思うのだが、さあ、どうだろうね。私には何とも言えない。

「別に好きなわけではないけど、家から出るのがそんなにイヤだとしたら、早く言い出した方がいいじゃないかと思っただけだった。自分も自炊するための用事をちゃんとしておくよ」と言いながら、昼ご飯を作り始めたところで「材料を片付けろ。お前はそんなにたまらなく出かけたいのか？全部元に戻して、行け」と噛み付けられた。

「食ってかかっても役に立たないのよ。私が小さい頃から母にもずっとあんな風に八つ当たりしてるんだろう？」と何気なく聞いたら、「だから今や一人で暮らしていても、それがどうしたっていうんだ」と投げつけられた。

「もしかしたら、私も年に一回実家に帰る理由と一緒なのかなぁ」

「もう大人だろう。自分の車を買って、いつでも��前が好きなように行ったり来たりして。俺とは関係ないから、どうでもいい。お前を迎えに行くのが大嫌いだ」と最後に言ってから、謝罪しようとしたときに「確かに噛み付けるのは役に立たないけど、それが俺って人間だよ」と言い分したのはいかにもダサかった。

最近、口をきかない間柄になるほど幼馴染とも口論してしまったのは、思いがけないことだというよりも、起こるべくして起こってしまったんだ。父に対しての感情にそっくりだったのは、私の考えをきちんと整えて視点を何回も言い返そうとしたものの、認めてもらわずに相手の主観をぐいぐい詰め込まれた。芯まで劣等感に冒された奴が相手をそんな風に自分より劣っていると見做し、辛辣に罵ったりすることにより、自分の立場を守ろうとしていたが、実際は惨めに藻掻いている弱虫だけだということが私にはわかったので、そんなに意地悪く扱いされるのをなんとか耐えることができた、何年間も。

とは言っても、私も臆病者だろう。充分に励んでいなかったくせに家族と親友の関係を守ることができないと思われるのが恐ろしいから。

ー少なくとももう一回話してくれないか？

数年間繰り返し話し合おうとしていても、理解してくれることが一切ない上に、私が逆に理解してあげないとぎゃあぎゃあ愚痴をこぼしてばかりいるからそもそも完膚なきまで無駄じゃないか。

限界のない人なんていない上に、私があいつらの親ではないためちゃんと育てて礼儀を教えてあげる責任もないのが、なぜわかっていないんだろう。

自分の怒りについてこんな風にずけずけとするのは、確かに初めてなので、びっくりさせる可能性も期待していた。向こうのように鬱憤を晴らすほどではないのが一目瞭然だろうが、性格がそんなに歪んだ相手にそう思われてしまってもしょうがない。もう取り返しのつかないところまで来させてしまったから。

生物医学の博士課程に進む大学院生として結局受け入れてもらった私は、親友と恩師以外誰も知らずに申し込みを内緒で用意して志望動機書を書こうとしていたとき、今までどのように成長してきたか回想することにより、大変だったときからの記憶も蘇らずにはいられなかった。避けようとしても無駄だということがわかったため、代わりに別のエッセイに入れて書くことにすると、こういう執筆になってしまった。

と、書き上げたとたん、携帯の通知音が急に鳴って、画面を見ると、また大学一年生の物理学の宿題を手伝ってあげるように私に頼んでいるメッセージがやってきた。往復って、ね。

〈前〉

[sky-is-the-limit]

How Task Force 141 would react in a real argument with their partner (they're in the right):

Captain Price:

The way Price gets mad at you is calm, serious, and controlled. If you are looking for a shout match, you're not gonna get it with him. He doesn’t believe in yelling or making a scene, he's too old for that.

Instead, when things get heated, he quietly tells you that he’s going to step out, giving you both time to cool down and think. Usually, he heads to the pub nearby, has a drink (or two) and lets the anger settle before coming back to talk things out. It’s his way of making sure neither of you says something you’ll regret even if it means leaving you to deal in your own frustration for a while. It doesn't last long though.

❁❁❁❁

"This isn’t helping, love." Price says, tone steady despite the obvious tension. "I’m stepping out for a bit." He grabs his jacket and you can see the disappointment in his eyes. "I’ll be at the pub, just need some time to think. You should do the same." He pauses at the door, looking back at you with a flash of concern and frustration in his eyes. "We’ll talk when I get back, yeah?" The door closes behind him, leaving you in the quiet of the room.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

When Kyle gets mad, the laid-back, chill guy you know disappears. He becomes sarcastic and cynical, his words sharp and his patience terribly thin. He might roll his eyes or make you feel like your emotions are over the top, dismissing them with what he thinks is logic (according to him, of course). It’s not that he doesn’t care or he wants to upset you on purpose but when he feels like you’re not getting his point, his frustration turns into biting remarks that cut deep.

❁❁❁❁

"Oh, that’s rich-" Kyle says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because clearly, I’m the one who’s being unreasonable here, right?" He crosses his arms, shaking his head in disbelief. "If you actually listened to what I’m saying, you’d see how ridiculous this all sounds." His words hit you hard and the sting of them makes you want to shout back, even to break something but he’s already turned away, muttering under his breath before heading into a different room.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish:

When Johnny is really mad, he goes completely silent. Your cheerful, talkative boyfriend just shuts down. He won’t talk, won’t argue. He just ignores you, burying himself in video games or working out until he’s too tired to keep his eyes open. He thinks it’s better to stay quiet than risk saying something he can’t take back but the silence is worse than any argument and in his ignorance, he makes you feel like you don’t even exist.

❁❁❁❁

"Johnny, can we please talk?" You ask, watching him pick up the game controller. He doesn’t answer, his eyes fixed on the screen. The silence is deafening, each minute that passes only making the knot in your chest tighter. "Johnny…" Still nothing. Hours pass like this and when he finally puts down the controller, he heads straight to bed. "I’m knackered." He mutters, not even looking at you. "We’ll talk tomorrow." But you know that tomorrow might just be the same unless you can find it in you to apologise first and make up before bed.

Simon "Ghost" Riley:

When Simon gets mad, he goes back into the defensive man with trust issues you first met. He never raises his voice nor lets the argument last long. Instead, he becomes cold and distant and his usual quietness turns into a wall that you can't break through. He’ll say things that remind you of past mistakes, making you feel guilty whether you're in the right or wrong. His bitterness makes it hard to reach him and it feels like no matter what you say, he won’t budge. Stubborn bastard.

❁❁❁❁

"You think I can just forget what you said?" Simon is monotonic but there’s a harshness underneath his tone that makes you wince. "Words like that… they stick. You can’t just take them back." His eyes are cold, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he looks at you without a hint of his usual softness. "Maybe you should calm down before this gets any worse." He doesn’t move or change his expression, just stares at you blankly, making you feel shut out.

[ingravinoveritas]

Lovely new article about Michael in Paste magazine. Article is behind a paywall, so here is a transcription (with thanks to the person on FB who transcribed it, and the parts in bold are my own emphasis).

There’s so much to love about Prime Video’s Good Omens. A delightful adaptation of the popular Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett novel of the same name, the series is romantic, thoughtful, hilarious, and heartfelt by turns. The story of the almost-apocalypse and what comes afterward, it wrestles with big concepts like destiny, free will, and forgiveness, all framed through the lens of an unorthodox relationship between an angel and a demon whose love for one another is a key to saving the world.

As anyone who has watched Good Omens already knows, nothing about this series works without the pair of lead performances at its center. Stars David Tennant and Michael Sheen—who play the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale, respectively—have the kind of lighting-in-a-bottle chemistry that’s the stuff of legend, and their characters’ every interaction conveys both their deep affection for one another and the Earth they’ve made their home. Their romance is the emotional linchpin around which most of the series turns, and their heartbreaking separation in the Season 2 finale is so devastating precisely because we’ve seen how necessary the two are to each other’s lives.

But it’s Sheen’s performance in that final scene that really twists the knife. As Aziraphale’s face crumples following his and Crowley’s long-awaited kiss, the actor manages to convey what feels like every possible human emotion in the span of less than thirty seconds as the angel realizes what he has both had and just lost. The moment is emotionally brutal to watch, particularly after sitting through five and a half episodes of Aziraphale looking as lovestruck as the lead in any rom-com. Sheen makes it all look effortless, shifting from giddy joy to devastated longing and everything in between, and we really don’t talk enough about how powerful and underrated his work in this series truly is.

Though he’s half of the central duo that makes Good Omens tick, Sheen’s role often tends to get overshadowed by his co-star’s. It’s not difficult to see why, given that Tennant gets to spend most of the show swanning around in tight trousers looking like the Platonic ideal of the charming bad boy, complete with flaming red hair and dramatic eyewear. Tennant also benefits from Crowley’s much more sympathetic emotional arc. I mean, it’s hard not to love a cynical demon with a heart of gold who’s been pining after his angelic best friend for literal millennia even after being cast out from Heaven. Of course, viewers are drawn to that—likely a lot more easily than the story of an angel who’s simply trying the best he can to do the right thing as he wrestles with his role in God’s Ineffable Plan. Plus, let’s be real, Tennant’s sizeable Doctor Who fanbase certainly doesn’t hurt his character’s popularity.

As a performer, Sheen has a long history of playing both real people (Tony Blair, David Frost, Brian Clough) and offbeat villains (Prodigal Son’s Martin Whitly, Underworld’s Lucian, the Twilight Saga’s Aro). In some ways, the role of a fussy, bookish angel is playing more than a bit against type for him—Gaiman himself has said he originally intended for Sheen to be Crowley—but in his capable hands, Aziraphale becomes something much more than a simple avatar for the forces of Good (or even of God, for that matter). With a soft demeanor and a positively blinding smile, Sheen’s take on the character consistently radiates warmth and goodness, even as it contains surprisingly hidden depths. The former guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden who gifted a fleeing Adam and Eve his flaming sword and befriended the Serpent who caused their Fall, Azirphale isn’t a particularly conventional angel. He enjoys all-too-human indulgences like food and wine, runs a Hoarders-esque bookshop that never seems to sell anything, and spends most of his time making heart eyes at the being that’s meant to be his hereditary adversary.

Given the much more difficult task of playing the literal angel to Tennant’s charming devil, Sheen must find a way to make ideas like goodness and forgiveness as interesting and fun to watch as their darker counterparts. It’s a generally thankless task, but one that Sheen tackles with gusto, particularly in the series’ second season, as Good Omens explores Aziraphale’s slowly evolving idea of what he can and cannot accept in terms of being a soldier of Heaven. His growing understanding that the truth of creation is colored in shades of grey and compromise is often conveyed through little more than Sheen’s deftly shifting expressions and body language.

Our pop culture consistently struggles to portray the idea of goodness as something compelling or worth watching. Explicitly “good” characters, particularly those who are religiously coded, are frequently treated as the butt of some sort of unspoken joke they aren’t in on, used to underline the idea that faith is a form of naivety or that kindness is somehow a weakness. For a lot of people, the entire concept of turning the other cheek is a sucker’s bet, and believing in something greater than oneself, be it a higher power or a sense of purpose, is a waste of time. But Good Omens is a story grounded in the idea that faith, hope, and love—for one another, God, and the entire world—are active verbs. And nowhere is that more apparent than in Sheen’s characterization of the soft angel whose old-fashioned waistcoats mask a spine of steel and who refuses to give up—on Crowley, on humanity, or on the idea that Heaven is still something that can be saved.

Though he and Tennant have pretty much become a matched set at this point (both on and off-screen), Sheen’s performance has rarely gotten the critical accolades it deserves. (Tennant alone was nominated for a BAFTA for Season 2, and Sheen was categorized as a supporting actor when the series’ competed in the 2019 Saturn Awards.) But it is his quiet strength that holds up so much of the rest of the show around him, and Sheen deserves to be more frequently recognized for it. That he makes it look so easy is just another sign of how good his performance really is.

I love this so much. The thoroughly well-deserved praise for Michael's incredible performance as Aziraphale, but also that Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship is specifically described as a "romance." And of course, the first sentence of the last paragraph that acknowledges how much Michael and David are indeed a "matched set" that cannot (and should not) be separated...

[theunsinkableship1]

If You Know You Know

I don’t know how many times I’ll have to say this, it must be tiring for some, but I need to reiterate this CLEARLY to be properly understood:

I WILL NEVER SHIP THEM WITH ANYONE ELSE.

This makes absolutely no sense to me. The only reason I’m here is to support Luke and Nicola as a couple. I’ve never done anything like this before, and I won’t do it again after them. Hopefully, if they become an official couple, I’ll step away because my purpose will be fulfilled.

I joined this fandom because I saw something extraordinary between them, something I’ve never witnessed in my entire life. Their connection felt so unique and undeniable. Other relationships, real or supposed, simply don’t matter to me in this context. I initially believed people supported them because they, too, recognized the magic between them. But clearly, that’s not the case for everyone, which is disappointing.

To me, there’s no point in being part of the Lukola fandom if you don’t genuinely support both of them together. To be clear, I deeply admire and respect both actors, and I support their careers wholeheartedly. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m not here to support two talented actors, I’m here for their LOVE, for that incredible bond they share.

I’ve seen many relationships in my life, but nothing like this. Their dynamic is something rare, something worth rooting for.

To be a true shipper is to stand firm in your belief, to celebrate the connection you see and cherish without hiding behind the guise of "realism" or "pragmatism" to spread negativity. If you don’t believe in the ship, that’s fine, but then, why stay? Why participate only to criticize those who do have faith?

Truly shipping them isn’t about constant doubt or spreading cynicism; it’s about what you see and feel between the two people you root for. For those of us who support Lukola, our belief stems from the extraordinary connection we’ve witnessed between Luke and Nicola. It’s something that doesn’t come along every day.

It’s not about shipping every supposed relationship they might have, that approach dilutes the magic of what we see in them. Even if they confirm that they are indeed in those relationships, will I support those ones? Not really because I’ve seen many of those; if they love it, I like it .Their lives, their choices. Not every relationship needs to be shipped, and that’s okay. If Lukola isn’t your ship, then jump ship. No one is asking you to believe, but also, don’t bring your doubt and negativity into a space meant for those who trust and support this connection.

This space is for believers, for those who see and celebrate something extraordinary. If you can’t see it or choose not to, that’s fine, but don’t pollute the energy of those who do. We’re here for Luke and Nicola together, and our faith in them doesn’t need validation from those who don’t share it. Let us enjoy this space as it’s meant to be a celebration of love, connection, and the beauty of their bond.

It’s not about being delusional or not accepting the facts as reality. It’s about recognizing something profound, something rare that transcends other real or supposed connections. We don’t believe their bond is just platonic, just PR, or just friendship. If you still think that you need actively LISTEN and pay a closer look and EAR at what is publicly available. It goes beyond that. What we see is something that defies the boundaries of ordinary relationships.

This isn’t about diminishing the significance of other relationships they may have; it’s about acknowledging that what Luke and Nicola share is singular, a once in a lifetime kind of connection. It’s not something that can be replicated or overshadowed. It’s more.

This ship isn’t built on superficial observations or wishful thinking, it’s rooted in what they’ve shown us. It’s something you don’t see every day, and certainly not in every connection. It’s about believing in the rarity of what they have and celebrating it for the unique bond it is.

For those of us who believe, this feels more like something bigger, more meaningful, and more enduring than any fleeting moment.

This corner of the internet wasn’t created to be all things to all people, it was built with a clear and intentional purpose: to celebrate, believe in, and support the connection between Luke and Nicola. It’s a space rooted in trust, admiration, and the shared belief that what they have is rare and extraordinary.

If someone finds that they no longer resonate with that purpose, that’s okay. People grow, perspectives shift, and interests change. But the respectful and graceful thing to do is to quietly take your leave. Staying to criticize or sow negativity only detracts from the energy and intention of the space, which is to uplift and celebrate, not to argue or debate.

This community thrives on faith and positivity. It’s for those who still see the magic, who choose to believe, and who want to nurture a space filled with that same belief. If that’s no longer where your heart lies, it’s perfectly fine to move on, do the same if you think that we’re crazy, but let us continue to build on the foundation that brought them here.

"If you know, you know."This phrase perfectly encapsulates what it means to believe in something that isn’t always spelled out but is undeniably felt. Like the kind of connection that doesn’t need an announcement because it’s there, plain as day, for those who see it.

“If you know, you know" speaks to the undeniable energy and chemistry between Luke and Nicola. In their silence, because sometimes, what’s not said speaks louder than words.

For those who know, no explanation is necessary. For those who don’t, no explanation will ever be enough. That’s the beauty of it. Some things are felt, not proven, and if you know, you know.

[molinaskies]

What We Get Wrong About Dark Sonic

I find Dark Sonic incredibly interesting.

I’ve said this before, but Dark Sonic represents an overflow of Sonic’s negative emotions, the ones he usually suppresses: anger, sadness, and fear.

However, many people believe that Dark Sonic is somehow a betrayal of Sonic as a character (even Ian Flynn, reportedly, but I’ve yet to see an official source). Sonic is meant to be a beacon of optimism. Sonic is meant to be the pillar of hope when all else fails. Sonic is meant to be the last one standing, no matter what.

In this sense, sure, Dark Sonic contradicts the notion that Sonic is “uncorruptable,” but I think that depends on how we define corruption.

I see it two ways:

1) Corruption by way of losing faith, through dishonesty and fraud. 2) Corruption by way of a forceful shift from one state of being to another.

In the first sense, corruption occurs when someone’s paradigm is shifted through lies, cheating, or manipulation. It’s a conscious mental shift. In the second sense, corruption occurs when something (or someone) is co-opted and changed without its will or influence, like data corruption, or a shift in the meaning of a word or image. It’s a literal, physical and/or metaphysical shift.

There’s a saying that floats around the fandom that says, “Shadow is just ‘Sonic, if Sonic had one really bad day’,” and I think that makes sense. Shadow is jaded and cynical because of how the world has hurt him, but he still wants to do right by people—just like Sonic. What separates Sonic from Shadow, however, is Sonic’s tenant optimism and positive paradigm. Without those differences, Sonic has endless reasons to be as cynical as Shadow, or even more so.

So, Sonic doesn’t let himself feel those feelings for very long, and especially not when other people are around. He pours everything into a clean, neat bottle, with a tight screw-on cap, right?

What happens when something tampers with that bottle?

Dark Sonic is a forceful corruption of body but not of mind. Let’s talk about it.

How Dark Sonic Works

What I think people misunderstand most about Dark Sonic is that it’s not an intentional state of being. It never was.

Dark Sonic is the polar opposite to Super Sonic, which is achieved when Sonic harnesses the positive energy of the Chaos Emeralds. If Sonic wanted to harness the power of the emeralds for the wrong reasons and his heart accessed the negative energy rather than the positive, he could possibly bring about Dark Sonic willingly. This, however, would likely never happen because that is the betrayal of Sonic’s character that everyone worries about.

That said, the only reason Dark Sonic ever appears is because of a mix of Sonic’s pure rage over Black Narcissist physically assaulting Chris and Cosmo and the presence of hundreds of the Metarex’s fake Chaos Emeralds, which possess an aura clearly shown to impact Sonic and make him ill.

