#or at least not any like active and populated ones

[honourablejester]

I don't think that you are a troll or stupid, but I do think that you spent too much time thinking about watsonian explanation and forget that in real life symbols mean things

Well. Thank you for clarifying.

It’s not that I’ve spent too much time on the Watsonian explanation, it’s that I don’t think the Doylist explanation is that fantasy writers universally (and specifically in this instance Pathfinder writers) want people to believe that the real world crusades were good and/or want to convert readers/players to a fascist cult. Which would appear to be what people in this thread are saying any fantasy depiction of a crusade against an actual supernatural threat would be intended to do.

Symbols do mean things, but so does context. It’s why, to use an equally fraught example, the swastika means something very different in India than it does in Europe. Now, obviously, that’s not directly comparable, as that symbol’s religious use came first, and its appropriation by a completely foreign fascist regime came later, but still. Context alters meaning. It’s why so many fantasy allegories break down. The physical realities as presented in the world of the story alter the interpretation of the real world symbol. Marvel’s mutants as an allegory for any number of discriminated-against peoples, for example, when there are mutants in the story that are a genuine and active genocidal threat – the existence of characters like Magneto make the discussions of the theme/allegory at the very least more complicated. That works exactly the same in the other direction. So a context where the threat is supernatural and is real genuinely can alter the interpretation.

If, granted, you are willing to give it more than surface thought. And here I’m going to put two of your other points together:

We live in a real world and in a real world crusades are a political symbol, and portraying "this time justified" crusade is giving credibility to real-life fanboys of templars and potentially signaling to them that you are on their side. You yourself say that allegory is a tool of fantasy, and fash very much can and do use it to obfuscate the fact that they mean people.

And:

having fantasies of being a bigot only indicates that people who have them are already bigoted.

The people who are going to interpret the fantasy crusade against actual literal demons as ‘proof’ that the real world crusades were also justified are the people who were already going to do that, regardless of context or internal cues within the story. The people who hold the real world crusades as a political symbol are already the people who don’t care about the crusades as anything but that symbol. They don’t care about the historical context of the real crusades any more than they care about the fictional context of the fantasy ones either.

I don’t agree that those people just get to claim a vast swathe of extremely complicated human history, as well as lock off a huge theme for fiction to explore in relation to that history, for fear that examining that symbol will ‘signal’ to a bunch of fuckheads that you might agree with them.

Because, the thing is, the fantasy of this game is not to play a bigot, unless you were already planning to. It does examine the morality of the crusade, even in a context where the enemy is a literal supernatural force of evil, and it also examines whether they are. One of your companion characters explicitly rejects the holy justification of the crusade and believes that even demons can be more than pure evil and should be given a chance to show it, and she can be proved right. And, in the canon result of the crusade beyond the game itself, was. Several of the characters on your side would also give the worst demons a run for their money. However, a country has still been invaded and its population slaughtered, so you also still have to do something about that.  

The fantasy of the game is, I would say, for most people, a fantasy of facing and fighting an overwhelming force of evil. Which is not too far away from the much more politically acceptable fantasy of, say, punching a nazi in the face.

Because yes, if we are exploring which portrayals of violence are good and which are not, we do have to discuss the ethics of war.

Yes, there are very much people who want to play a ‘crusader’ so they can act out murdering people different from them and being lauded for it. But there are also people who want to play out the gothic horror tropes of fighting supernatural foes, or examine the morality of religion in a context where the gods are, in fact, very much real, or who want to play the knight errant of Arthurian myth as if the heroic image of them was real instead of significantly more complicated than that.

I just don’t think it’s useful to say things like ‘all fantasy writers are secretly fascists’ or ‘all paladin players are secretly fascists’ or ‘you can never show this symbol in a positive light no matter what the context’, because all of that is just reductive, and stops people examining the stories we tell (and the symbols we hold) on anything more than a surface level.

And ourselves, maybe, from examining what biases we might be bringing to the story.

Further, fantasy does make supernatural physical reality, but even then it doesn't justify religious wars. Physical gods of fantasy are like real-life kings, and killing someone for not serving your king is still inexcusable.

So, yes. Very much an atheist point of view, then?

Also, like. That’s all of human history? We’re back to the ethics of war. Either killing someone for any reason is inexcusable, or we’re just picking and choosing what causes we’re willing to make exceptions for. Again, if you have a fantasy about killing a nazi, how is that different from a fantasy about killing a demon?

I’m not saying don’t examine every story and see what parts of it hold up and what parts of it don’t, or poke at what unrealised biases the writers might have, I’m saying maybe don’t make blanket statements like ‘fantasy as a genre thinks the crusades were morally good’ and ‘anyone who portrays a crusader as a good person is secretly a fascist and wants to kill people’. Because I’m pretty sure that’s not true, and I’m also pretty sure it doesn’t help to say it’s true. And I also don’t think locking off an entire period of history behind ‘this is evil and ever choosing to portray it is also evil’ is helpful either.

And, with all of that said ... Pathfinder as a setting genuinely does have some ... interesting worldbuilding in relation to real world ... There are a lot of real world conspiracy theories of less-than-laudable origin that Pathfinder uses their fantasy world to examine 'what if something like this was true in the context of another planet'. Since you mentioned the evil lizard people. Golarion straight has the evil serpent empires who ruled the world before man. It has the ancient super empire of Atlantis ('Azlant'), which was destroyed by Cthulhu monsters who telepathically infiltrated humanity, and said Atlantean empire was the origin of the human-turned-god who basically inspired every human empire in the history of the European-analogue of this world to go on an expansion spree. Part of Pathfinder's whole vibe is 'what might it look like if all the crackpot conspiracy theories of our world were actually true on a fantasy planet', as well as 'what would some of the worst and most complicated periods of our history look like if played out in a fantasy world with magic and gods'. 'What if the crusades but with actual demons' is only scratching the surface of what Pathfinder's setting decided to tangle with. And I get that how successful they have been, both on a case by case basis and overall, is very much a 'your mileage may vary' sort of situation. I also get that for some people, the fact that they do this at all, and also consistently, is very much grounds to write the setting off immediately.

Personally, I'm not opposed to using a fantasy world to essentially play out human beliefs and lies to see what might happen if they were true, as pretty much this entire post will show. But I do also understand if other people don't want to engage with it.

I just don't agree with writing off anyone who does choose to engage with it as 'automatically a fascist'. As, well. This post should also show.

kind of concerning how married the fantasy genre is to "crusades as a basically good thing"

[slumbrr-r]

Do toons have their own powers even without the Augmentations? Or are their abilities reliant on said augmentations? If so was lynx and Lumine part of Gardenview or are they special cases? Does the Research center , Production team, Medical sector and Security team have their own augmentations to help with their respective jobs or is it only a Strike team thing? Do Ruin Corp , Zodiac ect have their own version of Augmentations?

All toons have their own powers without Augments. Think of the ingame passive/active abilities as their "magic". However, with a majority of the population; this magic is really weak. Augments help boost the inherent abilities of the toons (or at least strengthen them physically); such as Astro A1's full suit boosting his magic.

Connie's can possess objects and move through walls; that is magic. Pebbles' sniff/bark abilities do not count as magic. Sprout magically spawning cupcakes from his hands count as magic.

Lynx was part of Gardenview and left. Lumino has never been a part of any organizations and never will be.

The Research, Production and all other teams have their own robotics to help them out. While they all fall under the same name of "Augments" non-combat augments are much more sustainable and used freely, unlike the combat ones.

Gardenview didn't invent the idea of "robotic weapons" specifically, but Augments is their creation thanks to Brightney A1's work.

Ruin Corp have their own versions (since none of these organizations like working together) called Cores.

Zodiac does not use augments; they use twisteds and other means to their advantage instead. After all, who needs robotics when you have an army of partial twisteds at your beck and call?

The merchant alliance is de-centralized so whatever they have is usually homemade. Either that, or traded to them.

[arolesbianism]

We did it boys we got our first game crash in oni 🎉

[secret--history]

the whole 'there are not very many Great Causes worth fighting for these days' from Julian scanned as WAY more out of touch than the moon landing thing for me the first time i read tsh

[mimikyusrealform]

globalization

Spencer Reid x Reader. Word Count: 3703. Summary: Three times you leave Spencer speechless, and one time he leaves you speechless. Notes and Warnings: Set during S1 at the beginning, and then at S2. Mention of Somebody's Watching and North Mammon. There's a misogynistic comment, but it's quickly dealt with.

1.

The rivalry started innocuous enough. Three months after Dr. Spencer Reid joined the BAU, you were recruited as well. Fresh out of the academy and without a prebuilt rapport with the rest of the team, you felt out of place. They listened to your suggestions, but after a week and a half, it was like they were still teaching you the ropes, coddling you. Hotch didn’t even let you go out in the field. This piling dissatisfaction reached its culmination without warning.

“C’mon now,” Morgan said one day. You didn’t even remember what led to the following statement, but you remembered the phrase that started the domino effect. “Robberies have been declining since last year.”

“The robbery rate declined last year,” you corrected him as you skimmed through your oddly small workload for the day. They weren’t working on any cases. “It’s been declining since 1986, but it’s possible that the rate will increase this year in comparison to last year’s, which was at an all-time low, at 137.”

“136.7,” Dr. Reid corrected you from his own desk. He had already finished half of his work. “That is given a population of 293,656,842.” He looked at you and Morgan. “Did you know that the U.S Census Bureau estimates the population as of July 1 for each year? Except when it's a decennial census count, like 2000.”

It took Dr. Reid a whole minute to notice your glare. What a genius. He looked as if he was panicking a bit, and his gaze drifted between you and Morgan. He seemed to be begging with his eyes for Morgan to, somehow, reveal to him the secrets of the universe and what he should do to stop your glaring. But Morgan was not a pious entity, and he turned around, suddenly blind. It took Dr. Reid another minute to figure out why you were killing him in your head.

“I—I mean, you round up from 5, so 137 is accurate,” he rectified, staring back at you, like you were the abyss and he, the hero who needed to face it.

You stayed silent for a while. And then, you said, “That's dumb. The rate was 136.7. Sigh. I thought you were a genius, Dr. Reid, how could you even suggest that the rate was 137? Maybe you should check if you need to reinstall the eidetic memory package.”

Morgan made a sound that was between a dog barking out a laugh and a dog choking on its bone. But it was Dr. Reid's perplexed expression what you burned in your memory.

It wasn't your fault, really, that your antagonistic nature decided to pursue a war with the resident genius of the team. If you were to bluff in case of being questioned why you were so adamant in aggravating Dr. Spencer Reid in any way you could, you would say, “complacency is the enemy of natural selection and I'm truly benevolent—so I'm making the Doctor a favor by keeping him on his toes.” The truth was, Dr. Spencer Reid's geeky enthusiasm and nerdy rambles had charmed you. While you weren't on the same level as him when it came to intelligence—your latest IQ test had put you around 137, and that was knowing the common patterns the test tended to use—you had a knack for deconstructing things. When you were 8, you couldn't finish a Rubik cube for the life of you, but when you broke it down to its simpler parts, you found a way to solve it after learning how the core mechanism worked.

Antagonizing was how you dealt with your crushes. All the crushes you ever had, you actively treated them as if they were your mortal enemies. In a sense, they were. Understandably, none of them ever liked you, and you couldn't blame them. But, for some reason, the idea of Dr. Spencer Reid not returning your affections was—troubling, to say the least. And that only made you pricklier.

2.

Lila Archer was not an enemy but a victim with very poor timing. You draped a towel around her febrile shoulders, and patted her back in an ode to comfort. Then, you went out of the house to deal with your real foe. Dr. Spencer Reid was still trying to dry himself with a pathetically small cloth. In another occasion, it would have made you laugh. But you were, at loss of a better word, jealous. How shameful was that? You hadn’t been jealous since Nathaniel Sterling, your crush in tenth grade, started dating Rose Harding, the cloistered girl who ruined your straight-A-record in Math because you were paired with her during one assignment.

You had the bad habit of swallowing the acid that dripped from your own soul and regurgitating it when you were alone. For now, you compartmentalized. Weirdly enough, you found yourself feeling tired, instead of murderous. You understood, then, how having a crush on someone didn’t compare to being in love.

A crush was a candle in the wind; being in love was a fire in a forest.

The color of the night sky, that reflected on the blue water, covered the world of depth and beyond all bounds. Even the air was blue; it bit your skin. Or maybe it was your own feelings that prickled down your spine. If porcupines did mate for life, they would be the most tender lovers in the world, you thought. The prickliest beings loved carefully and purposefully.

Only after Elle left his side, did you approach. Though the look she gave you was too perceptive for your liking. “I didn’t know kissing with the girl you’re supposed to be protecting from her stalker was part of the protocol. Please, forward me the exact article that describes the effectiveness of French kisses as a method of protection against erotomaniacs.”

He tried to ignore your wording, but his ears were red, and so were his cheeks, despite the fact the air had cooled the water clinging to his clothes. “I, uh, I fell in,” was all he could muster given the fact you had a gun, a motive and a cold heart.

“I see,” you nodded. “That’s what tends to happen when you pool your women.”

“I don’t pool my women! I-I don’t even—I don’t even have women.”

“Relax, Doctor, you won’t drown. If you know how to two-stroke, two-timing should come naturally to you.”

Dr. Reid made a pitiful sound when he realized there was no winning against you.

“She kissed me first,” he said.

“Maybe you deserved it.”

“Don’t make it sound like a punishment.”

“I’m not.” You were sincere.

3.

You were pretty good at remaining unmovable, and you were proud of that. But—this guy. This guy.

“All I did was show them who they really are,” he was saying with that stupid self-satisfied smile. “What they were truly capable of. People pretending to be decent. When it came down to it, they… They reacted just the way I knew they would.”

“Is that so,” you couldn’t help but interrupt his little monologue. Gideon looked at you from the corner of his eye, but he didn’t try to stop you. “Congratulations. Be proud of discovering the sky is blue for the rest of your life, I commiserate you; it must have been so hard for you. Do you really think you’re a mastermind for this?” His smile slowly disappeared, replaced by a glare directed towards you. “If you starve a dog, are you a genius for knowing the dog will end up becoming aggressive? But then, that’s a Nobel-worthy dissertation for someone so simpleminded like you.”

He started to say something, voice shaking from barely contained rage, but you were already leaving the basement. He yelled after you. You couldn’t hear him over the buzzing in your ears.

In the plane, you were shutting down the world around you by pretending to read a Russian Copy of The Brothers Karamazov. You didn’t speak Russian. That was—until Reid sat in front of you. He didn’t speak for a moment, just observed you. You flipped five pages before he finally said,

“Are you okay?”

“What an unpleasant question,” you replied. He kept looking at you, which annoyed you because it made your stomach twist. “I suppose. That guy got on my nerves.”

“I thought you didn’t have nerves,” he said. “I mean… you always act as if you’re untouched by the world.”

“I try my utmost not to be perceived. The world is a scary place, after all.”

“It is scary,” he agreed. “But, scary—how? How does someone like you find the world to be scary?”

You put your book down on your lap. “Full of people.” You twirled a strand of hair around your index finger. “And what I hate most are the people who lie to themselves. That guy—lied to himself that he was right. He decided to believe other people were his enemies instead of realizing… realizing he was his own worst enemy.”

It wasn’t without tact—though it startled you all the same—when he said, “Sounds a bit like you.”

“Oh, right.” You supposed it was a fair assessment; you never gave him any indication that you actually didn’t see him as enemy. You acted like you did, after all. Maybe he really believed you hated him. So, “I don’t hate you. If I was smart, I would go as far as to say that I like you.”

You watched him freeze for a split of a second before his face turned red, like a M-class star. It gave you terrible ideas and horrible impulses. You couldn’t help but reach for his glasses, and—gently push them up the bridge of his nose. Your index finger brushed against his skin. His face went a class up in the Morgan-Keenan classification.

“But you are smart,” he managed to choke out. “Very smart.”

“What are you implying?”

He couldn’t answer, and you returned to your book, a bit disappointed, maybe. You had thought he was ready to give in. You still couldn’t read a single word. Reid must have noticed because he ended up prying the book from your hands, and began reading out loud, just for you, just for your enjoyment. It was enough.

+1.

