#posts where the point is engagement but i think there's an edge chance they will break containment

[lukewarmbreadatamoderatepace]

I already forget where I heard this, but it's really sparkly to think about:

Which do you think is greater:

1. the combined number of jumps all humans throughout all of human existence have performed

or

2. the combined number of jumps all video game characters (specifically ones piloted directly by the player) have performed

?

--

(and

if you think it's the latter-- when did 2 overtake 1?)

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

thinking about playing with geto’s hair to help him unwind after a stressful week

the air hangs heavy, oppressive with summer's clinging humidity—a fitting backdrop to the surge in curses running rampant through japan. your days blur into an unrelenting cycle: exorcise, write reports, collapse in your dorm. you call it a blessing, a chance to strengthen your technique—but deep down you know that each mission brings you closer to the brink.

the fatigue is nothing short of infectious, spreading through jujutsu high like a virus. but this week, geto's weariness went beyond mere exhaustion—it teetered on the edge of total defeat. you and gojo had noticed it immediately, an unspoken observation of his too-polite words, dull eyes, and the barely-there smile he wore like armor.

although gojo is usually aloof when it comes to these types of social cues, his six eyes truly lives up to its name when it comes to geto. gojo notices his unfinished meals and lack of appetite, resorting to (in very gojo-esque manner) attempt to hand-feed him and offer up his most sacred sweets.

you'd teased gojo for his attentiveness, but he'd fire back that you were no better, always rushing to geto's side the moment he'd returned from a mission, dragging him along to a number of alleviating activities. you'd even made the mistake of inviting him to a smoke sesh with shoko, a decision you were still getting shit for since any invite to geto automatically extends to gojo—the embodiment of shoko's nightmare blunt rotation.

but today geto had been particularly elusive, so you find yourself messaging gojo privately to discuss your concern. unsurprisingly, gojo is a little too eager to engage...

S. Gojo | Today at 9:37 PM nd u saw how quickly he excused himself after giving his report ?? he didn't even scold me after yaga pointed out that my handwriting was completely illegible :0

You | Today at 9:39 PM sooo you knew that it was illegible? mbn to never worry about the consequences of your actions & ofc i noticed!! he seemed restless during that whole meeting

S. Gojo | Today at 9:40 PM just say ur jealous lol nd I noticed that too it was pretty distracting u think hes still on edge from the mission?

You | Today at 9:43 PM in his defense it doesnt take much to distract you i dont even think his mission was particularly difficult though didn’t he exorcise a bunch of grade 3 curses

S. Gojo | Today at 9:43 PM yeeah but remember he still has to absorb them hes trying to increase his collection i could yak rn just thinking ab it

You | Today at 9:45 PM truee idk how he does it honestly it must be rlly wearing him down tho i rarely see him now :(

S. Gojo | Today at 9:46 PM yeahhh he keeps hiding out in his room classic avoidant tendencies

You | Today at 9:48 PM astute observation dr. gojo that would imply he needs some space huh

S. Gojo | Today at 9:48 PM rightttt but

You | Today at 9:50 PM but? (i like where this is going)

S. Gojo | Today at 9:50 PM luckily space isn't in our vocabulary (i knew u would) lets go bother him :3

You | Today at 9:51 PM im alr omw to u :3

stuffing your phone back into your sweats, you begin making your way to your co-conspirator. it's pitch black outside save for the dim light of the flickering lantern hung at the dorm’s main post, but gojo’s room is only a couple doors down. you push open the slightly ajar door and are met with a tart, saccharine scent wafting from gojo’s not-so-secret stash of hard candy.

squinting forward you spot the culprit red-handed, splayed out across his bed, and likely one candy away from a sugar rush. your exasperated exhale breaks him from his sugar trance and he rolls over to prop himself up on his side, crinkling about eight discarded candy wrappers in the process.

"so nice of you to join me tonight~”

you wrinkle your nose at his lopsided grin, “gross satoru, a grown-ass man eating in his bed.”

gojo sneers peering over his glasses which are slowly slipping down the slope of his nose to retort, “and you are a grown-ass woman who still sleeps with stuffed animals so I don’t wanna hear it.”

he sticks out his bright red tongue before tossing the empty wrappers onto the floor to clear up some space. you consider pointing out the digimon plushie that's visible from underneath his bed but decide to let it slide, seating yourself next to him. you are instead much more interested in gawking at the ginormous bag of candy sitting before you.