Sonic’s first interaction with negative Chaos energy from the fake emeralds is filled with discomfort and even disgust. Sonic reacting to the negative Chaos energy poorly is critical, as it showcases that it’s seeking him out, not vice versa.

When Sonic was as triggered as he was, the negative energy from the fakes harnessed his emotions and corrupted him. It was a complete, freak accident.

This situation is very similar to Darkspine Sonic, the in-game equivalent to Dark Sonic from Sonic and the Secret Rings. Darkspine Sonic only surfaces when Sonic is severely triggered after Shahra starts to betray him, Erazor Djinn murders her (she sacrifices herself for Sonic), and he sees Erazor Djinn’s final form about to destroy the storybook world. In his shock and anger, the Secret Rings of Sadness, Rage, and Hate target him, painfully turning him into Darkspine Sonic. Once again, external energies corrupt him at the height of his emotional vulnerability.

Sonic never seeks out the negative energy of the Chaos Emeralds because his heart is good. When the negative energy seeks him out in such overwhelming waves, it corrupts his abilities, alters them, and pulls them out to play.

But—

If it’s simply a matter of fake Chaos Emeralds, then why can Sonic use Tails’ fake Chaos Emerald in Sonic Adventure 2 without any problems? I posit this to the fact that Tails might have a better understanding of the balanced nature of the Chaos Emeralds (in that they are powered by both good and evil), while Eggman and Dark Oak have only ever used (or desired to use) the Chaos Emeralds for evil.

Recall Eggman’s laser at the beginning of Sonic Unleashed and Perfect Chaos in Sonic Adventure. Both uses of the chaos emeralds drained them of their power—their negative power, that is. (Albeit through different means based on the lore of each game), Sonic is still able to restore and harness the emeralds’ power because he relies on the positive energy of the emeralds. As intelligent as he is, I imagine that Eggman (as well as the Metarex) has a hard time replicating the intricate nature and balance of the Chaos Emeralds because their hearts are filled with hatred and turmoil, so unwilling to heed the perspectives of others. The power is there, sure, but not the heart.

~Chaos is power. Power is enriched by the heart~

Tikal's Prayer

I think the difference between Tails’ fake emerald and every other fake emerald we’ve seen in canon is marked by the fact that both Eggman’s and the Metarex’s fakes disintegrate after excessive use (i.e., Chaos Control), but Tails’ fake remains intact.

The Metarex's emerald disintegrates upon excessive use

Eggman's fake emeralds can't hold their form upon excessive use

Tails' fake emerald is intact and ultimately used to stop the Eclipse Canon from firing

In short, Tails’ emerald is simply a better fake, more accurate to the originals.

also, I refuse to talk about how dumb it is that Sonic was able to use a fake Chaos Emerald to do Chaos Control for the first time. However, it is canon, and therefore relevant to my point.

Another key problem cited in Sonic X is just how many fake emeralds there are. One emerald pales in comparison to hundreds. Sonic feels all the latent negative energy consume him because that energy is a corruption, itself.

It’s not that Sonic gets so angry that he just gives in to darkness, it’s that darkness captures him when he’s in extreme emotional distress and his guard is down. Dark Sonic is the result of negative, unstable, potent Chaos energy clinging to him, using his latent Chaos powers as a vessel when he least expects it and, thus, is powerless against it.

I think I can best prove this by contrasting Dark Sonic with Sonic’s other intimate encounter with darkness…

Sonic Unleashed, Dark Gaia, and the Werehog

I’ve spoken at length about this game and this specific scene, already, so kindly forgive my hyper-brief summary this time around!

When Dark Gaia’s “weight issues” cause its essence to disperse around the globe, many people fall influence to Dark Gaia’s despair, losing faith and hope in the world. Nothing like the influences of Chaos energy, but enough of an influence that much of the world feels it. A core aspect of the game’s plot is that Sonic, distinctly, does not. In the cutscene No Reason, Sonic asks Chip why he stays the same despite the darkness inside his heart while so many others change at night. Chip answers simply, saying that Sonic’s too strong to lose himself and that part of his good will is because he never doubts himself, even when he’s on his own.

The difference is that while Sonic undergoes a physical transformation, he never loses faith or gives up hope—made especially clear by the fact that Professor Pickle, once as hopeful as Sonic, eventually does lose hope.

Also key to note that Amy also never loses hope.

Unleashed is just another fun, high-stakes adventure for Sonic; there’s never a moment where he’s aggressively triggered by something or when his personal morals are ever tainted. Irritated, maybe. Flustered, even. Never at a loss. The closest we see Sonic come to this is when he loses the werehog form to Dark Gaia before the final battle. He falls to his knees, worn and exhausted, and tells Chip to run because he doesn’t want him to get caught up in the mess. Yet even then he’s not giving up.

That’s why Sonic’s heightened emotional state is so important to the conversation. When Sonic’s will is intact, he’s much stronger, but when he’s triggered by something and his defences are down, it’s much easier for corrupting forces around him to take hold.

Mind over Matter

Even with the parameters for Dark Sonic’s appearance established, something that stands out to me about Sonic’s encounters with dark energies, and something I see as additional evidence that Dark Sonic is only a literal, physical corruption and not a corruption of his paradigm, is that Sonic is still in control of himself—to an extent.

Even as he seethes in his amplified rage, Dark Sonic never inflicts harm on the innocent. After Gold and Silver are destroyed, it’s not expressly clear if Sonic intends to stop or fight Black Narcissist, but Eggman implies that Sonic was fighting Gold and Silver until there was quite literally nothing left. Sonic was given a target to attack, and he kept his focus there, even when other enemies presented themselves.

This also goes for the Werehog and Darkspine Sonic.

He also has the mind to listen to reason—from Eggman, of all people—and stop when it’s clear that he’s finished what he set out to do. Sonic channels his anger to where it needs to be, and it’s clear that Sonic’s moral code and paradigm on life are thoroughly intact.

The only thing that changes is that he’s no longer imposing his usual limits. Sonic is stupidly powerful, even without any power ups. If he ever wanted to kill Eggman, he would have by now. If he ever wanted to kill anyone, he would have by now (and technically, he has).

Sonic throws Erazor Djinn's lamp into a pit, never to resurface, effectively trapping him and ending his livelihood indefinitely.

However, Sonic holds back because he doesn’t want to be an arbiter of justice—he doesn’t want to deprive someone’s chance to be good unless it’s been clear that they cannot be redeemed.

Why I Care About This

It is no secret that I believe that Sonic is a highly emotional character—far more emotional than many give him credit for. It bears repeating that Sonic’s emotions are very big and can be cataclysmic when left unchecked…

…but that’s just part of growing up—growing up as a hero and, damn it, even just a kid.

Dark Sonic isn’t a case of Sonic giving himself to darkness, nor is it a perversion of Sonic’s character. It’s an energetic, chaotically-charged version of Sonic when he is at his angriest—and even then it’s not enough to change his morals or make him lash out unjustly.

Dark Sonic is cathartic, in a way, and I definitely think it deserves its place in canon.

[judesmoonbeauty]

Jude Jazza’s 2nd Birthday: “The Cursed Moon Within His Merciless Arms” Epilogue POV

This is a fan translation. 100% accuracy cannot be guaranteed. Please expect grammatical errors and lack of nuance. Creative liberties were taken in order for a smoother translation. Cybird owns everything. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not repost or claim my translations as your own. Thank you for your support! ☾⋆

MDNI. NSFW.

Victor: Welcome back, Jude!

It was late at night when I returned to Crown castle after finishing up work at Raven Co.. That’s when Victor greeted me.

Jude: …..Why’re ya still up?

Victor: Why of course, to prepare for your birthday party tomorrow, Jude! …..

Victor: …Oh, look the date has already changed. JUDE, HAPPY BIRTH—

Jude: —Hold it.

Victor: I can’t even give you my wishes? ….That makes me feel so lonely.

Jude: Already gotta prior engagement with ‘em words.

After I rejected him, I thought back to the conversation I had with Kate before I left for work.

[Flashback]

Jude: I’ll be back late t’night.

I don’t share my schedule with others unless it’s necessary.

…..However, my birthday was tomorrow, and she asked me about my schedule a month in advance in order to celebrate it.

She’d been counting down the days, so I felt like I owed it to her to say something.

Kate: Oh, really….?

Seeing Kate look disheartened, guilt that I thought I’d long lost, started to surface.

Kate: ….Um, well, I just have one favor to ask, Jude.

Kate: I want to be the first to wish you happy birthday, so I want to come back to your room no matter how late it is.

Kate: If you sleep at Raven Co., your employees might be the first to tell you…

Kate: Oh, but I’m not saying you have to do it. Just only if it’s possible……

Kate said that with a pasted smile on her face.

It was obvious that she was trying to suppress her feelings so she wouldn’t burden me.

— A woman who understands circumstances, or a woman who doesn’t understand circumstances.

If you ask me which one is better, naturally it’s an understanding woman who stays in her lane.

(But…what’s this?)

(I reckon it’ll be fine to listen to some of the selfish stuff she asks.)

Jude: …..Can’t make no promises, but I’ll try my best.

Kate: Really? Thanks, Jude!!!

[Flash Back Ends]

Remembering Kate’s bright smile, like a moon emerging from the clouds,

I parted ways from Victor towards my room, my pace a little quicker than usual.

When I returned I could tell Kate had waited for as long as she could, having fallen asleep in the chair.

(…..Whadda pain.)

I picked Kate up and carried her to the bed,

The line actually reads that he picked her up behind the knees. Essentially, he princess carried her. However, I felt this is already implied and opted to leave it out.

And then I quickly fell asleep thinking about the wishes Kate would say to me when she woke up.

When my birthday arrived, it was a crazy day.

In the morning, I wasted time dealing with a group of weaklings trying to kill me off,

And that afternoon, Crown celebrated my birthday with a song….

It was late in the evening when I was finally alone with Kate.

Kate: Ohh….Jude…..it feels so…..good…

When I bit into her throat and drove myself deep inside her, Kate clung to me looking blissed out.

When I saw that look, I swallowed hard.

I wanted to make her feel even better, to mess her up even more. To drive her even crazier……A violent need surged throughout my body.

(…..Am I a kid who gets turned on for seein’ my girlfriend gettin’ excited?)

Kate’s tearful eyes, her knitted brows as she tried to endure, her melted expression as she comes…..

I got excited by Kate’s expressions as our bodies melded together,

Just like a boy falling in love for the first time.

Jude: ….That so?

I replied bluntly as I cynically laughed internally at my own immature feelings, when Kate’s eyes flickered anxiously.

Kate: Jude……?

Jude: ……

Jude: …….Ain’t no way I’m gonna strain yer body by tanglin’ up with ya if it don’t feel good.

I gave a round about reply and then slowly moved my hips further forward.

As I dragged against each of Kate’s favorite spots, she let out sweet, soft moans.

However, even though she was completely absorbed in pleasure, Kate didn’t stop asking questions.

Kate: Jude, I…..feel so good…right now….I’m losing my mind….

Kate: Can you….say it more clearly….?

(….This woman’s way too worried if I’m feelin’ good or not.)

All she needed to do was surrender herself to the pleasure I was giving her, but she wanted both of us to feel good.

Each time that happened I felt this itchy sensation deep in my heart, like it’d been tickled by a feather…..

I could feel the presence of the thing called love.

(….Feels even weirder answerin’ without thinkin’ it’s a hassle.)

Jude: Guess ain’t no gettin’ ‘round it…..

Jude: ….Feels good, Kate.

Kate laughed as I brushed her bangs away from her sweaty forehead, and kissed her softly.

Kate: Hehe….hey, Jude….

Kate:……To be honest , I was hoping on your birthday, you’d say “I like you” or “I love you”…..

Kate: I kind of thought you’d say it….

Kate: But….this is plenty for now.

As if to say that she understood all the feelings I couldn’t express,

Kate smiled contentedly and caressed my cheek lovingly.

Illuminated by moonlight, Kate glowed brilliantly….giving the illusion of the moon falling from within reach.

(….Beautiful.)

Kate: ….Oh! But…..you can say them whenever you feel like it, okay? Words of love.

Jude:….If I feel like it.

When I brushed it off Kate pouted in dissatisfaction, and immediately I pressed my lips against hers.

In surprise, Kate tried to escape, but my tongue captured and entangled with hers.

(If I don’t say things like “I like ya” or “I love ya”, you’ll keep chasin’ me for ‘em.)

Just as I chase and cry for the moon, you can chase and cry for me too.

Just keep chasing me under a curse that will never be broken for all time.

I have no intention of telling her that….and I can’t let go yet.

Kate: Mmmm……Jude…..

The voice calling me in between kisses, dissolved all of my sense into a puddle.

Jude: …..Ya might’ve had ‘nough, but I ain’t had ‘nough.

Kate: Mm….the present?

When I attended Crown’s birthday party for me, Kate gave me a tasteful fountain pen as a gift.

It was chosen to match the same diameter of the pen I normally used,

'A tasteful fountain pen' was repeated in this line, but I dropped it because I felt it was redundant.

I’ve no intention of nitpicking about it now, and if you asked me to return it, I wouldn’t give it back.

Jude: Haven’t had ‘nough of ya .

Kate: Huh…..Oh!

I resumed the flow from earlier, and as Kate whimpered sweetly I bit her over and over again, sucking her up.

As I etched red marks into her skin, leaving behind traces of our love-making, Kate moved like she was trying to escape.

Jude: …..Oi, whadda tryin’ to run for?

Kate: B-because….if you leave marks there, I won’t be able to cover them with clothing…..

Jude: Tch…..yer tryna hide it now?

I was surprised that my retort carried a sulky tone to it.

….However, Kate didn’t notice the tone of my voice, but kept staring blankly at me.

Kate: …..Is that okay?

Jude: Is what okay?

Kate: Well….if the Crown members see it tomorrow morning, they’ll say something about it, right?

Kate: Jude, you seem bad with that sort of thing…..

Just as Kate said, some of the Crown guys might tease me if they saw the hickeys.

Or maybe they’ll just look on and not give a lick.

Jude: It’s fine ya don't do that…….Were ya avoidin’ me ‘cause ya were frettin’ over that?

Kate: …..Yeah, but if you don’t care Jude…..

Kate: Then I want you to leave lots of marks on me.

Kate:….Oh, I’m asking you to do everything again.

Jude: ….There’s nothin’ wrong with that.

You were the first to give me birthday wishes, kicked out those gits who attacked me, chose a gift that made me happy,

Called out to me with a soft, sweet voice, accepted me in deepest parts of you, and wanted to cater to me.

…..Kate might think it’s only natural since it’s my birthday, but it’s not just about getting someone to do something for you.

Jude: If that’s whatcha want, I’ll engrave ‘em on ya ‘til ya hate it.

This cursed, cursed night was far from being over.

[Story Master List] [Birthday Letter] Dividers: @.natimiles @.cafekitsune

PLEASE, he is SO SWEET. The way he's slowly noticing emotions in himself that he thought no longer existed, and the fact that he can feel the presence of love inside of himself (when he feels that he out of all people wouldn't, and feels it's suffocating overall.) Ugh, I can't wait to see his character growth over time. And that BLUSH when he admits he hasn't had enough of her!

Tags List: @sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @velisle @nateko @greatwitchsongsinger @injudescoat @complexivelovely @cosmowgyrall. @lunaaka @rosalyne08 @8the-perfect-lie8 @voydsoul

If you wish to be added to my tags list and are 18+, then please comment below and specify which suitor, or all translations!

[thepixelelf]

and the universe said,

07 - "bro, chill"

genres/tags: soulmate au, idol au, comedy, romance, dumbassery relationship(s): ot13 x reader chapter warnings: coarse language. kithing. a liiitle svt on svt violence note: ik it's been a long time please be nice to me <3 (this isn't edited... I'll take a look at it when I have the time)

When soulmates are suddenly thrust upon the world, you are one in a million who wishes they weren’t – and that’s before you meet the person (people?!) making your life much harder than it needs to be. And before someone asks you to sign an NDA.

series masterlist

prev ⭒ chapter seven (4.0k) ⭒ next

“Where are they?” Myungjun asks as soon as Jihoon and Junhui enter the room they agreed upon.

Junhui braces both of his arms on the back of a chair. “What do you mean?”

“Your soulmate—” Cutting himself off with a sigh, Myungjun pinches the bridge of his nose and answers his own question. “You didn’t bring them.”

Yejung, who was sitting at a table with her laptop, shuts it with a frown. “Why not?”

Junhui shrugs. “I’m just here because Jihoon dragged me out.” He shifts between looking at the three other people in the room. “You guys know I just met my soulmate, right? I don’t like not having them here with me, either.”

“Well then why didn’t you—”

“They don’t know.” Jihoon cuts off Myungjun’s words, then pulls out a chair and drops himself in it. He stares at a random spot on the table. When he doesn’t elaborate any further, Yejung sends a furtive glance Myungjun’s way.

“Don’t know…” She leans her forearms on the table and scoots her chair closer. “...what? That you’re their soulmate? That there’s more than one of you? That you’re famous?”

Junhui snorts. “All of the above?”

At Junhui's quip and Jihoon's continued silence, Myungjun raises a cynical brow.

"You didn't tell them?" Yejung asks, softly shocked. "Why?"

Junhui's eyes skirt to Jihoon; he's unwilling to share his own reasons, though he doesn't quite understand this about himself, either.

Jihoon sighs. "I don't know. It's complicated. Things happened too fast the first time we—"

"The first time?" Myungjun echoes. "So you've been with them multiple times."

“Don’t say it like that.” Jihoon almost pouts, but the facial expression just makes him look angry. “Look. I ran into them when the vocal team was on the way to that radio show. We’d stopped by a cafe and there wasn’t much time and I was so out of my mind that I—” He cuts himself off. “It doesn’t matter. I got their number, and then they left. I asked to meet today and we did. Jun was already there for…” With his arms crossed, Jihoon looks over at Junhui, remembering that he still doesn’t really know what Junhui was doing at the same cafe you apparently frequent. Is this the same cat cafe Junhui is always talking about? “…some reason. Then someone started singing, and they told us their soulmate is stupid and annoying because their mark…”

“It’s not like ours,” Junhui finishes for Jihoon, though this only deepens the confusion written on Yejung and Myungjun’s faces.

“If it's not like yours, then how do you know they're your—”

“It's them, Hyung.” Jihoon can't help noticing the hopelessness in his own voice. It's you. He knows it's you.

But you don't know it's them— him.

And he's not sure you want to know.

“Their mark, like, grows,” Junhui explains. “Ours just stay on our hands, but when one of us sings, the notes go all over their arms and neck. Maybe other places — I don’t know — but they obviously don’t think it’s either of us since we weren’t singing when their mark did its thing.”

“So…” Myungjun crosses his arms and taps his finger on his bicep. “They don't like their mark.”

Junhui doesn't nod right away, but he does eventually.