“Kid,” Morgan called as he slid in the seat next to him. “Seriously, when are you gonna ask her out? Save the rest of us from her pining.”

Spencer frowned. “Ask who out?”

He was only half listening, but when Morgan said your name, he spluttered. “What?!” He lowered his tone after that voice break. “Morgan, are you crazy? She hates my guts.”

Morgan looked incredibly amused. “No, she doesn't. She's just pulling your hair. And, if she actually hated you, well, I don't think I need to remind you what happened to Officer Harrison. I really wish I had been there to see it.”

Spencer almost smiled at the memory. A few months back, a case had brought them to Texas when the local police discovered two independent pairs of hands scattered across their state line. The second in command, Officer Harrison, had been a flagrant misogynistic and a stereotypical macho-man.

“But what does cutting the hands-off mean?” Officer Harrison had asked.

JJ, you and him were the only ones from the team still in the bullpen.

Hotch did trust you with fieldwork, but he found that you and Spencer were an especially good match, so he mostly paired the two of you together. You bounced off each other’s ideas with an uncanny synergy.

Before he could ramble off, you beat him to it, “The ancient Greek sometimes mutilated the body of their victim. There's a theory that says that the mutilation of the body corresponded to the mutilation of the soul, so that the shade, without limbs, couldn't enact vengeance over the killer. Maybe the Unsub’s superstitious and believes that by cutting off their hands he’s saving himself from their ghosts.”

Officer Harrison had looked at you, before dragging his gaze up and down your body. He had mainly interacted with Morgan and Hotch, sometimes himself; and almost none with you, JJ and Emily. Then, he whistled sarcastically. “That's very impressive, darlin'. I didn't take you for the smart type. No offense, but you don't look like it.”

Rage was born in the pit of the stomach, Spencer found out that day. It rendered him immobile for a moment, and before he could tell the officer off, you beat him to it, again. Intelligence wasn’t quantifiable, he knew this. But you always managed to prove it to him. Some tests might say he was several points smarter than you, but you were two steps ahead of him, every single time.

From the corner of his eye, he could see JJ’s appalled expression. He wondered how his own face looked.

“Oh,” you had said. “Looks can be deceiving. It's alright. No offense taken. I myself was deceived by your looks—I thought you were a conventionally ugly man, maybe even a rare ugliness, but you're actually a piece of shit in human form. Tell me, did the doctor perform a colonoscopy on your mother to find out if she was pregnant, as opposed to an ultrasound?”

JJ's lips were pulled inwards in a tight, flat grimace, as if she was trying and failing to stifle her laughter, and Spencer found himself playing side-eye ping-pong between you and Officer Harrison.

“Why, you bit—” Officer Harrison stammered, face growing a tint of red and fists comically clenched.

“Jonathan,” Sheriff Mendoza had interjected then, sternly. “Why don't you take a walk? Go on, get some air.”

Officer Harrison looked as if he was going to self-combust from how ruddy his face was and how sweat accrued on his temple. His shoulders were trembling when he attempted to storm out. He seemed ready to shoulder-check you, but you put a hand on his chest and held him in place.

“Officer Harrison. Harrison. Jonathan? Johnny? Johnny, by all means, please underestimate me again,” you told him lowly. “It'll make the look on your face when I ruin your life funnier.”

With that, you finally let him go, and he bulldozed his way out of the bullpen. You could practically hear his teeth grinding.

“... I'm sorry for him,” Sheriff Mendoza had offered awkwardly, a deep sigh pulled out of his chest.

You had shrugged. “Natural selection will do its work.”

Spencer thought you had never looked lovelier than in that moment.

He shook his head to clear the memory away. “Maybe she doesn't hate my guts,” he admitted reluctantly. “But I'm still his least favorite person here.”

“Wow,” Morgan said exaggeratedly. “For a genius, you can be stupid sometimes. She clearly likes you, man. Look, tell you what, the next time she picks up a fight with you, tell her this: ‘you are hot when you're talking about statistics’.” He was laughing by the end of it while Spencer choked with his own saliva. “She'll love it, I promise.”

“How can you be so sure?” he replied. “She's so emotionally repressed and so unapologetically herself, I don't think anything I do will ever get a real reaction out of her.”

“Trust me on this one, kid,” was all Morgan said with a pat to his back.

Spencer spent the rest of the day thinking about his words. When he first met you, you had offered him a handshake like most other people. He rambled his well-practiced explanation, “A study shows that the number of organisms, both pathogenic and non-pathogenic, that are passed during handshakes is staggering. Kissing is actually more sanitary than handshakes.” But instead of looking at him like he was a weirdo, you had stared at him, unshakeable, and replied,

“I can say ‘a study shows that shooting yourself in the head is an efficient way to de-stress’, but if I don't say what study it is, then does the study really exist?”

That was the first time his heart lurched in your presence. When he spoke again, his voice was a bit breathless, “Uh, it's a study published in The Public Health Journal, by H. W. Hill and Helen M. Matthews. Volume 17, number 7, July, 1927, I-I mean, 1926. It's titled Transfer of Infection by Handshakes. Pages 347 to 352. I-I can get you a copy of it.”

You blinked at him, but he didn't feel as if you thought he was a freak. He felt like you were amazed by him. It brought his heart to his throat.

“Is that so,” you had said. “Then, I expect it to be delivered at my doorstep at 5 o'clock sharp, tomorrow. Military time.”

He had been stunned into silence for a few seconds. “That's... unreasonable. I don't even know where you live.”

You said, “It's quite standard.”

“Then you have unreasonable standards.”

“I've been told.”

Spencer had thought you and him would become something like best friends. For the first week and a half, you had been quite friendly with him, and often listened to his rambles. But then, then he had made the terrible mistake of correcting an innocuous error you made regarding a statistic, and the look you had shot at him could have curled water. From that point on, you seemed to have made it your life mission to fight him at any chance.

And yet—he never got the feeling you did it out of malice. He thought you did hate him on some level, but when you argued against his points during a case, there was a glint in your eye. Like you were still amazed by him. Sometimes, you even finished his rambles when he couldn't land them. Sometimes, you were the only one who listened to him when he sidetracked. To him, you defined the wonder of globalization. When you were there, it was like talking to the stars, and having the stars answering him back in perplexing, secret ways. He kind of figured this out when you smiled at his existentialist joke. You told him it wasn't funny, but your eyes were bright.

Maybe trying Morgan's advice wouldn't go so bad.

If only you weren’t so prickly. And clever and quick, he added in his head, just in case you were hearing his thoughts. He wouldn’t put it past your abilities. For three weeks, Spencer hadn’t managed yet to seize a situation in which Morgan’s advice worked at his favor. It wasn’t until the team, you and him included, obviously, went out for drinks that he finally got his chance.

“You aren’t drinking?” he asked you. You were cradling a Virgin Margarita in your hands, and for a moment he wished your fingers were curled around his own instead of the glass.

“No,” you said. “You’re clearly the best in the profiling game. Take pride on this display of your observational skills for the rest of your life.”

He sighed. You were impossible. Still, he couldn’t keep the fondness out of his voice when he said, “You don’t have to be so defensive with me.”

“You’re right,” you nodded, and he arched an eyebrow. “I have to be especially defensive with you.”

“That’s not… that’s not what I meant,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. Why do you have to, uh, be ‘especially’ defensive with me?”

You didn’t answer him. But he knew you couldn’t go without having the last word, so he patiently waited for you to gather a satisfactorily poignant response. In the meantime, he took the time to examine your face; there was a quality to it he would never find a perfect word to describe it. Maybe it was your supraorbital ridge, or your posterior zygomatic arch, or even the vertical length of your forehead. He just knew you were lovely. He had never been comfortable with not knowing something, but with you, he didn’t need to know. He would rather discover you, if you would let him. If you were full of secrets, he would work them out; if he only found hatred for him, he would press his mouth to it and relish in it.

“Because you have a BA in Psychology,” you ended up saying, stoic as ever, “and I’m a soft girl with mental health issues.”

He laughed. It took him a lot of time to figure out that—the more matter-of-factly you said something, the less serious you were. Your lips quirked up in a little smile, and you sipped your drink. The rest of the team—besides Hotch—hadn’t yet realized your tell-tale sign.

The words escaped him before he could think them over, “You’re cute when you pretend to be emotionless.”

Your facial expression didn’t change, and that was alright, because when you turned your head to the side—he could clearly see the faint blush on your cheekbones. “Fool.”

Ah, he realized. I won. You were at a loss of words. Because of him.

“You know, the word ‘fool’ comes from Old French fol, which means ‘madman, insane person’ and ‘idiot, jester’, and fol is from Medieval Latin follus, adjective for ‘foolish’. The evolution of its meaning can probably be attributed to the use of follis in a sense of ‘empty-headed person’. The word was also used in Middle English for ‘sinner, rascal, impious person’. It actually must have been passed to the English language via its borrowing in the Scandinavian language of the Vikings. And did you know that the association between April 1 and foolishness in Geoffrey Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales could have been a copying error and...”

You didn’t look at him as he continued going on his tangent, but he knew that you were listening intently. Because your body was angled towards him, even if you kept your face away from his gaze, and when he took a pause to breathe, you hummed in acknowledgment only for his ears.

Globalization was saying hello and someone answering hola from miles away.

But you didn’t need to answer him for Spencer to understand you were in love with him and he was in love with you.

[bynux]

"don't vote for Harris or you're supporting genocide" "voting blue is still voting for fascists" Then what else do you expect us to do?

Here are some options y'all seem to insist on and why they're fucking stupid:

Vote Third Party :: Until we have ranked-choice voting (and probably even if we did have ranked-choice voting), it is practically impossible to make a 3rd-party candidate viable. There's not enough of the population that's far enough from moderate to give up their "safe" blue vote for some "revolutionary."

Don't Vote At All :: I'd prefer to pick my enemy. If I'm going to be working in spite of the government, or even against it in some ways, I'd rather the people I'm working against not already be targeting me for being queer, for example. If my options are "bad" or "much, much worse" I'm gonna pick "bad" and try to improve things from there.

Violent Revolution :: It's a cosplay power fantasy in the same vein as the Right-wingers looking for a reason to shoot protesters. Assuming you even have enough people organized and enough firepower to pull that off in the first place…have you prepared a plan to keep the innocents alive and safe? Are you sure you can keep supply chains for food and medicines intact? Are you sure there will be resources available for the disabled, the scared, the young and old, those who won't be able to fight and still need to be taken care of? Turns out revolution is ugly and causes a lot of undue collateral damage. Are the lives "saved" really going to outweigh those whose lives will be upended and destroyed? It's not like a newly-toppled, unorganized country will be able to do anything about Israel/Gaza, so you're just hurting and killing far more people than you're saving.

As for the power you do have to better things (and make Leftism more viable as a political stance in the US)?

Work at the level of your local government. If you're in a small enough town or neighborhood and think you have what it takes, run for local office. Be a local face of the left wing; you're far more likely to sway a small town to your views than the whole country, and each small town with a socialist-leaning government is a dot on the map for larger-scale viability, and you can help keep your community safe while trying to build up in scale.

Build community so we can keep each other safe if worse does come to worst. Push mutual aid initiatives, help at food banks, grow produce to donate to those in need, apply to work at your local free clinic, empower local businesses whenever possible so that if there is a socioeconomic collapse, you and those you love aren't left completely without resources.

Protest, and make it disruptive. You can be disruptive without being violent: graffiti, blocking roads, encampments, sit-ins, to name a few examples. Create inconveniences so it gets people's attention whether they like it or not.

Above all, FUCKING VOTE BLUE. You're choosing your enemy. You get to help decide if the government we're working in spite of is run by milquetoast neoliberal war hawks who do, on some rare occasions, actually make things marginally better…or full-tilt Christo-fascists who want to kill some of us for kissing people with the same genitals as us. There aren't any other options that are going to be picked. It sucks, but at the bare minimum we can pick the option that isn't going to actively murder us while we try to build up viability for a candidate who won't sell out brown people to an ethnostate.

If you aren't doing at least one of the things above, then don't lecture me about how I keep myself and my community safe. I'd love to see a United States (or some future iteration of it) that acknowledges the sovereign rights of indigenous peoples, that doesn't fund genocide, that provides healthcare as a basic human right, that doesn't meddle in every other country's business. But if we are to see that, let alone help that happen, we need to survive this next presidential administration.

Edit: y'all have lost reblog privileges. If you wanna screenshot this and have stupid unnuanced opinions OFF of my post, be my guest. Just leave me tf alone.

[bloodstainedsapphic]

thunderstorms

took some heavy liberties with week 3 of @thatdammchickennugget and i's jinxed july challenge to write the forced proximity mattheo riddle fic of my dreams. i hope you enjoy it just as much as i do. and also big thanks to @pizzaapeteer for proofing, i love you! 2.5k words | fluff? i think | f!reader implied

Snap. Another twig breaks underneath the tattered soles of your shoes while you continue the trek along the less-traveled grove. The air is thick with the scent of wildflowers and earth, and sunlight filters down on you through the leafy branches, casting shadows on the greenery that litters the forest floor. It is pristine, seemingly unaffected by too much human activity. 

That is until Mattheo and you embarked on an increasingly futile mission imposed by your one common interest - your mutual friend Enzo. He had eagerly insisted that it be the two of you that forage for an ingredient native to the area, claiming that adding it to a drink mix can get you wasted quicker than any brew sold in shops.

The pair of you had done well not to stumble too far from Enzo's parents' summer home. A generous invitation had been offered to your friend's group - a chance to relax and kick back there over the long weekend. A relatively secluded area, it is sparsely populated by second homes of the upper class or rickety cabins so old that not even magic can prevent them from slowly succumbing to the elements. Everyone tries to enjoy the spoils of the location's offerings, as it is a sweet spot to spend the few warmer months in Britain.

"Y'know, I am not an outdoorsy guy," Mattheo complains after another branch scrapes his forearm. "This is the dumbest mission Enzo could have sent us on."

"At least we can agree on one thing," you mutter exasperatedly. "I should have known you'd have no sense of your lefts and rights."

Two steps ahead of you, Mattheo pauses and looks back, his expression suggesting, 'You want to go there?' His brows raise, and his chocolate curls still fall perfectly over his forehead despite endless collisions with twigs and branches. Honestly, you were unsure if his looks or personality irked you more. You glare back so he knows exactly how you feel about the situation.

"Right, take no accountability for being one-half of why we are still out here," Mattheo responded in kind, then turning back to continue leading the way.

"You are rid-"

"Ridiculously handsome? I know. Come up with some new material, sweetheart," Mattheo interrupts with his unending cocky attitude. Preparing to unleash more insults, you are startled by the feeling of a cold drop on your head. Then another. And another.

A loud clap echoes above, booming in the sky, followed shortly by the rapid motion of overcast clouds moving in, blocking out any remaining sunlight. A second roar of thunder bursts, sending out another warning that a storm is fast approaching. The sudden singular drop quickly builds into a consistent shower, and the panic sets in over the both of you. Mattheo takes charge, gesturing for you to follow him and for once, you decide to take his lead without talking back, which might have been a mistake as you continue deeper into the forest and further away from the house.

Minutes felt like hours under the increasingly ceaseless downpour as you and Mattheo scrambled through the grove. Finally spotting an old cabin structure, you make a break for it and dash underneath the awning for some reprieve. Mattheo vigorously jiggles the knob of the dilapidated door, seeming to forget his wizarding abilities. Propelled by a clash of thunder, you watched Mattheo resort to brute force, managing to barrel through the door and get you two inside. 

Solely focused on escaping the pouring sky, you follow him in while heaving from the chaos.

"Nice going, genius," you admonished Mattheo while catching your breath. "Forget a first-year unlocking charm?"

"Ungrateful as ever," Mattheo responds gruffly, his amusement overshadowed by temporary exhaustion as he steps over and shuts the door that is barely held up on its hinges. "See? I got you out of the rain, and the door still works." 

The two of you take some time to shake yourselves off in a meager effort to eliminate that soaked feeling. Squeezing out your top,  you silently curse at the unpleasantness of your damp hair that now clings to your face. You looked over and watched Mattheo shaking his head, his hair splattering leftover water all over the vicinity.

"You're like a wet dog," you feign disgust, unable to resist a chance to tease.