"there's actually no way you plan on eating this entire bag yourself, right?" you eye his glossy, red-stained lips "your dentist must hate to see you coming."

“and I would happily take on that challenge but—" he pauses to lift a piece of candy wrapped in shiny gold paper, "I actually picked up this bag earlier because I noticed it has these hard candies with honey filling.”

"how considerate and out of character of you," you tease.

he pouts puffing his cheeks out defiantly, "yeah so this stays between us because I can't have you running around ruining my feared, distinguished, and carefully constructed reputation—"

"of being an arrogant asshole?" you finish.

"no silly, I was gonna go with alpha male."

he smugly turns over to lay flat on his stomach, picking out the honey-filled candies and kicking his feet that hung off the edge of the bed. ah yes, the tell-tale sign of an alpha male giggling and kicking his feet while rummaging through sweets.

"right."

you lean back onto your hands making contact with something hard beneath the blanket. upon further inspection, you uncover gojo's beloved nintendo ds littered with sailor moon stickers. you lift it onto your lap tracing a finger over the peeling edge of a bright-eyed feline luna.

gojo glances over at the movement, "I'm just about done, bring that too."

you sit upright pocketing a couple pieces of candy for yourself along with the ds while he shoves as much candy as physically possible into his grey flannel joggers. stretching your legs out you rise to your feet pulling him up by his arm along with you. you’re pleasantly surprised to be met with the soft, warm brush of his skin rather than the cold pressure that is the icy barrier of his infinity.

although you should be accustomed to gojo deactivating his infinity around you, you couldn't help but lightly shudder as the comforting warmth courses through your body. because despite your argumentative banter, you reveled in the fact that the gojo satoru was surrounded by trusted friends who made him feel comfortable enough to let go of the technique temporarily. he hums softly kicking on his slippers and rising off the bed.

now towering over you, he shifts his weight, fully intending to take a long stride toward the door—until your hand presses firmly against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

“listen—y'know I love you 'toru but before we go in there I'm gonna need you to promise to dial it down about five notches—" you take a breath and press your palms together in a pleading gesture, "so we don’t overwhelm him."

you’re met with a scoff and quirked snowy-white brow, “tch I'm not stupid I know how to read a room."

you release a shaky "okay" clearly unconvinced.

he rolls his eyes swatting at your hands and looping his arm around yours to pull you forward, “now let’s go visit our sweet sugubear~” you playfully bump shoulders giddy because you’re all too aware of geto’s ability to render you both docile.

lifting a hand to tug down your beige baby tee where it had bunched up from gojo’s arm, you allow yourself to be led to geto's room.

upon arrival, you are greeted with silence and the distant droning buzz of cicadas. the soft glow from gojo's ocean-blue eyes illuminates the door, and you can’t help but admire their determined sparkle.

“suguruuuu are ya in there? we know you are so let us in loser.” he accompanies his request with a sharp, forceful knock.

you snort at this tactless approach, slipping your arm out from his to swat at the back of his head. you take a gentler approach, knocking lightly, your plea sincere.

“hey um suguru, we know it’s late but we were hoping to unwind together since we haven’t really had a chance to hang out recently and we know how tiring the past few weeks have been for you and um...well all of us and well we y'know—” you pause from your rambling momentarily, banking on gojo swooping in.

“we miss you 'ru” he finishes loudly.

you both cock your heads sideways towards the door to listen for movement and jolt back when you hear the shuffling of feet move across the floor.

you lean in towards gojo, your voice a whisper, “he’s alive.”

geto's muffled voice responds, “yes yes I'm alive, sorry to disappoint,” his voice sounds strained yet still cracks into a low chuckle. he pulls the door open revealing himself to be dressed in a baggy black sweatsuit wrapped in a thick grey blanket that's pulled around his shoulders and draped over his arms. his eyes are clouded by dark bags and his hair is strung messily around his head, his lips fixed into a friendly, albeit forced smile.

gojo, slightly amused by the disheveled geto in front of him, opens his mouth to say god knows what, but geto promptly warns, “don’t make me regret opening this door satoru.”