Myungjun turns to Jihoon. “And you think that means they don't like you.”

Groaning and rubbing his hands over his face, Jihoon doesn't dignify that with a response. “Even if they did like their mark, it’s an insane situation. Thirteen soulmates? They’re gonna run for the hills when they find out.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” Yejung says, to which Jihoon gives her a dry look and Junhui’s eyes light up. She clears her throat. “We just need to find a way to calmly inform them of the situation — preferably in a safe, comfortable environment.”

Myungjun recognizes a Yejung Game Plan brewing when he sees it. “Basically, what she’s saying is…”

“Let me talk to them.” Yejung opens her laptop again and begins typing away. “We just need to go about this in a calm, logical manner.” She gives a little nonchalant wave of her hand. “This’ll be easier than a design meeting.”

⭒

You’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, arms crossed, legs too, as you stare down at the shiny black credit card lying there between you and Heejun. His position mirrors yours, head tilted while he studies the card.

“It could be fake,” you say. Your knee bounces up and down, up and down.

Heejun lifts his head to give you a look. “Why would it be fake?”

“He said he doesn’t believe in banks.”

“It doesn’t look fake.” Heejun reaches out and takes the card, flipping it over in his fingers to read the back. “Looks like any other credit card. We should test it.”

You frown. “How?”

“Uh,” Heejun speaks like the answer is obvious. “Buy something?”

Okay, it is obvious, but the idea doesn’t sit too well with you. “Isn’t that stealing?”

“He gave you the card.”

“Yeah, but the police don’t know that,” you argue. “If I got charged for fraud, it would be his word against mine— no one would believe coffee guy just handed me his black card.”

Without moving his head, Heejun glances up from the card to look at you. "Why would he lie?"

"Um, because he already has? Who knows— maybe this card is connected to illicit activities and he planted it on me to implicate me."

“Which he would do because…?”

You throw your hands up in the air, then let them drop emphatically at your side. “I don’t know! Why did he do any of what he did?”

He raises a brow. “Because he’s a weirdo who likes you?”

“Okay but have you ever given your credit card to a person you’ve only met twice?”

Heejun’s shoulders rise in a shrug. “I’ve wanted to.”

“Seriously?” You can’t imagine your friend going that gaga over a crush, but then again, there was that girl in fourth grade whom he gave all his choco pies to. Heejun loves choco pies.

“Mine would decline though. It wouldn’t exactly impress.”

You lightly shove his shoulder. “Oh come on, it wouldn’t decline.”

“It would if they went over the limit. People only give people their credit cards for expensive stuff. You know that, right?”

The black card gleams up at you, almost tauntingly.

“Expensive stuff like what?”

He shrugs again. “Like a car?”

“You’ve been watching too many CEO dramas.” You exhale and place both hands on the floor with a pointed slam. Standing, you pick the credit card up and brush imaginary dirt off your pants.

“You won’t be so sarcastic when Park Seojoon tells you to keep that thing.”

You roll your eyes as you toss the card into the same trinket dish you keep your keys and other miscellaneous things in. “Isn’t that guy like six foot?”

“So was Huijun,” he counters.

“So are you. Is that all it takes to be a CEO nowadays?” you joke, pulling out your phone. “Height?”

Heejun scoffs, then frames his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “That and my devilish good looks.”

“Please.” You tap on a notification from an unknown number. “If that were true, you’d be the one handing out black…cards…”

At the way you trail off, Heejun furrows his brow and walks over to you. “What’s up? Did you fall for another online scam?”

Not this again. “Okay, first of all, that was not a scam, and I did not fall for it—”

“You didn’t fall for a not scam?”

“Shut up. What do you think this means?” You turn your phone towards him, and he takes it from your unsteady hand.

He reads aloud. “‘Hello, this is Shin Yejung of Pledis Entertainment.’ Did you apply there?”

“No,” you say, then shake your head and wave your hand. “I mean. I don’t know. Maybe. I applied to like five hundred places. But this isn’t that. Keep reading.”

Heejun takes a breath and starts reading like he’s holding a new edict. “‘It has come to my attention that you are in possession of one of my coworker’s bank cards.’ Oooooh, you’re in trouble.” He drags out the last syllable. “‘Please meet me at…’ whatever building, numbers numbers numbers… ‘so I can retrieve it. Please reply to this number for more information, and thank you for your time.’ Hm.”

“What do you think… am I getting arrested?”

Lowering your phone, Heejun gives you a seriously? look over it. “The cops are texting criminals now?”

“So you agree I’m a criminal.”

“You get annoying when you’re nervous, you know that?” When you roll your eyes, Heejun mirrors the expression and pokes your forehead long enough that he pushes you backward. “Look bub, you wanted to give the stupid thing back without using it, and now the opportunity has been handed right to you.” He waves your phone in the air like evidence. “The only question is why coffee guy didn’t just text you himself.”

You cross your arms. “Maybe he doesn’t like me as much as you thought.”

“One more self-deprecating comment out of you and I’m posting those pictures from your twentieth birthday.”

A gasp wrenches from your throat. “You wouldn’t!”

⭒

Joshua Hong doesn’t think he has that many unread messages on his phone.

He looks down.

Oof. 682.

Well, it’s not his worst.

Notifications fly by at the top of his screen.

[vernon] where is this guy

[chan] hyung this is important!!

[wonwoo] when have we known that guy to answer anything

[soonyoung] someone text yejung!!

It’s probably not that important, whoever they’re talking about. His members are likely just freaking out over this whole soulmate thing again.

Joshua lifts his hand and stares at his weird, natural — supernatural — tattoo. He still can’t bring himself to believe it.

Soulmates? Really? In this economy? This isn’t Tumblr.

At least… Joshua looks around the dance practice room… He’s pretty sure this isn’t Tumblr.

His phone rings, which is weird since he always has it on silent. Sliding the answer button, he brings the phone up to his ear. “Yejung?”

“Where are you?”

“The practice room,” Joshua answers plainly. “Isn’t this where we’re supposed to be today?”

Yejung sighs on the other end of the line. “I said in the group chat that we were dealing with soulmate stuff. Upstairs.”

Ah, so that’s what has everyone in a tizzy. “Alright, okay. Where am I going?”

“Room eight-thirteen—” He hangs up and starts to pack his things before Yejung can say, “Wait, no, nine-thirteen. We'll start when you arrive. Joshua? Hello?”

⭒

You check your phone for what must be upwards of the fifth time.

Yup, Shin Yejung of Pledis Entertainment definitely told you to meet her in room 813, and yet here you are. In room 813. Alone.

You shift on the leather couch. It’s a lounge-like room you’re in. You don’t really understand the purpose of such a room in an entertainment company, but whatever. You’re only here to return something you never should’ve had in the first place.

Although…

You turn the card over in your hand, watching the way the fancy lighting bounces off of it.

Why would Jihoon give it to you if he was just going to get it back like this?

Also, now that you really think about it, Jihoon did say something weird when he left yesterday with Huijun. Something about not letting “the rest” scare you off. Whatever that means.

The rest of what?

Or… whom?

You know Jihoon must work for the company in some capacity. The fact that both he and Huijun were wearing masks makes you think they could be artists…

Oh. Duh. Why didn’t you think of this earlier?

Switching apps, you tap the search bar and start typing. Just as you’re done with the last character of Jihoon HYBE, the door you entered through opens. You hastily slip your phone into your back pocket as you stand to greet the person coming in.

“Hello, you must be…” Your eyes scan over his face. He’s… delicate looking, until you move your gaze downwards a little, and his broad shoulders and thick arms are decidedly not delicate looking. “…Shin Yejung?”

You tilt your head. With no mask on the lower half of his face, he seems familiar. Now this guy must be an idol — you probably saw him on the walls when you were making your way through this maze of a building. 

He just raises a brow. “Who are you?”

“Oh, uh…” You stay standing in front of the couch as he approaches you, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m just here to return this.” Lifting the black card up, you hold it out between you and the man. “It’s Jihoon’s.”

“Jihoon’s?” he echoes, then moves to take the card from you, pinched between his thumb and forefinger. 

You both see it at the same time.

His mark, five black lines, clear as day.

Yours, peeking out from where your sleeve is pulled halfway up your hand.

You look up from your not-really-joined hands, then look down again.

No fucking way. 

“Twinkle twinkle, little—” The notes, whatever they are, dance across his mark.

No fucking way. 

You meet his eyes. “...Songbird?”

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. A few too many seconds.

Then, “So it’s you.”

“Holy—!”

At the same time as you try to jerk away, he attempts to turn your hand over and get a better look. Neither plan really works out. You stumble backwards, and with your hand in his, he gets pulled down with you onto the couch. His free hand shoots out to keep himself from slamming into you, but, persistent as the universe is, your faces end up very freaking close to each other anyway. Warmth from his knee on the couch cushion next to your thigh seeps through your clothing.

He doesn’t move. You don’t either.

For some reason, you feel stuck in place. Not in a bad way, necessarily, but… you just feel like you should be exactly where you are.

You’re almost too close to make real eye contact, so you just watch the way his eyes study yours.

“Songbird?” you whisper, though you have no idea what you’re trying to ask.

He stops analyzing you and finally looks at you. “Yeah?”

“…Are you leaning towards me on purpose?”

His lips (since when were you looking at those?) curl down at the corners. “Are you?”

Slowly, like your mind is trying to catch up to your body, you shake your head. “No…”

He drifts closer. Or you do. Or you both do.

Or something.

Your lips brush over his, and you feel just as much as you hear him whisper. “Then neither am I.”

In the span of a second, his free hand moves from the back of the couch to cradle your jaw, his thumb grazing gently just under your ear. He kisses you, lips moving over yours in a way you’ve felt before, but also in a way you’ve never felt before.

It’s strange.

Not bad strange, but strange in the way that it feels like you’ve just put the last of the groceries in the fridge. It’s like folding that final piece of laundry. Like coming home to the bed you made when you left in the morning.

It’s… satisfactory?

But that’s not the word people normally use when they think of putting their tongue in someone else’s mouth, right?

You’re running out of breath, but Songbird is insistent, and so are his lips, which you find yourself unable to get enough of. He pulls back for half a breath, registers your kiss me again or so help me facial expression, and dives right back in. He’s kissing you and you’re kissing him and you’re soulmates and…

Wait.

Soulmates?

“Wait,” you say, though it comes out more like, “Mmaem” Climbing both your hands up his — whoa — strong arms, you cup his cheeks in preparation to push him away, but he seems to like your touch. He covers the back of one of your hands with his warm palm, and he hums in a way that is not PG-13.

The sound has you melting, unfortunately.

Not for long though.

He’s ripped from you just as quickly as he fell onto you, pulled back by some guy with fluffy black hair, cozy attire head to toe, and… shit, a you’re in trouble glare the likes of which you’ve never seen before. He’s not even looking at you, yet you feel scolded.

“Yah!” he yells at your soulmate, who’s now on the floor. Then, after glancing at you for half a second and apparently finding zero more words to say, he shouts at him again. “Yah!”

Your soulmate opens his mouth, but then he turns to look at the now-open door, which leads you to do the same. A mob of prettyboys stands just outside, some with their jaws dropped and some looking like murder just got legalized and they’re on the prowl.

Someone’s despondent voice shouts, “Hyung!”

You feel like hiding under a blanket. Before your flight instinct kicks in, though, you recognize two familiar faces. “Jihoon?” His eyes meet yours when you say his name. “Huijun?”

One of the many boys among those you don't recognize echoes, “Huijun?” while sending him a weird look.

Someone pushes through the crowd — more like slinks through, occasionally nudging one of the other guys out of the way. His eyes stay firmly on you as he approaches, but you find no fear rising despite that. For some unknown reason, even as this completely unfamiliar man strides over to you with a frankly alarming amount of eye contact, you feel… safe.

Or at least, something close to it.

He kneels in front of where you're still seated on the leather couch, hand resting mere centimetres from leg. “Are you okay?” he asks, voice slightly nasal, but so, so gentle. 

“Uhh…” Self conscious, you wipe at the corner of your mouth with your sleeve. You spot your soulmate catch you doing so, and a look of hurt crosses his face. His own reaction, though, seems to startle him, and his hand rises to gently prod his shiny bottom lip with one of his fingers. He looks confused.

Well, that makes two of you.

Taking in the man right in front of you — pretty, lithe, concerned for you despite his unfamiliarity — you fail to answer his question. “Are… you Shin Yejung?”

He lets out a laugh, relieved, maybe, that you're not not okay. “Jeonghan,” he says simply.

You nod. “Jeonghan.”

At your voice echoing his name, the man’s eyes light up. “Yes?”

“Oh, uh…” You weren’t trying to call on him for anything, but as you study his gaze, you find yourself lost in his confident ease. Something in his eyes says that he knew this would happen.

Maybe not this, exactly — your soulmate has found a spot on the floor and has not stopped staring at it, while the rest of the strangers are still watching you — but taking up the same space as you, facing you, smiling at you with a soft quirk at the corners of his lips.

“Ugh!” A woman’s exasperated voice makes you look up at the crowd by the door. “Get— out of the way, you… ugh—” She breaks through, pushing aside a tall guy who looks like he’s about to cry. “—you men!”

Stumbling to her feet, she rights herself and brushes her bangs out of her face with a huff. “Now, what is—” She spots your soulmate still on his ass and mutters something you’re pretty sure can’t be aired on any broadcasting network. “...my life.”

Your eyes meet hers as she takes another breath. “Please tell me you’re Shin Yejung.”

“Yes, we spoke over the phone.”

“Thank god.” Shaking off all the weird feelings you’d accumulated in the last — what? Two minutes? — you stand from the couch and sidestep Jeonghan. The black card fell at some point during that lapse of judgement (aka kiss), so you swipe it up off the floor and hold it out to her with no preamble. “I swear I’m not a stalker fan or anything. And I didn’t use it, so…”

You glance over at Jihoon, whose expression gives off an oncoming panic. Is he scared to see you? Why? Huijun looks just fine, happy even, with you here. You can practically hear the ‘hello’ he wants to say out loud.

You clear your throat. “Anyway, um. I didn’t mean to, uh…” As you nervously cross your arms, you nod towards your soulmate. “I’m his— I mean, we are… sorry. This is… I wasn’t exactly expecting to find the person who’s…”

Maybe you shouldn’t say you’ve been annoyed by your soulmate since you got your stupid mark. At least not while he’s in the room.

“That’s actually what I brought you here to talk about,” Shin Yejung tells you, a bit like a doctor who’s about to deliver the bad news first. She doesn’t even take the card from you. “Would you like to take a seat?”

You scrunch your eyes shut for a second with a little shake of your head, trying to manual reset your brain because clearly it’s still muddled. “Sorry, what? You want to talk about…?”

The mob of men in the room get hidden from your vision as Yejung strategically places herself between them and you. “Soulmates,” she says.

You look down at the black card, then back up at her again. “Soulmates.”

“Yes. Your soulmates. I was hoping to talk to you alone first.” She sends a pointed look at the men behind her. “But it’s not exactly easy to get these guys to lis—”

“Sorry.” You wave a hand in the air to get her to stop, unable to comprehend any of her words after— “Did you say my soulmates? As in… mates, multiple? Mates with an S at the end? I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

Remaining calm while your mind spins, Yejung nods. “I know this is a lot to take in.”

“Know what is a lot to take in?”

Yejung opens her mouth to answer, but a voice blurts out behind her, “We’re your soulmates!”

Maybe you haven’t known him long enough or talked to him that many times, but you recognize Jihoon’s voice, and something in your gut suddenly grows sharp. Not painful, but begging for you to feel it. Yejung shifts so your field of view is once again filled by men too pretty to be all in the same room. Jihoon’s standing there, fists clenched at his sides, out of breath for no discernable reason other than…

We’re your soulmates.

Seeing your hesitation, Jihoon huffs and tears a bandaid you never really noticed off the back of his right hand. Even before he completes the motion, you know what must be under the bandage. He holds his hand up, though, and the evidence is very near damning.

Next to him, Huijun smiles and lifts his arm, pointing to his own five lines with his opposite hand. 

Most of the guys behind them show you the same thing. Five lines on the smooth backs of their hands, near the base of the thumb. Dear lord, you don’t even know how many of them there are.

The angry one who pulled the man off of you earlier, at least, just looks lost, like he once had control and now has none. Relatable.

You stumble back a bit. Instinctively, you say, “Songbird?”

Though quite a few of the men seem to perk up at the nickname, only the one you already gave the moniker to truly reacts. Your soulmate — god, one of your soulmates? — looks up at you from the floor and answers, “Yeah?” before realizing he’s even doing it.

���Never mind,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand. “Ms Shin?”

“Yes?” She steps closer, a worried look on her face.

Jeonghan, too, moves toward you with a similar look on his face.

You try to take a steady breath and fail. “I think I’ll take that seat now.”

Swaying backward, your body falls onto the leather couch. 

You hear approximately ten panicked shouts as you go down.

prev ⭒ chapter seven (4.0k) ⭒ next

new chapters for atus are not on a schedule nor guaranteed. there is no taglist. thank you for reading!

[adelheidvonschicksal]

Megumi falling in love for the first time?

Attempts at Friendship are Unappreciated

Synopsis: Megumi doesn’t have a need for friends, let alone a lover. But upon getting his first crush, he learns some new things about himself, like maybe he cares more than he thinks.

pairing: Megumi Fushiguro x GN!Reader

content warning: SFW, potential friends to lovers, Megumi sorting out his feelings sort of stuff because cynical, overthinker Megumi is my favorite Megumi.

If you were to ask Megumi, he didn’t have any need for friends. And he has been asked before by people like Gojo and his sister. The answer was always the same. He prefers being alone. People were too complicated. Too selfish. Too good. Too everything, really. And he was, well, himself.

Even after arriving at Jujutsu High, it’s still unnerving to him to have someone talk to him so earnestly, like his eyes weren’t permanently fixed with irritation, like he wasn’t constantly avoiding others, like he didn’t wear indifference like a new fur coat in the height of winter.

Itadori was an unexpected exception. An outburst of emotion intravenously linked him to the other boy, the golden strings of their destinies twined and knotted together on Fate’s spinning wheel.

You, on the other hand, have no reason to befriend him. He’s never had anything to offer others in return for their company, which never bothered him until he met you.

Megumi questioned what it was about you that allows you to get so close. So, he lets you talk, chattering his ear off in the covered walkway hosting the vending machines.

He studies you inch by inch, searching for something in the bright expression on your face and the crinkle of your eyes when you smile; he still doesn’t know exactly what he’s looking for. Your motive – the reason for wanting to talk to someone like him?

“What’s your favorite color?” you ask.

“I don’t have one.”

It may sound like a rude dismissal of your question but it's the truth, the painfully boring truth. He’s never put much thought into trivial things like that. The fact settles heavily in his stomach and rings hollow in his chest like when his sister said he’d never learn to make friends if he didn’t put himself out there.

Back then, Megumi pretended not to have heard her. In truth, it bothered him when she said it, only for the feeling to quickly fade away before he even left school that day. That strange void he felt back then always seems to resurface at the worst of times.

