#maybe after AP week ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[avianii]

waiting for summer and stocking upon ideas like a squirrel

[fire-fira]

20 Questions for Writers

I was tagged by @linzerj for this, so without further ado:

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

On Ao3 I currently have 70 (though that number is going to increase soon), and on ffn (all my oldest stuff) I have 34. (Dear lord I need to eventually move my older stuff to Ao3. Maybe under a secondary pseud at some point... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

201,448

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Looooots of DC stuff, some TMNT, and with my older stuff I also wrote for Sonic, DBZ, Legend of Zelda, FMA, Gargoyles, Peter Pan, and Megaman. (I also have some early-stages fic and plans for Planet of the Apes fics, but I haven't posted any of that yet.)

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Head Trauma - One of my earliest Bluepulse OT3 fics. YJA-based; Jaime gets knocked out on a mission and the team gets their first exposure to Khaji Da directly.

Loving an Alien Shouldn't be this Complex - Another Bluepulse OT3. YJA-based; Bart's part in what's intended to be a trilogy of fics about the same circumstances/events. Crushing on Jaime is one thing, but realizing he's crushing on Khaji Da is a whole different ballpark.

If You Think My Truth Is A Lie, You Can Get Bent - Bluepulse OT3 yet again, though background in this case rather than front and center. Mostly YJA-based; Bart is trans, in college, and entirely fed up with an obnoxious classmate who was perfectly fine with him and the fact that he's a guy up until she found out he's trans.

The Weirdness That You Know - Pre-Bluepulse OT3, pre-finding-out-Khaji-Da's-name. YJA-based; During some downtime on base after the events of season 2, Jaime winds up finding out that Bart and Khaji Da are very similar in terms of their sense of humor. The two of them getting along should probably be concerning.

Familia: Not Simple, but Needed - Bluepulse OT3. Mostly YJA-based; What happens when you have a sleep-deprived scarab who stubbornly has stayed awake for about three weeks? Nothing good and nothing the three of them would have ever expected if Khaji Da was coherent enough to think through the consequences of their actions before doing something.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to. Sometimes I wind up replying waaaaaayyyyyy later (when my emotional energy tanks it takes a lot for me to drag myself into talking to people in general, but I try to reply when I'm in a better spot), but if I have my way then I'll eventually reply to everything (unless there's literally nothing else to say).

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

That would honestly have to be either my Bluepulse OT3 poem I Am Your Loss or my La'gaan-centric fic I Tried To Warn You. I Am Your Loss is focused on Khaji Da outliving Jaime and Bart and all the feelings involved with that, and I Tried To Warn You is an examination of La'gaan's emotionally abusive relationship with M'gann and him coming to terms with the fact that he was manipulated and abused. So yeah. Heavy.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

That's a tough one. The Name That Calls You Home is one contender, along with Fatherhood Isn't Easy, and Trusting Again Can Be The Hardest Thing. Two of those are focused on family and finding home (TNTCYH and FIE), and two are La'gaan-centric (FIE and TACBTHT). So yay for one of my TMNT AUs and two of my La'gaan fics meeting the mark? (Though all three have some painful circumstances that make the good that much more pronounced. Yeah, that was unintentional.)

8. Do you get hate on your fic?

The only time I've ever gotten any 'hate' was someone trying to be pissy about an old poem series I wrote back in highschool because they didn't feel it was a 'serious poetic work' and was 'amateurish'.

That. On character-based poetry. For freaking Sonic characters. Seriously just-

9. Do you write smut?

Almost never. (I can't say never because I did publish one fic on Ao3, but by a lot of people's standards it's really tame.)

10. Do you write crossovers?

I'm not opposed to crossovers, but I very rarely do. Usually I find my mind playing with multiverse iterations of characters meeting each other, but it's very rare my mind goes to wildly different stories getting a crossover-- in no small part because it usually tends to devolve into a case of 'Wouldn't it be cool if these characters met? Look how cool this character is!' in my head with no real decent plot. (That said, thanks to some old RPs with a friend of mine I am fond of Mass Effect's femshep and Voltron's Allura as a ship. It was a chaotic RP. lol)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

As far as I know, NOPE. If I'm fortunate it'll never happen.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes actually! Both I Tried To Warn You and Unstoppable Until I Break that I know of. (Unfortunately I can't read Chinese, so finding them on the site they're hosted on is difficult for me, but I do know they're there somewhere.) La'gaan keeps winning. lol

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Only one, and it's Devilfish. Beneath the Surface was a fun collaboration between me and onyxdragonx back before tumblr's purge in 2018. I have no idea if he left tumblr entirely, but I'm glad we wrote it.

14. What‘s your all-time favourite ship?

Ngl, it varies by series/franchise and how I'm feeling. I used to be pretty solid in single ships for characters for a long time, but as time has gone by I've drifted more into multi-shipper territory. At the moment though, the one that's eating at my brain the most is Devilfish-- La'gaan/Eddie-- because hell yes for my crack ship.

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Maybe it's over-optimistic of me, but I don't look at any of my WIPs as 'abandoned' or as something I'll 'never' complete. Back when I was posting my writing only to ffn I used to joke about my trademarked 'delays of doom'. It's always a case of I will get to said stories eventually and I do work on old things from time to time, but due to shifting interests/life junk/life-junk-that-causes-a-low-creative-battery/etc. it can take me a long time to get back to something.

If I was going to narrow it down to the one that I'm not sure when precisely I'll get back to and is the most likely to take me a while to get back to (more than anything else), then it'd probably have to be an Elfquest fic with Leeta/Cutter/Rayek as endgame. Either that or the Planet of the Apes series kicking around in my head that I haven't quite figured out how to frame yet.

16. What’s your writing strengths?

FEELINGS. Emotions, getting into characters' heads and hitting that emotional gut-punch that makes people feel things.

17. What’s your writing weaknesses?

Aside from my delays-of-doom™️, I can get SO damned wordy. And cerebral. Which isn't always a bad thing if I want my readers to know what's going on in a character's head, but it's a royal pain in the ass if I want to give a decent description of the space characters are in or have actual conversation and events happening while a character is getting lost in their head.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

YES. I WANT. GIVE.

lol Seriously though, while it might be rare for me to write full-blown conversations in a different language, if a character is multilingual then I personally prefer including indications of that with their word choices. Usually that results in an offhand word or several here or there in places where it flows naturally, but unless I'm confident in how things flow with that other language (whatever it is) then I'm unlikely to go for a full on conversation. If I am confident in the translation of what I'm writing and the switch into that other language makes sense for the characters in context then it's highly likely I'll go for it-- albeit with including the hover-over translation thing that Ao3 offers so readers don't have to bounce back-and-forth between where they're at in the story and the translation at the end of the chapter/fic. (Though I don't mind when other authors take that tactic.)

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Sonic, and though I didn't put any online until 2003, I wrote a whole convoluted series back in middle school and on up into early high school I think (I suspect most of it's lost because it was all on an OLD computer), and even before that I remember a script-styled Sonic fic that I never finished that I was writing back when I was like... 5? ...7? Somewhere in there. Point is my first fandom is from a LONG time ago.

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

Yeeeeeet another hard one. If I don't cop out with Unstoppable Until I Break and I pull in my older stuff, then I guess it'd have to be Two Sides. It's a Legend of Zelda fic playing with the concept of Zelda and Sheik as simultaneously being and not being the same person, and while I'd probably write it differently now (dear gods I published it back in 2008) I still love the concept and think it's intriguing as hell. Just the very idea of Zelda and Sheik having once been the same person and remembering it in subsequent lives is just... There is a TON of potential there.

Will I ever revisit the idea? Maybe one day. For now, it is what it is.

As for who I'm tagging: @sounddrive, @brightlotusmoon, @radioactive-earthshine, and whoever else would like to do this. n.n

[evil-ice-princess]

Breathe Me In

♡ Pairing: Jungkook x Main Character (unnamed) 

♡ Description: You attend a party in Beverly Hills where you reunite with your enemy, Jungkook. 

♡ Genre: Romance 

♡ Warning: Descriptions of hella making out (lol), implied sex, underage drinking, cursing ¯\_(ツ)_/¯   

♡ Word count: 5419 

You were the good girl. Friday nights consisted of doing AP homework instead of getting drunk with your friends. Your grades were stellar. You held numerous leadership positions, and you were on the varsity tennis team. Any of the Ivies would drop on their knees to accept you. Of course, you weren’t thinking about school all the time. God, it would be social suicide to be a nerd. Those kids…were weird. You lived in Beverly Hills after all. Shopping at Louis Vuitton with your girlfriends. Eating at Nobu and Katsuya every other week. It was the norm. You had even had your fair share of hooking up with a few boys, but most of them sucked. You would think the boys at Harvard Westlake would be pretty decent, but your experiences proved otherwise. They would kiss you, and the next second wanted you to be their girlfriend. You just wanted the pleasure, you didn’t need all the boyfriend shit. And honestly their kissing wasn’t stellar either. But, all that changed on the first night of summer.