"so scary sugu, don't be so mean," he dramatically shivers and you can hear the pout lacing his voice. you giggle into your palm at geto's stern look and gojo tugs sheepishly at his unruly milky-white hair. he approaches the darker-haired man placing a firm hand on geto’s shoulder before continuing inside. you follow suit and hear geto's lock click back into place behind you.

gojo immediately makes himself comfortable kicking off his slippers at the foot of the bed and falling face first onto geto's pillows with a sigh. he pulls out the candy from his pocket and drops a handful beside him. you remove your slippers and neatly arrange them while geto sulks over to the bed. he sits upright next to the candy and you drop yourself beside him pulling your knees into your chest. you all bask in comfortable silence before geto is the first to break.

"already infesting my bed with your sugar addiction huh, satoru?"

"no sufogu, bwought dese fa you" his words come out jumbled from the press of his mouth to the pillows.

geto lifts a single candy to his lap and carefully unwraps it. you lean into his side and point, "these candies are filled with honey 'ru, thought they could soothe your throat some."

geto gingerly lifts the candy to his lips proceeding to gently coax out the flavor, savoring the sweet taste. he tilts his head back, eyes crinkling into a thin line and shoulders easing.

“s'good, thank you."

while he revels in the soothing effect the candy is having on his throat you shift your attention towards his hair situation.

"did we wake you? it looks like you just had the nap of a lifetime." you reach up to twist a strand of hair that somehow defies the laws of physics sticking out horizontally.

"no, not at all," his eyes soften casting downward, "sleep's been more like a privilege lately."

gojo's dumbass barrels right past any underlying message there, nuzzling his face deeper into the pillow, "s'cwazy cuz you haf the soffest bed."

as expected, geto with the patience of a saint, is unbothered by his lack of awareness, reaching out to affectionately ruffle gojo's hair, which earns him a soft, satisfied sigh.

you roll your eyes at how pliant and disgustingly submissive gojo had magically become in a matter of seconds. in turn, you thread your fingers deeper into the stringy black clump that was currently geto's hair.

"ugh there's no way you let your precious hair get this tangled, it physically pains me to look at," you clutch your chest dramatically.

geto reaches up to touch the hair in question, his fingertips lightly brushing against yours. he swallows uneasily, "it's gotten pretty bad huh."

you shoot him a sympathetic look carefully removing the hand in his hair to avoid yanking his scalp. you would never admit it aloud but there isn't much you wouldn't do for him; he's reliable, a comforting presence, and his character is unshakable. no matter how unpleasant or dismissive you and gojo could get at your worst, geto was there. so you didn't hesitate to make him an earnest offer.

"let me untangle it. I just so happen to be extremely skilled at detangling, probably from my years of experience—“ you gesture to your own hair twisting a loose curl around your finger, “—and don’t worry I make adjustments for the tender-headed, just ask utahime."

"wait who said I'm tender-headed?"

you snort and simply gesture to the ground, "just sit down here, okay?"

you try your best to mask your excitement since you love geto’s hair: it’s jet-black, long, and soft to the touch. it always smells fresh, with a hint of vanilla from his shampoo. it’s honestly attractive refreshing to see such well-groomed hair on a man.

geto silently complies, crouching next to your feet to fold up and place down his blanket before retrieving his brush from a nearby drawer. anticipating the whine of an excluded gojo, you reach into your pocket and toss his ds onto his back.

"here satoru, so you don't get bored in the next minute"

he eagerly turns over and powers on the handheld device. he is so easy to placate, if he wasn’t a gojo you would frankly be concerned for his safety.

geto settles between your legs, back against the bed, and expresses his interest, "whatcha playing there 'toru? pokémon?"

you start to nimbly section off his hair using the brush and begin working on the ends.

gojo shuffles closer to the two of you and tilts the screen so geto can get a look.

"nintendogs?" geto asks sounding exasperated and you catch a quick glimpse of a black-and-white spotted puppy pawing at the screen.

you suppress a giggle because gojo truly never disappoints and continue working your way up your section unraveling a particularly large tangle.

"try not to sound so disappointed 'ru its so fun~ its got tons of adorable doggies to play with and its harder than it looks! honestly its a lot of work."

now that absurdity earns him a laugh as you smooth down the top of your section mumbling under your breath, "yeah work."