“Would you say that you like black or silver better? How about blue?”

Megumi looks down and plays with the tab on his orange juice can, avoiding the thing about you that makes him want to hear you talk. Megumi has no need for friends. Attempts at friendship aren’t appreciated.

“They’re all fine,” he grumbles out. It’s the maximum he allows.

Megumi doesn’t have a type. It’s another one of those trivial things he’s never bothered to think about until his head was literally cracked through the pavement.

He knows all about types though, and he knows as much as he cares about romance from the bad to the good. Sweaty palms, blushing faces, pounding hearts were all reoccuring themes in his books.

Megumi never thought he’d have romantic feelings for anyone, no matter how fleeting. He reckons he isn’t capable of it. He just isn’t wired that way.

It’s comforting in a sense. It means he didn’t have to worry about attachments. Sure, he loves his sister, and Gojo, well, he cares for his benefactor, but he’s never considered the older man someone he felt okay investing all his feelings into. People his own age were complicated enough; adults were worse, his father was worse; the little he remembers anyway.

When he thinks about the way he met Gojo who too conveniently saved him from the Zen’in clan in exchange for becoming his student, it’s hard for him to let his trust flow purely even after all this time; even when Gojo took it upon himself to do Megumi favors like putting Itadori's room right next door (another thing Megumi didn't appreciate).

Megumi blames his long-seated resentment for the reason his heart starts to work overtime the day you present friendship bracelets to everyone. They’re fancy; many steps above the cheap kind that you’d find at some discount convenience store with plastic alphabets and random beads and symbols. He assumes a couple of the pieces might be real.

Kugisaki’s is green, shining on her wrist like emeralds. Megumi thinks it suits someone like Kugisaki, who would undoubtedly love to be covered in jewels. Itadori has a similar one, rotating with a pattern of red and opaque white pieces.

Standing in that hall, drowning out the conversation between Kugisaki and Itadori about who has the prettier bracelet, Megumi realizes he’s next.

It starts when you step in front of him; there’s a cautious tone to your voice when you say his name because you already know: attempts at friendship aren’t appreciated.

It's with a roll of anxiousness, the one that always comes with the mystery of whether his exchange with someone will be positive or negative and the skeptic thought in his head that reminds him most people always want something in return, that makes him throw up a wall.

“These probably aren’t your thing but I made one for you too,” you preface. “I hope you like it. I wasn’t really sure what to put on it so I made some guesses.”

You’re right. Friendship bracelets aren’t his thing; needing a token like a bracelet to prove your relationship to someone is asinine. It’s against what is supposed to make a friendship special. Strong friendships should need no words, right?

Most importantly, he doesn’t need it, and there’s no reason for you to give him one.

“You keep it,” he starts. However, it’s already too late as you grab his arm and slide the trinket over his hand.

“I don’t—” he starts again; there’s a bit of surprise in the way you look at him, the way everyone stops and looks at him actually. This quickly becomes one of those times where it’d be easier to go with the flow than to fight the current. “Fine.” He clears his throat. “Only because you already made it,” he explains more fully, stifling the embarrassment that wants to bubble from his chest with so much attention.

Like before, he finds himself too focused on watching you, the way your eyes soften from surprise and rejection to shining stars. He thinks this must be how the protagonists in those books feel when heat creeps up their neck. Those books also left him sorely unprepared that it would go past neck to his face and ears.

He breaks away from the situation, finding a way to retreat into the background to shield himself from the gooey feeling permeating the air. He drops his gaze to his arm, focusing on the bracelet with his name accompanied by a repetition of blue and silver, connecting the two—four—of you together.

Megumi fixes his sleeve over the bracelet, but he can’t hide how painfully aware he is of the charms rolling against his skin.

It was both a pleasant feeling and completely alien.

It broke.

Megumi was a bit reckless against a low-level curse, and it broke. He didn’t even realize it until after the battle was over and one of the silver charms were rolling under his foot.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. It was bound to happen eventually considering this line of work. Yet, he still picked up the few pieces he could separate from the gravel, and the entire ride home his wrist feels unreasonably bare.

Thinking about how he messed up makes him annoyed at himself, especially when he wonders what you’d think if you noticed he wasn’t wearing it. You’d probably think he tossed it somewhere; that he didn’t like it. He liked it. The same way he likes to listen to you talk on car rides home after missions or when you ask him to hang out with you and the others or when you read all the books he recommends with the protagonists that are quickly becoming too relatable with every skipped heartbeat and tongue-tied word. He’s frustrated to acknowledge why that’s the case.

It’s only been three months since the start of the school year, he thinks. It took only three months for his thoughts to start drifting to his classmates, with you almost always center stage in them.

When he arrives back at the school, he finds your room and knocks on your door. He shows you what little remains of the gift you gave him, as if he needs to immediately absolve himself of any wrongdoing.

“Do you want me to make you another one?” you ask cautiously.

Megumi can guess why you’re hesitant considering he only accepted your gift because of peer pressure. He still believes gifts like this are silly and unnecessary.

But…

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

He wants it.

So, he goes into your room where he watches you begin the process of making him another bracelet. You ask him which accessories he would prefer, and like always he doesn’t have much preference other than what you think is best. As long as it isn’t too silly, of course.

He gives his undivided attention to how your fingertips pour over your work kit and the many square boxes filled with different miniature shapes before you carefully pick out one with a little dog face.

“I think this one is good,” you whisper to yourself before continuing your search for another complementing bead.

You smile as you work. It’s nice. Cute even as you bite down on your lip in concentration; and right now, he isn’t quite sure what to do with that information other than note the way it makes his palms feel clammy especially when he notices your eyes lift back up to his.

Megumi notices a lot about you actually. He notices how you always go out your way to get his, well, everyone’s opinion on everything. He notices that whenever you share your snacks with everyone that you always save ginger for him. He notices how your gaze lingers on him when you ask if everyone is in one piece after difficult missions. He also notices how your finger stops over a silver square, one with a little black heart carved in each side. He wonders, perhaps too hopefully, if the charm is just one you think he’d like or if it means more than that.

“Why do you always keep trying to talk to me?” he asks, fighting the urge to beg you to stop getting stuck in his mind so much.

Your head snaps up from what you’re doing.

“What do you mean? We’re teammates,” you answer simply.

“Aren’t missions enough? We don’t need to interact aside from that.”

You pinch your eyebrows at him, and there’s a frown on your face. “Sure we do.”

“There’s no reason.”

It’s not like he ever saved your life, not like Itadori. It’s not like he has a somewhat familial relationship with you, like Gojo. You’re not his sibling or his parent; he’s not the friendlist either so there’s no reason to try to get closer any more than necessary, and there’s no reason for him to be feeling so nervous right now.

“How about because I like talking to you? I think you’re pretty funny, and you’re a kind person.” You shake your head, laughing. “I don’t know. I just like being friends with you.”

Megumi doesn’t know what he was expecting. Some deep explanation why you keep trying to get close to him? Some selfish excuse from you that he could use to warrant pushing you away. A reason to justify why he likes you so much? A reason to hope you like him just as much?

Maybe.

There doesn’t need to be some special reason for you wanting to be his friend, which means he doesn’t really need a reason either.

“I see.”

“Finished,” you say, holding out his newly made bracelet to him. “I poured some of my cursed energy into it, so it won’t break so easily next time.”

Megumi feels calm once again when he feels the weight and roll of the beads on his skin again; the aura of your curse energy humming through it makes the connection back to you much more noticeable.

“What about me?” you ask, drawing his attention. “Do you like being friends with me?”

Megumi can’t answer that, not because he doesn’t have an answer, but because he feels like his tongue weighs more than lead as you lean closer into him.

His eyes find your lips, soft and parted. This is the first time he’s gotten the urge to kiss someone. It makes his stomach whirlwind, and he quickly finds a way to answer you without having to look at you as he picks at one of the charms.

“Can I make you one?”

The next morning, Megumi decides to go out with you and the others for breakfast, which in hindsight was a mistake as Itadori points out the new accesory you’re wearing on your wrist.

“Hey, you got one too now.”

You smile, holding it up proudly. “Megumi made it for me!”

“Megumi?!” Itadori blurts out.

“Made it for you?” Nobara asks with raised eyebrows and a hand on her hip.

“He did a really good job.”

It’s like the time before when you first gave them their gifts, and everyone is looking at him again. “I didn’t do anything special; a monkey could do it,” he mumbles out.

Itadori is the first to crack a laugh followed by Kugisaki. Then, the two of them start muttering and teasing him in unison.

“He’s so modest,” Itadori points out.

“Loverboy,” Kugisaki whispers.

“Can we call you Megumi too?” Itadori asks.

Megumi doesn’t have the patience to consider whether the other boy is being genuine or not as he grits his teeth and growls out a quick “shut up” before konking Itadori on the head to prove his point. It’s enough to make them leave him alone for now as Itadori accidentally trips into Kugisaki from the force.

“That was completely unnecessary, Fushiguro,” Kugisaki grumbles as she pushes Itadori off and stands back to her feet.

Megumi sighs.

This is why he doesn’t want friends.

“Did you just sigh at me!”

“If that’s what you heard,” he tells her.

“You better sleep with both eyes open!”

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

Yet if it’s those two then he guesses having friends isn’t completely unbareable.

Suddenly, Megumi loses focus at the timbre of your laugh.

“You guys are starting early today.”

You’re still laughing at them, harder now actually, and it’s precious. He throws his gaze to the wall as if he’s ignoring Kugisaki and not trying to hide the heat blooming on his cheeks when you glance at him, making him aware that he’s the reason for your laughter.

Megumi shoves his hands in his pockets and rolls his thumb over the bracelet and the heart you left behind there.

Friendship is something he’s coming around to. Having a crush for the first time, well, he still needs work on figuring that out. 

[hanahanumana]

From AnaMaria Abramovic on Fb

Paste magazine has done an article about Michael and how underrated he is in Good Omens and I found a transcript since it's behind a paywall. Here's the link if anyone wants to subscribe. 💙

https://www.pastemagazine.com/tv/amazon-prime-video/good-omens-michael-sheen-underrated-performance-explained-streaming

There’s so much to love about Prime Video’s Good Omens. A delightful adaptation of the popular Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett novel of the same name, the series is romantic, thoughtful, hilarious, and heartfelt by turns. The story of the almost-apocalypse and what comes afterward, it wrestles with big concepts like destiny, free will, and forgiveness, all framed through the lens of an unorthodox relationship between an angel and a demon whose love for one another is a key to saving the world.

As anyone who has watched Good Omens already knows, nothing about this series works without the pair of lead performances at its center. Stars David Tennant and Michael Sheen—who play the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale, respectively—have the kind of lighting-in-a-bottle chemistry that’s the stuff of legend, and their characters’ every interaction conveys both their deep affection for one another and the Earth they’ve made their home. Their romance is the emotional linchpin around which most of the series turns, and their heartbreaking separation in the Season 2 finale is so devastating precisely because we’ve seen how necessary the two are to each other’s lives.

But it’s Sheen’s performance in that final scene that really twists the knife. As Aziraphale’s face crumples following his and Crowley’s long-awaited kiss, the actor manages to convey what feels like every possible human emotion in the span of less than thirty seconds as the angel realizes what he has both had and just lost. The moment is emotionally brutal to watch, particularly after sitting through five and a half episodes of Aziraphale looking as lovestruck as the lead in any rom-com. Sheen makes it all look effortless, shifting from giddy joy to devastated longing and everything in between, and we really don’t talk enough about how powerful and underrated his work in this series truly is.

Though he’s half of the central duo that makes Good Omens tick, Sheen’s role often tends to get overshadowed by his co-star’s. It’s not difficult to see why, given that Tennant gets to spend most of the show swanning around in tight trousers looking like the Platonic ideal of the charming bad boy, complete with flaming red hair and dramatic eyewear. Tennant also benefits from Crowley’s much more sympathetic emotional arc. I mean, it’s hard not to love a cynical demon with a heart of gold who’s been pining after his angelic best friend for literal millennia even after being cast out from Heaven. Of course, viewers are drawn to that—likely a lot more easily than the story of an angel who’s simply trying the best he can to do the right thing as he wrestles with his role in God’s Ineffable Plan. Plus, let’s be real, Tennant’s sizeable Doctor Who fanbase certainly doesn’t hurt his character’s popularity.

As a performer, Sheen has a long history of playing both real people (Tony Blair, David Frost, Brian Clough) and offbeat villains (Prodigal Son’s Martin Whitly, Underworld’s Lucian, the Twilight Saga’s Aro). In some ways, the role of a fussy, bookish angel is playing more than a bit against type for him—Gaiman himself has said he originally intended for Sheen to be Crowley—but in his capable hands, Aziraphale becomes something much more than a simple avatar for the forces of Good (or even of God, for that matter). With a soft demeanor and a positively blinding smile, Sheen’s take on the character consistently radiates warmth and goodness, even as it contains surprisingly hidden depths. The former guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden who gifted a fleeing Adam and Eve his flaming sword and befriended the Serpent who caused their Fall, Azirphale isn’t a particularly conventional angel. He enjoys all-too-human indulgences like food and wine, runs a Hoarders-esque bookshop that never seems to sell anything, and spends most of his time making heart eyes at the being that’s meant to be his hereditary adversary.

Given the much more difficult task of playing the literal angel to Tennant’s charming devil, Sheen must find a way to make ideas like goodness and forgiveness as interesting and fun to watch as their darker counterparts. It’s a generally thankless task, but one that Sheen tackles with gusto, particularly in the series’ second season, as Good Omens explores Aziraphale’s slowly evolving idea of what he can and cannot accept in terms of being a soldier of Heaven. His growing understanding that the truth of creation is colored in shades of grey and compromise is often conveyed through little more than Sheen’s deftly shifting expressions and body language.

Our pop culture consistently struggles to portray the idea of goodness as something compelling or worth watching. Explicitly “good” characters, particularly those who are religiously coded, are frequently treated as the butt of some sort of unspoken joke they aren’t in on, used to underline the idea that faith is a form of naivety or that kindness is somehow a weakness. For a lot of people, the entire concept of turning the other cheek is a sucker’s bet, and believing in something greater than oneself, be it a higher power or a sense of purpose, is a waste of time. But Good Omens is a story grounded in the idea that faith, hope, and love—for one another, God, and the entire world—are active verbs. And nowhere is that more apparent than in Sheen’s characterization of the soft angel whose old-fashioned waistcoats mask a spine of steel and who refuses to give up—on Crowley, on humanity, or on the idea that Heaven is still something that can be saved.

Though he and Tennant have pretty much become a matched set at this point (both on and off-screen), Sheen’s performance has rarely gotten the critical accolades it deserves. (Tennant alone was nominated for a BAFTA for Season 2, and Sheen was categorized as a supporting actor when the series’ competed in the 2019 Saturn Awards.) But it is his quiet strength that holds up so much of the rest of the show around him, and Sheen deserves to be more frequently recognized for it. That he makes it look so easy is just another sign of how good his performance really is.

[maxdibert]

Having a shitty past is no excuse for being a horrible person, and Snape was a horrible person. Snape fans always try to turn him into a tragic hero, but there was nothing heroic about him when he was just an obsessive bigot who followed a group of genocidal maniacs

Well, I think I’ve said this a million times already and explained in exhausting detail why growing up in a particular environment—lacking social, emotional, economic, or essential support—and being subjected to violence during the most crucial years of cognitive development creates the perfect breeding ground for antisocial behavior. It also makes vulnerable or socially excluded youth prime targets for sectarian groups (whether religious, political, or otherwise) that prey on their situation, offering them promises of protection, safe spaces, surrogate parental figures, or social progress. These groups actively seek out kids with emotional voids caused by dysfunctional family dynamics, minimal to no financial resources, and a profound sense that the system has failed them at every turn. They offer these kids an alternative system—one that gives them a roof over their heads, a hot meal, a place to belong, and people who won’t marginalize them like the rest of society has—at the simple price of blindly following the group’s ideology. And they do it. Of course, they do. Because what other choice do they have? This group gave them life, a place in society, and restored their status as human beings.

But since I’ve spoken about this at length before and about how Severus’s life shaped his decisions, I feel like I’m starting to sound like a broken record. So, since I’m also reading a legal ruling I need to memorize by Friday, I’m going to indulge myself and dissertate as freely as I please—because hey, if you’re going to throw hate, I’m going to grant myself the privilege of replying however I want.

Here’s a question: why does it even matter? Seriously, what does it matter if he was a shitty person? Do you know that people go to space today thanks to the work of physicists and engineers who were literal SS members? That after WWII, all the top scientists, physicists, chemists, and engineers were granted amnesty and fast-tracked into citizenships so they could work on government projects? That people working within a stone’s throw of concentration camps are the pioneers behind some of the greatest technological advances of the 20th century? And you don’t care that the products you consume are derived from the work of collaborators with mass genocide, but you’re upset that people find a fictional character interesting? I don’t want to sound cynical, but honestly, it’s ridiculous to get so morally high and mighty about a character who doesn’t exist and who followed an extremist cult for, what? 3 or 4 years tops? and then canonically worked actively to take it down. If we put Severus in a real-world, wartime context, the guy would be a literal war hero with medals to his name. No exaggeration. If he survived, he’d be recruited with a fat paycheck to work in internal affairs for some major world power’s secret projects. That’s just how the world works.

And yeah, he was obsessive. But in an era where everyone suffers at least one anxiety episode a month, where the best-case scenario is that your panic attacks don’t spiral into chronic mental health issues—can we really judge him for that? Like, most of the people I see being ultra “snater” are folks who openly declare themselves neurodivergent, and one of the common denominators of all neurodivergence is obsessiveness. All of them. Whether it’s chronic anxiety, depression, OCD, ADHD, paranoid schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder or autism. Every single one has an obsessive component. So it’s kind of ironic—and even hypocritical—for people who are themselves pretty obsessive (because let’s face it, we’re all compulsively doomscrolling here to soothe our anxious compulsions with little dopamine hits) to judge this character’s obsessiveness as a negative trait. Maybe let’s take a good look in the mirror, too.

And let me just say, no court would convict Severus of collaborating with a terrorist group. Not a single one. Impossible. Especially since he literally collaborated against said group, so any judge would happily clear him—not after the war, but the moment he struck his deal with Dumbledore. Severus is what’s known as an informant. He worked from the inside, exposed himself to greater dangers than regular agents. Legally speaking, there have been cases where people guilty of heinous crimes—including crimes against humanity—were let off because they provided critical information. So imagine someone like Severus, who, as far as we know, didn’t even kill anyone during his time in the group, willingly spilling the beans and agreeing to work as a spy. He’d be celebrated as a hero of war. Hell, they’d probably buy him a mansion in Florida if he wanted one. That’s just how our system works, and honestly, this kind of moralist posturing is pretty cringy because you’re talking about a guy who literally saved half of magical society’s asses and without whom the kid destined to save the world would’ve died in his first year at school.