♡~♡~♡

“You coming to Jungkook’s party tonight?” Adrianna asks me as she begins to reapply her vibrant red lipstick. I look up from my AP U.S. History textbook, bewildered.

“You know my parents would kill me,” I reply. “And Jungkook Jeon? What an ass.”

“It’s the first day of summer! What the hell do you even have to study tonight?!” Naomi exclaims, continuing to text her boyfriend, Ethan, on her phone.  “And Jungkook? Damn, if I didn’t have Ethan, I would sooo hook up with him.” She looks up from her phone glancing at her girl friends. “You so did not hear me say that,” she quickly says and then looks back down at her phone. Everyone laughs, including me.

“I don’t know…I mean I would go, but my parents…” I trail off. “I’ll ask I guess,” I mumble. The girls cheer, and I smile. I mean…it’s the first day of summer. Would my parents really make me stay in? 

♡~♡~♡

“Absolutely not!” my father exclaims, incredulously. 

“Why not?” I ask. “It’s Jungkook’s party. You like him, don’t you?” I reply. His parents are super close friends with my parents, but whenever Jungkook would come over I would just lock myself in my room saying I had way too much homework to do. 

“Yes, but --”

“Soooo, you can trust me not to do anything bad. Jungkook’s sooo nice, too. Please, it’s the first day of summer,” I beg.

“No. You have to start writing college admissions essays, don’t you?” “I have five months, Dad! Please!”

“If your father says no, then the answer is no,” my mother replies. I bite my lip from uttering something that I would regret. God, they sicken me. I do every damn thing they want, yet they won’t let me do one little thing. “Fine. Can I at least go to the library to write the essays? Mom, you can even drop me off,” I ask, a plan forming in my head. 

She looks at my dad, but he just scowls and walks away. Typical. “Fine, but I’ll pick you up at 11:30 PM.” 

“Thank you,” I reply. I walk to my room and immediately enter my walk-in closet. What to wear, what to wear? I pull open a drawer and look through the vast collection of lingerie I had secretly bought with my friends. I decide to wear a beautiful strapless black lace bra with matching underwear. Why not? I think. It’s not every damn day I dress up. I throw on a navy blue crewneck I had bought during a college campus visit at Columbia and put some leggings on. I then go through all my dresses and pick a strappy lace-y black romper. Searching through my shoes I finally find my dazzling black Gucci heels adorned with diamonds and grab a silver necklace with a single pearl. It was a gift Jungkook’s parents had actually given me for my sixteenth birthday, and it happened to be my favorite necklace. I hook the necklace around my neck and hide it beneath my sweater. I put the romper and heels at the bottom of my backpack and fill a small makeup bag with the essentials I need. I am going to that damn party. 

I text Adrianna quickly: Ade, pick me up from the library at 6 please? 

Adrianna: sure whatever ly ❤

I smirk to myself as I walk out of my room. I look plain. No makeup on my face. Hair in a messy bun. Leggings and a crewneck sweatshirt. No one would suspect I was planning to go to the hottest party of the summer. It is 4:30. I had a lot of time to kill at the library. “Mother! I’m ready!” I call, annoyed. 

Moments later, I am in my mother’s Porsche, and she silently drives me to the Beverly Hills Public Library. It was a fifteen minute drive, and I wave goodbye to her as soon as she pulls up in front of the library. At that moment, I feel the slightest bit of guilt. I tried to not break the rules too often, but this party…it was calling me. AP Exams were done. I know I got all 5s. All my SATs and Subject Tests were done. 1500+ of course. All my finals went well. I deserve this party. “Hey mom? I love you,” I say, and that makes me feel a little bit better for my lying. She gives a soft smile. I turn away walking towards the library before it becomes a sappy moment. 

I open my laptop and go to Netflix to turn on my favorite TV show at the moment, Beverly Hills, 90210. I immerse myself within the characters’ drama, and as I watch Kelly kiss another boy, I somehow wish my life is as interesting as theirs. Naomi has her boyfriend, Ethan. Adrianna, a growing actress, gets to be practically anyone else she wanted with all the roles she is receiving. Silver is constantly making films and blogging. Even Annie’s, the principal’s daughter, life seems more interesting than mine. I sit there sulking at this fact while watching the show for a while when a text pops up. 

Jimin: u comin to the party 2nite

I sit up suddenly interested. Jimin has no reason to text me…unless maybe he wanted to…do some things. I quickly type back a yes. 

Jimin: cant wait ;)

I ponder over his texts. He is the typical fuckboy material. Hooking up with girls and leaving them when they least expect it. Do I want that? Whatever, it doesn’t matter. But I think back to the time we had made out at his beach house a few summers ago…he wasn’t as bad as the rest of the boys either when it came to all that. Maybe he could be the perfect summer fling, and when school started we could break it off. Being alone is good enough for me. Adrianna finally arrives at the library at 6:13 PM, and I jump into the passenger seat as she begins to drive home. 

“Damn, that outfit is definitely going to impress the boys,” she says, looking at my lazy outfit. 

“Yep, this bitch is definitely getting it tonight.” I point at myself making a weird face. We laugh, and it feels good. Good to be away from my parents. From school. 

Soon we are in her house, and within fifteen minutes our friends are all here. Annie and Silver lie on Adrianna’s bed gossipping while Naomi applies makeup. Adrianna straightens her hair, and I strip myself of my boring clothes. She glances at me and a devilish smile appears on her face. “Now that’s going to impress some boys,” she says, admiring my lingerie set. 

“Thanks,” I say while putting on the romper. It hugs me in all the right places. Just the right amount of cleavage and legs. I turn around in the mirror, realizing people would be able to see my bra. Dammit, I forgot this was a backless romper. 

“Oh, honey, you should definitely take the bra off.” Naomi says. I expertly unclasp the bra and throw it at her. “Hey!” she squeals. What seems like just seconds is a couple of hours. By the time we are all done gossipping, giggling, and getting ready it is 10 PM. I walk out of the bathroom and twirl around for the girls. 

“What do you think?” I ask, winking. 

“Hot, hot, hot,” Silver exclaims. Along with the low-cut black romper I paired it with the sparkling Gucci heels and pearl necklace. I kept my makeup to a minimal. A bit of foundation. A little blush. Some mascara and eyeliner. My lips painted with a glittery gloss. My perfectly curled hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, and overall, I portray the typical rich Beverly Hills girl. 

Because Jungkook’s house is just a few houses down from Adrianna’s, we walk to the big mansion. My eyes widen as I absorb the beauty of his house. God, he really has it all. He has it all except for a nice personality. 

We enter the home, and everyone separates to different aspects of the party. Naomi to Ethan. Silver and Annie towards the food. And Adrianna towards the party games. So that leaves me. Alone. At a party. A waiter passes by, holding a few different cocktails, and I take a pink-colored one. I want to explore every inch of this grand palace. Jungkook is lucky. He is lucky as hell. Something told me I would be coming back to his house, so I know I will have a lot of other opportunities to see his mansion. I decide to go out to the backyard. This was not a typical backyard though with some uneven grass and a little pool. This is Beverly Hills after all. An infinity pool is placed on the edge, looking out towards the sparkling lights of Los Angeles. Downtown is clearly in view. People are swimming in the pool and seem content. There are a few outdoor couches spread out, and a little mini bar station serving a plethora of alcoholic drinks and sophisticated appetizers. 

I spot Jimin with Jungkook, who happen to be best friends, and his eye catches mine. His lips begin to smile, and I can see his eyes rake over my body. I remember how he did that last time; my cheeks grow warm, and I head back inside. Jungkook does not turn around to see what his friend is staring so intently at.

Practically every room is filled with people. In such a big home, I expected there would be an empty room, but no. After ten minutes of searching, I am finally able to find an isolated living room. A half empty bottle of champagne sits on the glass table, and I pour myself the remnants into my glass. Maybe I was bored, or maybe I unconsciously wanted to get drunk, either way, I just could not stop drinking. I fish my iPhone out of my pocket and see a few text messages from my parents asking how my essays are coming along. Fuck them. A bunch of snapchat notifications are on my phone, and I see Jimin had sent me one. Seven minutes ago. It is a blurry selfie of himself, and he had captioned it “where r u”. I don’t reply. 

Suddenly, a voice says, “So, she finally decided to show up,” My head whips around, and I see Jungkook standing there looking down at me, an empty champagne glass in his right hand, and another bottle in the other. He sports a classic dark suit, and he has a single black stud in his ear. Typical bad boy look. “What are you doing all alone?” he teases, as he takes a seat right next to me on the plush couch. I don’t say anything. The side of his body presses against mine, and I tense up. “I was looking for you.” he says, and I look at him, a mixture of disgust and curiosity on my face. 