"What else am I expected to do?" Mattheo countered, brushing his hands through his hair and hoping for the best.

"Be more tasteful with it," you suggested, suppressing a snort afterward at your own poor choice of words.

"Tasteful? You seriously went with tasteful?" Mattheo caught on, his disgruntled look from the uncomfortable wet transforming into a grin. "Bloody hell, sweetheart, I know you love my perfect curls, but that really is the least of my concerns." 

You coped by turning away to continue drying yourself off, hoping he did not see your disconcerted expression.

Once Mattheo reached a state of dampness he could live with, he stepped toward the intact windows to watch the storm outside. It was miraculous that a cabin as worse for wear as this one held its own against the onslaught.

"Well, we might be stuck here for some time. I suggest you get comfortable," Mattheo announced with a resigned sigh, glancing back to the room for potential spots to sit or, more accurately, the lack thereof. "The floor. The floor will do."

He follows through, eyeing spaces on the rickety floorboards to settle down. You roll your eyes at the idea, though the increasing weight of your legs after all that running starts to wear on you and beckon you down. So you give in, finding your own spot to settle, a perfectly reasonable distance from him. His eyes bore into you with an unreadable expression, a bit too analytical for your comfort. You are not too fond of him watching your every move. Not at all.

"Could you look elsewhere? I am not your prey to stalk," you finally snap. 

"What? This is just how I look at things. You cannot blame me; it is either you or the rotting walls," Mattheo retorts, emphasizing his point with a gesture of his hands.

"Your eyes are… they look too hard!" you complain amidst a struggle to find the right way to explain why his gaze ruffled you so much.

"Too hard? She thinks I look too hard, whatever the hell that means. Salazar, help us, a true wordsmith in the midst," Mattheo complained to himself, ensuring his frustration was loud enough to invite further squabbling.

"I am just saying! Look elsewhere!" you insisted.

"I can't help it. You are more interesting-looking," Mattheo justified through gritted teeth, his increasing annoyance evident.

"Interesting-looking? And you accuse me of being unable to talk today. Is that meant to be a compliment?"

"Tell me you would not have my head if I called you pretty, so interesting it is!" Mattheo growled in a harsh but earnest tone. He shook his head, jaw clenched to the point of discomfort over what he admitted. Just to add to the pettiness, he scooted to face even further away from your direction.

This development undoubtedly took you by surprise, silencing you momentarily in your conversation. You always had a comeback for Mattheo, but this was the first time you had absolutely no clue how to retaliate.

"Pretty?" you repeated, pushing aside your dignity to clarify you had heard correctly.

"Yes, pretty," Mattheo confirmed, his voice huskier than the bellowing moments prior. "Is that such a shock to you?"

It honestly did feel like a shock. In all the time you had known each other, the words you exchanged were cheeky at best and plain disrespectful at worst. A more tender way of describing you was not something you expected to come from Mattheo at all.

"It is. I thought I was just your favorite punching bag," you admitted. 

"Oh, please. Do you honestly believe I would answer you at all if I really could not stand you? Perhaps you are more dimwitted than I initially presumed."

"I just thought—"

"And given that I have seen you quite literally punch some poor bloke who truly bothered you, I assumed you fell into a similar train of thought, no?"

Hell, you hated it when he was right. Something about Mattheo kept you coming back for more in a way that couldn't simply be attributed to the proximity of your friend group. The feelings creeping up inside you now had less to do with being stuck in a cabin with him through a storm and more with how this predicament forced you to come to terms with how you truly felt. You visibly shifted where you sat as feelings you had no clue how to handle washed over you more intensely than the rain still pouring outside.

Mattheo rose again without warning and stalked around the cabin, this time on a mission.

"What are you doing?"

"A blanket, a towel. Something to warm you up," he replied, his attention fixed on his newfound goal, which was an insatiable need to help and protect you in your wetted state. 

"You do not have to! It will probably be full of mildew should you even find one," you protested through your sheer surprise at his kind gesture.

Initially written off as too damp to use, the fireplace centered on the cabin's back wall was suddenly vital to Mattheo's mission. Finally remembering that he was a wizard, Mattheo reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wand, and crouched in front of the fireplace.

"Incendio…" he spoke the incantation, causing a flame to spout from his wand toward the firewood on top of the grate, hoping they were not too far gone from the elements.

To your shared relief, a small fire came to life before your eyes, its glow brightening your dampened spirits which was soon followed by an embrace of its much-needed heat. 

"Yes!" Mattheo hissed excitedly, hurriedly gesturing you to come closer, and you did. The previous distance you had created no longer mattered, as you were now shoulder-to-shoulder with him for a chance to enjoy the warmth provided by the lit fireplace.

With the both of you too focused on warming up by the crackling flames and learning to ignore the blaring storm outside, peaceful silence hung in the air. A mutual respect arose between you as you ruminated over the afternoon's events.

You glanced at Mattheo, whose shoulder you were now definitely pressed against, and seized the opportunity to check him out shamelessly. He was right; that penetrative gaze remained even in his resting state. The light from the fire highlighted the warmth in his eyes that usually matched the dark of night, and his brown locks that had dried into bouncy coils perfectly suited his chiseled structure. The last remaining baby fat on his cheeks softened his enigmatic look, especially in more calm instances such as this. Few were treated to such a view of him, let alone have the capacity to appreciate it like you did. Wait - appreciating him? He seems to catch on simultaneously, the corners of his lips twitching in satisfaction over your turn to gaze.

"I am not your prey to stalk," he abruptly spoke up in a high-pitched, mocking tone to mimic your previous dramatics. You pushed your shoulder against him further as a hollow threat to get him to quit his teasing.

"You look too hardddd."

"Stopppp," you plead, pressing against him again, which causes him to turn to you finally. That stupid, intense gaze again was now much too close for comfort.

Mattheo scoops your hands into his larger, calloused ones, suddenly enclosing yours. He begins rubbing them, his touch creating a friction that warms your fingers, and despite your confusion, you don't immediately pull away.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to warm you up."

"It is still summer. They are not that cold, really…"

"Let me just have this excuse to hold your hands," Mattheo says hushedly, shutting down all of your protests. His touch is comforting, so you allow it.

"Forward this evening, are we?" you still can not resist asking with a raised brow.

"Maybe. But when else will we be trapped for a night like this?" Mattheo was right again, blasted. The bubbling chemistry was now utterly unavoidable, and this night was simply the catalyst for this new beginning.

Still, it was so recent that you likely would not change your behavior towards each other once you returned to your friends, who were probably worried sick about your whereabouts. The storm was still raging, so you just accepted that it would be easier to call it a night instead of waiting for it to pass or even worse; risking your safety by trudging through it. You silently agreed with Mattheo to let this evening run its natural course, showing your reciprocated feelings by allowing him to continue creating friction with your hands via a similar technique used to make a fire.

The rest of the evening went by uneventfully as you cozied up to each other, finding yourself leaning more into him as your lids grew heavier with tiredness.

Mattheo took on the role of a pillow, pressing his back to the floor and letting you lay against him, going as far as draping your leg over his and resting your head on his chest. The resistant part of you wanted to claim this was merely to survive the night, but Merlin, he was easy to sink into. No longer fighting the call of rest, your last conscious moment was the feeling of Mattheo pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before sleep took over.

—-------------

The chirping of birds and light rays seeping into the small windows of the cabin signaled it was time to wake up. You two had stayed wrapped up in each other for the night, which was probably the sole reason you felt at all rested.

The warm embrace of Mattheo kept you tucked cozily into his arms, providing a warmth that was now overwhelmingly hot in the morning summer heat. Suddenly, the chatter of approaching voices traveled around the hollowness of the cabin before the distinctive voice of Enzo called out. "It only took a dangerous thunderstorm to bring you two together," he remarked, a wicked grin matching his chirpy tone. You looked up to meet his gaze through the cracked window, which illuminated your intimate position with Mattheo. The cheeky disturbance startled Mattheo awake with a jump, groaning at the loud intrusion of his mates' voices.

You observed through squinted eyes as Mattheo and Enzo began quarreling. Amidst the light-hearted chaos, you heard snippets like 'It's not what it looks like!' and 'The ingredients search was a load of bollocks, wasn't it?' The goal to save face came second to your relief at rejoining your friends.

A ruse that had gotten way out of hand landed you in the last place you would have expected this morning, but the possibilities it offered left you nervous but hopeful. You watched a bit longer before stretching and getting up to join, armed with your own silly defenses over why you were caught in Mattheo's arms as the lot of you made your way back to the summer home.

[cydork]

Alien Questionnaire - A Biological Perspective

A while ago, somebody linked me a very comprehensive worldbuilding questionnaire. For most aspects of a fictional society, it was great, but I noticed it assumed that anyone using it was making up a fictional human society, or at least a society of beings very similar to humans. As such, there was almost nothing in the biology department, which to me is one of the best parts! Thus, this questionnaire was born.

These questions are designed to help people worldbuild from a biological foundation. As such, the questionnaire only touches lightly on other aspects of a fictional society, and is more of a jumping off point. I wrote it with the aim of using it to develop aliens, but it should be suitable for any project with non-humanoid species, such as sapient terrestrial animals.

Have fun! I'd love to see your answers :)

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General Anatomy How many limbs do they have? Do they have limbs at all?

What are their primary manipulators? Where are they located? How does this affect their tool use, building ability, etc?

What kind of body covering do they have, e.g. hair, scales, feathers? How do they clean it? Do they shed this covering constantly, or all at once at certain times? 

Can they maintain a constant body temperature? If not, how do they deal with changing environmental temperatures? 

What kind of habitat do they live in? Both specific habitat, and broader such as on land vs in water.

What adaptations do they have for living in this habitat?

What kind of creature did they evolve from?

What are the similarities and differences to their closest living relatives? 

What resource(s) is the most necessary and urgent for them? E.g. for many animals, but not all, it’s water.

What are some common mutations? E.g. eye colours, ability to digest lactose in humans.

What injuries or illnesses are considered disabling? 

How is their healing ability? Can they regenerate? If they can, is that limited to certain body parts or a certain number of times?

Senses What senses do they have? E.g. sight, smell, electroreception, etc.

How good are those senses?

Which of their sense/s do they use the most in everyday life?

How might this choice of sense impact the way they interact with the world? 

Can they detect things that Earth creatures cannot? If yes, how and why?

Movement  How do they move? Do they walk, crawl, fly, etc? 

If they have multiple modes of movement, which is preferred, and why?

Which part/s of their body do they use to move?

What is their speed and endurance like? 

How agile are they? 

Do they rely mainly on their own bodies for travel, or do they use pack animals and machines? 

How often do they move around? Are they mainly sedentary, do they move a lot within a set area, do they migrate, etc?

Do they have different levels of mobility depending on age, sex, or other biological group? E.g. young barnacles are able to swim, while adults are anchored permanently to a surface. 

Reproduction and Lifecycle  How many sexes are there? 

Are there differences between the sexes (ignoring the reproductive system)? 

Are there different castes, such as in honeybees or naked mole rats? If so, what is the function of each caste? 

Are differences in sex or caste used to justify discrimination or hierarchy? How might these ideas differ in different populations? 

Do they have a concept of gender? If so, is gender affected by sex, caste, or some other factor?

How do they attract a mate? Do they release a chemical into the air, do an elaborate display, etc?

Does one individual try to actively woo another, or is courtship more mutual?

What do they find attractive in members of the same species?

What is the usual reproductive partnership? E.g. two individuals, one main reproducing individual with a harem, no set partner, etc. 

How long do they live?

How are young brought into the world? Live birth, eggs, spores, etc?

Is producing young a painful, dangerous process, or is it easy?

How much parental investment is there? Are there many young with little investment, or few young with a lot of investment (r vs K strategy)? Or is it somewhere in the middle? 

How many offspring are produced at a time? Think about how attitudes towards children may differ between a species that produces one or two, and a species that produces dozens or even hundreds at a time.

How do they grow? Are they born looking like miniature adults, gradually growing bigger? Do they have specific phases of high growth, like puberty? Do they have a larval phase, metamorphosis? 

How self-sufficient are they as young? Can they move around and feed themselves as soon as they are born? Do they require parental care? 

What is the usual structure of childcare? Single or multiple parents/related individuals? Communally raised? 

Is sex purely for reproduction, or does it serve other purposes?

What kind of sexuality is considered the norm? This doesn’t just refer to same/other sex pairings, but the culture around sex in general.

Diet and Foodchain What is their diet? Are they carnivores, omnivores, frugivores, insectivores, etc?

Do they feed off an unusual source, for example rocks, metals, or (in appropriate settings) something like magic or souls?

What physical adaptations do they have for this diet? 

Is their diet very restricted, or can they have a wide range of foods?

How often do they eat? What is the culture around mealtimes, if any?

Are they prey for other organisms? For each other?

If they are, how do they deal with it? Do they fight back, have barriers, or do they accept it as a part of life?

If they are hunters themselves, what is their attitude to killing other organisms? Are they respectful? Prideful of their kill? Is it completely trivial? 

If they are hunters, how do they hunt? Are they solitary or packhunters? Are certain members of the group designated to hunt? 

Are the results of foraging or hunting shared, or is it everyone for themself?

Are they parasitic, parasitised, or in a symbiotic relationship with any other organisms? 

Body Rhythms How often do they sleep?

What time of the day are they most active? Are they nocturnal, diurnal, crepuscular? 

Do they generally sleep for one long period a day, multiple shorter periods throughout, or something in between? 

Do they sleep to cope with extreme temperatures or bad conditions, i.e. hibernate or aestivate?

Do they have any biological processes that disrupt their life e.g. moulting, reproductive cycles, etc?

If yes, how does their society accommodate for these processes? Does it accommodate them at all? 

Communication What is their main method of communication? Sound, visuals, scent, etc? Think about their main sense and how this would affect communication.

What is their body language like? What small moving parts might aid their body language?

If they have multiple methods of communication, are they all given equal weight, or is one considered higher than others? 

Society How sociable are they? 

If social, what is the usual social structure? 

Are there hierarchies? How strict or relaxed are the roles?

How are disputes usually settled? Is it more common to be violent or appease the other party? 

If not social, what is the reaction to being with other individuals? Do they become aggressive or stressed? Do they tolerate each other? 

What is the usual size of a community? Do they have communities at all? 

Do they have an in-group vs out-group mentality? If so, how strong is it? This generally relates to how scarce or plentiful resources were during their evolution, and how territorial their ancestors were.

What kind of bonds do they form? 

On the spectrum of individualistic to community-oriented, where do they fall?

Do they have a strong sense of personal identity? Think about how this might tie in with the previous question. 

What are the main things they derive identity from? Occupation, gender, family ties, etc?

Do they have names? If yes, how are these names formed? Are they given by another party or chosen by the individual?

Have they domesticated any creatures? If so, what do they use these creatures for?

Do they have any unusual relationships with other creatures on their planet (beyond predation, parasitism or mutualism)?

Do they produce art? What are their main forms of artistic expression? Think about how this will be linked to their main sense(s), communication method, and/or primary manipulators.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

GLOSSARY Primary manipulator: Main body part used to manipulate objects, e.g. hands in humans, trunks in elephants, feet in parrots.

Sedentary: Inactive, staying in the same place.

Caste (reproductive): A group within a species with differences in body type and reproductive ability.

Symbiosis/Mutualism: Interactions where both parties benefit, e.g. cleaner fish getting a meal in exchange for picking irritating parasites off larger fish.

Aestivate: To become inactive during hot or dry periods, usually involving being sealed in mucus or soil e.g. lungfish, snails. 

Reproductive cycle: Regular hormone fluctuations that affect an animal’s fertility or attitude towards breeding. The cycles can range from months to years and can include things such as antler growth in male deer, heat cycles, and menstruation in humans.

[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

In Danny's defense, dying scared the hell out of him. Living in a house of ghost hunters was a bad idea, so he left. It didn't matter that they were family. He was a ghost living in a house of Ghost Hunters whose life's work was the very thing that killed him in the first place. He died turning on the portal his parents had spend nearly thirty years working on with two witnesses to his demise. The natural response was to destroy the portal and leave without telling anyone.

He didn't get to that point, though. The first few months after The Accident had been constant ghost attacks, one after another. Danny had tried t understand what was happening, but between his friends on some level denying his death, the ghosts attacking on sight, and the powers he was developing not getting themselves under control, he was reaching his breaking point.