You can dislike him or think he’s a jerk, but he was damn good at his job. And compared to the people he’s often unfairly measured against (Sirius, James, Remus...), he actually did something. They didn’t. Absolutely nothing. Contribution: negative one.

[2hightocare]

LOVE WAGER! 01

Synopsis: Meeting a crazy stranger who cuts in line, tries to tell you love like the books doesn’t exist—it’s whatever. You won’t ever see him again… right?

Pairings: jungkook x fem!reader

Genre: college au. strangers to friends to lovers. forced proximity.

Warnings: mentions of divorce parents, Jungkook lowkey being insufferable, banter, cussing, a little bit of them being enemies, nicknames, oc being a hopeless romantic at heart, Jungkook being lowkey a cynic… them meeting each other so many times, choking!

a/n: first chapter out!! Woohoo, I’ve been keeping them close to my heart for quite some time. Ever since I listened to “in between” by Gracie Abrams.. I was inspired to write them—the song is so them coded.💌

★ masterlist!

3 years ago…

You were a hopeless romantic.

Most people called it being delusional— by people, you mean the random stranger in front of you.

The first time you met Jungkook, not only did he cut in front of you in line, but he also started shit-talking about how delusional you had to be to think romance books were even remotely comparable to real life.

The line at the cupcake shop was long. You had been wanting to try the new chocolate-covered strawberry flavor from your favorite cupcake shop in the city. The shop was always full, but today it was packed to the bone— the line almost reached outside the door. The people sitting at the cute pastel-colored tables were even leaving because the space was getting so crowded.

It was a Friday, and you had just left school. Your black backpack hung loosely over one shoulder as you stared down at your phone, trying not to die playing Subway Surfers. When your phone died, you internally groaned.

You mentally rolled your eyes before looking forward, where the line was starting to move faster. You were probably the fourth person in line, which was good since you'd only been there for around twenty minutes. You slipped your phone into the back pocket of your jeans before reaching for the zipper of your backpack—pulling out the latest book you hadn’t finished reading amidst all the assignments teachers had been bombarding you with. You thought it was dumb, considering it was your senior year in high school—why not just let you off easy?

You zipped up your backpack before slipping it on, tucking in the small hair that fell into your face when you opened your book. You moved forward as the line advanced, not bothered by the conversations from everyone around you—it was like your own brown noise, which you usually looked up on YouTube whenever you wanted to act like the main character in a movie.

Romance books were your thing. The same went for movies; you loved a good romantic story with the most cliché plot in the world—it did it for you every single time.

Your dad had tried getting you into self-help books, fiction books, or even those thriller books where you had to guess who kills who. He would back this up with actually learning something from reading a book, and you tried all those genres, you really did. You were the most specific girl there could be; if the book didn't impress you within one chapter, you closed it and moved on.

You were basically in love with the idea of love, imagining someone doing all those things you had seen in movies and read about, which filled you with hope that someone could care and love you that way. Yes, you believed in soulmates; you believed that someone, somewhere in this world, was destined to be with you, no matter the circumstances. You believed that if two people were destined for each other, they would find a way to each other, one way or another.

“Hi, baby, you still haven’t ordered? The line is so fucking long.” A strange boy, who looked around your age or maybe slightly older due to his eyebrow piercing, spoke up. He had a navy blue cap with the Yankees logo on the front, and you could see small pieces of his hair. It looked like a dark brown, but at some angles, it looked black, so you thought maybe he dyed it. He was cute, with a sharp jaw and dimples, which you immediately noticed when they showed on his left cheek as he bit his lip, waiting for you to reply.

“I’m sorry—“ you started, only to be cut off by him. “I've been meaning to show you this, babe.” He cut you off before basically shoving his phone into your face. His phone showed his notes app open with a text that read, ‘Please act like you know me so I can cut in line; it’s so long, and I have somewhere to be.’

Your brows furrowed at the pleading guy. You had no clue what his name was, but he looked like he was seriously about to lose his mind if he had to wait another minute in line. You shook your head before nodding— a smile burst on his face.

“Thank you,” he mouthed to you, to which you only shrugged before closing your book. “What flavor are you getting, lovebug?” He said, his nose scrunching in disgust at what he just said. A small laugh escaped your lips since that was the cringiest shit you had heard all day, maybe even all week if you didn’t count your dad trying to write you a poem about his love for your cat.

“I want to get the new chocolate-covered strawberry flavor. What about you?” You said, your fingers fidgeting with the pages of your closed book. His eyes dropped to your hands as you moved up in line, now second in line.

“Is that your book?” He said instead of replying to your question. “Yeah, do you read?” A spike of excitement was clear in your face and voice, only to be squashed when he opened his mouth.

“Do you actually believe anything in there is remotely realistic?” He said nonchalantly before removing his cap, letting his fluffy hair fall in his face before almost immediately collecting it back, placing his cap backward this time.

“I—“ you stutter, your mouth slightly agape, not knowing how to reply without sounding dumb. Because, yeah, you strongly believed romance books were able to happen in real life if someone loved you enough. “Well.. I mean, love happens anywhere,” you shrug, but he only nods his head in a condescending way. Not only were you helping him skip in line—he was basically criticizing your view on love.

“Well, duh, love happens, but all that cringey shit is the dumbest thing our generation normalized. Like, nobody is going to confess their love with a microphone in the middle of a dance-off,” he scoffs. You didn’t understand why he actually looked like he seriously hated the idea of making gestures for someone you loved or cared about.

“Well, obviously, I find that stupid as well, but there are other gestures to show your appreciation and love for someone.” You turn your whole body to face him. He’s not much taller than you, maybe two inches if you really wanted to know, and the cap maybe added another inch, but that didn’t matter since your eyesight was eye level with his.

“Love is embarrassing,” he says, crossing his arms in front of him. You felt the lady behind you both, her eyes bore into you both, trying to figure out why the supposed couple were fighting about love.

“How is love embarrassing?” You scoff before turning around to look in front of you, at the back of the head of the man who was ordering.

“Because love makes you do embarrassing shit all the time; that’s the easiest way I can put it for you, ribbons,” he replies with a duh tone, raising his eyebrows at you, which you see from your peripheral vision.

“Ribbons?” You turn to him, your arms crossed over your book as you glare at him. “Pink ribbon. Don’t you think you look a little too old to be wearing bows?” A grin appears on his face as he casually points to the pink ribbon tied into a bow in your hair.

“The fuck? Not only did I let you skip the line, but you’re a) talking shit about my favorite genre, and b) making fun of me wearing bows.” You turn your full body to him, which he only raises his hands in defense, as if you had a gun pointed at him.

“Damn, my bad. I thought this was a free country; you know your amendments, right?” He raises an eyebrow at you. “Yes, I fucking know my amendments,” you reply, absolutely annoyed at him bringing history into this.

“Freedom of speech,” he says before walking in front of you to the cashier. You were annoyed, maybe even angry. How dare he talk shit and say freedom of speech when you just did him a favor.

“He cut in front of me,” you point to him as you tell on him to the cashier, his jaw dropping to the floor. “Did you just tell on me? What the fuck,” he side-eyes you as you just shrugged.

“I respectfully need to ask you to go to the back of the line,” the cashier says, shooting you an apologetic look. You bite on the inside of your cheek to contain the smile that is threatening to slip out, as he sends you a mocking face, which you return, because apparently, you both were literal children. He rolled his eyes before he walked off.

2 years ago..

The second time you met Jungkook, you almost died due to choking on your coke.

You and your best-friend, Amelia, sat in a booth, munching on pizza, while you hear her ramble about the latest drama on campus.

“I can’t believe he cheated on her. I was so shocked, like I couldn’t believe he would do that after he literally gave her a promise ring—I heard it was expensive as well, bro,” Amelia said, stuffing a French fry in her mouth.

Amelia and you had been best friends since your freshman year at Preston University. She ended up in your dorm room by mistake, until security escorted her to her corresponding room. You both even had your calculus class together, which ended in both of you ripping your hair out because you truly had no clue what the professor was talking about.

“Oh my god, you’re lying!” you gasped, taking a bite of your folded pizza. “Alexandra said she didn’t care, but apparently, she was crying at the frat party we were supposed to go to yesterday,” Amelia said, pressing her lips together with wide eyes. As you were about to reply, she gasped.

“Holy shit, babes, don’t turn around, but there’s this fine-ass guy behind you,” she said. Without thinking you turned your whole body to look at the guy she was talking about.

“Or just turn your whole body, I don't care,” she added, rolling her eyes.

“Wait, who?” you asked, staring at the group of boys in front of you. They were all cute, just not your type whatsoever. “He just turned around, so you can’t see his face, but the one with the black beanie,” Amelia whispered to you as she took a sip of her Dr Pepper.

As you stared at the back of the boy who was engrossed in a conversation with his friend, a loud laugh escaped his lips before he threw his head back, letting you catch a glimpse of his face.

“Oh, fuck, his laugh is hot as fuck as well,” Amelia said behind you, chewing on her crispy fries. “Do you think he has a girlfrien—“ The words melted from your mouth as the beanie boy turned around. “Yeah, he definitely has a girlfriend,” Amelia said nonchalantly, clearly not catching how your eyes widened, as you both stare at the boy who had cut in front of you in line three years ago.

He was taller, much taller, and he was built—you could tell even from his oversized long-sleeve shirt. As much as you wanted to disagree, he was undeniably attractive. The eyebrow piercing was still there, but it somehow looked better than when you first saw it.

“Ribbons?” he said, pointing at you with a chuckle, making you flinch for absolutely no reason. Amelia looked between both of you, trying to read the room.

“Mr. anti-romantic?” You fired back, a huge smile breaking out on his face before he excused himself from his friend group and made his way to your booth. “I see you got a nickname for me... I feel honored,” he said, pressing a palm to his heart dramatically before shooting a nod at Amelia, who waved with a small smile on her face.

You just rolled your eyes. He was the most childish person you had ever met, and that says a lot since this was only the second time you'd ever spoken to him. “I wouldn’t be so honored,” you mumbled, shooting him a tight-lipped smile as he shook his head with a low chuckle.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Amelia said out of nowhere, both you and the unknown boy's heads snap to the side as a smirk makes it’s way to his mouth, while you throw daggers at Amelia with your eyes for her blunt question. “I doubt he would ever hav—“ you start, only to be rudely interrupted by none other than Mr. anti-romantic himself.

“I actually do, and I was just about to meet her here, but I saw your friend and just had to come and say hello,” he said to your best friend, all while wearing a condescending smile.

“Oof, I feel bad for her,” you shrugged, before placing the straw of your clear cup in your mouth and sipping on your coke.

“Eh, she says I’m a pretty good boyfriend, not a hopeless romantic like someone I know,” he said, watching your eyes meet his before you tilted your head in a mocking way, which he picked up immediately.

“I wonder how you even got her to say yes to you,” you bit back, your eyes maintaining contact with his, not wanting to be the first to break it. But he was too good at it; you almost felt like crumbling into a ball from how intense his stare was.

“I guess you could say there are more ways to please a woman without love letters,” he said nonchalantly. You choked on your coke as the liquid went down the wrong pipe, making you start having a coughing attack.

His and Amelia’s eyes widened as Amelia immediately swatted the man who was right beside you. His hand made contact with your arm, raising it up in the air.

“The fuck are you doing?” Amelia said aggressively, side-eyeing him, as you basically died in front of their wondering eyes. You really didn’t expect him to just talk about his sexual life so openly without a care. You would want to crawl into a hole if your boyfriend ever talked about your private moments like that to anyone.

“My mom said if you put someone’s hand up, it makes your cough go away. I don’t fucking know! I’m not a doctor,” he shot back at your best friend as he raised your arm in the air. Your cough slightly disappeared as you tapped on your chest as if that would do anything to stop it.

“Are you good?” Amelia said as she basically hovered over the table. You felt the whole dinner's eyes on you as you tried to recover from the insane coughing fit you just had. “Y-yeah, fuck,” you coughed, your arms still up in the air from his hold. “I almost for real thought you were about to die. I already imagined myself behind bars,” he said, rubbing his unoccupied hand through his face with a sigh.

“Now I’m hoping I actually died,” you said, yanking your arm away from his grasp.

“We’re leaving, Amelia. Let’s go,” you said, standing up, collecting your jacket and bag, and pushing him out of the way, standing up beside him.

He hovered over you; you almost wanted to jump up to reach his height, but you were already embarrassed enough. So instead, you fixed your denim skirt before looking up at him.

“Well, it was so not nice to see you again, and hopefully we don’t get to meet again, Mr. anti-romantic. Goodbye,” you said as you sent him a fake smile his way.

You pulled on Amelia’s hand before she could say anything and walked out of the dining room without looking back at the boy who was standing in the same place, watching the girl he almost witnessed pass away by choking on coke from him even remotely bringing up sex.

A small chuckle left past his lips as he made his way to the table where his friends were seated.

“Dude, what the fuck happened? Why was that pretty girl coughing like crazy?” Taehyung said, eyeing the door through which you had just left.

Jungkook didn’t know why his heart picked up when his best friend called you pretty. He wasn’t blind; you were beautiful. When he first met you, you both were obviously much younger. If it wasn’t for how much you had grown into your face and the braces you once had were long gone, it would’ve been your aura that gave it away. You were more outspoken, which kinda took him back but sent a sense of excitement through his body.

“No clue. Just some girl I met in my senior year... kinda taken aback I ran into her again,” Jungkook said before picking up the menu from the table, looking for what food he should order. “Maybe it’s fate, bro,” Namjoon teased, which made Jungkook drop his menu on the table.

“You guys know all that shit is bullshit, right? It was just a coincidence. I’ll probably never see her again after this,” Jungkook rolled his eyes, leaning backward onto the booth and crossing his arms in front of him defensively.

“Whatever you say, champion,” Hoseok whistled as he called the waitress.

Jungkook's brain immediately canceled out the noise as he started running through all the possible scenarios that would leave you both at the same place at the same time. His body shook from the possibility of it being fate; he hated the idea of the answer being anything besides actual proven fact. He didn’t care how cynical he might sound; he had trusted so many people in his life, including his parents, who always preached about love and honesty. But flash forward to him having to skip around each house of his parents every weekday and weekend. He hated how he believed them when they said love can get through everything. Absolutely not—divorce.

He just imagined your perfect household, two parents at the same home who still say ‘I love you’ to each other every chance they get. You get to read your books in your living room without a fight breaking out out of nowhere just because someone forgot to throw the trash out.

Love didn’t exist in his eyes. He believed in mutual respect. He doesn’t believe in the whole crazy in love charade. His girlfriend Haneul didn’t really want the whole whispering cute things in each other's ears or dancing under the moon either, and that’s why he chose her.

Plus, he wasn’t an asshole when it came to love when it came to other people. Did he want to ruin their moment and tell them they wouldn’t last? Yes—but he never does.

He saw how broken his mom was after the divorce. He thought about the idea of love and if someone came to love you, you would do anything in your power to not hurt them. It had been five years since his parents’ divorce, and everyone seemed to have moved on perfectly, while Jungkook watched how his perspective of love changed drastically over time.

He was glad that you didn’t have to go through what he had to go through, given your obvious naivety. That was entirely the only reason he shit-talked about love when he first met you, which was the most jackass move he could’ve done, especially after you let him skip the line. But after you told on him to the cashier like a little child, he was thinking of actually tackling you.

Either way, it didn’t matter for him to be worrying or thinking about you in the first place, when he didn’t even know your name. Plus, he would never see you again, that’s for sure.

Present day..

Psychology class was your number one nemesis. You literally begged the counselor to let you have another class that wasn’t psychology. Not only did he laugh, but he said it would do you good. In your mind, he basically called you crazy—maybe you did need the class after all.

As you huffed and puffed to your last class of the day, you fixed your glasses on your face and tightened the high ponytail with the white ribbon that matched the outfit Amelia helped you pick out. You pushed open the door to the class and were greeted by half-empty seats and no professor, giving you the option to choose where you sat.

You were a middle-seat row girl, unable to see far away without your glasses. You also avoided sitting too close to the front, fearing teachers would call on you.

As you took a seat in the chair, a body sat beside you without a word. You didn’t even care to look as you took out your laptop from your backpack, worrying about how this year’s professor might be. You had heard from last year’s students that the teacher might have been the devil’s spawn.

While you were finally seated, you moved your head to your left to see the body next to you engrossed in their phone. Your jaw dropped as you were met with none other than Mr. Anti-Romantic.

“What the actual fuck, are you stalking me or something?” you said, absolutely baffled by how many times you had run into him and from all the empty seats, he decided to sit next to you.

He immediately raised his head from his phone, his eyes widening as he stared at your obviously angry face. “Ribbons? What the actual fuck, I didn’t realize that was you,” he said, throwing his head back in shock.

“You had to know it was me, why else would you sit beside me?” you scoffed, crossing your arms in front of you. He looked the same as the last time you saw him, except now he had a full sleeve of tattoos on his right arm, and the eyebrow piercing was long gone.

Now that he was closer to you, you could see the small mole he had under his lip and the scar on his cheek. His hair was shorter and black, but classroom lights deceived, so maybe it was fully brown, but you didn’t dare to ask.

“Don’t think you’re special, Ribbons. I just can’t see from the back, and in the front, teachers always pick on you to talk in front of the class, and I’m trying to avoid that,” he explained, having the same process as you, but unfortunately, the other half of his brain didn’t process the idea of love.

“Are you sure you have the right class?” you bit out, hoping he had walked into the wrong class and would have to leave immediately. You seriously couldn’t even wrap your head around the fact that he was here and that he went to the same university as you—this being the first time he had seen you around campus.

“Psychology class A65,” he side-eyed you as you rolled your eyes and faced the board, trying your best to ignore his presence.

“You know you can just move to another seat, right?” he said, pointing to all the empty seats beside you. Your head slowly turned to the side to face his face as he gave you a tight-lipped smile.

“Why would I move when I was here first?” you scoffed his way as he shrugged, indicating that he couldn’t care less. “’Cause I truly don’t care, but you obviously seem affected by my presence, so Ribbons, pick your seat,” he pointed to the available seats.

You imagined the easiest way you could kill someone, but tackling him to the ground at this exact moment might bring attention to you both, so you just breathed out of your nose before giving him a fake smile and rolling your eyes.

“I’m not leaving, and for your information, I’m perfectly fine and not bothered by your presence whatsoever,” you said, trying your best to seem as calm and collected as possible.

“For your information…” he mocked beside you, trying to imitate your voice before chuckling. “I swear, Ribbons, I can see smoke coming out of your ears and nose,” he laughed.

“Stop calling me Ribbons,” you gritted your teeth, already at your limit.

“What else do you want me to call you? I don’t know your name, and you’re still wearing ribbons, I can see,” Mr. Anti-Romantic pointed to the white ribbon in your hair. You rolled your eyes before sending his calm, collected figure a scanty smile.

“Y/n,” you said, tilting your head to the side, as if asking him to tell you his name. “I like Mr. Anti-Romantic, not gonna lie,” he bit his lip, trying to contain his laughter as you were about to lose your composure at any moment.