“Go away, Jungkook,” I say, turning away from him. I did not want to see his face. I hate him.

“C’mon. You don’t talk to me anymore, and I don’t even know why.”

“You know exactly why,” I snap, and I turn to look at him. I am unable to read his expression. 

“I don’t know,” he protests, and he pours a glass of champagne for himself. He tips the bottle towards me, and I hold out my glass to have him fill it up. 

“Why does it matter anyway?” I ask. 

“Because every time I go to your house you shut me out. I’m stuck sitting with your and my parents listening to them talk about whatever shit they always talk about. You just did it for no reason, and all I want to know is why.”

“Dammit, Jungkook. You slept with one of my best friends after telling me you loved me. Gee, I definitely don’t have ANY reason to be mad at you right?” 

He looks hurt, but he knows it is true. “You didn’t say anything to me! You just looked at me and left! I…I didn’t know what to do. Did you think I would just wait for you forever?”

“I liked you, and you couldn’t even wait. I had to think things through!” My words are faltering. Why did I reject him? I was probably scared. Scared to get into a relationship. Scared of the emotional attachment that comes with dating. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Clearly, we have different people in our lives anyway.” I justify, thinking about how Jimin had smiled at me earlier. And I know Jungkook probably has someone else too. I shift my body towards him, and his gaze makes me want him. I want him even though I despise him. The tension between us heightens as we both look at each other. I avert my eyes away from him and quickly change the topic. “So. What’s the point of throwing these big parties anyway?” I ask, taking a sip of the champagne. 

“To let go. To feel less alone,” he curtly replies, downing his glass of champagne and pouring another. How many glasses had he already drank? He pushes his hair back and exhales. “What about you?” 

“Same reason, I guess.”

“How are your parents doing…?” he asks tentatively. 

“They’re pretending as if nothing is wrong. He fucking cheated on her, and she doesn’t do anything.” I don’t know why I’m telling him about my personal problems, but it’s not like any of my friends would listen. We had to portray ourselves as perfect girls who did not have any worries. We were supposed to be who everyone looked up to. It feels invigorating telling him my problems. 

He sighs. “I’m sorry,” I can tell he means it. Maybe he is different from every other rich Californian boy here. So maybe he screwed up once…but he still seemed like the sweet boy I knew. “Obviously, you can tell from all this that my parents still don’t give a shit about what the hell I do,” he mutters taking another swig of the champagne. 

“Can’t be that bad to have parents who don’t care, can it?”

“Well, think about it this way. If my parents actually cared, do you think I would throw these parties? Would I be hooking up with girls in hopes to have them stop me? God, you would think me having done drugs a few times would have made them notice.”

I sit up, having never thought about it that way. 

“Is it some sort of requirement for the rich kids to have shitty parents?” 

He scoffs. “Guess so.”

We sit in silence for a heartbeat, leaning into each other both of us afraid to do or say anything.

“I miss you.” he says suddenly. I know he is thinking about the times we had laughed in the basement of his beach house while watching movies. The times he would help me with my math homework. They were good memories, but that didn’t change anything now. I shift away.

“Jungkook, just stop. Nothing changes between us just because we both have shitty parents. It can’t take away what you did to me.”

“What was I supposed to do? I waited for you, and you made it pretty clear you didn’t feel the same way.”

“You didn’t give me enough time -– you know what, we’re not talking about this again. I’m done.” I stand up to leave. “I thought you were different, but you’re just as bad as every other boy here.”

“I thought you were different too, but you’re here drinking champagne on my couch, so obviously you aren’t who I thought you were either.” He pauses, taking another sip of his champagne. He smirks up at me. “You’re exactly like me.”

My jaw drops. “Fuck you, Jungkook. I’m nothing like you.” 

As I walk away, I hear him faintly say, “Wait…” I ignore him and storm away. Hoping to find my friends, I climb up the flight of stairs angrily, when I bump into none other than Jimin. The perfect distraction. “Hey,” I coolly initiate. 

He smiles. “Hi.” 

“Soo…where were you heading?” I ask. A couple scooches past us to go down the stairs. 

“Oh, y’know. I was going to see where Jungkook was, but, I suppose that could wait.” 

I smile feeling satisfaction. He is exactly what I need. A distraction. 

We climb up the rest of the stairs together, and when we reach the main floor I spot a pool table. Adrianna and Carter, an attractive brown-haired boy, are playing, and I lead Jimin over. “Wanna play in teams?” I ask, and they agree. Adrianna eyes Jimin and mouths ‘nice.’ I mouth back ‘same to you.’ We all play for awhile, and I completely forget about the argument I had with Jungkook. Jimin’s hand is on my waist as he guides me on how to properly hit the ball. 

Soon, more people arrive at the table, and Jimin whispers in my ear, “Let’s get out of here.” I oblige, and he leads me to a gorgeous room. The walls are painted a beautiful black and the ceiling a light grey color. From the ceiling hangs a small black chandelier. A plush black carpet is placed on top of the dark wooden floor. The bed is pushed up against the wall, a white silk bedspread on top of it along with a few burgundy and black throw pillows. It is absolutely insane how beautiful the bedroom is. I take a guess that this must be Jungkook’s parents’ bedroom. And I do not give a shit that we were about to ruin it. Jimin pulls me onto the bed, and his lips brush against mine. We both sit there for a while, kissing slowly. 

As his kissing gets more intense, Jimin slowly begins to push me into a lying position on the bed, when suddenly the door bursts open. Thinking it is one of my friends or some drunk guy, I continue to kiss Jimin hoping the person will realize the room is clearly occupied and will leave. 

“What the actual fucking hell,” a voice hisses. Jimin pulls away, and we both sit up. Jungkook’s eyes are fixed on me. Jimin looks like he couldn’t give less of a shit. 

Jimin stands up, clearing his throat. “Sorry bro. I thought you wouldn’t mind me using your room. Clearly not,” he remarks. His voice indicates no empathy. No shame. I realize I should have known this was Jungkook’s room. Who else would want a completely black room? I bite my lip from laughing at Jimin’s comment. Jungkook deserves to be hurt. Without any more words being said, Jungkook forces a smile, indicating Jimin should leave. He figures and begins walking out the door when he questioningly looks back at me still sitting on the bed.

“I’ll be out in a few…” I say. He nods.

I wanted to oh-so-badly make a few witty remarks. Make him hurt more than he already is. The second Jimin leaves the room, Jungkook closes the door quietly and locks it. 

“Are you fucking serious? Jimin Park?” Jungkook exclaims.

“Just call it getting even,” I retort. His eyes are set ablaze by anger. His hand clenching into a fist. Although I don’t want to admit it, it’s hot. Hot as hell to see him getting angry. Getting jealous. 

“With Jimin? That’s some serious class you got there,” he replies. I stop smiling.

“Are you saying you have class? Because damn, that’s clearly shown when you fucked my best friend.” I stand up from his bed, and heels clicking on the wooden floor, I brush past him, but he grabs my wrist, holding it tightly. 

He steps closer until his body is right behind mine. “I am not like every other boy here,” he breathes into my ear, and I close my eyes, my mind begging to taste his lips. Leave him. Go find Jimin. Now. Leave him, leave him, leave him. Why am I not leaving?

“Jungkook…you’re drunk,” I whisper. We’re both drunk. Drunk on the idea of a possible romance. A possible rekindling of the fire we had almost once had. 

“Are you telling me you don’t like this?” His hand glazes up the side of my body. His finger playing with the black strap of my romper. He pulls away all contact, and I am left wanting more. I want to turn around and kiss him. But I am too prideful to give in. 

I don’t answer him. I hate him. God, he is the epitome of high confidence. Goddamn, why did he have to be so fucking attractive? I hate him so so so much. He is just like every other rich Californian boy. Just wanting to hook up and nothing more. Right? Right? Right?! Maybe it was because I drank too much champagne or the fact I just wanted to let go, but I shake my head no. No, I don’t like this. I love this. He is ruining me, and he loves it. And I love it too. It is the first night of summer. I want to be someone else. Not the person who is expected to study all the time. God, I need him. 

I turn to face him, and he has a smirk on his face. “You think you can break me, but you can’t.” 

“Oh, yeah?” he whispers lowly, looking down at my lips.  “Well, you can’t break me either.” Why do we both have to be so proud? Goddammit, I want him, but I won’t give in. I won’t give in. Maybe if I keep telling that to myself I wouldn’t give into his temptations. My heels click away from him, and I open the door. 

“Bye, Jungkook,” I wink at him. He looks pissed. Pissed as fuck. 

By this point I do not know where Jimin had gone off to. He probably had gone off with some other girl after witnessing the rising tension between Jungkook and I. It doesn’t matter though because Jungkook and I were the sealed fate for tonight. Whether he knew it or not, one of us would eventually give in. And that would be him. I check what time it is on my phone, and it is 12:17 AM. Some people are leaving, but c’mon, the party had only started 2 hours ago. 