On top of all of it, the portal destabilized.

No one had been in the lab, thank god, but the ghost portal collapsed in on itself. The running theory his parents had was that the ghost boy had been the one to break it. Danny's running theory was that the constant back and forth and overloaded the system. No new actually knew what had been the thing to turn it on in the first place, so no one could actually prove anything either way. At least, that's what Danny hoped.

Danny knew, in the deep recesses of his mind, what to do to get it working again. He knew what to do to keep it open if he so chose.

It had never been his choice in the first place.

Danny had known it wasn't entirely safe for him when the house started to turn on him, but that had only been solidified when the portal had gone down, Jack and Maddie Fenton doubled down on hunting down the Ghost Boy. He was the only ghost left in Amity Park, so he was the only one the trackers would lock onto.

Six weeks before he turned fifteen, Danny left his home. He didn't tell Jazz or Tucker or Sam, and he most certainly didn't tell his parents. Quietly, he packed his things - only those of which that would be easy to carry - and left. He didn't bring his phone or laptop with him. He thought about leaving his wallet, but figured that'd be useful to him.

The last thing he did before leaving Amity Park was go to the police station and tell them he was leaving willingly. He refused to elaborate as to why. They didn't need to know that. He didn't tell them where he was going, either, just that he was leaving.

It was an accident that he ended up in Bludhaven. Four weeks of traveling had tired him out. His powers only making it worse. He was low on money and food, he'd been sleeping on benches and in alleyways, his clothes were all filthy, he hadn't showered in days- He was ready to collapse.

Bludhaven, from what he understood, had a much smaller homeless population that her mother city Gotham, but it was still a lot of people. Particularly homeless youth. Danny was just another kid in an alley when he'd finally collapsed.

It took three days of sleeping behind a dumpster before anyone noticed him. In that time, he'd only woken up once. Not having eaten in a while, he had no waste to expel, so his body had focused on keeping he rested before allowing him to wake up. That was when he'd realized the actual danger he was in.

He had no idea if human weapons could still work on him or not, and he was not trying to figure that out any time soon. So, before the group of armed guys who'd just come into the alleyway noticed him, Danny let the invisibility wash over him before he flew up and away.

On the rooftops is where he found the city's vigilante. He was dressed in a black suit with blue accents and a black domino mask. His weapon looked like a broken bo staff and was strapped to his back.

Danny was not inclined to meet this man, but he'd never seen another hero in action before! Sure, he knew they existed, but he'd never actually gone looking for any. No one in Amity had, actually. It was a peaceful place. Well, until he opened the portal on himself, but that was hardly his fault.

Sure, he wasn't going to meet him, but maybe following him around wouldn't hurt? As long as he didn't get caught, he should be fine. It was only for the night, anyway. He'd probably never see this man again after this.

At least, that was the plan until he accidentally followed the man home at three in the morning. In his defence, though, he didn't know that it was that early or that Nightwing - as he'd heard a few guys call him - was going home! Regardless, he was going to take this to the grave. He was going to leave Bludhaven come dawn and he was never going to tell anyone the he knows where Nightwing lives.

Again, that was his plan. Danny ended up falling asleep on the rooftop opposite the building Nightwing lived in. He slept through the day, only waking up when rush hour foot and road traffic got too loud to ignore. Just as he was getting ready to leave the rooftop, he spotted movement in Nightwing's apartment.

Now, he couldn't even begin to say what had made him stay, but he did. He sat back down and watched as Nightwing moved around his apartment.

It was messy, messier than he'd have expected, but he wasn't one to judge. What really caught his attention, though, was the uniform Nightwing was wearing. Now that begged the question as to why the hero - vigilante was probably the better term here - fought crime at all hours of the day. Why approach the problem both legally and less legally? Why align yourself both ways?

Danny was always a curious boy when something sparked his interest.

He was swift in his movements as he pulled out the binder of paper and scholork he'd taken with him. Opening up to the first blank page, Danny started to write.

He was a hero, whether people thought of him as such or not. He only ever wanted to help. Maybe he could help this guy. Maybe he'd feel some kind of accomplishment if he managed to help Nightwing.

Step one is to observe.

Part 2 Part 4

Tag List: @flame-343

I need to point out that I have gone off of the original prompt, if that wasn't already obvious. In the og prompt, Danny is an adult. In this one, as I continue my take on it, Danny is a child. I didn't mean for it to happen, but the words don't listen to me, I listen to them.

[stellas-and-tonitruses]

these last 3 chapters more than ever have left me wondering about the timeline of spy x family and in particular,

donovan's age.

i'm not going to go too deep into the full timeline because i simply don't think we have enough info to make a real robust timeline, BUT i do think we can very feasibly approximate donovan's age with our current info.

I also won’t be using any precise years like 1964 or whatever bc at this moment in time I find that to be kind of useless, bc the only years we have happen very early in the story in background details and for a lot of those ones, I noticed endo had a tendency to just carelessly put whatever so long as it looked fine from afar, which includes news that were happening around the time of that chapter's release. SO unless he decides to explicitly highlight actual years, I’m not gonna be like “this happened in 1964 and that happened in 1953” and anything of the sort.

now, i shall partake in my least favorite activity.

✨math.✨

so uh buckle up my fellas and feel free to correct me anywhere where i might be wrong bc i am more than aware that math is NOT my strong suit!

SPOILERS FOR CHAPTERS 97, 98 AND 99!

gonna start with the facts!

according to the spy x family EYES ONLY fanbook, henry henderson is 66 years old at the time of the current events of spy x family! in the past three chapters we have learned that there is a 3 year age gap between him and martha, so that would make her 63 years old currently.

as of the events of chapter 99, he is 22 years old (and martha is 19), assuming there wasn't any years-long time gap that was not mentioned within the chapter! which, it doesn’t seem like there were any MASSIVE time gaps, so I’ll be using those ages for calculating.

so, what all this means is that we are (roughly) 44 years into the past at the moment! previous info about the war of loid and yor's childhoods puts it at around 20 years old, so from where we are in the backstory, we still have roughly 20 more years before Luwen is attacked — clearly, because this first war has already ended with donovan still in school.

while we don't have loid's age, we do have yor's, who is 27 years old — meaning she was born around the time of henry being 39 years old, aka clearly neither loid nor yor have been born yet as of the events of chapter 99. too into the past for now!

now, how am i gonna get donovan's age out of all this?

simple! henry's his teacher and has a talk with him after his jail time.

like I mentioned previously, I shall be sticking to 22 for henry’s age here. it may not be fully correct, it may be a year or two off because we aren’t given concrete details on exactly how long he was in jail, so just take it with a grain of salt! it's only going to remain as a rough estimate until we get a definitive answer on donovan's age.

so! henry has a talk with donovan, but the conversation itself, while very important for the plot and especially for our understanding of donovan’s character, is irrelevant for this conversation. no, what's crucial here is what henry is holding. endo even highlights it by focusing an entire larger panel on it!

it's a history textbook for year 7 students!

it being a history textbook is very poignant for the conversation they're having, but the reason this is important to me is because it's very clearly a year 7 textbook.

now, i don't know how much of eden academy's curriculum is based on the uk! but because pretty much all of the architecture of it is based on eton college and endo has literally just returned from a london trip where he showed us he visited a kindergarten, so i think that's grounds enough for me to assume eden academy's year 7 is generally populated by children between 11 and 12 years old. luckily for me, that seems to be the general age for germany's secondary school year 7 too, so even if it's not the british one, it's still close enough!

with all that being said, if donovan is, say, 12 in that moment and henry is 22, that means there is a 10 year difference between the two of them, which, drum roll please, means donovan desmond is 56 years old when our story's events take place! assuming the war of loid's and yor's childhoods took place exactly 20 years ago (when yor was 7 and henry was 46), this would make him around 36 years old when he became ostania's prime minister! it would also mean he had damian at 50 years old, and if demetrius is 12 right now, that would mean he was born when donovan was 44 years old (and his birth would’ve been in the last years of the war).

so, rough events timeline based on all that, focusing on ages!

66 years ago: Henry Henderson is born.

63 years ago: Martha Marriott is born.

~56 years ago: Donovan Desmond is born.

49 years ago: Martha (14) transfers to Eden and meets Henry (17)

47 years ago: Henry (19) graduates Eden.

44 years ago: Henry (22) joins Eden as a teacher, in the same year becomes Donovan Desmond’s (~12) history teacher. Martha (19) graduates Eden and joins the Women’s Defense Auxiliary.

~44 years ago: Martha (~19) is presumed dead. Henry (~22) faces jail time. The war ends, and he marries.

27 years ago: Yor is born. At that time, Henry is 39, Martha is 36, and Donovan is 29.

~27 years ago. [REDACTED] is also born. Same as above, just approximate this time!

~20 years ago: Second war begins. Yor and [REDACTED] are ~7, Henry is ~46, Martha is ~43, Donovan is ~36. Yuri is born.

~12 years ago: Demetrius is born. Donovan is ~44, Yor and [REDACTED] are ~15, Henry is ~54, Martha is ~51, Yuri is ~8.

~10 years ago: Second war ends. Demetrius is ~2, Donovan is ~46, Yor and [REDACTED] are ~17, Henry is ~56, Martha is ~53, Yuri is ~10.

6 years ago: Damian is born (and most other kids in his and Anya’s grade). Demetrius is ~6, Donovan is ~50, Henry is 60, Martha is 57, Yor is 21, Twilight is ~21, Yuri is 14.

5-4 years ago: Anya is born. Damian (etc.) are 1-2, Demetrius is 7-8, Donovan is ~51-52, Henry is 61-62, Martha is 58-59, Yor is 22-23, Twilight is ~22-23, Yuri is 15-16.

1 year ago: Yuri (19) becomes part of the SSS. Anya is 3-4, Damian (etc.) is 5, Demetrius is 10-11, Donovan is ~55, Henry is 65, Martha is 62, Yor is 26, Twilight is ~26.

I HOPE THAT HELPS PUT THINGS INTO PERSPECTIVE?? melinda is not included bc we have nothing to go off of for her age outside of purely subjective things like her appearance.

super glad endo included the year 7 thing JAKLSDFKLSD

anyway thank you for reading!!! :DD

[stllmnstr]

signed, sealed, delivered

Another drabble from an anon prompt! Started with this:

And turned into poor commoner Jaeyun x rich princess oc in a historical kingdom (so different setting but I hope you still enjoyyyyy 🫡) ps I usually write his name as jake but kept it jaeyun here to match the ask!

pps again I wrote this on my phone and it somehow ended up at 3k AND it's 4 in the morning. that's what you call a triple whammy, folks. enjoy and please excuse any mistakes 😭

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Sim Jaeyun is turning twenty-two years old today. It’s an impressive feat, in a kingdom where making it to eighteen without succumbing to disease or illness or something more directly borne of war is becoming more and more rare.

But Jaeyun made it to eighteen. Four long years ago. And the years have only been adding up, surely, if not also incredibly slowly, since then.

The only reason he’s made it this far is because he’s smart. Not in the textbook kind of way. Jaeyun wasn’t born into a family important enough to be literate, so it’s nothing but a blessing that he’s as good with words as he is, considering that he can't read them.

It's mostly because he uses them so sparingly. After all, Jaeyun hasn’t made it twenty-two years by talking. He’s done it by keeping his head down and his mouth shut. Just like any good commoner.

He pays his taxes on time and only participates in illicit activities - namely, harvesting crops from one of the sixteen royal gardens - after the sun goes down. He wears average clothes and eats average meals and spends his days with other average people.

From a lot of angles, it’s uninspired. It’s hardly a life at all. But it’s his reality, and for the vast majority of the kingdom’s population, it’s their reality, too.

So Jaeyun, even on his twenty-second birthday, doesn’t have any grand plans. The only thing he wants to do is barter for enough flour and sugar in the marketplace, and maybe even some butter if the dairy farmer takes pity on him, to make himself something sweet over the fire tonight.

As he walks towards the town square, there’s a lightness in his step. Even with midday sun beating on his back and perspiration beginning to gather on his nape, he’s sure that today will be a perfectly ordinary day. In his mind, that alone is something to be immensely grateful for.

By the time he’s secured minuscule amounts of flour and sugar, his mood is still in high spirits. Even though the dairy farmer does not seem to be in an agreeable mood.

“I’ll bring you an extra bag of corn,” Jaeyun whispers conspiratorially over a stack of delectable looking cheeses. He doesn’t even spare them a glance. There’s no point, really. The grumpy old farmer still seems reluctant to give up a fraction of a stick of butter.

“What am I going to do with corn?” The man waves a dismissive hand at him. Jaeyun suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. At least the woman selling sugar had been susceptible to a little old-fashioned flirting. He has the distinct feeling the same tricks won’t work here.

“Potatoes, then.” Jaeyun has no idea where he’ll get potatoes. The royal groundskeepers have a tight leash on that particular crop, but he’s getting desperate.

That, at least, seems to catch the dairy farmer’s attention. Jaeyun’s gut is starting to twist a bit in dread at the prospect of making good on his promise, but the thought of having butter is already enough to make his mouth water.

Before he has the chance to find out if his offer was accepted, the sound of trumpets cuts through the clamor of the market like a knife.

Immediately, conversations cease. Identical flashes of panic flicker through a hundred sets of eyes.

Three sharp, short notes. A beat of silence, and then they’re repeated. It’s a pattern that every citizen knows well.

The announcement of a royal.

Which also means it’s Jaeyun’s cue to craft a stealthy exit. It’s not that he’s a wanted man, per se, but he’d rather not be on the list of people the royal guard are familiar with.

Turning quietly on his heel, he silently mourns the loss of his precious butter with a small pout. And then he bumps straight into Park Sunghoon.

He’s an acquaintance, more than a friend. But he’s also one of the people Jaeyun is closest to in this world.

“Woah,” Sunghoon raises an eyebrow when he notes the swiftness of Jaeyun’s escape attempt. “Didn’t you hear the trumpets?”

“I think everyone on this side of the border heard them,” Jake grumbles, not pleased to be stalled. “That’s why I’m leaving.”

Sunghoon just shrugs, stepping to the side to let him pass. But Jaeyun barely makes it three steps before he’s asking, “You’re not curious?”

Jaeyun pauses, eyes going towards the sky above him in exasperation. He’s not sure why Sunghoon always insists on speaking in riddles, and especially when he’s trying to be discreet.

Turning back to face him, he bites, “Curious about what?”

Sunghoon smirks. He has a piece of information that Jaeyun doesn’t. It’s a rare situation, and he’s planning to milk the hell out of it. “The princess,” he finally says. “Princess ___” He adds in a sing-song voice.

The space between Jaeyun’s eyebrows begins to crease. “What are you talking about?”

“Rumor has it that’s who’s coming right now. Our lovely, fearless, princess is about to be paraded through the marketplace.”

“You’re lying.” Jaeyun shakes his head. He’s sure of it. He doesn’t know much about the king that he supposedly serves, other than his penchant for stationing rather incompetent guards by the crop fields that grow corn, but he does know how he treats his children. Namely, his daughter.

His oldest son is actively being groomed to become the next king, of course. The second born has a nasty chip on his shoulder about it and tries to make up for it by training until he can defeat every last member of the military in hand-to-hand combat and outsmart them in strategy meetings.

And you. The youngest. The only girl.

Much like your mother, you’ve been relegated to little more than a prop. Rumors of your beauty have spread far and wide, but that’s the only thing you’re allowed to be known for. Your days are spent learning how to sit correctly, how to curtsy nicely, how to embroider with alarming precision. How to please others.

Jaeyun’s never lost too much sleep about it. After all, a life in the palace, even a suffocating one, is still a luxury. He doubts you’ve ever had to wonder where your next meal would come from. You probably have actual cake on your birthdays, not makeshift concoctions that would taste significantly better if only you had a bit of butter.

But Sunghoon is insistent. “It’s true. I heard it from Sunoo. You know, he’s friends with that boy that works at the palace.”

“Well then Sunoo’s lying too.” Jaeyun’s words are clipped. He doesn’t have long to slip away if he wants to be gone by the time the procession arrives. “She’s never been in public before.”