“You aggravate me, and I don’t know why,” you mumbled, hoping he didn’t hear—but he did, loud and clear. “Jeon Jungkook,” he said, and before you could reply, the professor strode in, wearing the weirdest clothes you could imagine.

“She looks like that one crazy Victorious teacher,” he whispered softly, only for you to hear, smugly bending downward so you could hear better. A small laugh left your lips. “Sikowitz?” you whispered back as both of you stared forward at the professor, who was talking about the syllabus. “Yeah, spot the difference: hard level,” he whispered.

You looked down at your hands, trying to hide the amusement on your face.

For the rest of the class, you guys didn’t talk whatsoever, and honestly, you wouldn’t know if he tried, since you were absorbed in whatever Mrs. Calderon was saying.

“So, here’s where you start hating me, I’m giving you guys a project,” she said, leaning on her desk, making the desk creak. You could hear small groans from students around you, but not loud enough for her to hear.

“It will be a partner project, which I chose randomly, and no, I’m not changing them. I want you guys to be able to work with whomever, no matter what,” she said, a sense of dread passing through you.

“I would email each and every one of you what the project is about. It is due at the end of the quarter, so I better not hear, ‘I didn’t have time, Miss,’” Mrs. Calderon said before picking up a sheet of paper.

"Here are the partners, so after class, come and check who your partner is so you can start talking about what you both will do." With that the bell ringing, everyone stood up and rushed to the paper, including yourself. You held tightly onto your backpack strap as you waited for people to move out of the way—half of the people bitched about who they got, they couldn’t possibly be that bad.

Your heart dropped to your ass as you read your name—Jungkook squished beside you, looking for his name, only to find it where your finger was already on.

You got paired up with Jungkook. What kind of fuckery was this?

As Jungkook read "Y/n Y/ln & Jeon Jungkook," he couldn’t believe his eyes. He almost lost his mind when he realized it was you when he sat next to you, but he tried his best to act unaffected. However, this was too much of a "fuck you" sign from the universe—Jungkook didn’t think he did something so horribly to be rewarded like this.

What the fuck were the odds, and how could he scientifically prove that it’s not the universe trying to mess with him?

Taglist💌— @httpjeonlicious @thekookiedealer @somehowukook @taiwan0618 @gwsjungkookie @seokout @sealuv79 @junecat18 @joonsanswer @letjungcoook7 @skzthinker @ahgasegotarmy116recs @ivygguk (I couldn’t add some idk why😓)

[stickandthorn]

The way Terry Pratchett handled police in the Discworld continues to be one of the many, many things I love about his works. I certainly don’t have time to describe all the details of why he wrote such good policing, but I think the best summation of it is the arc that Sam Vimes had in many of the books.

I haven’t read all the watch books, but in the ones I have, there’s often a similar plot structure. We meet a truly detestable criminal Vimes is chasing down (think the Deep Downers in Thud, or Carcer in Night Watch). They show themselves to be truly awful people who do awful things, and they’re also just plain jackasses. They’re characters you hate to read about, the grind the audience’s gears. They also grind Sam Vimes’s gears. 

Throughout the story, they commit more and more crimes. Horrible crimes, like torturing and killing innocent people, or practicing violent religious extremism. They do things that personally target our protagonist, like go after his wife and son, or relentlessly taunt him and try to kill him and his past self. They consistently do bad things, and even as Vimes is chasing them, they do more bad things. You want them to be punished.  Finally, at the climax, we get some sort of final confrontation between the villain(s) and Vimes. In a different book, Vimes might kill the people who sent people to hurt his infant son, or tortured and killed innocent people, and the audience would probably cheer. In fact, Vimes wants to kill them. 

But he doesn’t. Every time, he suppresses the urge to enact his own justice, and he doesn’t kill them. He arrests them. Because, as he says many times, if you’ll do something for a good reason, you’ll do it for a bad. Even when there’s every excuse as to why this particular villain doesn’t deserve to live, he just arrests them. It’s not his job to decide how they should be punished for their crimes.

I think this is a masterful takedown of police brutality and Punisher style characters. Vimes isn’t a perfect person, it’s not that he could never dream of killing the bad guy. He can, and he does, often. But he never follows through, he understands why he can’t do that, so no matter how tempting it is, he doesn’t.

Because in this story, the hard boiled cynical cop truly believes in following the law. The message is always that law enforcement killing a criminal is never ok, even if they’re undeniably guilty of something truly dreadful. Hell, police brutality is personified as a millennia old demonic quasi-deity possessing Vimes, one that’s never been beaten before, but he beats it and doesn’t give in. I think that’s a really unique message in cop stories, and another reason as to why Pratchett was such a good author. 

[vendetta-if]

Hi! Sorry if you've already answered this but what does each RO feel and think about MC path of either Justice or Revenge? (Heir path)

(Love to see what everyone else thinks as well)

I'm just curious to know what Rin truly thinks about MC going for revenge, because I feel like he's a bit reluctant? But also, an heir to a crime family going for justice? (Giving him over to the police after getting enough evidence to convict him) I can't really see him approve that, either.

I'm also curious of what their "preferred" heir MC is, Ruthless or Merciful, admired or feared etc.

Am definitely curious to know how that affects Ash as well. I love my little psycho MC (Definitely some Jinx vibes going on there) but then I get concerned and worried when I see Ash being like "Whoa, so cool! Never seen a body rain blood before, awesome! Whoo, murder! 🥳"

Then i'm like "Wait... No, this is bad Ash, BAD! Blood rain isn't awesome! It's horrifying! It's literally what happens in the APOCALYPSE! That's it, we're going to have a long talk when we get home about Wrong and Right!"

...then later when she gets her birthday present she'll giddily ask Luka if she can try torturing him too 😭

I feel so conflicted when Ash asks MC about what she will do with the killer... Then says what he wants, which is exactly the same, so I can't really tell him not to do the same... But it makes me so concerned every time, and guilty.

I don't want to bring my sweet, beloved firecracker down and even darker path than the one we're already on 😭

Ash and Rin prefer revenge to justice (letting the justice system do what it was supposed to do a long time ago). Probably because of the families and environment that they’re both raised and live in, they believe retaliation against such personal slight should be taken into their own hands.

However, whereas Ash’s revenge might be explosive and impulsive as they chase the quickest way to personally get their hands on the one who wronged them, Rin’s revenge is cold and calculating.

It’s full of reckoning, scheming, and pulling of strings behind the scenes and they’re content to let others to do the dirty work. They don’t really care about seeing the one who wronged them face-to-face and kill them with their own hands like Ash does.

That doesn’t make their revenge less personal though, and dare I say, sometimes, their revenge ends up being more drawn-out and torturous for the poor schmuck. The true definition of “revenge is a dish best served cold”.

And Rin does prefer Ruthless MC in the sense that they both have a more similar mindset. Of course, they’ll still love Merciful MC the same, but being with such kind MC makes them highly protective of them since they don’t want to see them get hurt or taken advantage of.

They’ll do whatever it takes to keep MC safe behind MC’s back, doing the necessary things that Merciful MC might not have the heart to do themself. Same thing with Ash as well, which is why in the Ash/MC/Rin poly, Ash and Rin will actually become really close and trusted confidantes of each other because they—almost all of the time—have the same mindset and overarching goal.

Santana and Skylar, of course, prefer justice and letting the right people dispense due punishment. Although, a more cynical Santana might not be too opposed to MC having revenge as well since they’ve seen firsthand how corrupt and sometimes incompetent the system is; they can’t really blame MC and the Morozovs to want to take matters into their own hands.

And as for your last sentence about Ash… 🥺 They’ll gladly walk with MC down a darker path. They actually feel they are already walking down that path a long time ago, especially since they accepted working as the Family’s enforcer… 😥

[queenimmadolla]

Eddie Munson is a CERTIFIED lover boy. He is a cynical, abrasive and theatrical metal nerd, but he is so clearly a lover, and that’s why he’d love you regardless of your aesthetic. Metal head? Great. Girly girl? Spectacular. Tomboy? Amazing. Flamboyant? Astounding. More hip hop based? Hot as hell. Goth? Riveting. Chola like? Incredible. Skater boy? Sensational. Nerd? Phenomenal. Pick-me? Sure, why not…..

The aesthetic is just a plus to him, it doesn’t matter if you match, if you compliment each other, or if you fit some trope, it is not solely the reason he is in love with you. He. Loves. You.

It’s the person wearing the aesthetic that really fucking matters.

[wardenparker]

Countdown to a Kiss

Dave York x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: General audiences, but this blog is always 18+! Word Count: 10.4k Warnings: None to speak of, really? Food and alcohol, brief clothing/outfit mention. Single Dad Dave and Single Mom Reader. Flirting. Fluff. Implied sex. Summary: Attending a New Years Eve fundraiser at your daughter's school doesn't seem quite so daunting when you get to spend the night with her best friend's single father - Dave York. Notes: Happy 2025, everyone! A little festive fic to ring in the new year 🍾🎆 (As always, the gif is just for vibes, not for physical representation of the reader.)

Dave doesn’t move like he used to. There’s muscle weakness. He sometimes limped. His grip strength in his right hand - his dominant hand - is significantly less than what he was just a year ago. It was better than it had been right after the hours of surgery he had endured, but he would never be what he was. Be it a blessing or a curse, Dave York was different.

However, how could he say no to those warm, gentle brown eyes when they look up at him with so big a pleading? Looking so much like his own without the cynicism and rancor he had developed over time. Little Molly hadn’t had the hard life lessons he had, and he hopes she never does. Alice, older, more observant, is slightly more jaded but she had been old enough to understand that someone had hurt her daddy when he had been trapped on that hospital bed for weeks. He had avoided telling her the truth, but she was also smart as a whip. She didn’t believe him when he said it had been an accident.

“You girls really want to go to this New Year’s dance?” He asks, glancing at both of them as the three of them stand in line at the grocery store with the supplies for the grilled chicken dinner he had planned. Since Carol had left, grilling had been his go-to for meat, since he hated the dry, pan fried pork chops she had served him for years.

“Yes!” Both of them immediately answer, nearly shouting and Dave sees several people glance his way and shift uncomfortably at the sight of the deep, ugly scar over his eye. He had just been lucky to keep the damn thing, so it doesn’t bother him. His girls still look at him, so that’s all that matters. “Please? Please, daddy?” Molly begs, making Dave soften, even though he had already decided to go.

“Alriiiiiiiiiight.” He sighs dramatically and rolls his eyes because it makes them giggle. “We’ll go to the New Year’s Dance.”

Carol had been the shrewdest of the three women in his life. As was her right. He had married her for her beauty and her brains, but it seemed that when it came to her heart, even Carol York had limits.

The divorce had been ruthless, with Carol keeping the house in DC and two of the three cars. She combed the accounts -- the ones she knew about -- for all the assets she could possibly lay claim to. And she'd thrown away the girls just as quickly as she had their marriage. It was her claim that she wanted nothing to do with them in case they turned out like him.

So that was it. Dave, Alice, and Molly were on their own.

He had moved them away. Away from the mother that didn't want them and memories of the past. Mainly moving away so that he could make sure that Robert McCall didn't know he was still alive.

He didn't want to deny them much, so he had enrolled them in a private school. The best in the area. Hoping that the structure would keep them on track after Carol had let their schooling slip when he was in the hospital.

The first few months seemed to go alright. Molly had made several new friends, always being the outgoing type, but more reserved Alice had made only one. Still, Dave counted that as a positive. One new friend was better than none, and it boded well for her.

Dave had accounts Carol had never known about, would never know about. She had signed away all of her rights in exchange for no child support. He didn't need money from her, able to buy a house that was better than the one in D.C., even if it was smaller. He could hire a sitter for the girls if he needed but his business allows him to work from home and take the girls with him when necessary. He didn't kill anymore, but he didn't need to.

As a security consultant, he was able to navigate his business and his family life as needed. The newest piece of that puzzle was the girls’ school. Because of the nature of the school he was sending the girls to now, with its occasional political family, old money benefactors, and celebrity children all in the mix, they did require a level of finesse that he wasn’t much used to from a school. Their barbecues were practically Michelin star and their talent shows could have been Broadway caliber. The annual PTA fundraiser was a New Years Eve party that was so swanky it could have been mistaken for a Hollywood soirée.

"I guess we will have to find dresses for you girls." He muses, making a face that makes Molly giggle and Alice roll her eyes. His girls are beautiful and he hates that they are growing up far faster than they should.

"And you a pretty suit!" Molly reminds him.

"Daddy has pretty suits." Alice reminds her sister, and he can see the wheels of her clever little mind turning already. "The one that has the two rows of buttons," she tells her father, chin turned up to look all the way up at him. "Makes you look like a black and white movie."

He lifts a brow, the one that isn't scarred, at her comment. "That one, huh?" He asks, amused, although she has always had a flair for fashion. Her dress up clothes were always neat and coordinated. She hadn't been one to wear the same princess dress for months at a time. "You think I should shave?" He asks, rubbing the slightly unkempt stubble on his chin. Growing out a beard wasn't working for him, it was growing in patchy.

"Yeah!" Alice nods enthusiastically, but then seems to think better of the idea and frowns. "Shave your chin."

"Shave my chin." He barks out a laugh and nods, "message received." He hums as the three of them move up in the line to start putting their groceries on the conveyor belt. "I'll shave my chin."

"Marnie's gonna wear pink to the party." Alice reports, solemnly and with an air that said it would definitely affect the decision of what she would wear. But to her father, she adds, "Our party is different from your party."

"What happens at your party, baby?" He reaches out and strokes her back. He always wants her to be able to talk to him, to confide in him.

"It's called a Sock Hop." Her tone implies that since she had never heard the term before, she's absolutely certain her father hasn't either. "And there's gonna be pizza and ice cream and the teachers are gonna play games with us."

“That sounds like fun.” He offers, knowing he would like that party more than the one that they want him to attend. He doesn’t have much in common with the wealthy parents so he won’t have much conversation during the party.

"Do you know what your party will be like, Daddy?" Molly asks, equally excited to go to a sock hop with all of her new friends.

“No pizza.” That he knows for sure. “But I’m sure there will be music and dancing.”

"No pizza?" His younger daughter looks positively affronted at that idea. "How do you have a party without pizza?"

“I don’t know.” He nods to the cashier, watching her glance at his eye and then at the girls warily. He’s used to it, but it still stings sometimes, before this, he has been a pretty good looking guy. Nothing astonishing, but he had more than a few women giving him an interested glance. Now they just look at him and wonder what happened to his face. They wouldn’t even know how to react to the other scars he wears from that day. “I’ll have to report back if I survive.”

"Daddy." Alice scolds with a very serious expression. "You'll be fine." Sometimes she sounds so much like her mother that it stings. Sometimes, like now, she sounds like his mother.

“Are you sure?” He asks, pulling out his wallet to pay. “Because I’m not so sure.”

"Alice is always sure," Molly reminds him. The air of a little sister admiring the hell out of her big sister is obvious, and Dave can't help but grin.

The cashier seems to soften slightly, seeing his interaction with his daughters and she doesn't seem so hesitant when she gives him the total. He pays and loads up the groceries, letting the girls chatter between themselves as he wheels the cart out to the parking lot and nearly runs into a cart rushing into the store. "Whoa!" He yanks it back just in time and looks up, about to say something snarky when he sees that it's you. Marnie, your daughter, already lunging forward to hug Alice while letting out an ear piercing squeal that only pre-teen girls manage. It makes his tinnitus flare up sometimes.

The commotion drowns out your gentle scolding, and Marnie isn’t listening anyway. You’ll remind her afterward that she has to stay safe and aware of herself in parking lots — right now she’s too busy hugging the life out of Alice York and won’t listen to a thing that comes out of your mouth.

Frazzled single mom isn’t normally the look you go for but today has been a doozy, and you know your hair is a bit unkempt and your clothes not as neat and tidy as you would prefer. It wouldn’t matter to you except that you’ve run into your daughter’s best friend at the supermarket — which means he is here too. Alice’s father, Dave. Ridiculously hot, mysterious, definitely has seen some shit in his life but loves his girls so much, Dave.

“Fancy meeting you here,” you joke, lamely, and wish you had just stopped to run a comb through your hair before you left the house.

"Odd thing, that need for food." Dave always thinks that you are nervous around him. Little tics showing up every time you run into each other. Shifting, sometimes tripping over your words. He tries to be friendly to put you at ease, but it seems to never help. "You two busy today?" He maneuvers the cart over a half a foot and reaches out gently to guide yours to the side as well the man behind you can slip past. Not ready to let the conversation die just yet, his excuse will be the girls, but that's not completely it.

“The usual Saturday chaos,” you tell him, letting out a poorly disguised nervous laugh. He’s so stupidly attractive that it makes you flighty. Like a teenager with her first real crush. It’s probably that he’s the first person you’ve been genuinely attracted to since the divorce and that also makes you nervous. “Errands, swim lessons, going to grandma’s house. How about you guys?”

"Karate, lunch out, going to the park." He shrugs. "Now the age old question of 'what's for dinner?' has been answered." He motions to the bags. "Grilled chicken and asparagus, mashed potatoes and a salad. One of those caesar kits Molly loves."

“That sounds positively gourmet.” From everything you know about Dave York — which is admittedly not much — he dotes on his girls completely and takes incredible care of them. Which frankly, only makes him more attractive. “I think my mom was talking about meatloaf tonight.”

"Meatloaf is delicious." Dave agrees. "I've just never been able to make it." He misses Carol's recipe, but she wouldn't give it to him to make for the girls. All the ones online didn't sound similar to it so he had essentially given up the search.

“It’s not easy. My Mom’s is always infinitely better than mine.” You glance at your daughter and laugh. “Or so I’m told.”

“Oh yeah. I love the comparisons.” Dave snorts, rolling his eyes.

“So, um…” Watching the girls chatter excitedly for a long moment, you bite back your nerves and decide that you’re asking for Marnie. That’s it. Just for your daughter. And not at all for your own selfish interest. “Did you get the annual fundraiser notice?”

"I did." He nods, wondering if you will go. He knows that you aren't quite like the other parents either. He's always assumed that’s why you are a little more friendly with him than the other mothers. Your daughter attends the private school because it was a part of your divorce settlement. At least, that was what was whispered behind cocktail glasses at the first and last PTA meeting Dave attended. "The girls just begged me to go. So I have to ask, what shade of pink is Marnie wearing?" He had been informed there are many types of pink when he had gotten the wrong one once for the Barbie movie he took the girls to see.

“Ah, yes, I heard about the Barbie movie debacle.” It eeks a grin out of you, because despite Dave being a girl dad you don’t see him as a pink kind of guy. “That would be baby pink. I managed to unearth an old Pink Ladies costume from many moons ago and I’m altering it for her.”

"Baby pink." He nods and pulls out his phone to make a note. "I'm going to take them dress shopping tomorrow I guess." He looks up. "Are you going to the adult party?" He tries to keep the question casual, like he's just curious.