"well I don't know about all that—but I'm glad you've discovered this month’s hyper-fixation" geto responds with a yawn.

"thank you...i think," gojo replies before quickly being distracted by the incessant yapping of his digital pets.

you take your time working through geto's hair, carefully pulling apart tangles and smoothing out ends, admiring the glossy shine reflected in the low light of his dorm. once thoroughly detangled, you brush through his thick locks while running your fingers through his bangs that don’t quite reach back far enough.

you hear a low hum when your fingers lightly scrape along his scalp so you continue your ministrations to hopefully allow him some semblance of peace. the yapping coming from gojo's direction becomes white noise as you get lost in thought admiring the silky-smooth feel of geto's hair against your fingers.

the satisfying swish of the hairbrush running from root to end sounds strangely cathartic. you note how his hair has grown considerably since the last time you had seen it completely down. it cascades down a little past his shoulders curling up slightly at the bottoms when released from the confines of the brush.

you gather all his hair back intending to indicate that you had finished until you notice a breathy rumbling being released steadily from his mouth. you peer over his head to see his eyes gently resting shut, with a tranquil expression softening his features as his lips part slightly with each slow breath.

somehow he has managed to look perfectly serene, yet impossibly striking. it was a relieving sight to see after this past week made you believe that his face had become permanently fixed into a frown.

"hey—“

you swiftly press a finger to a startled gojo's lips gesturing to the sleeping geto that had slumped into your lap. gojo quickly powers off his game and cranes his neck to get a good look at geto's face.

he stifles a laugh and wraps an arm around your shoulder, "mission accomplished huh?"

you nod contently as a warm gust of his strawberry-scented breath fans your face.

gojo seats himself next to you and begins running his fingers through geto's newly tamed hair. geto releases a long sigh and you can't help but think its awfully cute.

"bet I can do a better hairstyle than you can" gojo challenges, because of course he does. you still take him up on it though; partly because you're competitive, and partly because you want to keep soothing geto through his much-needed slumber.

you smirk at gojo before parting geto's hair down the middle. taking the left side you begin splitting it into four parts to work on a fishtail. you had always wondered how one would look on him if he ever let down his taut bun.

glancing towards gojo whose eyebrows are furrowed in deep concentration, you notice his glasses had been completely removed as he’s struggling to complete a french braid. the braid is somehow tight, loose, chunky, and thin all at once—effectively securing your victory. his pale fingers weave clumsily through one another to continue down.

gojo scowls looking dissatisfied with his work thus far and begins undoing his current progress. near geto's temple the braid had twisted awkwardly and as gojo pulled the strands apart he was met with resistance accidentally yanking geto's head back suddenly.

the motion jolts you all backward and shakes geto awake releasing a pained wince from the rough pull.

"what the fuck guys”

"gojo you had one job" you moan. gojo's white eyelashes flutter apologetically and he rubs soft circles into the spot he had just pulled.

"didn't mean to sugu"

you roll your eyes at his allergy to explicitly apologizing and shove him away from geto's head. dejected, he slowly inches himself to the edge of the bed until he slides down next to geto. he pops a hard candy between his lips that seemingly appeared out of thin air and leans his head onto geto's shoulder.

you swear you can make out a hushed murmur sounding close to a sorry. geto hums and you go back to playing with his hair. you decide to make an effort to style his hair in a way that he can achieve on his own. you lift gojo's head gently to retrieve the hair that had been trapped underneath so he can snuggle in closer, and you begin working on a half-up, half-down style.

once satisfied you make the executive decision to loop the half-up ponytail into a bun and pull out his bangs to frame his face.

geto’s voice calls wearily out, "having fun back there?" his eyes are half-lidded from dozing off, and at this point he’s completely malleable to your touch.

"I'm actually taking this opportunity very seriously sugu."

you retrieve your phone and open the front-facing camera, handing it to him. he positions it in front of his face to view the finished look.

the corner of his eyes crinkle, but you can still make out the deep violet of his irises scanning over your handiwork.

"I actually like this a lot, it looks great," he praises.

gojo cracks an eye open so he can weigh in.

"I don't hate it."

at that you flick the nape of his neck harshly and geto chuckles at the subsequent wince feeling rightfully avenged for earlier.