Locked up in a palace for your whole life. For a moment, Jaeyun almost feels sorry for you. There’s nothing he loves more than an open field, wide and endless, under a starlit sky.

Taking a step forward, Sunghoon shakes his head. His voice is low when he adds, “Apparently it’s her birthday today. That’s why she’s here. They want to show her off a bit.”

The shock fades quickly. It’s not that strange of a coincidence, Jaeyun supposes, that the two of you share a birthday.

Jaeyun shakes his head firmly. He hopes it conveys a sense of finality. “I’m not staying.”

Sunghoon shrugs. “Suit yourself. But I know a spot with a great view.” He jerks his chin to the left. “Just over the butcher’s shop. An old abandoned attic that no one uses anymore.”

Jaeyun hates himself for hesitating. Mostly because that small window of uncertainty is all Sunghoon needs.

“Come on,” he urges. “No one will see you. I promise.”

And it’s not like Jaeyun has that much stake in all of this, but Sunghoon was right. He is curious.

What is it like, he wonders, as Sunghoon leads him up a hidden set of stairs to the attic he pointed to earlier, to live your life at the epicenter of a well-oiled machine?

Do you know? That people like him have to fight to survive? That making it to twenty-two is something remarkable? Do you care?

Jaeyun can’t imagine why you would.

Still, as the procession draws near, Jaeyun feels his heartbeat quicken with it. Until it matches the cadence of the horse hooves coming closer and closer.

Until finally, finally, he gets his first glimpse of the first real royal procession he’s stuck around for in years.

Until he gets his first glimpse of you.

You’re pretty, he’ll give you that, but the more he studies you, the stronger the strange flicker of… disappointment begins to swirl in his gut.

From your seat in the pristine carriage you ride in, your posture is impeccable and your wave towards the crowd is fit for royalty.

You look exactly like a princess. He’s not sure why he expected anything different.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, doesn’t seem so satisfied with the glimpses of you he gets from the attic window. Eyes still locked on your carriage, he says, “I’m going to get closer.”

“What?” Jaeyun hisses. It’s a bad idea. A terrible one, actually. And no matter how much Sunghoon annoys him, he doesn’t want to see the boy thrown in prison. Or worse, dead. “What do you mean, closer?”

But Sunghoon is already gone. Disappeared down the stairs that the two boys entered from only a handful of minutes ago. And now Jaeyun is alone.

Sliding an open palm down his face, he watches as your carriage fades from his limited view. Flour and sugar still in his pocket, he’ll have to wait now. At least an hour, probably, before the coast is clear enough to return home. He just prays Sunghoon manages not to do something too stupid before then.

Maybe he does have a bit of birthday luck, after all. A few moments later, he hears footsteps on the stairs again.

“You finally saw sense,” he calls out over his shoulder. “I tried to tell you that a closer look at some girl isn’t worth risking your life for.”

But Sunghoon doesn’t respond. Eyes rolling, Jaeyun assumes that he must not have found a better view and is deciding to sulk about it now. Fully prepared to rub salt in the wound. Jaeyun turns around fully.

But he was wrong. It’s not Sunghoon that he’s looking at. Or at least, he doesn’t think it is.

The figure who stands motionless at the top of the stairs is covered in a dark, shapeless cloak that extends all the way to the floor and has a hood that fully conceals its wearer’s face.

It’s also at least a head shorter than his friend.

Still, Jaeyun can’t help but hope. “Sunghoon?”

As if suddenly remembering themselves, the figure spins on their heel, turning back the way they came.

A thick sense of unease is building in Jaeyun’s gut. He has no idea who this stranger is, but it’s not Sunghoon. Quickly, awful scenarios begin to plague his mind.

What if it’s a spy? He wonders. A member of the royal guard. Someone here to report him for trespassing, if not one of his worse crimes.

Jaeyun can’t let that happen. Not when he’s made it this far. With all of his reflexes locking into gear, he lunges forward. His long fingers encircle the stranger’s wrist in a vice-like grip.

Still, they try to shake him. And for a moment, they’re successful. The wrist in his hand slips from his grip. But Jaeyun doubles down.

This time, he’s less hesitant. When he reaches for the figure, he grabs them by the waist instead. The struggle is noble, but brief.

In the span of a single heartbeat, Jaeyun has the cloaked stranger pinned beneath him on the attic floor, his knees encircling their rib cage as his hands pin both arms above their head.

Chest heaving, Jaeyun assesses the sight beneath him. In the struggle, the stranger’s hood has fallen loose, revealing a striking set of features.

And hair. Lots of it.

“You’re a girl,” Jaeyun’s breathes, just at the same time a devastatingly feminine voice accuses,

“You.”

“Me?” Jaeyun frowns. He’s never seen you before. Of that, at least, he’s positive. He would have remembered a face like yours.

Delicate and feminine and pretty in all the ways that make his mind spin, you’re a vision beneath him. One that almost has him forgetting the severity of the situation.

That is, until you lay another scathing accusation at his feet. “The corn thief.”

“Corn thief?” Warning bells are starting to sound in Jaeyun’s mind again. He’s been seen. He’s been caught. “You do work for the palace.”

Still on your back between his knees, your hands pinned above your head, your gaze is discerning. With rather flat intonation, you state, “We’re all citizens of the crown, are we not? We all serve the king.”

“Sure,” Jaeyun concedes, “but you actually work for them.” The reality of the situation, the severity of jt, is not lost on him. “You’ll report me to your superior and have me thrown in jail.” Or worse.

The only acknowledgement you give is a slightly raised eyebrow. Jaeyun hates himself a little for thinking that it makes you even prettier. “You make a lot of assumptions don’t you?”

“Are you new here?” He retorts. Sarcasm embeds itself into every word. “That’s kind of how things work.”

For a moment, you just look at him. Even though he’s above you, even though your arms are still firmly within his grip, Jaeyun has to fight the urge to squirm under your gaze. And then you sigh. “I’m not going to report you.” Sending a meaningful look towards his hands above your head, you ask, “Could you get off of me now?”

It’s probably stupid, the way he obeys your command so quickly. But there’s something in your voice, something that rings with authority. He’s scrambling off of you with a speed that’s almost comical.

You are slower to rise, rubbing at your freed wrists while you draw yourself to full height. Looking at you like this, Jaeyun almost thinks that he must have hit his head in the scuffle.

You’re not just pretty. You’re gorgeous. Disarmingly so. Jaeyun would be the first to admit that he hasn’t spent much time around girls, that he doesn’t have much to compare you to, but he’s still certain you’re in possession of a rare kind of beauty. Or, at least, one tailored specifically for him.

Despite his sudden fixation, your last words still ring in his mind. I’m not going to report you.

“You’re not?” He’s hesitant to believe it.

“No, I…” you trail off for a moment, unsure how to phrase your desire. “I want to help you, actually.”

He really must be concussed. “You want to help me?”

“I mean, not you specifically.” Looking around the attic, you seem to be talking to yourself more than him when you mutter, “Ugh. Jungwon swore this room would be empty.”

Still, Jake hears you. And he’s stuck on one word. Jungwon. It sounds so familiar. But why? Why does he know that name?

It takes him another minute of wracking his brain, but he does eventually locate the source of the familiarity. Sunoo. Jungwon is the name of Sunoo’s friend who works at the…

At the palace.

It’s not like he’s surprised that you’re closely associated with the royals, but based on what Sunoo gossips about with Sunghoon, Jungwon works rather closely with the royal family themselves. With the princess.

For a moment, all Jaeyun can do is stare at you. And then he asks, “Who are you?”

Your smile is wry, and it doesn’t reach your eyes. But your curtsy is perfect, even if you’re mocking him. “Princess ___. It’s a pleasure.”

Jaeyun rolls his eyes. How stupid do you think he is? He may just be a commoner, but he’s not an idiot. “Does that actually work on people? You know, the whole town just saw her ride by in a carriage. Literally less than ten minutes ago. And you,” Jaeyun makes quick work of scanning you head to toe, “are not her.”

“The whole town just saw Karina ride by in a carriage,” you correct.

Jaeyun frowns. “Who’s Karina?”

“My favorite handmaiden.”

Again, all Jaeyun can do is look at you. His jaw opens. Closes again. He has the distinct feeling he looks rather similar to the fish laid out on ice in the market beneath you. “You… you’re actually the princess.”

“Like I said,” you don’t bother to curtsy fully this time, just nod in a small bow, “it’s a pleasure. It’s actually kind of lucky that I ran into you here.” Jaeyun watches as your demeanor shifts, sarcasm turning to something far more serious. “So, corn thief, what can you tell me about the patrols they run near the corn crop fields?”

“Why?” Jaeyun doesn’t bother to mask his suspicion. “So you can reinforce them? Or apprehend me next time?”

“No,” you counter, “so I can pass the information along.”

It’s far too vague for his liking. “To…”

You look at him for a moment, as if deciding how much or your trust you’re willing to place in him, too. Finally, you say, “To people who might need it.”

Before he can press you further or ask what that means, Jaeyun hears the sound of trumpets again. A slightly different three note pattern than before.

“Shit…” You curse under your breath, Jaeyun hates the way it makes him feel hot beneath his clothes. “I have to go,” you tell him. “You know the old oak tree? The one near the mouth of the river?”

Jaeyun nods, suddenly distrustful of his voice.

“I’ll leave you a note there.” You’re already pulling your hood up over your head again, wrapping the cloak back around your body. “Check it tomorrow after midnight. It will tell you when and where to meet me.”

Jaeyun frowns. “But I—”

“What’s your name?” you interrupt. “I can’t call you corn thief forever.”

“Jaeyun,” he tells you after a beat. “Sim Jaeyun. But wait, I—”

“Tomorrow,” you reiterate, looking at him one last time. “After midnight.”

“But—” Jaeyun tries to protest one final time. It’s no use. You're already gone.

Out loud to an empty attic, Sim Jaeyun finally admits, “But I can’t read.”

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STOPPP I'm kind of obsessed with them......

send me an idea for a drabble!

[psychoticallytrans]

This post is specifically meant to help kids and emerging adults that were not taught what you might not want to share online.

The purpose of not sharing personal information is to make it more difficult to connect up information about you, and especially to make it difficult to connect the "you" online to the "you" offline. The reasons one may want to do this range from maintaining safe relationships outside of an abusive relationship, to making it harder to put together enough information to break into their bank account, to being actively concerned about doxxing and swatting.

For any of these reasons, if you're not completely sure you will be fine having that information on the internet indefinitely, it's best not to share it in the first place. The internet is full of turmoil, but we all know that some posts never die, and that others are archived.

Here's some information that is generally considered a bad idea to share publicly or privately online, with the exception of applying for jobs or working with online financial and legal systems, and some strong alternatives.

Your full legal name, or any particularly distinctive part of your legal name. My first name has less than six hundred people with it in the States. I use a nickname on this blog for a reason. Nicknames are a great alternative to legal names.

Your birthday, especially if you also share your exact age. That allows for people to look for you based on your exact birth date, which is a very powerful piece of information. Unlike your legal name, there's no way I know of to change it. Consider not sharing this at all. For age, "minor" or "adult" are all the information a reasonable person should need.

Your precise location. Big cities, like Tokyo, New York City, or London, have a high enough population to act as a bit of a smokescreen, but as a rule of thumb, stick to stating a local with at least a million people in it. I often just use my time zone, since it's the main thing people need to know online.

There's other information that is questionable to share openly online, particularly your personal phone number and email, but those are the three big pieces of information that it's generally not a good idea to share either publicly or privately. This is because they can be plugged into background checkers and other databases to try to find you offline. The more information you share, the more someone can narrow down who you are. If that is something you are concerned about, consider following these guidelines about what not to share.

I encourage people to add onto and spread around this post.

[hunn1e-bunn1e]

Hello Benny! How are you doing? Did you sleep well? Be sure to have a snack if you haven’t already!

I saw in your masterlist that you are writing for Honkai Star Rail, and so I had one request - What do you think about Argenti with the Knight of Beauty! Reader? There is so little content with Argenti (especially with m!reader), and I love it so much love it!😭💞

In any case, ignore if you don't like it! I apologize for any mistakes

-🌾 anon

Argenti - Knight of Beauty Male Reader, General Fluff

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Hey 🌾wheat anon, I know it's been a super long time and you've probably already forgotten this ask, but I finally got around to doing it. You didn't really give me any details of what you wanted besides the character, so I just went with what I felt was best; so, I based the reader off of Rook Hunt a little bit. I ended up having to do some serious Argenti research since I don't play Honkai Star Rail, so I hope this is at least a little accurate. The lyrics quoted in this one are from the song “Dandelions” by Ruth B.. —Benny🐰                                                                                                               

🌼•♡•🌼•♡•🌼•♡•🌼•♡•🌼•♡•🌼•♡•🌼•♡•🌼

❝'𝕮𝖆𝖚𝖘𝖊 𝕴'𝖒 𝖎𝖓 𝖆 𝖋𝖎𝖊𝖑𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘; 𝖂𝖎𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖓 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚'𝖉 𝖇𝖊 𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖊, 𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖊~❞

. . .

💐  You and Argenti travel together as a duo, spreading the word of the ethereal beauty of your missing Aeon, Idrila. The rose knight had met you during a visit to far off planet with little to no population; it would seem that you had been stranded on the planet after going there yourself. Argenti didn't recognize you, so he assumed that you didn't belong to Honorclad to which he learned that you belonged to a smaller group called Sonnetheld.

💐  You both were interested in each other's different expressions and ways to appreciate and worship beauty. Argenti would always find himself relaxing when you recited your eloquent and vivid poems; your voice and the way you pronounced your words always filled his mind with bliss. While you, despite him being downright awful at it, found yourself appreciating whenever he tried his hand at playing the ocarina to pass the time between travels to another location.

💐  The two of you spend a lot of time alone together, so it's pretty much a given that you do just about everything together as well; eating, sleeping, sparring, bathing, etc. You and Argenti trust each other with your lives and your deepest darkest secrets. Where one of you goes the other isn't far behind.

💐  A favored bonding activity of yours is doing each other's hair. Washing it, moisturizing it, brushing or combing it, curling, braiding, twisting. Argenti has long and gorgeous hair that can be put into many different styles, though your favorite has to be very eccentric and dramatic updos that require many different pins and clips to hold it into place. The rose knight enjoys threading all kinds of flowers into the braids that he's weaved into your hair; turning your skull into a lovely boutonniere of vibrant blooms.

💐  Another activity that you and Argenti take part in is writing songs together, with your poems as the lyrics and the redhead's Aeon awful ocarina playing as the melody. You've both made songs dedicated to each other separately and came together to complete them and hear the finished product. Unlike his woodwind skills, Argenti has a beautiful singing voice, so you often make him read poems about himself and watch him flush in gratitude.

. . .

❝'𝕮𝖆𝖚𝖘𝖊 𝕴'𝖒 𝖎𝖓 𝖆 𝖋𝖎𝖊𝖑𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘; 𝖂𝖎𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖓 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚'𝖉 𝖇𝖊 𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖊, 𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖊~❞

🌼•♡•🌼•♡•🌼•♡•🌼•♡•🌼•♡•🌼•♡•🌼•♡•🌼

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

[dogtoling]

General life- and blog update , since I assume at least a few people might have been wondering where I've been and what i've been up to recently. I obviously haven't been posting or drawing much this year in general. This will probably be an important post if you care about stuff on this blog, and I already rambled on Sheezy, but that site isn't very populated yet and it's also very good at hiding journals so let's just ramble again...

The summary of this post if you hate reading: I'm heavily considering just stepping away from Splatoon. That decision obviously would affect this blog (mostly, my OCs, which is kinda most of the blog at this point). I don't think the blog itself will go anywhere, and I'll probably use it for something in the future... alternatively i'll cherry pick stuff from here into an archive for people who like the worldbuilding.

Longer post under cut:

So what have I been up to this year? The answer is quite simple: NOTHING. Like, actually absolutely nothing. Aside from Art Fight, this has probably been one of my worst art output years of all time, which is really frustrating. That's between my horrendous mental health and depression chasms this year and a complete lack of both focus and inspiration (which can also get chalked down to the depression to a degree, yeah). So the very real reason to why there hasn't been much activity on this blog this year is because I just haven't Done Anything in general.