Adrianna, Annie, and Naomi are lying back on a couch outside, their long, slender legs placed on top of the glass table. They look like they are the queens of the party. Annie and Naomi shift over to give me room in the middle. 

“Heard you hooked up with Jimin,” Naomi comments. 

“We just made out. Jungkook kind of interrupted us before anything could really happen.” I reply. Should I tell them about what happened after Jimin left? 

“And?” Naomi presses.

“I don’t know. Jimin left, so…yeah.” My mind wanders back to thinking about Jungkook’s touch. His cold fingers grazing up my arm. His breathing next to my ear driving me insane. Stop thinking about it. Annie studies me carefully. She understands me better than Naomi and Adrianna. She rarely spread rumors nor liked being in the center of attention.

“Let’s go get some drinks,” she finally says. “We’ll be back in a few,” she says to the girls. We stand up, heading inside. The air is cold inside making me shiver. 

“Please spill.”

I give her the general details, nothing…too graphic. 

“Ohmygod. Why are you not with him right now?!”

“Because…we’re in a competition,” I mumble sheepishly, realizing how stupid it is. We are seventeen year olds playing little kid games. 

“What…?” 

“We’retryingtoseehowlongwecanstayawayfromeachother,” I say really fast, embarrassed. 

“I swear to God. You are this close to getting with the hottest guy in the grade, and you’re…avoiding him? For a little competition? You’re literally crazy!” she exclaims incredulously. 

“Annnnnnnie, you don’t get it,” I insist. 

“All I’m hearing is that both of you are too damn proud to be the first one to admit you like each other.”

“I don’t like him.” But I do.

“You keep telling yourself that, but c’moooon. It is so obvious. Seriously, I’m telling you. Just go to him now, tell him you love him, and there’s your happily ever after.” 

“Fine, fine. I’ll text him.” 

“You better tell me everything tomorrow!” she squeals, and she walks back to Naomi and Adrianna.

I shake my head, smiling. I know exactly how to do it. A waiter passes by, and I quickly grab a cocktail. I take it to Jungkook’s room, and I down the sweet alcoholic drink within mere seconds. I would need it. Unlocking my phone, I text Jungkook: your room. 15 minutes. My fingers shake as I type each letter out. My heartbeat quickening. What if you’re too late just like last time? What if he’s with another girl already? What if you’re not good enough for him? What if, what if, what if? These questions run through my mind, and I become a growing time bomb. I stand up to dim the lights in his room to a point where he would be able to see me, but not super clearly. You should just leave. He doesn’t love you, I lie down on the silky bedspread, the cool fabric touching my almost bare back. Every second feels like a minute. Every minute feels like an hour. Why did it even matter to me if he comes or not? I could have any boy I want, right? I unlock my phone again to find he had still not read the text. It had been thirteen minutes. Two minutes pass, and he’s still not here. It doesn’t matter. I stand up beginning to leave, completely done with him. I’m done with him. That is the moment he finally walks in, closing the door behind him. He glides toward me until my body is pressed against the black wall, having no place to go, “Where do you think you’re going?” 

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” I mutter, tilting my head down. His fingers tips my chin up. He is looking me directly in the eyes. 

“Clearly, you were wrong,” 

My breath stops for just a second. His lips inch towards mine and connect. They taste of mint and move against mine slowly. He seems…unsure. His hands grip my waist gently, and my hand cups his cheek. I want more. I pull away, and he looks surprised. “Kiss me like you fucking mean it. God, I thought you were good at this. Hmm, maybe I should go back to Jimin.” I egg him on, knowing he will get pissed. And he does. 

“Don’t say his name,” he mutters, and his lips reconnect with mine with more need. More hunger. This time I could feel the confidence. The cockiness. It is way different than Jimin’s kisses. Jimin was absolutely emotionless, but Jungkook…He has everything. Anger. Jealousy. Love. Lust. All of it is there. I am so lost in him. He slides his jacket off, and he roughly bites my lip, needing more. He does not care how rough he is. He needs me, and I need him. I notice the hints of alcohol as our tongues fight for dominance. Putting his hand on my ponytail, Jungkook takes the hairtie out. My hair cascades down, and he runs his fingers through my hair. I eventually win control. I push him away from the wall and lead our bodies towards the bed. Suddenly, Jungkook pulls away this time. He grabs me by the waist and pushes me onto the bed so I fall into a lying position. I let out a small yell, and he smiles devilishly. All the control I thought I had is gone. He pushes up against me, his clothed hips rolling down on mine. His face buries into my neck, and I let out a small moan. 

“I win,” he mumbles into my neck. I can feel him growing restless as he leaves soft kisses everywhere. His teeth work at gently tugging on the sensitive skin. I don’t care that I would go home with so many damn love bites on my neck. Jungkook is mine, and that is all that matters right now. He continues to leave bites everywhere, and no amount of makeup would be able to cover them. Moans continuously leave my lips, and God, I can feel him smiling. 

“I fucking hate you, Jungkook,” 

“I’m sure you do,” he breathes against my now sensitive skin. I let out a sigh of pleasure. He finally sits up to look down at me. He appears smug seeing all the bites he has left. Pure art. 

I sit up and climb onto his lap, my arms hooking around his neck. “Time for payback,” I press my lips against his softly. As our lips move together, I work to throw his tie off and unbutton his shirt. My hands roam down his chest to his abs to his thigh. I grip his clothed thigh knowing it would drive him absolutely crazy. He groans lowly. 

“Fuck,”

I scatter bites across his neck. The upper part of his chest. He is a mess. An absolute fucking mess. I can not believe I completely have him under my spell. He throws his head back moaning. 

It is as if there is no party going on outside the almost dark bedroom. It is just me and Jungkook. In that moment, we do not give a shit about what problems we have in our lives. We just need each other. 

♡~♡~♡

“I…I should go. My parents…” I groan against him. He plays with the strap of my romper. 

“Just a little bit longer?” he asks. With all the will I have remaining, I remove myself from him. I shake my head no, and he looks disappointed. I glance at his clock. 1:57 AM. How had more than an hour passed of us just making out? 

“So, when’s round two gonna be?” I whisper. I sit on the edge of his bed leaning over to put my heels back on. I would probably get someone who is still at the party to drive me home or something. 

“How about now?” he asks, putting his chin on my shoulder. I glance at him. He looks like an innocent puppy. I do not understand how he could change his personality so fast. 

“Jungkook…” I trail off. 

He begins to kiss my neck again. Fuck. 

“C’mon. You can deal with your parents later…” he whispers. I think about it as he continues to kiss over the hickies he had left earlier. Either way, leaving now or in the morning, my parents would kill me. I kick off my shoes as quickly as I had put them back on. 

He pushes me back down, and he smirks. “And just so you know…I won. I knew you couldn’t resist me,” he remarks, his lips so close to mine. 

He gives that irresistible smile and without me realizing it, he begins to slowly push the straps of my romper down. But I won’t say anything more. Because what happened in Beverly Hills stayed in Beverly Hills.

[split-n-splice]

Sorry not sorry for delay. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I moved somewhat unexpectedly and it's been exhausting, now winter weather's probably gonna affect the next update.

Anyway, just a liiittle more shenanigans, followed up by fluff.

[Chapter Guide]

17. The Nature Of – 5

Letting her heavy eyelids fall shut wasn’t a conscious decision. It just sort of happened. She didn’t know when it happened. Maybe after a town or two, an hour tops, after she’d strained for too long to keep her eyes peeled for the telltale flashes of red and blue in pursuit. The barren wasteland stretched on forever and the ambience of the engine and wheels on pavement had a lulling effect, as did the monotonous desert highway in the headlights with no end in sight.

She was only vaguely aware of a hand on her shoulder, a light jostle she refused to wake up to. She unbuckled her seatbelt instead, patting around for a lever to drop the seat back before giving up and lying down across the bench. She tucked her knees up between her and the backrest, surrendering to fatigue as she curled up. It didn’t feel completely safe, but she was safe enough and too tired to care. There were fingers in her hair that weren’t her own and then something pressing to the sore spot on her temple, where blood left her hair crusted and matted, but she didn’t argue with the feather-light touch.

It wasn’t totally pitch black outside anymore when her eyes cracked open again, but it was dark enough to know it was still the dead of the night. Faint light like passing traffic pulsed dimly through the car.

She was reluctant to come around as she heard the crunch of gravel, and after a moment she deemed it couldn’t be Drakken drifting off the road, because everything was still. The engine wasn’t even idling. A draft blew in from the busted back window, and the seats were hard and cold, and Drakken couldn’t have been driving because he was snoring somewhere nearby.