“I thought I might put in an appearance.” It makes the most sense for you to go. It’s better than spending New Year’s Eve at home with a bottle of wine and take out, anyway. Or, at least, you tell yourself it is. All those gossipy PTA parents know far too much about your divorce and all sigh about how much they miss seeing your ex-husband at events. The best you can figure, the Moms all miss drooling over him. You don’t want to think about how many of them he actually might have slept with. Keeping the girls in that school is good for them, but it’s a punishment for you.

"Me too." He sends you a commiserating look and shrugs. "Beats being alone and then having to pick the girls up later." He reasons.

"Daddy!" Alice's eyes widen like she's just thought of the greatest idea ever. "Why doesn't Marnie spend the night?" She asks excitedly. "After the dance. Please? Please? It would be so much fun!"

Marnie immediately jumps on that idea, pleading along with Alice the way only best friends can. You never really mind sleepovers, but you don’t know how Dave feels about them. “That’s a long night sweetie. The party is late at night.”

Dave is a sucker for the girls, maybe a little too soft, but after everything he thinks they deserve a little bit of spoiling. Nearly dying had truly put his priorities in order. "I don't mind." He offers. "If you don't." He shrugs. "Give you a night off if you want."

“As long as that’s okay with you.” It won’t be too much, after all. The girls will crash soon after getting home and you’ll come by early to pick up Marnie the next day.

He teases the girls by making them wait for a minute more, Alice and Marnie practically bouncing on their toes and Molly is just as excited because her older sister doesn't leave her out of fun with her friend. "Well, I guesssssss." He draws out, grinning when they start cheering and dancing in the entryway to the grocery store.

“You know what that means, girls,” You remind them in your best mom voice. “It’s still three weeks away, and Christmas is still coming, so we’re all going to be extra good. Right?”

He approves of the bribe, it's a good one and he nods in agreement when they glance over at him. "Gotta be good." He tells Marnie. "Help your mom out, m'kay?"

“Okay, Mr. York!” She’d do just about anything in the world to be able to spend time with Alice, so it isn’t much of a stretch to have her agree here.

Now that there is a plan, he hums. "We should probably go get dinner started, girls." He tells them, ignoring the whining groans and looks over at you. "Have a good night."

“Have a good night.” Your voice echoes his with a hint of a smile, bundle your daughter into the store to let the Yorks get on with their day. If you take a second glance behind you as you walk into the store…well…that’s perfectly fine. He didn’t catch you checking him out and you’re a grown woman. You’re allowed to have impure thoughts now and again.

******

It's a hassle, tying a perfect double windsor knot but the girls had insisted that he wear the polka dotted tie with his double breasted suit. He has to admit that it looks good with the crisp white shirt and pocket square against the dark charcoal of the suit. He had scrapped the hair off his chin but left the mustache, giving him a slightly darker, cleaner look.

Alice and Molly are in complementary pink and white dresses — Alice’s is more pink and Molly’s is more white, at their insistence — and their hair is done up in painstaking curls. Dave has had to learn, but the curve was unforgiving and steep.

Together they look exceptionally smart, and Molly giggles in the living room as her father adjusts his appearance for the eighth time in as many minutes. “Daddy looks handsome,” she points out to her older sister, who had very definite opinions about their father’s appearance tonight.

"You forgot cologne, daddy." She points out, arching a brow to look just like he used to when he would give her that look. He huffs slightly. "Why do I need to smell good?" He argues, although he is already starting to head towards the bedroom again to put some on. "It's not like I'm impressing anyone." He mutters to himself.

The ride to the girls’ school is full of upbeat pop music that Alice had picked out. She decided that she wanted to get excited but instead of listening to the 50s and 60s music that will get played at the party, she opted for the Barbie soundtrack yet again.

The music is definitely not to Dave's tastes and it makes his ears want to bleed, but he focuses on driving so he can ignore it. Now he understands how some targets caved under the pressure of torture. This is torture.

The girls sing along and giggle happily, keeping the volume in the car high all the way to the school. The kids’ party is in the gymnasium so he parks the SUV in the lot there and gathers them up, fully expecting that Alice will bolt the second she sees Marnie.

Dave adjusts his tie and suit jacket before he takes Molly’s hand. Proud of how confidently she walks towards the entrance to the building where he will drop them off for their party, he runs into you and Marnie.

The girls squeal, running to each other and wrapping up in enthusiastic hugs, and you’re left laughing with Marnie’s coat in your hands. “Well that’s certainly one way to say hello,” you admit, shaking your head a little as you turn to say hello to Dave. The word sticks in your throat, though, when you get a glimpse of him. All cleaned up in a double-breasted suit with a beautiful silk tie, clean shaven except for an incredibly debonair mustache…Dave York looks like a 1940s matinee idol. He could give Humphrey Bogart such a run for his money that Bogey would be broke on the sidewalk. “H—hi.” You finally manage to stammer out, instinctively hugging your long wool coat a little tighter around yourself.

“Hi.” He nods respectfully and sees you shiver. “Come on girls.” He calls out. “Let’s get you checked in.”

“It was so sweet of you to offer to take the girls tonight.” The five of you go in together, finding long tables set up in the school gym for check in with smiling teachers who are hopefully being paid a whole lot of overtime. “I have Marnie’s bag in the car and I promise I won’t be late in the morning to get her.”

Dave frowns and shakes his head. “You should sleep in.” He huffs. “The girls will either sleep in like the dead or be up at the crack of dawn. Either way, I’ll be up.” He chuckles. “I promised them New Year’s Day waffles.”

“You’re a miracle.” You laugh, knowing waffles are your daughter’s favorite food on the planet. Waffles, chicken tenders, and carrot sticks would be the only thing she ate if she fixed her own food. “How about I give you a call when I wake up and you can let me know how the girls are managing?” It had become necessary to exchange numbers ages ago when the girls had their first playdate, but you have never abused the privilege. Even if you had started at his contact info a little too intensely once or twice after an extra glass of wine at night.

He chuckles, ignoring the startled looks from the teachers checking in the girls. Some people find it amazing that he laughs or can joke around. “That sounds good. And if you’re hungover, a waffle bar cures all ills.”

“Well, hopefully we’ll avoid that,” you murmur, momentarily averting your eyes so he doesn’t see how damned soft you get at the sound of his laugh. It seems to you that Dave York doesn’t laugh nearly enough. “I do have to drive myself home, after all.”

“If you need a ride, you just let me know.” He murmurs seriously. He wants you to enjoy yourself. He might have a drink but he never drank much before either. It wasn’t a good idea in his former profession.

Before you can get too flustered or trip over your words at such a simple show of manners, it’s suddenly your turn to check Marnie in for the kids’ party.

Her teacher flashes you an expectant smile. “Marnie and Alice, my dynamic duo. Come on over!”

Dave has to check both girls in, so he sidles up behind you. It almost makes the five of you seem like a family, eager to enjoy the night.

The same thought occurs to you, but it feels dangerous to dwell in it. You’ve had this lingering whatever this feeling is for Dave since you met him a few months ago and you can’t let it get out of hand.

Once the teacher has checked the girls in, they give Dave a hug, only because he insists. Both of them are eager to get to the fun. “Have a great time, girls.” He tells them. “I’m right next door if you need anything.”

Marnie gets the same hug and cheerful goodbye, and for a second it really is like you’re here with Dave instead of just at the same time. The silence lingers for a moment before you chuckle under your breath. “Somehow I think the food is going to be better at their party than ours,” you joke. The list of pizzas that have been ordered is out on a nearby table and you just know the food for the adults will be pretentious fine dining.

Dave snorts and nods. “I’ve never liked escargot. No matter how many times someone tries to convince me that it’s good.” He sees you playing with the edges of your coat. It seems to be a nervous tic. “Come on.” He offers his arm since it’s the polite thing to do and those heels look dangerous. “Why don’t I buy you the first of the overpriced  gin and tonics made with mediocre, well quality gin?”

“Sounds absolutely perfect.” The offer of his arm is downright gallant, and though you’re loath to make the comparison, for a moment you struggle to remember a single time your ex ever did something as chivalrous as offer you his arm or even open a door for you.

The two of you walk down the lit path towards the social hall of the school. Where the adults party was being held. It’s romantic with the white lights wrapped in the bushes and around the trees. Making him wonder if you wish you had brought a date.

Struggling for anything else to latch on to, you glance up at the man beside you and offer him a smile. “They did a nice job with the decorations this year.” Along with the silver lights all around you, there are golden lanterns near the entrance of the social building and you can see shimmering decorations inside along the hall.

“They know how to throw a party.” He agrees. “The last school the girls were in, they would have multicolored lights and handmade baubles.” He tells you. “Not bad, but a very different vibe.”

“Honestly?” You shrug a little. “I miss that kind of stuff. Marnie was in public school when she was little and loved all those homemade events. I did too.”

“Yeah.” Dave sighs softly. “I didn’t get to keep any of the homemade ornaments from when the girls were younger.” It didn’t make sense, since she didn’t want the girl, but he hadn’t argued. He just wanted to be done with everything.

“Neither did I.” Absolute bullshit that that was, but it’s a whole different story. “Divorce brings out the fucked up tendencies in people, if you’ll excuse my language.”

“Nothing to excuse.” He promises. “I completely agree with that sentiment.”

“Your girls are great though.” You can promise him that, even after a few months. “You got the good end of the deal with them.”

“I wasn’t going to let them be anywhere else other than with me.” Dave assures you. “Carol didn’t want custody at all.”

“Nick wanted just summer vacations.” You roll your eyes about the ridiculous way your ex had approached custody during the divorce. “Luckily for me, the judge wasn’t having any of his nonsense. She told him that Marnie was his child, not his accessory. I got full custody.”

“Good.” He nods and steps forward to open the door for you. Hating to lose the contact, even if you were holding his arm, but it’s good manners.

“Thank you.” It seems silly to be flustered over something so basic, but here you are. Swooning at common courtesy and letting him sweep you inside like a paper doll. “That’s…um…you know you don’t have to do that?”

“What? Hold the door open for a pretty lady?” Dave asks, smirking slightly. “It’s my pleasure, believe me.”

In your wildest dreams you can pretend that he’s flirting with you, so for now you will simply take the compliment and pretend. “Well…thank you. Here, um…” Suddenly you’re nervous and it feels so silly. “It looks like they turned the first room over here into a coat check.”

Dave doesn’t have a coat to check, but he goes over with you, watching as you untie the belt and his mouth dries up the second you slide the jacket off your shoulders. You look stunning. A blue dress, covered in gold stars, hugging your curves in all the right places and dipping down between your breasts. Now the starburst earrings make sense.

"What?" He's staring at you when you turn around and you panic. "Do I have something on my face? Have I had lipstick on my teeth the whole time?"

“No, uh, no.” Dave shakes his head quickly, feeling bad that he had made you panic. “I just- I was -“ what was he doing? Other than staring? “You look great.” He offers, feeling foolish for gawking like a teenager peeping on the girl’s locker room.

"Oh." Without your coat on, you feel a little shyer, but considering you played out a little fantasy in your head of Dave complimenting you in this dress and then it happened? You're just going to go on smiling and feeling good about this decision. "You clean up pretty well, too, you know."

“The girls dressed me.” It’s true, Alice had told him what to wear, so she had essentially dressed him.

You can't help but laugh at that, knowing how opinionated those girls can be. "She did a very good job."

“Thank you.” The signin desk is more of a payment station. ‘Donations’ for the party suggested. There are also drink tickets for sale and Dave decides he will buy some, even if he’s not drinking.

The tussle of protest ends with Dave the victor anyway, but at least you're satisfied that you made enough of an offer that he didn't feel obligated. He offers you his arm again and the gentle fantasy of this being an actual date seems closer with every step. "Maybe we'll get lucky," you offer, chatting because you're nervous. "And there won't be escargot."

“Pizza rolls.” He leans over and murmurs quietly. “Pray for pizza rolls.” It’s a joke, but his girls could live off of them if he let them.

"Ooo, yes." The snack food was never anything you had a taste for before, but now they are a welcome lunch option with a salad. "Or a bacon grilled cheese." You flash him a grin. "No crust, obviously."

“Of course not.” Dave rolls his eyes playfully and wonders if you are finding the conversation just as easy as he is. It was never just this simple to laugh and joke with Carol. “Crust ruins it.”

The main room of the building has been decorated just as well as the rest of the grounds, and as you walk through the door you're greeted with hundreds of glitter twinkle lights. The room seems to drip with them, like fantastical icicles in a winter fairy land. Whoever organized the decor for this party seems to have been told that everything should fall in the middle of a Venn diagram of Frozen and Bridgerton, so while there are delicate things and somehow it became magical instead of cheesy.

It’s a little ostentatious for him.  ‘Froufrou’ as his grandmother would say. Brass bells and real fern sprigs make up the centerpieces, along with  tapered candles, already lit and burning down. The tables are set with gold, and silver plates, crisp snowy white napkins that will be grease splatter and stained by the end of the night, and a bar that is presumably well stocked off to the side of the dance floor.

"It's so pretty," you breathe, completely by accident. You definitely meant to keep that thought inside just in case he disagreed, but it's out in the open now.

“And expensive.” Dave chuckles, catching the view of you discreetly gawking. “But, it’s pretty.”

"I'm sure they had decor leftover from previous Christmas parties and winter formals." It's too late to disguise the expression of delight on your face, though, so you just down play it with practicality. "Saves on the decorating costs."

“It’s okay to like it.” Dave promises, hating that you seem to deflate a little. He doesn’t want that. “I think they hit their target.”

"Sad single moms?" You laugh it off, putting that smile back on your face. No one likes a morose girl on their arm, your mother's voice says in your head. "How about we hit the bar?"

“That sounds like a plan.” He doesn’t offer you his arm, but his hand slides around you to your back as he starts to guide you towards the actual bar they have hauled in. “Gin and tonic?” He asks, knowing they are your favorite.

"Please." One word is all you can manage, but at least your smile is far more genuine with the feeling of his warm hand against you. It feels surreal and has you bordering on giddy -- practically forgetting that you had just been edging on embarrassment seconds ago.

Dave hums. “I’ll have one drink with you and then I’ll be the responsible one.” He makes it sounds like you’re a couple, but even if you wanted to venture out, he would make sure you got home safely.

"Don't let me spoil your fun," you insist, so used to the way your ex used to be so vocal about needing a few drinks to unwind.

“I don’t drink very often.” Dave admits quietly. “I’ll probably carry around this one until the ice melts.” He shrugs. “I don’t like not being in control of myself.”

"That is...a solid point." And a comfort that you hadn't been aware you would be glad to hear of. "I usually don't have more than one or two when I'm out," you tell him, getting into line at the bar when you arrive. "There's always someone else to take care of, or I need to be able to drive, or any other of a million reasons not to have more."

“So if you want to let loose a little tonight….” He lifts a brow. “Feel free, sweetheart.” He encourages you. “I’d say you deserve it.”

"We'll see." Although you can feel something deep in your chest fairly flutter at being called 'sweetheart'. "Do too much and I'll end up crashing the sleepover by sleeping it off on your couch."

He smirks slightly. “Don’t think that would be a bad thing.”

Before you can demure or tut, the pair of you reach the front of the line and the cheerful bartender defers to Dave to take both of your orders. Even with -- or perhaps sometimes because of -- his injuries, he has an air of a man who is in control no matter what the circumstance. And frankly? You've always found that as comforting as it is attractive.

“Gin and tonic for the lady and a whiskey sour.” Dave orders, sliding two of the overpriced tickets over to the bartender and then pulling out cash to put in the tip jar. Just because the drinks are expensive doesn’t mean the bartenders are getting a cut.

Generosity is rewarded with quick service and heavy pours, and soon enough you have your drinks in hand so you can wander away to join the quickly growing party. Waiters make their way through the crowds with trays of appetizers and a few people are already making their way out to the dance floor as couples and groups begin to arrive in earnest after dropping their kids off in other parts of campus.

“I don’t see any slimy snails.” He leans in to whisper in your ear, smirking slightly. “So far, so good. But not a pizza roll in sight.”

His breath in your neck makes you shiver unexpectedly and you’re not at all sure you hid it well. “We’ll have to file a complaint with the PTA,” you whisper back.

“What I wouldn’t do for a jalapeño popper.” He groans. “Or a plate of chicken wings.”

“I think we would both just rather be at a sports bar,” you observe, laughing at the obvious difference between that setting and this. “For no other reason than the snacks.”

“Sounds like.” He shrugs, knowing this is for the girls school, so it’s supposed to be a good cause. Just because it’s not his scene doesn’t mean others - you - won’t enjoy it.

"Maybe another time." It's just a thing to say. It's not necessarily an offer, or even a request, just the acknowledgement that you would both enjoy it. And that is enough.

“Yeah?” He’s surprised by that. It sounds like you’d like to go to a sports bar with him.

"I mean..." You could swear there is hope in his voice, and you look up with raised eyebrows. "If you want to? I mean stuff like this is beautiful once in a while but...I don't know. I think you can only go to these things all the time if you're fancy at heart. And I'm pretty sure that I'm comfy at heart."

“Comfy.” He chuckles at the way you describe yourself. “There’s this place I go to where the girls can come too.” He tells you. “Great potato skins and they love the fried pickles.”

“Yeah?” This time it’s your voice that holds hope, like he could actually be wanting to spend time with you and not just because your daughters are best friends.

“Mister York.” The excited tone of voice makes him wince slightly, turning to find the headmistress of the school barreling towards the two of you. She is the only one that knows that Dave wired the payment for the year for both girls directly, so he’s sure she’s hoping to lighten his pockets considerably. “So glad you could make it!”

“Whoops,” you mutter under your breath, obviously implying that avoiding this woman for the night is now a goal that cannot be met. There’s no reason Janice Harritt would want to speak to you, especially at a fundraiser, so you smile politely but aren’t surprised when she can’t manage to summon your name right away despite Marnie having attended her school for four years.

“Mister York.” Despite the smarmy tone, he sees the way her eyes flicker over his scar and there is a slight bobble to her throat where she swallows slightly before her hawkishly charming smile is plastered on. “Isn’t it beautiful?” She asks, obviously fishing for compliments as she gestures around. “The food is incredible. And the bar is stocked. What more could you ask for tonight?” She asks, looking back at him for approval.

Dave is an asshole. He knows this, and he’s quite proud of it most times. He sticks his tongue in his cheek and represses a grin. “Pizza rolls.” He answers seriously.

You snort, unable to contain the sound, and cover your face with one hand immediately to try to cover it with a small cough. A cough which isn’t really fooling anyone, but at least you manage to hide the fact that you’re trying not to laugh.

“I’m…sorry?” Harritt’s eyes betray her confusion, but she plays it off with a laugh. “Perhaps next year, hmm? We look forward to many years with your delightful girls, of course.”

“Of course.” Since he’s thrown her off kilter so badly, she quickly rushes off, calling out to another important parent. Leaving Dave to turn to you and arch a brow. “What did I say?” He asks sarcastically.