Now because I know there will be a few people who think "that's fine! you shouldn't judge yourself based on productivity!" you're right! I also agree. However the issue for me specifically is that most (if not all) the time I spend NOT drawing or creating, I spend sitting around wishing I could start drawing or creating, because that is like the 1 thing that keeps me sane on this freaking earth. Unfortunately coming up with OC scenarios in my head doesn't really result in output I can feel fulfilled by in any form as much as I wish it did, lol.

Now; The Issue. It doesn't take a genius to see that if you spend 9 months trying to finish like a dozen OC pages that you COULD do in a week or 2 if you wanted to, then there's probably more than just the problem of executive dysfunction (even though that's at least 60% of it for sure). Obviously my other major problem is that I live by imaginary rules and structures that make sense, but aren't actually useful at ALL in reality and are more than a hindrance if anything (the mental to do-list in my head that says i can't do X until I've done Y doesn't do very much if task Y takes 10 months and I also don't want to do it, and it also has no structured ending).

How does this tie into stepping away from Splatoon, you may ask. Well, the issue is that I have foreseeably fallen out of love with the series. Which isn't exactly news lol. Currently, I'm not even sure i will get the next game, if and when the time comes. Yes, the loss of interest is also expected, given that Splatoon 3 has ended and every fandom has this kind of downtime and lukewarm in-between-titles period. But the truth is that modern Splatoon (almost 10 years old!!!!) is tangibly different from the way the series was back when I fell in love with it. That was Splatoon 1, and while the series has improved in a lot of aspects and is thriving, it's grown in a direction that I just don't really like. Splatoon 3 had the most freaking horrendous, immersion breaking story mode they could've done, then they followed it up with a DLC story that was pretty cool but also compounded a lot of my fears about the series' future and played into every single thing i do not want Splatoon stories to be - fully character focused, random fucking villain, mundane event that's unrealistically world-threatening just because a kids video game needs a scary climax even though it's immersion breaking AGAIN, the whole thing taking place in cyberspace and thus offering basically no worldbuilding even though there is SO MUCH WORLD. I COULD GO ON.

The gist of it is that nowadays, rather than playing Splatoon and being inspired and excited at what comes next, I mostly find myself dreading what dumbass plot they will do next to throw a wrench in the otherwise good stuff. And when that's like THE main approach I have to what's supposed to be my favorite series, it is HARROWING. I can't even really blame the game for this; the story is NOT its selling point, the developers probably do their best to get the bits to us that they really want to tell, and at the end of the day the game is unfortunately a product. Worldbuilding for Splatoon is fun to a point. It's less fun when in order to actually write or create something coherent, instead of filling in the blanks, the blanks are 90% of the freaking thing. At that point you're just better off making something of your own instead of being anchored onto an IP that gives more problems than answers and occasionally shoots you with like a machine gun. Working in the realm of Splatoon is frustrating because more often than not, the questions I have ARE NOT MINE TO ANSWER, and the likelihood that the specific-ass questions I need answers to will ever be actually addressed is really low.

Tying this back to my OCs. Obviously I love my OCs more than I love myself which admittedly isn't that high of a bar but you get the point. The problem is that I spend a lot of time mulling over worldbuilding that, again, frankly isn't mine to do. Because if I want it to be Splatoon, then it should be mostly accurate to how Splatoon is! But the problem with that is that there's really not THAT MUCH worldbuilding in the series that you can work with, and most of the core game mechanics are just abstract enough that it's actually horrendous to try and come up with workarounds and ways for things to make sense that don't require just constructing a full knockoff version mirror dimension of the game and saying fuck everything that's in place here because Inkopolis Plaza literally has no roads in or out of there and I have no fucking idea how that's allowed when your only option is to jump the fence (or, nowadays, take the train which also isnt connected to a street as far as I remember). Between the face value issue and the lack of REALLY IMPORTANT worldbuilding, like - I will always come back to this - THE INK TANK'S FUNCTION 10 YEARS DOWN THE LINE - there's a goddamn ocean of plot holes and things that end up being obstacles to creativity rather than inspiration. I feel like I'm pretty solidly at the point (and have been for a while) where hanging onto Splatoon is really only contributing to creativity block and frustration with lack of freedom and the ability to actually do things.

So I guess those are my reasonings that I've put together just sitting here for the time being. The TL;DR is that I wish I could just do stuff without Splatoon's canon getting in the way, which is a really stupid problem to have if you're making Splatoon OCs. I feel this frustration extremely strongly every time I have to work with actual bigger aspects of the world; we still don't have an Inkopolis map, we don't know what the world around Inkopolis looks like, we don't know what the wilderness is like aside from Just Normal Forest and Desert and very few snippets as to what modern wildlife MIGHT be, I still don't know how the fuck the Inklings teleport to the goddamn arctic ocean to play a turf war at Shipshape Cargo co. These are all actually really important things if you're trying to establish a setting in any kind of storytelling that's outside of immediate city bounds (and even there, you need to know the layout of the city and its important areas). Also a fucking mutant bear and a baby salmon and a squid not wearing suitable gear went to space and fought on a rocket in space. These are some things that would give me peace of mind to not have to deal with in my own writing, probably.

So where do we go from here? Unsure. I haven't really made a decision on this front yet, though right now I'm leaning more towards actually going ahead with trying to do my own thing. That will result in obvious design and setting changes for my OCs whenever I get around to it. This blog probably won't go anywhere (again, unless I impulse delete it during a mood swing like i've almost done on like three separate occasions this year), but it will probably get less use, and I will probably end up making a new blog to post about whatever I end up doing once I get to a point where it feels like it makes sense. There's a chance that I will delete this blog and put all the interesting stuff on an archive blog for the people who are here just for the worldbuilding. My actual true passion for a long time now hasn't even been Splatoon anymore, it's just been cephalopods. I'm kind of done having Splatoon get in the way of the cephalopods, as thankful as I am that it introduced me to them...

If you read this to the end heres a treat for you = 🍪

[script-a-world]

Submitted via Google Form:

How can a world have no major religions but a vast number of small ones. Like no religion accounts for more than 1% of the entire population except maybe atheist for maybe 5% of the population? But what does that say about the distribution of culture/countries?

Tex: Major religions are often major because they are state-backed - i.e., they have lots of money at their disposal, so they become economically and thus culturally relevant. Religion answers, approximately, two major questions: 1) Are we alone in X or Y manner? and 2) I’m scared of X thing that I have difficulty understanding, what is Y solution?

For a place like Earth, the planet that we know the most about, there are no planet-wide confirmations about the physical existence of any deity in particular (as in, shows up in a grocery and says hello to you in an entirely unambiguous manner that all onlookers can agree upon). This means that religions on Earth are predicated on the idea that belief - and, thus, willpower - makes the deity real. Or at least “proves” it. Your mileage may vary.

Because of this, the real-world religions that you can observe and study will have many, many commonalities to the two general questions I stated above. The first question usually contains subjects such as sentience, and the emotional frills of that. The second question usually contains subjects such as death and the process of dying.

In order to have many distinct religions, you would need a lot of unanswered questions for various societies to answer, a severe lack of contact and communication between groups of societies, and most importantly a lack of (or lack of need of) money. The more travel there is, the more people of different backgrounds will talk to each other, and the more ideas will be confronted, shared, and discussed. Trade would correspondingly be low, because of the lack of travel.

Utuabzu: There’s a couple things to consider here. Firstly, how are we defining religion? This isn’t a trick question, it’s a genuine issue. The Abrahamic concept of religion doesn’t really carry over well to other spiritual traditions. Most other belief systems are more local and action-focused (orthoprax, concerned with what one does, rather than what one believes), and often lack any mandatory set of beliefs, or standardised mythology. Religions like Chinese Folk Religion, Shintō, Hinduism*, etc. can have wildly varying pantheons and myths depending on where you are and who you ask. So depending on your definition every tiny village could have its own religion, because it has its own version of the cultural mythos and its own pantheon including some distinctive local gods and dropping some more common cultural ones.

Universal (applicable to everyone regardless of origin or location), proselytising (actively attempting to convert people) religions are rare. There’s only actually a few of them. Most notably, Christianity and Islam. They are both also orthodox religions (concerned with believing the correct things), which means they have a standard mythology and theology (or several competing standards that have historically attempted to resolve their differences via murder). A third, very notable difference they have with most belief systems is that they are exclusive, you can’t (or at least you’re not supposed to) combine them with other belief systems. Most non-Abrahamic belief systems are more or less fine with syncretism (combining belief systems), most clearly seen with the way Buddhism** is practiced concurrently with folk religions across Asia.

So, in answer to the actual question, your best bet here is to just not have an equivalent to Christianity or Islam. I suggest reading up on non-Abrahamic and pre-Christian/Muslim religions and religious practices, as that should give you an idea of what such a world might look like. I’d expect it to be colourful and diverse, with cities filled with temples and shrines to an ever-expanding array of deities and hosting various festivals much of the year. Many people would likely layer a philosophy like Daoism or Stoicism over their day-to-day religious practice, and it would be common and expected for people to show respect to or make  offerings to local deities when traveling. Religion would be a thing you do, not what you believe.

*Hinduism is less a religion and more a family of closely related religions and spiritual traditions that all originate on the Indian subcontinent. Which is why the Indian government considers Jains and Buddhists to be Hindu.

**Buddhism can be described as a religion or as a philosophy, depending on who you ask, what the context is, and whether Mercury is in Gatorade. Western definitions don’t really apply cleanly to non-Western contexts.

[starlightkyeom]

once upon a summer | bsk

summary: Every summer kind of goes the same. The population of your usually sleepy beach town doubles and you bust your ass to make enough money to last through the slow season. But a new face blows into town like a whirlwind and he’s determined to catch your eye. Only one problem: he’s here for vacation and you’re married to this town. 

pairing: seungkwan x fem!reader genre: 90s!au, summer love | fluff and some angst rating: sfw but minors still don't belong here word count: 8.6k tags/warnings: none really, some swearing, mentions of food, there's a tiny bit of angst

a/n: thank you so much to @beomcoups and @mingsolo for hosting the Now That's 90s collab! be sure to check out the other amazing fics 💕 also thank you to @wonwussy @cheolism @onlymingyus and @wooahaeproductions for helping me brainstorm when i got stuck writing seungkwan.

It’s the same every year, without fail. The weather starts to get warmer, summer is around the corner, and your sleepy little beach town transforms. No longer sleepy, now bustling with life and tourists. Although you groan at how busy the roads get or how difficult it is to run errands or even how hard it is to find a place to go out to eat, you’re also thankful. The influx of tourists guarantees that your family will be able to make ends meet for another year. Sure, there are people that visit during the off months. When it’s too cold to go into the water or even to sit outside and enjoy a meal, at least to most of the people who visit. When you have to wear pants and a jacket to walk along the sands of the beach, careful not to get any part of you wet. But, the bulk of tourists visit between late May and mid September, like clockwork.

You’re just as married to this little town as your parents are. Chipping in at their restaurant when you can, but mostly running a beach rental company with your brother. It lets you be outside a lot more, running boat tours to look at dolphins or explore the tiny little islands off the coast. Or renting out jet skis for people to run around on. Sometimes, when you can’t pawn it off on someone else, you also lead the kayak tours through the shallows between the outcroppings of seagrass. It’s not that you mind those tours or even the workout of kayaking. No, it’s just that people have a tendency to overestimate their abilities and either end up whining or toppling their kayaks over. You’re keen to avoid that whenever possible. When the ocean is calm enough, you’ll also let people rent boats to go out wakeboarding. Those are some of your favorites, when you get to drive because none of the tourists has a boat license. Or, more realistically, nobody wants to deal with it when they’re on vacation. And there’s nothing stopping you from turning the boat a little too hard if someone is acting like an asshole. All you do is say you’re avoiding a wave or staying out of the path of another boat. You’re the local here, born and raised. How can they argue with that?

On the days when it’s a little slower at the shop, or the ocean is a little too wavy for some of the activities, you’ll drop in at your parents’ restaurant. You’re not often on the schedule, but there’s always plenty to help out with. Whether it’s filling in for someone that called out last minute or hopping behind the bar or just running food to tables. Your parents’ restaurant is one of the most popular in town. People wait for hours to eat there just because they don’t want to be the only ones left out. Of course, you also think the food’s amazing, though you’re a little biased. 

Today is one of those perfectly calm days out on the water, so you know you won’t be able to swing by the restaurant. Not that the waves ever get that big here. It’s definitely not enough to surf outside of an incoming storm. But, you try to be careful with renting the equipment out all the same. Most of the boats are refurbished anyway, since new ones are so expensive. 

“What’s on your schedule today?” your brother, Jamie, asks. 

“Nothing so far. I’m just getting caught up on paperwork and renting out boogie boards and shit,” you answer. “Not that there’s any waves to use them on.”

“No duh,” he answers. “Think the kids just use it to float on.”

“Whatever floats their boat,” you shrug.

“Feel like running a private tour out to the islands for the day?” he asks.

You fix him with a look, assessing him. It feels like a setup because you love taking private tours. They usually bring a bunch of food and drinks and just kind of do their own thing on whatever island you take them to. Which leaves you free to read or just enjoy the sun. Sometimes, you’ll even fish or snorkel. It’s just, well, your brother loves those tours too because they’re easy. Something about his tone makes you suspicious. 

“Why aren’t you doing it?” you finally ask.

“Got a kayak tour in an hour and they’ll be here any minute,” Jamie says. “And you hate the kayaks.”

“Gotta page Mike to make sure he’s back before you head out,” you say. 

If you’re about to take a boat out and your brother has a kayak group in an hour, then someone is going to need to actually man the store. Since you set the schedule yourself, you know that Mike should be back in half an hour, tops. But, like all of you, he’s prone to tacking on a few extra minutes when the group is cool and he doesn’t have something scheduled back to back. 

“Chillax, I already did that and Joshua is coming in a little earlier so he’ll be here before I take the kayaks out,” Jamie says.

“Joshua tries to get pretty girls to listen to him play guitar and you want him alone in the shop?” you wonder with a snort.

“That was one time,” Jamie defends, ever the loyal friend.

There’s a retort on the tip of your tongue about how he’s only been caught doing that one time when you notice a group of guys approaching. You immediately know why your brother passed the group off onto you. At least, if these are the dudes that booked the private boat tour. Shoobies. The worst kind of tourists because they don’t think they’re tourists. Because they only live a few hours’ drive away so really, it’s like they live here too. Because they have a house out here and no it’s not just a vacation house, this is home. This particular group saunters up looking like they just stepped out of some boating catalog. Before your brother can elbow you, you plaster on your best fake smile, the one reserved for times like this. 

The guy in front seems to be the one taking charge. His bright button up shirt matches his shorts, like he probably got them in a set, and his slightly curly hair looks a little too styled for the beach. The sunglasses look expensive, too, which you never recommend for a boat trip, but it’s his money. Honestly, his whole outfit probably runs close to what you’re charging to take them out for the rest of the day. So, that’s his choice.

“Sup, we’re looking for Jamie,” another one says. He’s tall and classically handsome, like that kind of guy you see in a magazine. Someone that just knows he’s attractive. He’s even got his shirt open showing off his stomach and a lot of tan skin. You hate him immediately. And not in the way of like oh, he’s actually kind of sweet. No, he reminds you of an ex. 

“That’s me,” your brother answers. 

“I’m Mingyu, I called about the day trip,” he says.

“Lucky timing, we just had a group cancel before you called,” Jamie says. “And my sister here has an opening to take you out.”

The surprise is clear on the guy’s face as you introduce yourself and give your name. Like you can’t possibly be the one that’s going to drive the boat. Like a girl couldn’t possibly handle it. You’ve heard it all before, so you’re just bracing yourself. But, before he can say anything, the guy that seemed to be taking charge earlier speaks up.

“Thanks for taking us out,” he says. 

“Are you sure you can handle it?” Mingyu asks, clearly unable to fully resist. For the first time, you glance around to do a headcount. Seven. Your brother is sending you out with seven guys all by yourself.

“The boat or the party?” you ask. 

“Either,” he answers like he’s actually doing something. 

“I got my boating certification when I was 14,” you answer.

“And she started driving boats a few years before that,” Jamie adds.

“Someone had to drive for you to wakeboard,” you say easily to your brother.