Shego was just warm enough as long as she didn’t move, but she couldn’t help shifting in a hopeless effort to get comfortable. The soft material under her cheek certainly wasn’t the leather upholstery, and for a moment she might have assumed the firm improvised pillow was just her backpack. But her backpack wasn’t remotely comfortable or smooth – it was full of junk food, blocky cigarette cartons, and her boots and wadded uniform.

She almost jumped when her eyes wandered up and fixed blearily on the man above her. Despite the leap of her heart, she didn’t jerk her aching head away from the lap she’d come to rest it on. She dropped her stare back down quickly to focus on his belt just inches from her nose.

Her head really hurt. She bit her chapped lip and skewed her eyes shut as she reached up for the injury in reflex. A cloth was found stuck to the dried blood in her hair, and she recognized the soft fabric of the hankie Drakken used for his glasses.

She pried her eyes open again to look up at him. Slack-jawed and snoring, he wasn’t exactly her definition of sleeping beauty, but he was a sight to behold nonetheless, slumped awkwardly against the car door with his white dress shirt filthy and necktie loosened, tangled ponytail flopped over one shoulder, and his glasses askew on his face. She supposed her state couldn’t have been much better, as she was just as dirty, if not more so, considering the dried blood that cracked on the side of her face as she yawned.

Dazed, she stared back up at the peculiar shifting of light flickering lazily through the cab above her.

Finally it registered.

Her heart dropped the instant before a light flooded in through Drakken’s window to blind her, followed by a knock on the glass. She squinted and blocked it out with a hand, muttering a curse as she recoiled.

A voice of warning in her head droned, “No sudden movements.” Or maybe that was the officer outside. She really couldn’t be sure as she blinked away the disorienting fog of fatigue and slumber.

There was no need to guess who was behind the flashlight presently being shined mercilessly in her face. Not when the lights of a cruiser were flickering through the windows too. “I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the vehicle,” came an almost-polite order from the voice beyond the light.

Drakken’s head lolled and he jolted awake a second later. “Huh – wha’? What time is it?” The hour wasn’t really crucial at the moment, but Shego wasn’t surprised it was the first thing out of his mouth.

“About a quarter till three AM, sir,” informed the policeman graciously, and stepped aside as he repeated the order for Drakken. “Please exit the vehicle. You’re under arrest.”

“Busted,” Shego hissed quietly through her teeth as she slowly lifted herself upright. The word passing her lips sent a strange shiver down her spine she knew didn’t belong there, but to hell with it. She’d better get used to it. She might have even found the excitement pleasing if her skin weren’t prickling in alarm now at the fact the flashlight jerked as the officer stepped back in response to her movement. She was positive another damn gun was pulled on her – or about to be – she just couldn’t see it because she was still being blinded by a flashlight.

“Augh! Sheg—Shilo,” whined Drakken, flicking a bewildered look across to her. “What did you do?”

“Me?” she blurted.

Yeah, okay. So maybe probable cause was all on her. Unless the one who’d bought the alcohol and abetted in a little underage drinking was to blame for her poor choices tonight – in which case, that was on him.

Drakken looked between her and the officer and back to her. She nodded. He looked to the steering wheel next – she grimaced and shook her head. She saw his fingers flex, and knew what he was thinking, but she grabbed his hand to stop him from reaching for the key in the ignition to make a run for it. Doing so was bound to only lead to even worse charges if they were caught.

When neither made a move, the officer cleared his throat for their attention. “Are either of you aware this vehicle is stolen and was involved in a robbery earlier tonight?”

“No,” gasped Shego. “Get out.”

“No Miranda?” wondered Drakken lightly. He rolled his head on his shoulders, feigning a carefree demeanor, but Shego could sense he was tense.

“Step out of the vehicle,” ordered the officer one last time, his voice rising. “Hands up!”

Drakken’s hands shot up, taking one of Shego’s with it. She raised her other almost as slowly as Drakken cautiously reached for the door to pop it open. He climbed out first, and the open door revealed for a fact that the officer was brandishing a firearm. The man holstered it however as he ordered Drakken to put his hands behind his back and turn around.

Shego was just crawling out herself when Drakken was shoved against the side of the station wagon. He twisted his head to shoot a displeased glare back at the officer, his lip raised and brow knitted tight. Glasses slipping, he cursed and tipped his head back to try shifting them back into position, but it didn’t help him much.

Her hands free and palms itching, Shego watched just shy of helpless as her getaway driver was handcuffed and frisked and read his rights in a tired drone. The officer lost his courteous tone as he yanked up Drakken’s shirt to check his waist, commenting snidely on what he presumed was body paint or a tattoo extending past his face and neck, to which Drakken grunted irritably.

When she took a step forward, the officer’s attention snapped up at her and she was ordered not to move. And then she was ordered to shut the door and put her hands on the roof. She complied, and flashed a smirk to her companion an arm’s length away. He wasn’t nearly so amused by it all. He glared at her, harrumphed, and scowled away to grit his teeth and bear it as he was given his pat-down.

Something about the policeman’s evident belief that Dr. Drakken was the more dangerous of the two was plucking hazardously at Shego’s nerves.

The officer made the mistake of crouching to check Drakken’s oxfords for concealed weapons or anything incriminating. Meanwhile Shego eyed the man’s gun, safely holstered. A glance up to his patrol car, lights still flickering, and she determined he was foolishly working alone tonight. During her hero career, seeing the police department so understaffed and thus shouldering the burden on her would have really ticked her off.

Her hands really itched.

They slid from the roof as she slowly leaned back, studying the careless man in uniform squatting. Completely vulnerable.

He was asking for it.

The fool was too focused on checking Drakken’s socks to notice her measuring a charge of plasma in her grip. He didn’t know what hit him as she swept a hand over the top of his head to discharge the ball.

“Ksssh, officer down,” she jeered, speaking into her fist to mimic a radio.

Bug-eyed and jaw unhinged, Drakken gawped from her beaming face to the policeman who’d just crumpled and fell in the sand around his feet. “Did you just kill that man?” he sputtered.

“Nah. But he’ll have a heck of a headache when he wakes up,” she said, though she couldn’t be sure she was telling the truth. The blow was nothing compared to the desperate blast she’d scrambled her brother’s brains with several weeks ago, but blunt force trauma was tricky to work with. There was no certainty how much was too much. How much was fatal. All that really mattered was the pop upside the head was effective in rendering the lawman incapacitated at the very least.

She could only cross her fingers and hope for the best as she worked quickly, stripping the officer of his gun for good measure and smashing his radio under her heel for the hell of it, telling herself it might buy them time so he couldn’t immediately call for backup if he came to in a minute.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Drakken uttered, craning his neck to look past her as she grabbed him by the chain links between his cuffs. Another quick charge of plasma concentrated to her fingers, hot and metal-warping, and she pinched the links apart, leaving him with two shiny bracelets but at least his wrists weren’t bound together anymore.

Shego rolled her eyes. “I swear, if you throw up—”

“No, no,” Drakken sputtered, waving to signal denial as she ducked back into the car through the driver’s side. She swore she heard him dry heave though as he rolled the body – be it a dead body or a sleeping one – safely aside with his foot so as to not run the officer over. A courteous thought, considering he was clearly still woozy as he stumbled into the door and nearly fell completely on his side when he dropped down onto the bench.

Shego shoved him upright – just about shoving him back out in the process – but he caught himself with the door and slammed it shut. He reached to fix his socks, but a swat on the shoulder reminded him of their number one priority. The engine revved then and they were back on the road, tires spinning in the grit. She was thankful they’d stopped for gas earlier after all, even if her stunt there might have been the reason they’d been found at all.

Drakken’s swerving had lessened considerably, but he drifted into the center of the highway anyway as he floored it. They were homebound. At least, Shego hoped they were. She hadn’t the slightest clue where they even were – other than still in the never-ending wasteland.

To make damn sure she stayed awake on what was hopefully the last stretch, Shego rubbed her eyes and pinched her thigh to keep her peepers peeled for any sign of officers patrolling the highway for a stolen rust bucket and two convenience store thieves. It sounded like a petty enough crime the local law enforcement might let it slide without making an effort, until Shego considered the charges for assaulting an officer and running from the law should they be identified and arrested later. She might be able to slip under the radar effortlessly enough – but Drakken, the big blue sore thumb he was, might not be get away with it so easy.

“What?”

“What?” she echoed, blinking in a stupor.

“You’re staring,” grunted the driver as he slouched down in his seat to get comfortable. “It’s rude to stare.”

Face heating, she quickly tore her eyes away from him and set them back on the road. She sat on her hands in precaution, as it was just about the safest place for them right now to keep her sparkling glow from showing. She drew a deep meditative breath and focused on keeping the nervous tic under control.

After a minute, she flicked a glance over at the frowning alcoholic behind the wheel. A meek laugh escaped her as she tried to smile over at him. “That creep really put the cop in coping a feel, huh?” she jibbed, and she was pretty sure she saw him shudder.