"I don't think she even knew the words 'pizza' and 'roll' could go next to each other in a sentence," you laugh, snorting again because you just can't help it.

“And she’s supposed to teach kids?” Dave snorts. “That’s making me question her credentials.”

"I don't think she's set foot in a classroom except to scold for a decade." A shrug of your shoulders is casual enough, but you're relaxed with Dave. Even if your belly is fluttering like a teenager with a crush, that's still more relaxed than you are most of the time. "Headmistress, remember?"

He rolls his eyes, and takes a sip of his drink. “Yeah yeah.” He grumbles. “Best leaders get their hands dirty.”

“I couldn’t agree more. But people like that are rarely into getting their hands dirty.”

“Very true.” He points over to a table. “Want to sit or do you want to mingle?” He asks, sure that if you want to go your own way, you would.

"Honestly?" The impulse to just tell him the truth comes out of left field, but it's there and it's strong. So you have another sip of liquid courage and offer him a smile. "If you weren't here tonight, I would probably only show my face long enough for it to register with the PTA that I was here, and then I would sneak off and read in my car until the kids' party was over. So mingling is...not in my plan, so to speak."

“No to mingling.” He nods, feeling a little proud of the fact that you would want to spend time with him. “Since we’re being honest, I have a question for you.” He sees you frown in confusion. “You don’t seem afraid of me? Why?”

"Why would I be afraid of you?" You ask honestly, not at all understanding at first. About two seconds after the question is out of your mouth, the realization dawns on you and you wave one hand to brush the question away. "Because of the scar? I just...I might be wrong, but I just assumed you might have been military? My uncle had a nasty limp and burn scars from Iraq. So I didn't--I guess I didn't really think about it after the first assumption. Which I now realize is stupid, because we always teach kids not to assume, but I did."

“I was in the military.” He acknowledges that. “Got out when a building collapsed with my team inside.” He chuckles, “but that didn’t cause this.” He tells you, gesturing to his face. “You just never seemed to be intimidated by my silence or the fact that I have resting asshole face.”

"Well...?" Taking another sip from your drink, you step up to a high top table just big enough for two when he steers you toward it and set both your glass and purse down comfortably. "You've always been nice to me, and you're sweet to Marnie. That's all that matters to me."

“She’s a good kid.” Dave assures you. He wouldn’t have let that friendship blossom if he thought she wasn’t.

"She's the best thing I've ever done." His commendation will stay close to your heart and you wouldn't mind admitting that at all. "And she has great taste in best friends."

“Alice is amazing.” He agrees, biased and not even a little ashamed of it. “Marnie is right there with her. Smart and compassionate. Honest to a fault sometimes.”

"I always told her that being completely honest was better than fibbing even a little. So...yeah. That one is my fault."

“That’s not a bad thing for now.” Dave chuckles. “Although sometimes you have to fib.”

"Well, sure." You chuckle along with him. "But I don't want to teach her that. They're still so young."

“They are. However, they are smarter than us already.” He snorts.

"I know, it's crazy." It's just so damn easy with him. Easy to stand together and drink and laugh. It's so easy that neither of you notice the party has been going on around you for quite some time while you have just been focused entirely on each other.

It’s getting later. Ever so often, the DJ will announce the time between songs and all the parents are getting more and more intoxicated as the drinks flow from the bar.

Smiling waiters with trays of hors d’oeuvres give way to a buffet of fine food, and Dave insists you indulge in a second drink if you want it, after you spent literal hours nursing the first.

Dave switches to Coke, the real crime here being that he still has to use a full drink ticket to get a half a glass of the soft drink. He doesn’t grumble, but it’s a little ridiculous, but glances over at you to see if you want a new drink.

Taking him at his insistence, you order a second gin and tonic and decide that that will be the last alcoholic drink of the night. Relaxing is one thing, but you have no desire for Dave to see you sloppy or out of control. He seems to appreciate maturity and intelligence, and you’d prefer he doesn’t see you any other way.

Now that the drinks are acquired, he leans in. “Shall we go see what they have on the buffet?” He asks. “I’m getting hungry and they have to have something good.”

“Let’s go find out.” You swear if he leaned in and breathed in your ear like that every time he made a request, you would jump off a damn bridge or something. Going to get food is the least of it.

He can’t stop putting his hand on your lower back. You look gorgeous and he’s noticed more than one discreet glance towards you. Appraisal by the women and approval by the men. For now, you are with him and he is more than a little happy about that fact. You are charming, kind, you love your daughter with your entire being.

“Same things as always.” Which is not bad, considering the food around here is excellent and the school inevitably chooses the same well-regarded caterer. At least this year there seem to be better vegetarian options for the few parents that apply to. You choose your entree and your sides by what is likely to cause the least mess — your velvet dress would not do well with a sauce spill — and before too long you and Dave are headed back to your little table with dinner in hand.

“They should do a Mac and cheese bar.” He knows his tastes have assimilated to the tastes of his kids, but it would be good. “That could also be classy.”

“Oohhh, I should make mac and cheese for dinner tomorrow.” The idea makes you light up, even more than the first bite of your dinner. “Marnie had cauliflower with cheese sauce at her grandmother’s and now I can actually get a veggie into her mac and cheese.”

“Add some carrots in there too.” He chuckles. “Tell her it’s extra cheesy.”

“Sneaky,” you commend with obvious admiration. “I’m going to have to try that.”

“Gotta be.” He snorts. “Sometimes I think I’m fighting for my life with both of them ganging up on me.”

“My ex used to claim that’s why he only wanted one,” you shrug and fork up another bite of your food. “He was already outnumbered with me and Marnie.”

“It was three against one in my former household.” He flashes you a sardonic grin. “I didn’t get my way often.”

“I think that’s what he was afraid of.” And after dipping into your second cocktail, you add, “Probably why he ran off with his secretary. She always did what he told her.”

“So he’s one of those assholes.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna say I never looked. I’ve got eyes.” He huffs. “But I don’t need my ego or anything else stroked by someone hoping for a raise. Especially when I was married.”

“Everybody looks,” you reason, knowing you had too from time to time. But you never would have acted. Never. “That’s completely different.”

“It is.” He sighs. “What kind of fucking example is that for your kids? ‘Hey it’s okay to fuck around on your partner’.” He curls his lip, making his thoughts on the idea perfectly clear.

“I’m lucky.” That’s something you know completely. “I didn’t have any of the agony of being aware while it was going on. It blindsided me, I got divorced, and I got Marnie. It could have been so much worse.”

“Want me to kill him for you?” It’s posed as a joke, since you have no clue that Dave is actually capable of doing it.

That draws an unexpected laugh out of you, pushing out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, and you pick up your glass again to sip. “Ask me that question a year ago and I might have said yes,” you admit. “But I’m okay now. Though I do appreciate the sentiment. What about the former Mrs. York? Does she need taking care of?” Not that you ever could, but the joke seems soothing in an off kilter way.

“Not worth it.” He grunts, although he had thought about it. In the end, as long as she kept her mouth shut, she kept breathing.

“As long as they stay away, they can do whatever,” you say, guessing he feels the same way as you.

“I’ll drink to that.” Dave raises his coke to tap against the rim of your glass and takes a sip. “Hopefully the new year is our year, huh?”

“Maybe so.” The gentle ching of glass against glass is musical. A bit romantic, if you want to pretend that way. No matter what, the thought of anything being yours — for you and Dave — makes your face burn. “Hopefully.”

The two of you eat and while the duck is tender, the roast beef is a little dry for Dave’s taste. Talking easily like you have all night until the plates are pushed away and there’s only minutes left until the clock strikes midnight. “Wanna dance?” Dave asks, glancing back at you after looking at the floor filled with couples.

"Really?" Your eyebrows raise slightly in surprise. As stoic as he is, you had kind of assumed at this point that Dave was not a dancing kind of guy.

“Why? Do you not want to?” He asks, wondering if your heels are bothering you, or if you just don’t want to dance with him.

"What? No, no, I absolutely want to." It takes you a second but you shake off the surprise and move away from the table. "I just didn't think you would want to."

He huffs and reaches out to offer you his hand. “I’m not stupid.” He teases. “Dancing with a pretty lady would be a stupid thing to turn down.”

That isn't the first time tonight that he's called you pretty, and every single time you feel like your whole being is instantly set on fire from the compliment. "Some men just don't like to dance," you excuse. "I didn't want to assume."

“And those men are idiots.” He walks you out onto the dance floor and turns to pull you close. “It’s an excuse to hold a woman close and move with her.” He rumbles softly.

There is no damn way in the world that he missed your eyelashes fluttering at that light growl in his voice, not with as close as he's holding you, and you clear your throat slightly out of pure nerves. "I guess I never thought of it like that."

There’s a part of him that wonders if you would be this flustered if you knew what he was in a previous life. If you knew the marks that are on his soul. It’s at that moment, his leg decides to buckle and he stumbles slightly, tightening his hold on you, but he recovers quickly with just a quiet curse. “Sorry.”

"Are you okay?" You panic a little but hold onto him tightly, not letting him fall or even really lose his balance except for momentarily. There was one time that he came to pick up Alice from your place that you saw a handicapped placard in his car and a cane on the seat next to him so you're not totally surprised. It is the first time you've seen it in action though.

Dave has the decency to look embarrassed, although the reason why he nearly tripped still pisses him off. “Yeah.” He grunts. “Muscle weakness.” He explains quietly.

"We don't have to dance," you offer gently, not wanting to make him feel guilty but also not wanting him to put undue stress on his leg.

“No, I’m fine.” He insists. “It’s good for me to work the muscles.” He doesn’t let go of you, wanting to dance as the clock counts down to midnight.

"I'll keep you steady." It's almost too quiet when you say it, but he's close enough to catch it and you smile when the corner of his mouth turns up, too.

“My hero.” He teases softly, looking at you in true amazement. You are just naturally considerate and that surprises him.

"Oh hush." Teasing goes both ways, of course, and you're perfectly tickled that he would initiate it even a little. "It's the least I can do."

The two of you start to slowly dance again, fitting the music that is being played. It is not the heavy party music that might be in a New Year’s party for younger people, but this is intimate. Sensual.

It's so easy to sink into. Into the intimacy of the moment that could so easily be mistaken for romance. It's sweet. And gentle. And Dave's face rests at something far away from asshole right now.

“Alright ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for the New Year’s countdown.” The DJ announces, making Dave smirk slightly as he tugs you closer.

Your heart does a little leap up into your throat that makes your whole chest ache, and you have to remind yourself that New Year’s kisses are for the young. They’re not for middle aged divorcees at their kids’ school fundraisers.

“Ten, nine!” Dave watches as you join the countdown. Eyes floating around the room and coming back to him. The two of you are still clinging to one another. “Eight, seven!”

It's too much of a fantasy for you to not let your gaze drift to his lips, even if you avert your eyes immediately. "Six, five!" Your stupid heart is pounding like anything could ever matter, and the room seems to slow down around you.

He notices, he’s noticed every little thing about you tonight. He sees the way your eyes touch his lips and it makes him grasp you just a little tighter. “Four, three, two!” Right before the room shouts ‘One!’ Dave ducks his head down and captures your lips in a kiss.

A half-squeak, half-gasp shakes from you but you're too absorbed in returning the unexpected kiss to even really register that you've made a sound. It may be chaste and relatively quick, but it's still better than half the other damn kisses you've had in your lifetime, and by the time Dave pulls back a few seconds later you feel like it's your legs about to give out this time.

“Happy New Year!” Dave pulls back to make sure that you didn’t object, only to find you looking completely bemused and he smirks slightly before he leans in again to claim your lips.

This time the sound is most definitely a moan when it comes out of you, and you cling a little more desperately as your arms wind around him and he deepens the kiss. You feel dizzy and disoriented, but in the most dreamlike way possible, and if it ever stops it will be far too soon.

You cling to him, making him deepen the kiss. One hand coming up to cup your jaw and encourage you to open up for him. Sliding his tongue inside your mouth when you yield.

The whole room has dissolved around you. The other dancing couples, the upbeat party music, the noise and the lights and everything in between. There is nothing else anywhere except Dave York kissing you, and the fact that you've been harboring this fantasy for months without ever thinking it could go anywhere. When it's finally necessary to breathe again -- what a nuisance -- you have to take another second with your eyes closed just in case the whole thing has been a dream.

“Happy New Year.” Dave whispers, smiling at the way you still have your eyes closed. As if you are dreaming.

“Happy New Year.” Hearing that he’s still there — still real — gives you enough courage to actually open your eyes. Like some kind of miracle, his arms are tight around you and his lips are swollen plush from sharing a kiss.

******

“We have strawberries, blueberries, chocolate chips, pecans, whipped cream and those little marshmallow things. Molly wants those and chocolate chips in hers.” Dave rattles off as he pours the batter onto the hot waffle iron. “What would you like?” He turns towards the older two girls to get their orders as they sit at the bar in their pajamas.

"Strawberries and chocolate and pecans, please, Mr. York?" Marnie sits up at the bar with her legs dangling on her stool and hot cocoa clutched in her little hands. The party had been so much fun and the girls are still all chattering away this morning. She's dreading being picked up to go home, just because she hates being away from Alice. Those two girls have been attached at the hip since they met.

"Can I have blueberries and chocolate chips, Daddy?" Alice asks, knowing that adding a fruit will increase the likelihood of her father saying yes. "And whipped cream?"

“Anything you girls want.” Dave chuckles at the surprised look on his eldest daughter’s face. He shooks her a wink. “It’s a new year. The first day should be the best one so far.” He starts to add the chocolate and mini dried marshmallows to this waffle for Molly. “I’ll fix them all exactly how you like them.” He promises. “Anyone want eggs?”

“Do we have bacon, Daddy?”

You can hear Molly’s little voice from the other end of the hall as you creep down the back stairs. You had left the party separately from Dave and the girls last night, shooting back over to your house for a change of clothes and arriving at the York’s house a little after the girls had been put to bed.

Dave hadn’t waited too long to put you to bed either, and now you’re sneaking out like a teenager trying not to get caught by your boyfriend’s parents.

Dave tilts his head as he hears you. The girls don’t, but they also haven’t been trained to listen for unusual sounds. “We sure do, baby.” He hums. “Do you want some?” She nods eagerly and both Alice and Marnie quickly agree that they would want some bacon. “Let me get it on a pan.”

Out through the back door that goes into the garage, out the side door of the garage, and over to your car, you pop the bag that you brought a change of clothes in -- and now contains your dress and heels from last night's party -- into the trunk. That leaves you with just your purse on your arm but you tug on your coat and tie the waist to make it look like you're just arriving. And then, with flare, you slam the driver's side door of your car shut and walk up to his front door to ring the bell.

Immediately Alice and Marnie are groaning, not wanting to be separated so early. “Quit fussing.” He chuckles. “I invited your mom over for waffles this morning.” He explains to Marnie. He technically isn’t lying, he’s just not telling them that you spent the night in his bed last night. “Alice, watch the waffle, I’ll get the door.”

"Okay!" Delighted not to be separated so early, Alice pops up from her stool to stare intently at the waffle machine while her dad walks out to the hall in his pajamas.

Dave pads to the door, opening it quickly. “Fancy seeing you here.” He teases as he opens the door and drags you close for a quick kiss.

"Weird, right?" A little giggle bubbles out of you, and you steal another kiss, even boldly dragging your fingers through his short hair like you now know he loves. A second later, you add, "I'm not late, am I?" with more volume.

“Right on time.” He winks and squeezes your ass before he pulls away from you. “How was your night?” He asks, loud enough for the girls to hear. “The girls went to bed and I was quickly behind them.”

"Oh, same." The fake airiness in your voice is borderline laughable, but thankfully the girls are young enough that you would be absolutely shocked if they picked up on anything. "I was ready for bed right after the party. What a late night."

“Yes it was.” There’s only a little heat to his words and he manages to suppress the smirk by the time the two of you walk into the kitchen. It had been an amazing night if he had to judge. “You want some coffee? I have a fresh pot.”

"That sounds great." You're dying for a cup, if you're honest, but you set your purse on a chair as you walk into the kitchen and drape your coat over the back along with it. "Did you girls have a good night?"

The girls immediately start to chatter to you, leaving Dave to plate up the waffle and set the bacon in the oven to bake before he gets out another coffee cup for you.

They tell you about the weird music that got played, the food they ate and the games they played. How Courtney Schofield finally got told off by the girls she's been bullying and how Bobby Thornrite got a bloody nose because he tripped over his untied shoe and went face first into the boy in front of him.

Dave watches you with the girls as he starts on Marnie’s waffle next. Pouring syrup on Molly’s although he knows that she will want to wait until the older girls eat. It’s heartwarming to see how they enjoy talking to you. Basking in your attention.

"So I was wondering..." Leaning against the counter with the girls, you sip your coffee and try not to look over at Dave too often because you know you'll end up a giddy mess if you do. "If you girls wanted to just move this sleepover on over to our house tonight? We can watch movies and make popcorn and have some tacos for dinner?" You and Dave had bounced the idea around before you got out of bed this morning, figuring the girls would be ecstatic to keep hanging out and it would enable you and him to be able to spend the day together. A winning situation for everyone, as far as you're concerned.

Dave winces as the girls immediately start to screech in joy and excitement. Bouncing around the kitchen like Tasmanian devils and hugging each other like they’ve won the lottery. “I think that’s a yes.” He tells you dryly.

"Okay you two, okay." You can't help but laugh. They're such sweet kids and Molly is very nearly as excited as the older two. "Breakfast first, huh? And then we'll help Mr. York clean up the kitchen before we go switch houses. Does that sound like a deal?"

“Everybody is having a waffle and bacon.” He reminds them. “Then we brush our teeth, right? No cavities.”

"Right!" Chorus back all three girls, who could not be more thrilled with the way this morning is going.

Dave grins as he continues to make waffles. It was a great start to the New Year.

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

[theogmrpandabear]

“Honestly there’s no point in voting”

Buddy, Pal, Amigo-

Like it or not we are all on a bus headed to go right off a cliff, and voting is the only way to avoid careening off the edge, by either stopping the bus, or slowing it down long enough to find a solution.

Some people will knowingly vote to drive off the cliff. :/

If you, and every other person with your mindset, think it’s ok to abstain from voting it’s the same as voting to go off the cliff and die , because like it or not, the people wanting to drive off the cliff will vote to do so.

Don’t let other people tell you voting doesn’t work or change things, it. does.

We have been so conditioned by false media and propaganda to normalize cynicism in politics that we have come to believe that our choices don’t matter, that our voices shouldn’t be heard, that we should be ok with all the wrong things in our society, and anything or anyone saying otherwise is villainized and stigmatized

And maybe you might have a point in your cynicism, it might really all just be that bad….

but the fact is- would you rather at least TRY and stop the bad things from happening by voting, for your future, for the future of your family and friends, for the sake of being able to say “I Tried.”

Or would you rather just sit back and let the bad things happen because “there’s no point?”

(Don’t forget the big election isn’t the only one that counts, the small elections matter too)