Your brother smiles before looking back at the group. “She’s also got a really mean right hook and she’s not afraid to use it, so don’t be skeezy.” 

It’s clear that several guys in the group are eyeing you appraisingly, wondering if you really could knock them out (spoiler: you absolutely could) or if you would even consider it (spoiler again: yes, you would). Nobody else seems to have something to say, so your brother carries on with payment and going over the rules. In the meantime, you double check that your bag has everything you need (pager, emergency kit, shoes, water, snacks, the lunch you packed, etc.) and grab your shirt. You’re in the process of tying it off when you catch one of them, the one that thanked you, watching you. 

A few minutes later, when you’re walking over to the dock, it’s him that falls into step beside you. Casual. Not even saying anything. At least, not for a minute.

“I’m Seungkwan,” he finally says. 

You greet him again, even though he already knows your name, and figure that might be it. It is, for a bit, at least, while you get everyone on the boat and situated. Tell them that they should probably save whatever food and drink they brought for once you stop because you’re going to drive a bit faster. They paid a little extra to go to a further island and since it’s a little later than you’d normally leave for that island, you try to even it out. Not that they’ve shown they deserve it, but there’s no harm in case they have deep pockets. Which you assume they do, based on their clothing and general attitudes. 

Where you had your brother helping you out pushing off from the dock, you’re on your own on the other side. It’s fine, you do it on your own all the time, there are just a lot of eyes on you. Some of those eyes seem to be waiting for you to mess something up, too, but you’re not going to give them the satisfaction. You brush it off when one, you forgot his name already, offers to help and says that he helps on his dad’s boat all the time. You can tie a knot, though. 

Once you’re tied off, you point out all the amenities on this little island, which aren’t much. There’s a little place to eat that also has a small bar, chairs to lounge on and umbrellas set up. There are also some picnic tables set a little back from the beach. You let them know that you’ll either be on the boat or sitting inside the little food shack if they need you. And you’ll be ready to head back whenever they are. Mingyu and most of the group take off immediately. Seungkwan lingers behind. 

“Are you coming?” he asks.

“Coming where?” you ask back.

“To the beach with us,” he clarifies. 

You blink in confusion. “No, I don’t usually hang around.”

“What do you do?” he wonders. 

“Read, get a tan, go talk to the couple that runs that little food shack,” you say with a shrug.

“Do you know everyone here?” Seungkwan presses.

You sigh softly and turn to face him fully. “Mostly. At least all the ones that work in tourism. It’s a small town.”

“Seems busy now,” he notices, looking around.

“It’s summer. Most of the people here now don’t actually live here,” you inform him. 

“What’s it like here in winter?” Seungkwan asks.

You regard him for a moment. “What are you trying to do?”

“I’m just trying to get to know you,” he says and, almost like he can’t help it, rolls his eyes. “Most people know how to make conversation.” 

“But why? Like what do you want?” you press.

“Just to get to know you better, geez, what’s with the third degree? You’re cute, there’s nothing wrong with talking to me,” he says.

“As if,” you scoff. “I don’t date shoobies.” 

His face is adorably confused and you mentally chide yourself for even thinking something about him is cute. “What’s a shoobie?” 

“Exactly,” you say like that answers everything.

He opens his mouth, but closes it when your eyes dart to this side. Neither of you noticed another of his friends approaching. You think it’s the one that offered to help tie off the boat. “We wondered where you got off to.”

“Sup, Chan? We were just talking,” Seungkwan says to his friend.

“Mhmm,” the friend, Chan, apparently, responds. “Well, Mingyu wants to know if you have the wallets in your bag. He wants to get something to drink.”

“Oh, right, yeah. I’ve got them,” Seungkwan says. 

You spend most of the day sitting at the bar of the food shack, despite saying you might read. Well, you alternate between sitting there and chatting with Vernon or helping him out behind the bar. His parents run all the services on this tiny island and you grew up together. Right down the street from each other, actually. He’s been one of your closest friends for as long as you can remember. And one thing you remember is the two of you have always helped out at the other’s family businesses. It’s just part of growing up in this tiny town. Everyone knows each other and takes a lot of pride in helping. Plus, you’ll never say this to Vernon, but you’re probably better behind the bar than he is. You’re surprised his parents have him here at all, but still welcome the distraction.

Your boat guests, as you’re calling them, know you’re here too. Mingyu made a slightly inappropriate comment the first time he strolled up to buy a drink and Seungkwan apologized for him profusely. Seungkwan seems like someone who actually cares about those around him, actively tries to make sure everyone is okay. It’s sweet, in a weird way, but still doesn’t change what you told him. The no shoobie rule is strict. As you’re considering telling the guys it’s time to call it a day, Chan wanders into the bar and says just that. There’s no rush, he insists, but they’re ready to head back whenever you are. 

“Need a lift back to the mainland?” you ask Vernon just after Chan walks back to his group.

“No, I gotta help the ‘rents clean up here,” Vernon answers as his mother pops her head around the corner.

“Actually, you should head back,” she says to her son before turning to you. “As long as it’s not too much trouble?” 

“No, there’s plenty of space on the boat,” you insist.

“Good, then you can go home and let the dog out,” she says.

“Okay,” Vernon says with a shrug. “I’ll just grab my stuff and meet you out on the dock.” 

You give him a nod and head off to the boat. The guys are coming off the beach and fall into step just behind you on the way to the boat. It’s clear most of them have been drinking, yet they’re not as rowdy as you’re expecting. They’re still helpful with getting stuff loaded onto the boat and only two of them make comments that make you cringe. 

“Do you own shoes?” one of them asks, gesturing towards your feet. The guy in question is especially slender, not skinny but lean. His dark hair is a little longer than you’re used to, currently tucked  behind his ears.

“Yeah?” you say, except it comes out more like a question. 

“You haven’t had any on since we first met you this morning,” he presses on. 

“Minghao,” Seungkwan hisses.

“I’m more comfortable around the boat without them. It’s easier to not slip. I keep a pair in my bag, though,” you answer, unsure why you’re even bothering.

“Should we all take off our shoes, then?” Mingyu asks.

“Might help you not fall this time,” another one jokes.

“Oh, snap!” Chan, at least you think it’s Chan, calls out.

“I didn’t fall, Jeonghan, I just stumbled,” Mingyu defends.

“Let’s all keep our shoes on and just watch our step,” you instruct. 

Vernon appears during all the craziness from your…well, you can’t really call paying customers idiots. But, there’s also nothing stopping you from calling them that in your head. 

“You’re the guy from the bar right?” Seungkwan asks and Vernon startles a little before nodding.

“Yeah, my parents run the food shack and the bar and that little gift shop,” he answers.

“I offered to give him a ride back to the mainland so he could get back faster,” you fill in. “As long as you guys don’t mind.”

The guys all shrug. Seungkwan is the only one to speak up. “Good with us. Do you know each other well, then?” 

“She’s my best friend,” Vernon answers without hesitation. 

If Seungkwan has something to say to that, and it seems like he might, he keeps it to himself. Actually doesn’t say anything to you for the rest of the ride back to the mainland and doesn’t appear to say much to his friends either. You don’t even mean to notice, mostly engrossed in your conversation with Vernon as he stays with you by the steering wheel. The group, as a whole, seems like they’ve had a good day, all smiles and very few hints of developing sunburns. 

You realize when you get them all off the boat and back onto land that they definitely had a good time. Mingyu tips you way more than he needs to and way on top of what you would normally expect even from a group like theirs. 

“What’s your schedule like the rest of the week?” Mingyu asks. 

“My personal schedule or the company’s schedule?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Not like that, we just liked having you driving the boat and we want to come back,” Mingyu says and you can’t deny it’d be nice to have the guaranteed money.

“Oh, let me go check the books if you’ve got a minute,” you say. 

Mingyu just nods and follows you along to the shop. “I’m only in a few hours tomorrow morning, so I definitely can’t do that. Monday isn’t too busy and I don’t have anything I can’t move. Tuesday during the day, since it’s slow, I usually work over at my parents’ restaurant. The rest of the week is filling up, but nothing I couldn’t move if you wanted to have me with you. Otherwise, I can have someone else take you out.” 

“No, no, you were really great and we want to keep going with you,” Mingyu quickly says. “How about, for now, we book for Monday? And Wednesday. Full day trips.” 

“Where do you wanna go?” you ask.

“Uh, where do you recommend?” 

That’s how this whole thing with this ridiculous group starts. You ask Mingyu what kinds of things they want to do, list each of the reachable islands, list off the routes you can take without stopping at a specific island, list all the boat related activities. He ends up booking a third day with you, too, because there’s just so much that they want to do and want to see. You’re thankful for guaranteed money with people you’ve at least already met. Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t and all that. 

You’re a little later leaving your parents' restaurant than you meant to be on Sunday evening. One of the other servers really needed to get cut first, though, so you let them go. Often, you were first to cut out, since you had your own full time job to contend with. But, knowing your schedule for the next day was going to be easy, you didn’t mind. 

What you’re not prepared for, though, is one of the guys from the boat group sitting outside. Seungkwan.

He stands up from the bench he’s sitting on and walks over to you. “Busy schedule for you.” 

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

“We were walking by and I thought I noticed you. Mingyu said you mentioned working at your parents’ restaurant tonight,” Seungkwan says.

“So, you what? Waited for me? Kinda weird,” you observe.

“As if,” Seungkwan scoffs. 

“You’re here, though,” you comment.

“I just figured you might need someone to walk you home since it’s dark,” Seungkwan says.

“Kinda weird since I barely know you,” you comment. “Why do you want to hang out with me so bad?”

“Not really sure right now,” he says. 

You regard him for a moment and he shifts under your gaze. Without another word, you turn and walk a few steps, before looking over your shoulder. “I’m not going home. You’re welcome to walk with me, though.” 

Seungkwan looks confused but hastens to fall into step with you anyway. It’s like he can’t really help but keep a running commentary up while you’re walking. There are so many thoughts that it’s hard to keep up, or even get a word in. It’s entertaining, all the same. 

He pulls up short when you get to your destination and he realizes that it’s a houseparty. People and music spill out onto the lawn in a part of town that’s reserved for things like this.

“Aren’t you taking us out in the morning?” he asks.

“Mingyu didn’t want to meet until 10 because anything else was too early and it’s not that late yet,” you shrug. “You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to.” 

“But, I can? If I do want?” he asks and you chuckle. 

“Thought you wanted to get to know me,” you whisper into his ear. With that, you smile and walk into the house. It takes him a few seconds before he hurries after you.

Parties run a little differently here, in a town that depends so heavily on tourism. Sure, plenty of people will party until sunrise, anyway. Running off being young (mixed with a lot of coffee). You’ve done plenty of it yourself, too. But, the parties all start a little earlier for people like you that can’t always afford to go until the dawn of a new day, especially when you have to spend all of the next day on the water. 

While you’re careful to mix your own drinks from the bottles laid out, Seungkwan doesn’t seem to have the same worries. You introduce him to Joshua, who also works with you, and he doesn’t even hesitate to fall into step. So much for wanting to get to know you. Maybe he did just want to know where the good parties were. Joshua even lets him use the house phone to invite some of his other friends. 

Those friends do show up and somehow both stick out and blend right in. They’re new faces, brave enough to come to a party where they don’t really know anyone. And they’re undeniably attractive. All of them. It’s a bit annoying, really. As you watch from your position on the couch with Vernon, a group of girls that you’ve known for years, and never really liked, starts to fall all over Seungkwan and his friends. Rosie, the ring leader, looks over at you with a smug smile and returns her attention to Seungkwan. It’s the same as any other time. Her eyes get big, she leans in close to him, touches his arm. The shoobies always seem to fall for it. 

You’re on your feet and joining the group a minute later.

“Ah, there she is,” Rosie coos. Seungkwan clears his throat and takes a step away from her. Rosie, always using the same tricks, just steps closer and links her arm through his. 

“Oh we loved her,” Mingyu, the tall friend, states. He’s a little tipsy, mostly friendly. 

“Yes, everyone seems to,” Rosie says, all false cheer. “Seems a little…dangerous to me. Letting someone so young take you out on the boat.” 

“Only when you don’t know your way around a boat despite living next to the water your entire life,” you cut across. “Then, it’s best to keep both feet on land and do something safer, like working at an ice cream shop.” 

“I didn’t get any complaints when some of them stopped by earlier. Shame I didn’t get to meet Seungkwan, though,” she says and bats her eyelashes. 

You roll your eyes and hold your hand out to Seungkwan. “There’s someone I wanted you to meet, come on.”

“He’s fine here,” she says. You snort.

“Yeah, I can make my own choices, actually,” he says and extricates himself to take your hand. 

“We’ll just be here,” she calls at your retreating backs. 

“Thanks,” he says as soon as you’re out of earshot.

“No problem,” you answer. 

“Did you really want to introduce me to someone?” he asks as you wind through the kitchen.

“No,” you answer and pluck a couple beers out of a cooler. 

“Just wanted to get me alone?” he presses and you fix him with a look.

You don’t say anything else, just trust that he’s going to follow you outside, which he does. You plop down onto a bench by the fire and hold out a beer as he sits next to you.

“It was just a little busy in there,” you finally answer. 

“You don’t like the people?” he asks. 

To buy yourself a minute, you open the beer and take a sip. “I don’t mind crowds or whatever. I’ve just known all these people my entire life and some of them are annoying. It’s like we’re in some kind of competition that nobody ever told me about.” 

“Like Rosie?” Seungkwan presses. Your lips press into a thin line and you look away as you take a sip. “I caught the diss.” 

“Yeah, I usually dip when she’s around,” you admit. 

“She doesn’t like you either?” Seungkwan asks.

“None of those girls do,” you laugh. Seungkwan looks like he’s expecting more. “When we were in high school, a bunch of us went out on the boats one weekend. I didn’t realize one of their boyfriends was trying to pick me up until he went in for the kiss. I obviously brushed him off, but…”

“Damage was done?” Seungkwan asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “Like I’d ever kiss him anyway, as if.” 

“And that’s all? They’re not trippin’ over your success with your business?” Seungkwan asks, a mischievous glint in his eye over the question. 

You chuckle. “I do okay for myself.” 

“Okay? Joshua told me how well you pay him and also that he was shocked you managed to move around enough things to fit us in the way you did,” Seungkwan said.

“What do you want me to say? I could leave here. I could franchise and get out of this town, but I’m married to this life here,” you admit. “Plus, how could I ever get over missing out on meeting the people I charter?” 

“It’s okay, you can admit you like me,” Seungkwan says.

“You’re very confident, has anyone ever told you that?” you wonder.

“All the time,” he answers.

“Cheers,” you say and he bumps his beer into yours. 

That one party seems to be a bit of a turning point for you with Seungkwan and his friends. They’re all funny, if slightly hungover, the next day on the boat. Always make sure to include you in what they’re doing. It starts to feel more like friends than customers on that second boat trip. Against your better judgment, you also agree to see them outside of boating trips too. 

Through that, you get to know each of them. It’s actually kind of nice, in a somewhat chaotic way. It’s a little overwhelming at first. Not that you mind being around new people. You usually thrive in groups of people. It’s what makes you so good at your job. It’s also really sweet to see how much they love each other, especially the way they love Seungkwan. Any one of them would do anything for him and it’s melting your usually guarded heart. 

He hasn’t asked you out again since the party, at least not explicitly. But, he’s shown you in a million ways that he’s there. He’s brought you drinks and waited for you after another shift at the restaurant. He listens to what you say and the things you’re interested in. Like how there’s this beautiful art gallery almost an hour away that you’ve never been, but are dying to see. He’s touchy once he realizes that you’re okay with it. A hand on your arm, brushing along your hip, grazing your lower back. 

It’s only been a week since the first time you met them and this unexpected group already feels like a safe space for you. That’s why you’d agreed to a late dinner with them after a long day. Turns out, dinner was more like small plates cooked by Mingyu in the house they were staying in. 

“Why won’t you let Seungkwan take you to dinner?” Chan asks.

“I don’t date shoobies,” you repeat. 

Chan gives you a confused look. “That’s what Kwan keeps saying, but I don’t know what that means. I don’t think he does either.” 

“It’s a term for the tourists. Particularly the ones that come down in the summer from the nearby cities and think having a vacation house here means they actually live here,” you explain. You’re not sure why. There’s just something a little endearing about Chan. Kind of like a sibling. 