“I’d rather not to relive the experience,” he said wistfully, and reached for the radio to search for a station. “Not the first time. Won’t be the last.” A few back and forth twists of the dial and it was determined that nothing came in, so he grunted and snapped it off.

Shego chewed her nail for a minute. “Thought you haven’t been arrested before?”

“Did I say that?” Drakken uttered with dry wit, tapping his chin as if trying to recall. When it earned a small laugh out of her, the rogue doctor flashed a crooked grin at her. “You’re staring again.”

Big deal. “Hey, it’s your job to watch the road. Not mine,” she dismissed as she turned away to dig into her go-bag packed with snacks and smokes. She hoped her cheeks weren’t glowing, because they sure felt like they were. She pulled out a bottle of cream soda, cracked it open to take the first sip, and held it out in offering for her tipsy driver.

Drakken took it, but he scrutinized the label with blatant distrust of the clear soft drink. She knew he’d tried one of her sparkling waters a while back, because she’d been missing one from the twelve-pack. He must have deemed the cream soda safe enough though, because he took a swig – only to pull a face and pass it back. “Too sweet,” he muttered.

“You of all people,” Shego groaned with a roll of her eyes.

She slumped against the window, pulling her legs up onto the bench. She wanted to kick her sore ankle up into his lap, but thought better of it.

She soon noticed she was the one being watched, the fact made clear when Drakken drifted across the fog line and she shot a glower at him. She snapped her fingers. “Hey, hey, hey,” she called. “Eyes on the road, pal.”

He veered back into the lane, but she didn’t miss his stare drifting back to her anyway.

It was her turn to snip, “What?”

“Nothing,” he answered quickly, blinking rapidly and looking back at the road just as there was a bend to slow for. “Nothing, I just. You. You are one of a kind, you know, Shego?”

“Yes. Yes, I do know,” she acknowledged with a nod. It was a little hard to forget when she had to leave her bottle of pop between her knees to sit on her hands again, the damned glow making her life difficult as always. She relaxed back against the door anyway, deciding the curse was probably worth it.

Jiminy Cricket chirped in her head as she watched cloud cover slowly blot out the stars. She didn’t mean to start humming to the nostalgic melody again, because it set Drakken off. She sighed and put up with it, deciding his tired halfhearted singing at least kept her awake and filled the void left by an uncooperative radio.

The desert seemed endless, but miraculously, they did eventually find its end. Sand and parched weeds gradually gave way to a wider range of flora and fuller bushes, and rocks jutting up in black silhouettes against the night sky smoothed out to lumpy mountains as they were funneled into a pass, the highway soon running parallel to the river Shego knew must be the one that ran through town. Sparse pines flanked the road soon enough.

She swore she felt a change in the air miles before they even reached the oasis settlement – it wasn’t so dry, for one. It was a little colder too, however, and with wind blowing through the car, she had to wrap her arms tight around herself, shivering slightly against the chill.

It was a relieving sight to see the glitter as they came over a hill and dropped back down into the valley. “Finally,” Drakken gasped, and Shego gave a sleepy hum in agreement.

A quick cut through town down Main Street, and they were skirting back around and back up another hill.

“I should really have this paved,” Drakken mumbled as they came up his gravel driveway. Shego was inclined to agree. It was too reminiscent of the sand and grit they’d spent far too much time on tonight, whether driving or walking.

Predictably, the gate was chained and locked, and no henchman was close at hand to see their need for assistance. Even if there was a grunt on duty, he wouldn’t have recognized the vehicle. So Shego took it upon herself to hop out, pulling Drakken’s set of keys from her pocket, as she’d never given them back after tipping the van.

She tried a couple in the lock, but between two dozen keys, decided it was quicker to stalk back to the tired driver leaned out his window with head in his hand. He found her the right key with his eyes half-closed and passed the jingling set back for her to do her job, even if his help had her feeling a little incompetent. She locked back up after him, and was glad he waited idling for her to climb back in, although she had to jump out again a moment later anyway to manually lift the garage door.

Maybe he did need more henchmen, she mused to herself.

Back in the lair of the weary blue scientist, Shego shoved her companion off toward the door to his quarters before trudging across the lab for her own accommodations.

She hadn’t thought of sleepwear when Drakken told her to pack an overnight bag. She’d been too doubtful of whatever he had in mind. Honestly, she’d expected him to drag her back to his lair for some reason or other. She hadn’t foreseen spending the next twenty-four hours running all over Vegas and the Nevada desert.

Thankfully, her drawers still contained a few essentials, which she tried to keep handy just in case she needed them at a time like this. The foresight to leave behind a set of pajamas was a godsend, because there was no way she was hiking or driving all the way back to her cold apartment at this time of night when there was a hot shower calling her name here.

She was relieved to strip out of the grime-encrusted civilian wear at long last, using her ruined green sweater still bedazzled with glass to sweep up some of the loose sharp tidbits that fell off her.

She wasn’t a particularly pretty sight at the moment. A checkup in the mirror revealed her shoulder was scratched and bruised from where she’d fell on it in the crash, and the cut on her temple right at her hairline had bled enough to just about paint half her face, though most of the smeared blood had turned black and brown with dirt by now. She took utmost care in washing around the cut, miserable to have it bleeding freely again and making a vain attempt to stop the flow with a pristine white cloth.

It took the shower running cold for Shego to realize she’d been falling asleep in the tub, the stream of water beating down on her back spraying over the edge and onto the floor, soaking her now-muddy outfit. She was beat.

Shego inadvertently startled the soggy robe-swaddled man in his own kitchen when she came strolling into the good Dr. Drakken’s quarters with a towel around her shoulders like a shawl. Under his wide-eyed stare, she patted the corner of the towel to her temple, trying not to care that she was staining it.

Pulling the towel tight around herself, Shego stood torn between the sofa and the fridge. Blocking the way to the fridge, Drakken was still staring at her. She glanced down, double-checking just to be absolutely sure she’d remembered to pull on her fleece pants to go with her matching tank top. Maybe it was the little green owls all over her legs that caught him off guard. It couldn’t be the fresh blood leaving an extra dark streak through her hair and staining the white towel pink.

“What? What is it?” she carped as Drakken gravitated toward her. She wasn’t so sure she was hungry for a midnight snack anymore.

It was definitely her blood that had caught his eye. “Mind if I…?”

“Yes,” she snapped, sidestepping away from him and the curious hand reaching out toward her. “I do mind. It’s…it’s fine, Doc. I shouldn’t need stitches.”

He retracted his hand and blinked and tore his curious stare away. “If you say so,” he mumbled.

Shego stuck her tongue out at him, too tired to care that it was childish. “You just wanna give me some to match,” she growled. She turned for the couch. Fatigue was winning out. “I’m crashing here tonight. Got a problem with that?” It was warmer in his living room than her bedroom anyway. And the couch was softer.

Drakken shook his head, spooning yogurt into his mouth to keep it busy, as if avoiding answering her. He seemed to be avoiding looking her way at all, she noticed, as she fluffed the throw pillow. When he shuffled out to shut himself away in his bedroom for the remainder of the night, Shego sarcastically wished him a goodnight, but he was too stupid to utter more than a short, “Yep,” before disappearing.

She snorted incredulously as she flopped down. It must have gotten to him within moments, because she’d just shut her eyes when she heard his door creak open again and his hurried footsteps. Something soft landed on her.

“Goodnight,” he grunted, voice strained as if it was exhausting just to correct himself and return the sentiment in the proper manner.

Crudeness aside, Shego smirked and shook out the puffy blue comforter he’d thrown at her. It smelled mostly like generic fabric softener, but also still too much like him. She squeezed her eyes shut as if she could block out the thought. 

[red-wardens]

Quid Pro Quo - Modern AU

Kieran x Darrian Tabris

ft. my Kyung-jae “Kieran” Tabris and @dickeybbqpit‘s Darrian

AU: Highschool -> College

Words: 1435 (oops longer than intended ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

---------

“Shianni’s sick today. She didn’t come to school,”

Kieran Tabris looks up from his phone, frowning but hiding the worry on his face with practiced ease. High School senior Darrian Tabris has been on his radar since freshman year when Kieran first befriended his cousin. But with the redhead’s Honors classes and Kieran’s extracurriculars, the two had nothing in common. Except Shianni.

“She didn’t text me,” Kieran grumbles, looking out into the emptying parking lot. The last school bell had rung half an hour ago and if she really wasn’t coming...he wasn’t sure what he was waiting for anymore.

Darrian shrugs because he knows that’s on him. Despite her indignant protests he’d taken Shianni’s phone that morning, responding to her middle finger with a grin and the explanation that she wouldn’t get the rest she needed if she had it. She’d yelled hoarsely at him and he’d laughed, knowing he was right.