“It’s just dinner,” Chan says with a shrug and takes another sip. 

“Fine,” you relent.

“What?” Chan asks, nearly spitting his drink out. “Kwan!”

“Wait…” you start and then marvel at how quickly Seungkwan appears. 

“She said she’d get dinner with you,” Chan says as he walks away.

“You agreed to go out with me through Chan?” Seungkwan questions.

“Okay, it’s not like all that,” you start.

“You do like me,” Seungkwan announces, triumphant. 

“We’re not going out here. If I’m gonna go on a date with a shooby, it’s got to at least be in a different town,” you sigh.

“I can work with that,” Seungkwan agrees. 

It’s nice to be able to sleep in a little and trust that everything is okay both with the shop and the tours. You’re just about to head out to work when your phone rings. You consider letting the answering machine get it before rushing into the kitchen. You think you probably just manage to pick it up off of the receiver before the last ring. 

“Hello?” you answer.

“Oh good, I caught you,” Seungkwan says on the other end.

“Yeah, I was just headed out to work,” you say.

“Actually, about that. I know we said dinner, but I have a surprise for you today. It’s too good to pass up,” he says.

“Seungkwan, I have work,” you tell him.

“I spoke to your brother, actually. A couple of my friends agreed to help out at the shop and your brother has someone covering for you. So you’re free,” he shares.

“You can’t just unplan my day,” you say, but you know he can hear the smile. 

“You deserve a break. Just say yes,” Seungkwan says.

You consider it for a second, switch the phone from one ear to another to think. There’s only one answer, really. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, okay. What should I wear?” you ask.

“Just something comfortable. We’ll be inside, so you don’t have to worry about the heat,” he says. 

“I have to change because I was ready for work. Give me like ten minutes?” you ask. 

“I’ll come pick you up,” he says. 

It’s hard to get dressed for a date when you don’t know what you’re doing, but you try to just put the first thing on that you can find. That’s part of why you gave yourself such a short window to get ready. It forces you to focus without overthinking anything. Your mind is going into a little bit of overdrive wondering if going out with this man is actually a good idea. Not because you're worried something is going to happen. Weirdly, you actually feel very safe with him. It’s more because you do feel safe and comfortable and completely at ease. That’s not something that happens very often for you. It’s nerve wracking that it’s happening with someone only here for a getaway. 

Thankfully, a knock on your front door interrupts your impending spiral and you hurry to answer it. Seungkwan stands on the other side in a nice pair of slacks and carefully tucked in shirt. As his eyes traveled over your own outfit, you worried that you were underdressed. Then, he smiled, told you that you looked beautiful, and handed you a bouquet of vibrant flowers. You invited him into your apartment just long enough to find a vase and fill it with water. 

When Seungkwan leads you outside to the black town car, you pause for a second. This already feels fancier than any date of your life and it hasn’t even really started. Sensing your slight hesitation, he gives your hand a squeeze and holds the door open for you to slide in. 

As soon as he’s in as well, you’re immediately thankful for him. It’s not like you to be nervous on a date. Not that you actually go on dates often, but it’s just being around people. And that part is easy. Has to be for your line of work. Dates are usually easy too, which makes you wonder why this date is so hard. Thankfully, Seungkwan carries the conversation for both of you. Or, at the very least, he keeps up a steady stream of questions and stories about himself. All you have to do is follow his lead. 

Finally, curiosity gets the better of you. “Okay, where are you taking me?” 

“You do understand wanting to surprise someone, right?” Seungkwan asks. 

“We’ve just been in the car for awhile,” you start.

“Sick of me already?” Seungkwan jokes.

“And we’re not heading towards anything that I recognize for somewhere to eat or anything else date-like,” you say.

“You did tell me that you weren’t going on a date with me in your town,” he says.

“I did,” you agree.

“And we’re not going on a meal date,” he says, still maintaining the mystery.

“You’re so exhausting,” you complain. 

“You’re the one who agreed to go on a date with me,” he points out. 

“I did,” you concede.

“You must really like me,” he presses.

“As if,” you scoff in response.

The truth is that you’re not sure how you really feel about Seungkwan. You want to keep him at a safe distance. There are a lot of reasons that you have the rule that you don’t date tourists that come down to the beach during the summer. Part of it is that you don’t find any of them all that interesting. There’s often a sense of superiority over the people that are working for the summer. Or they just don’t see it as anything serious. Everyone loves to think of the fun, no strings attached summer flings.

Which brings you to the second, and real reason. No strings attached is fine. But it ignores that you’re real people, too, with real feelings that could get really hurt. It might just be fun for the person who breezes in and breezes back out on vacation. This town is your whole life. This is your livelihood. The last thing you need is to fall in love with some rich guy from the city that’s going to be leaving before you realize it. You don’t want to risk getting your heart broken. It doesn’t exactly explain why you’re breaking all your rules with Seungkwan, though. 

When the car pulls to a stop and you look around, your breath catches. As kind as Seungkwan is, you still can’t believe that he brought you here. Once, in a passing conversation, you mentioned an art gallery that you’d been dying to go to. It’s just that life got in the way or it felt too far away or nobody really wanted to go with you. It seems impossible that he would have been listening closely enough to remember you mentioning it. 

“Seungkwan,” you whisper out.

“I thought what better time than now to check off some things you want to do,” he says, trying to gauge your face. “Is that…did I do okay?”

“It’s so thoughtful, thank you,” you say earnestly.

“Let’s go, then,” he says and helps you out of the car.

The whole experience is a little surreal. Someone is waiting at the door and lets you in. Seungkwan doesn’t even stop to pay an entry fee, if there is one, before leading you off to the first installation. Just as you want to ask about it, you catch sight of the piece that he’s leading you to and get completely lost. Yes, this really is the perfect date. 

Seungkwan is also the perfect person to have with you. For all the times he can’t seem to stop talking, he’s surprisingly soft spoken during your time at the gallery. He keeps in constant contact with you: a hand on the back, carefully grabbing your hand to lead you to a new area, an arm around your waist with his thumb tracing patterns into your hip. His body pressed into yours is both immediately comforting and entirely terrifying. How has this man waltzed into your life and pulled all of your normal walls down? 

You were worried that you might feel out of your element going to a gallery with someone like Seungkwan. He’s clearly got money and loves art. As much as you also love it, you don’t exactly know very much. Instead, Seungkwan remains by your side and shares his insights about the different pieces while asking for your thoughts, too. Nothing about it feels like you’re out of place. In fact, you feel like you’re exactly where you belong. 

“Can I ask you something?” you ask suddenly.

“Anything,” he answers.

“Why’s it so quiet in here? I know it’s during the day, but…” you start while looking around. 

“Oh, I rented it out for the day,” he says casually.

“You…what?” you ask with wide eyes.

“I just thought it might be nice to explore it in peace without anyone else around,” he shrugs off.

“That’s really sweet,” you say with a squeeze of his hand in yours. “I hope you know that you don’t have to do all that to impress me, though.” 

Seungkwan looks away, maybe a little shy for the first time since you met him. Not that it’s been that long. “I do want to impress you.” 

“Why?” you ask.

“You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met before and I want to show you that maybe I’m not like anyone you’ve met before either,” he answers. It’s so honest. More honest than you’re used to. 

“You’re definitely not like anyone I’ve ever met,” you admit.

“In a good way?” he wonders.

“I’m not sure yet,” you say, matching his level of too-honest. 

Seungkwan, usually quick with a smart remark, doesn’t have anything to say to that. He only runs his thumb over the knuckles of your hand in his. You’re starting to appreciate that about him. That he doesn’t always say something even when you know he’s got some of the quickest wit in the world. 

When you leave the museum, he takes you to the greasiest hole-in-the wall of a dinner that you’ve ever seen. The kind of place that you can’t really imagine someone like him visiting. Someone that has a car phone and designer everything. The kind with more money than you can even conceive of having yourself. But, he slides into the booth with the cracked leather and opens up the discolored menu to see what the place has. 

There’s something really endearing about it. Especially considering how worried you were about fitting in at the art museum and then some fancy restaurant afterwards. Instead, he’s showing you all the little ways that he can fit into your world. Or that he can adjust his world to fit you. All the many ways that he listens when you say something about wanting to go to the museum or not really seeing the point of those super fancy places. Which, honestly, isn’t even totally true. 

Your heart is so full watching Seungkwan make the waitress laugh at his jokes. You feel impossibly light at the ease of the conversation between you. It’s even easy to swat away at his hand when he tries to steal food off of your plate. It should be a little scary, the way this man is breaking down every wall that you spent so long putting up with a practiced ease. It’s not, though, and you don’t really want to dwell on why that is.

Nothing really changes, at least not officially. But, in reality, everything is different. Seungkwan fits into your daily routine with the same ease that he’s shown in everything else. He’s there with coffee before you start work, there at the end of the day to talk about dinner plans or walk you over to the restaurant your parents own. Sometimes, he’s there during the work day, with or without his friends. It’s only been a little over a week and he already feels like an inextricable part of your routine. 

Your brother only teases you a little bit. Mostly, he claims, because he’s afraid that Mingyu could take him (spoiler: he absolutely could not). Really, he’s just happy to see you happy and taking chances that you wouldn’t normally take. Happy to see you enjoying life instead of just living to work. He doesn’t talk about the looming issue and you don’t bother bringing it up either.

At least until you can’t really avoid it anymore. 

You and Seungkwan are sitting on a swinging bench at the park. With your legs tucked up underneath you, it’s easier to curl up to him. As is normal for him, he finds all the little ways that he can to be in contact with your body. Even though physical affection has never been your favorite, he’s so casual about it that it feels easy. Everything feels easy. 

“So, I have to leave tomorrow,” he says.

And suddenly, your whole world flips. Which is crazy, right? You still barely know him. Haven’t really been out on much that counts as a date. And you knew that this all had a time limit because he’s a tourist. A shooby. Someone that only comes down during the summer or on weekends. This isn’t home to him like it is to you. It doesn’t make any sense that it would feel as awful as you’re feeling now. He’s just someone you met through work and have gotten to know. It is not the end of the world.

“Oh, right,” you say, pulling away to put space between the two of you.

“Are you upset?” he asks. 

“No, of course not. Why would I be?” you ask in return.

“You seem upset,” he presses.

You scoff. “As if.” 

“Well, I actually wanted to talk about what we were going to do since I have to head back to the city,” he says.

“What we’re going to do?” you repeat as a question.

“Yeah, like about us,” Seungkwan says. You aren’t looking at him so you don’t see the confusion on his face. You don’t really hear it, either. Not over the pounding in your head. “I was thinking I could come down sometimes on the weekend and figure out how to get you up to the city when you have time off during the week and…”

“What are you doing, Seungkwan?” you snap, finally looking at him.

If he registers the hurt in your eyes, he doesn’t comment on it. He only reiterates what he’s already said. “I’m trying to talk about us, like I said.”

“There is no us here,” you snap. “It always had an expiration date, right? You were always going to leave.” 

“Well, yeah, I do have to leave. But, I don’t want this to…” he starts.

“To what? To end? Why bother starting it in the first place?” you ask with far more bite than you intended. 

“Because I like you,” he says like it’s obvious.

“Do you? Or do you just like that I’m fun for vacation?” you ask. 

“This has never been about just having fun on vacation,” he says, still trying to keep his voice even. You can hear the irritation creeping in, though. Good. Maybe that’ll be easier.

“Sure it wasn’t,” you snark.

“Listen, if it was just about fun on vacation, I wouldn’t have picked you,” he finally snaps. 

“Nice, Seungkwan,” you say, even though you know you pushed him. 

“Don’t turn this around. You know it’s not about it being some vacation fling. Vacation flings are supposed to be…” he starts and then snaps his mouth shut.

“What? Easy? So I’m not a fling because I didn’t sleep with you?” you ask.

“You’re twisting my words, that’s not what I meant,” he pleads with you.

It’s too much, though. This is exactly why you never go on dates with people like him. This town is just an escape to them. Something to get them out of the dreary routine of everyday life. And it’s everything to you. The only thing you’ve ever known and the one place you’re not sure you could ever give up. So, yeah, you knew better than to get involved with him. Knew and did it anyway. There’s nobody else to blame.

Without another word, you’re on your feet and walking off. Ignoring Seungkwan’s calls after you. It’s over and that’s a good thing. It’ll allow you to refocus on the things that matter like your family and making enough money to last through the quiet season. There’s no point in listening to anything else that Seungkwan has to say when you’ve heard it all before. 

This always had an expiration date, you remind yourself. At least you got to walk away on your own terms.

It seems that Seungkwan doesn’t understand that it has an expiration date. He tries to stop by the shop before he and his friends head back home. Your brother is quick to intercept him and suggests he’s better off just leaving. For all the annoying things your brother does, at least he doesn’t bother you. Just lets you keep busy and take over any of the tours when you don’t have something else to do. Even lets you reorganize the entire store without a word. You’re thankful for him.

That’s not the last you hear of him, though. You come home to messages on your answering machine asking you to call him back with a number. There’s no point in taking down the number, or even finishing the messages, so you delete them. It even makes you hesitate to answer the phone, preferring to let the machine get it. When you’re not sure if it could be him, you’re not in a rush to pick up. 

That’s when he starts reaching out to your friends like Vernon. Thankfully, he’s naturally aloof and doesn’t actually know much of what’s going on. There’s not much he can tell Seungkwan. Not much help he can provide. Although, he wouldn’t help anyone that you didn’t want him to, so he mostly just stays out of it. 

It isn’t until the first weekend since he left that you realize he’s still got tricks up his sleeves. You actually have a minute to wonder why he didn’t call the night before. Actually wonder if maybe you’re being too hard on him. And then he’s there, waiting for you by your shop. When you try to ignore him and breeze through the door, your brother blocks your way. 

“Just…give him a chance to talk. You might be surprised what he has to say,” Jamie says. 

Your brother is a lot of things. He’s annoying in the way all siblings can be. But, he’s never stuck his nose into your business without good reason. And he’s definitely never gotten involved in your dating life. It’s enough of a pause to make you consider giving Seungkwan a chance to say whatever he drove all this way to tell you. 

“What’re you doing here?” you ask when you sit down next to him. 

“It’s the only way I could think of to make sure I could talk to you,” he says. 

“I didn’t want to talk,” you say, a little petulant. 

“Then you can just listen,” he says. That catches you a bit off guard with how firm he is. “I didn’t come down here looking for anything. I just came away for a trip with my boys. Then we met you and you’re all I could think about. You’re complicated and guarded, but you’re also kind, smart, funny, thoughtful, strong, and the only person in my life I haven’t been able to figure out in one or two conversations. I wasn’t planning on developing feelings for you. I can’t help that I did. And it certainly has nothing to do with it being vacation. You’re not some vacation fling to me.” 

That whole speech brings you up very short. This isn’t what you were expecting and you feel a little guilty. You’re not used to someone putting in this much effort when there are so many obstacles. It’s not how this normally goes. Sure, someone comes down for a weekend or a vacation and they want to chase you while they’re here. Then, the vacation ends and they want to just go back to their normal life with a story about the person from vacation. They didn’t want the complication of distance and schedules before anything had even really happened.

“There’s got to be other people that don’t live so far away,” you say. 

“I can’t think of anyone but you,” he says confidently. Easily.

“But, why me?” you ask.

“For all the reasons I said,” he says. 

“You live far away,” you protest weakly.

Seungkwan takes your hands in his and looks calmly into your eyes. “Just answer one thing for me. Do you feel something for me as well? Or am I reading this whole thing wrong?” 

“I do, but…” you start.

“No buts. Don’t worry about the distance or any of that. We’ll figure all of that out,” he says.

“By me moving?”  you wonder.

He looks surprised. “No, of course not. We’ll just find times where we can. It’s like I said. I’ll come down for a weekend or you can come visit me. I’ll pay to send a town car to pick  you up if I have to.”

“You really want to make this move without changing…” you start but can’t finish.

“I want you exactly how you are. Like I said, we’ll figure out a way,” he says. “Are you in? Ready to take the jump?”

“As long as you catch me,” you say through the butterflies in your stomach.

“Every time,” he agrees.

i struggled with this and seungkwan was difficult, but i hope you like it all the same 💕