“Bye,” Kieran steps off the curb and towards the street wondering if he has enough pocket change for bus fare. Probably not. Darrian catches up easily, falling into step beside him.

“I’ll drive you home,” he offers casually, but his demeanor and stride declare it like something that’s already been decided.

“Why,” dark eyes narrow with conditioned suspicion.

“Because if Shianni usually does it that means it’s on the way,” Darrian answers, walking not close enough to touch but just enough that, without his notice, he herds his belligerent classmate towards his silver Jetta. He unlocks it before raising a brow, his eyes taunting because he’s seen Kieran glancing at the time on his phone, has speculated he has somewhere to be .

“Unless you’d rather walk,”

Kieran scowls but opens the passenger door and gets in. He needed to make sure his Umma was awake to take her medication.

“Where to?” Darrian asks, pulling out of the parking lot. A pause, then:

“Trailer park. On Seventh,” Kieran answers before turning his head, searching Darrian’s face and waiting for the judgement that never comes. Darrian just nods before switching on his Bluetooth speaker and putting his playlist on shuffle. There’s only music for a few blocks.

“Where you headed to next year?” Kieran asks after the silence gets under his skin. He taps restlessly on the window button but the heater is running and he does not open it. Darrian replies robotically with his college options. He’s obviously been asked this before.

“Ivy Leagues. What a hotshot,” is the inquirer's contemptuous, suddenly disinterested, response. Unperturbed, Darrian returns the question. The answer is the local community college along with another hostile, expectant look. Darrian doesn’t go along with that script; makes no condescending comments or snide remarks, and again receives a confused look. But they don’t speak again.

“Thanks.” Curt, but not ungrateful, Kieran steps out on the dirt road and closes the car door. Darrian speeds off without another glance.

----------

The next day Shianni is better but her AP English essay is still incomplete. She skips school again. At lunch, Darrian looks over across the courtyard where the Korean clique stands chatting and eating. He makes eye-contact with the bored-looking boy wearing the dance team cap. The russet-haired boy raises his hand slightly and spins his car keys on a finger, an unremarkable gesture to the friends surrounding him, but Kieran gets the message. He inclines his head slightly before returning his attention to his companions.

“Waiting at my car? People are going to talk,” Darrian jests dryly after school, once again pulling out of the parking lot with Kieran riding shotgun.

“Yeah well, maybe don’t ask me out from across the fucking courtyard then.” comes the sour response. The passenger lowers his window; the rain has stopped and he likes the smell of it on pavement.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Darrian laughs shortly and without humor. But he lowers his window as well and doesn’t reach for his Bluetooth. The silence doesn’t last long this time.

“Sophomore year PE,” Kieran states matter-of-factly. He gets no reaction but continues anyways. He’s thought about it enough overnight to be sure. “Some nerd with his gym locker next to mine forgets how to fucking breathe during the mile run. I ran to grab his inhaler thing from the locker room,”

“You broke my locker,” Darrian adds, not noticing the slight smile tugging at his lips as he keeps his eyes on the road. “And they gave you detention for it. Assholes,”

“Assholes,” Kieran agrees, nodding though he had forgotten that detail. He was in detention so often he’d stopped remembering the reasons. He could forge his mom’s signature well enough to keep her in the dark about his school problems.

“That’s why you offered to take me home yesterday,” Kieran says when they pull up in front of the trailer park again. Darrian keeps his eyes on the road still, fingers tapping lightly on the wheel. He shrugs.

“I don’t like owing people,” he replies simply while locking eye contact. The dark-haired boy scoffs as he exits the car.

“That was yesterday,” he begins, dark eyes examining his classmate carefully before continuing. His face was annoyingly pretty for a Harvard-bound prick. For an authoritative asshole who could chug surprising and impressive amounts of alcohol at house parties. “What about today?”

Darrian cocks his head and grins as he puts his car in drive.

“Today, was a favor. Guess now you owe me,” he drives off before Kieran can respond. The next day Shianni returns. Neither of the boys bring up the car rides. Neither of them speak again.

---------

Three and a half years later Darrian tosses the medicine ball at his cousin. She catches it once more before setting it down and makes a comment on how it’s too hot outside for this. Darrian reminds her there’s only a couple weeks left of summer and that she’d been the one to ask him for help getting back in shape.

“I do have other things to do with my vacation, Shianni…” he trails off, noticing a familiar face across the gym. In the punching bag room a young man with his long hair tied back is going hard with his kicks and punches. Darrian systematically files through his brain, looking to match the face with a name.

“I know that look,” Shianni smirks and waves her hand in front of his eyes. He glares because she’s broken his concentration. His frown deepens when she stands on her toes to get a look at who he’s looking at. She stares before turning her head to him incredulously. “Please don’t tell me you’re checking out Kieran,”

“Kieran,” he repeats, his memory finally jogging. He’d all but deleted faces and names of everyone inconsequential in high school upon graduation day. For some reason though he recalls car rides and the smell of rain on pavement. “That’s the delinquent from our high school,”

“He’s not so bad now,” Shianni can’t help but be a little defensive. “He still copies my homework a lot but he hasn’t gotten into a fight all year,”

Darrian processes the fact that Shianni is still friends with the Asian guy now taking selfies. He decides to forget about him. That evening during dinner though, after realizing he’s been unsuccessful, he asks Shianni if she knows where Kieran works. She does.

The next day he’s at the cafe, hand is in his pocket, fingers running over the ridges of his Jetta’s keys. A girl greets and seats him but it’s Kieran who comes  to take his order. He looks startled at first, then confused, then intrigued. Darrian marvels at the expressiveness of his eyes, his mouth, how quickly they change and the way they settle on what Darrian can only interpret as “cautious but glad,”. After eating, Darrian sips his coffee and does his work on his laptop. He mentally tallies the number of times the dark-haired waiter passes by his table. Too many times to be just business.

A couple hours later, Kieran clocks out, nods his head at him before he leaves. Darrian asks the waitress who took over for the check and is only half surprised when she tells him it’s been paid for.

After a few days of going to the gym at various times, Darrian arrives one Monday before sunrise. He immediately notices the lone occupant in the punching bag room. When he enters, Kieran wipes the sweat from his brow and turns to face him.

“You covered my check,” with Darrian’s tone it’s almost an accusation. But it’s softened by the small smile that he can’t fight away. Kieran’s brow creases but then he grins.

“I owed you,”

[tehuti88-art]

2/1/22: So I got fed up with the stupid spammy crypto/NFT bots following me on Twitter presumably only because I post my AI art there (which I do only to get free credits, because obviously not enough ACTUAL people are looking at it to justify the time it takes to post it all), and after my mini-rant I rage-drew this. Kinda hoped it'd amuse somebody but it got as much notice as the rest of my art...go figure. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

But anyway...the more I read about and TRY to understand NFTs, the stupider they sound, plus IMO they've made the AI art site in question less fun and interactive in that now almost everyone hides their creation prompts (keywords or phrases and modifiers you use to make your art and give it a particular look)...this probably isn't the only reason since not all the prompt-hiders are trying to sell their works as NFTs, but I feel it's a big motivator.

One of my favorite artists who inspired me there enough for me to respond to and compliment him on Reddit (I make a point of NEVER complimenting anyone anymore, because either they get enough praise from others that they don't notice or care about my piddly comment, and/or my compliment always annoys them somehow, seriously, I can't even try to make others feel good without it backfiring) had actually started a thread calling for creators to keep their prompts public so we could all draw inspiration from each other, and I agreed with him. His profile proclaimed how he would always have all his prompts open for everyone's use. Less than a month later, he put up an NFT, saying others had suggested he try to sell his work, and he vowed he was hiding the prompts ONLY on that one NFT and he had no plans to make others. A day or so later, he said he would be hiding the prompts ONLY on new works he decided to sell as NFTs, but the rest would remain open, and he changed his profile to say so. A day or so later, he cheerfully exclaimed that if these NFTs sold so many copies, he was going to go back and try selling all his older works too--including the series that had originally drawn me to his work--and all the prompts on his newer works were accordingly being hidden; his profile changed yet again to say that now he was "happy to share modifiers with friends."

Should've just kept my mouth shut. 🙄

This all happened over the space of maybe a week. So, this guy who'd been adamant about keeling prompts open and sharing inspiration collectively...flip-flopped in a heartbeat as soon as the prospect of selling NFTs for crypto entered the picture. I feel almost irrationally angry and let down by this, how fast somebody can sell out, especially given the low success rate of selling NFTs...I don't fault the person running the AI site for trying different ways to make money, but the amateur creators like us, how much money, seriously, can we make trying to sell these things? Who in their right mind wants to spend money on AI art generated by total nobodies? Well, from what I've seen and heard, the NFT world is full of people not in their right minds, and this guy still has NFTs for sale, so maybe he is making enough crypto to justify it. But it's just...disappointing. Not only that somebody can do a complete 180 and give up all their creative morals so quickly for the chance at a bit of crypto, but that so much art that creators actually put WORK into--rather than just plugging words into an AI, or slightly tweaking some stupid template art (like those f**king stupid apes)--will never get even a FRACTION of the attention or money this mass-produced drek gets.

But anyway yeah, I'm just really sore about the hidden prompts. I decided to not only stop liking art with hidden prompts or following artists who hide many/all of their prompts (including this guy, and, sadly, others who were open at first but then started hiding everything), but to make a point of keeping all my prompts open for all to use, and saying so in my profile. Unlike these others, I intend to stick by this. (A couple of users have name-dropped me in their own works as thanks.) There have been a few unintended consequences--one guy took one of my artworks and used it as his start image to create a new work, so I had to clarify that my TEXT prompts are open to use, not my art itself, something I'd assumed was a given--plus a few users copied my open prompts and then HID THEM ON THEIR OWN WORKS (UGH that steams me 😡 )--but there's nothing really to be done for it.

I've found a handful (only a handful) of other artists who keep most/all prompts open and I follow them (I currently have over 500 followers--more followers by far than I've gotten on all sites where I've posted creative work, COMBINED, in 20+ years online--yet I follow only around 50, so that tells you how common open prompts are), but I get discouraged browsing through my feed, because I've repeatedly found that even users who have a bunch of open prompts can decide to start hiding them all at the drop of a hat, and even those who, like me, say in their profile that they despise hidden prompts can end up either changing their minds or just hiding them anyway! (Seriously, I got excited finding one user whose profile said hidden prompts suck, yet when I checked out his work, most of his were hidden...what up, dude? 🤨 ) So...NFTs and crypto just seem to ruin the creative process, in my limited experience. And the prospect of making any real money off them doesn't seem worth it if you're not famous already. I read that the vast majority of NFT projects fail, after all.

And something about crypto being really bad for the environment, I don't get it (you "mine" for the stuff?...way over my head), so there's that, too. I don't get it. It just seems to suck the joy out of the creative process. NFTs are like...McArt.

But hey, could be I'm just bitter, and too dumb to understand it all. *shrugs* Anyway, this crap drawing was in response to all these feelings, and I'd say it just proves my point that a drawing an actual person (me) actually made (via actually drawing on my tablet) got zero notice whereas if it were one of those actual NFTs it probably would've gotten a bazillion views, except that every creative project I touch goes unnoticed, so I imagine that even if I did create a genuine NFT nobody would notice that, either. So...no point was actually made. I just got mad and drew a crappy ape. Took me a hundred times longer to write this up than it took me to draw it.

Enjoy. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[I Made An NFT [‎Tuesday, ‎February ‎1, ‎2022, ‏‎1:57:09 PM]]

[acecademia]

What do you think has changed the most about education (besides online learning) from the time you started school to now?

Hi, nonny!

I honestly don't know. I went to seven different schools in K-12, a community college one summer, and an additional three universities for undergrad, grad school, and now my PhD, all of which were split between five different states. My frame of reference for how education in the US works is a little all over the place.

Long post, so it's under the cut!

I went from seventh grade in Virginia where we were still using overhead projectors and transparencies to eighth grade in Virginia where basically every classroom had a digital projector installed on the ceiling, which was not new for them. I had computer classes starting in first grade in Illinois, but my elementary school (where I did 4th & 5th grade) in Virginia didn't have computer classes at all. My brother and I learned D'Nealian handwriting in our New Mexico elementary school, and then he got in trouble for writing his letters "wrong" at our elementary school in Illinois because they taught print/block handwriting. There's been so much variation that it's hard to really conceptualize any changes that occur across the entire education system as compared to one single school or district. (This is all part of my larger "everything that's wrong with US public education" rant.)

Overall, I'd say technology is a major one. My brother was taught the alphabet using a keyboard when we lived in DC, but that was basically unheard of at the time (c. 1998). I had touch typing lessons in third grade in Illinois, but again, that was an outlier. Most of my classmates in Texas didn't know how to touch type or only learned in high school. I also grew up making powerpoints for school projects starting around middle school or so, and in high school, Prezi was all the rage ([insert that post about "what if powerpoint gave you motion sickness" here]). And while I was occasionally given the opportunity to make a video as my submission for a school project (which I only did maybe once), I now see this becoming more and more normalized.

There's also a lot more group work. By the time I hit high school, there was an increased push for teachers to assign group projects, and we even had partner quizzes in my AP stats class senior year. (Literally, we would do our quizzes in pairs, which basically meant I would do the whole thing and then check my answers to the half my partner was supposed to do so I could correct them.) I hated group projects in school. I only stopped hating them once I got to grad school because by then, people seemed to actually, like, give a shit about their classes and would do their part of the work.

Standardized testing is another big one. Schools really went overboard on that shit. It went from "here are benchmarks to make sure we're on track" to "literally your funding depends on these scores so your students better do well."

Quick interlude related to that: I did 95% of my freshman year on a total homebound program. A couple weeks into the year, my back got even worse, and I was in constant agony. I could not physically handle attending school or even just sitting up for too long without breaking down into tears over how much pain I was in. So after six months of my school sending teachers to my house every week to continue my education, they called my mom. Here's a fairly close outline of how that conversation went:

School: hey so we know your daughter's in a lot of pain and on a lot of drugs, but she's going to be here for TAKS testing, right?

My mom: ...no???

School: well she has to be here

My mom: does it affect her grade?

School: well, no, but--

My mom: will she be allowed to move on to the next grade?

School: well, technically, this year's scores don't affect that, but--

My mom: okay so, let me get this straight, you want my daughter, who is in constant intense pain that gets worse when she's sitting up for long periods of time, to come in and sit through multiple days of being required to sit up for hours at a time, all so she can take a series of tests that do not affect her whatsoever?

School: yes

My mom: ...

My mom: okay, so like every other week of this school year so far, she's going to be home. If you want to come and give her the tests here, we can work that out, but she's not going to the school for testing

School: we can't do the testing at your home

My mom: well, then she's not taking them

School: but she has to!!!!

My mom: you literally just told me that they don't affect her at all

School: they're a great progress measurement tool

My mom: my daughter has straight A's and was accepted to your magnet school program which required her to have a strong academic record. I think we've got a good idea of her progress. She's going to be home that week, and if you want to fight me on this, I'll give her doctor your phone number. Goodbye

And then she hung up, and I was like "holy shit my mom's a badass." Of course, I already knew that because she called my doctor's nurse and had them write me a letter saying I had an appointment that didn't exist because my middle school said that attending 8th grade celebration was mandatory, even though it was outside on the grass and involved a lot of like field-day-style activities and I was still using my wheelchair. They told me that I could sit on the sidewalk and watch. Yeah, sit on the sidewalk and watch other kids have fun all day while I was there. Alone. And bored. And attendance was mandatory??? No. My doctor and his nurse were so incredulous and outraged that they didn't even charge us for the excuse note, and I just went to Panera for lunch with my mom and my aunt that day. So like... my mom has always been a badass.

Also, we're now approaching Nicole's rant on accessibility in K-12 public education in the US, so revenons à nos moutons.

Standardized testing sucks and it's dumb and also when we switched from TAKS to STAAR tests when I was in high school, the freshmen (the first group who had to use them) at my school did so badly on them that I think about half of them (~300 students) had to do summer school. Also, there are a lot of issues with them like, y'know, the racism and classism and how they mainly exist as a form of elitist gatekeeping (side-eyeing the SAT, ACT, and especially the GRE super hard here). But that's a topic for another time.

tl;dr: there have been a lot of changes to education since I started school, but aside from a couple big ones, I couldn't tell you what they are because I went to so many different schools that I never know if changes I perceived were because of a nationwide change or just something weird at my new school ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[thirstforscience-blog]

4/28/17

didn’t really see turtle today. I go past his room on the way to math but I guess the timing was off today ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I realized today that a lot of my obsessive feelings for him are bc we aren’t that close. I have three other teachers this year who are all awesome people and like. I like them as people as much as I like turtle, and I have the same level of desire to stay in touch with and maybe even become friends with them after graduating, but I’m a lot closer to them than turtle. they’re the teachers that I’ve hung out with during homeroom and talked about politics and life, not turtle. plus one of them is a music teacher and he gave me a lot of individual help with college audition preparation in the fall and now he’s doing the same thing for the AP theory exam so we’ve gotten fairly close through that. anyway. there are other teachers who I like as much as turtle but I’m closer to them and I want the same level of closeness with turtle and I think that’s why I get such strong feelings over him? idk man. also there’s a weird sense of urgency now bc I’m so close to graduating so it’s like. I have three weeks to gain a level in friendship with him and I know that’s not how people or relationships work but Still