“so seriously how do I look?”

“pretty—“ “—handsome” you and gojo both blurt out at once.

an awkward silence follows, and you can't help but giggle at your brazen, synchronized boldness.

searching for a way to ease the tension, your eyes fall back onto the camera in geto's hand and you motion towards it to refocus everyone's attention, "well we've clearly established that you look great so don't let the photo go to waste."

you catch his lips curling slightly before he complies, extending his arm to get a better shot. gojo leans back onto geto's shoulder and lazily holds up a peace sign, his cheeks tinged strawberry-red to match his lips. you scoot forward resting your chin on geto's other shoulder, tilting your head slightly and flashing a playful grin.

“perfect, my new lock screen,” you say, giving geto’s bun one final twist.

geto chuckles, low and warm, and gives your knee a gentle pat. “well, in that case, I’m honored.” he shifts his weight, stretching his legs out, visibly more at ease than when you’d first arrived. beside him, gojo, not missing a beat, looks up, hands folded across his chest.

“but of course, I'm more honored, I'm literally the honored one”

geto looks over the image zooming in slightly, "keep talking and you'll be the one cropped out satoru."

this ignites their usual bickering and you scoff. you watch as geto’s shoulders softly shake with laughter and you swear he seems lighter, the tension of the last few weeks loosening. maybe, just maybe, things could return to normal soon.

at least, for this moment, you all felt a little more like yourselves.

[legobiwan]

More SM: RPG/SPM nonsense

The Bleck crew and Mario RPG gang are having a scuffle before they figure they're not on opposite sides (at least not to start with) - this takes place during the events of SM:RPG. The Bleck crew is looking for Culex (see THIS post for more information). The Mario gang's objectives remain the same - defeat Smithy - except that Luigi is along for the ride.

Luigi is creeping up on Dimentio on the far edge of this whole little confrontation as Dimentio, characteristically, is floating above the ground, noshing on his invisible tub of popcorn

Now, let’s assume Luigi is hot off his first ghost mission with E. Gadd and has specters-on-the-brain, meaning he associates floating beings with no visible means of lift (remember, the man is an engineer) with ghosts

But! Even better! The Poltergust (at least in its first iteration) has a subfunction in the strobe setting that illuminates the “heartbeat” of any ghost or undead being

And Luigi swears he sees the shadow of a heartbeat emanating from Dimentio’s chest and tries to suck Dimentio into the Poltergust

Of course, Dimentio is having none of this and snaps his fingers, trapping Luigi in a box (oh, the foreshadowing!)

Luigi panics, banging on the box walls, calling for his brother

“What an interesting little machine you have there,” Dimentio purrs, sauntering over to the wall of the translucent prison. “And who might you be, my quivering friend?”

Luigi only answers by yelling for his brother again ("Maario!! Help!")

Meanwhile, the fighting between the others has come to an uneasy truce, that is, until Mario sees Luigi trapped in a box.

“What did you do to my brother?” Mario yells, reaching into his sidebag for his last-ditch fright bomb. O’Chunks manages to catch this out of the corner of his eye, picking up Mario by the collar as he sprints forward.

“Where do ya think you’re goin, laddie?” O’Chunks asks, Mario dangling from his grip. In a fair fight, Mario would have a chance, but he’s sore, tired, and injured.

“Let my brother go, you clown!”

Dimentio puts his hand to his chest with a dramatic movement (of course he does, bastard man). “Such grievous insult delivered by such a small form. Ah, but your cheeks grow as rosy as your cherry-hued outfit, your flailing like that of a blindfolded octopus, lost in a labyrinthine tangle of seaweed.”

At this point, Mallow’s jaw drops open as he stares at Dimentio, utterly confused. “What?” is all he can muster.

Behind Dimentio comes the click-click of a weapon engaging. A moment later, two wooden fingers appear at Dimentio’s temple. “The man said to let his brother go,” Geno says, deadly serious.

Dimentio pauses, then laughs, turning to greet a stone-faced Geno with a wide smile. Geno makes no movement except to motion with his hand towards a terrified and still-trapped Luigi.

“Very well.” Dimentio responds, smiling, giving a lazy snap of his fingers, the box dissolving into nothing.

Luigi is trembling, gripping onto the Poltergust for dear life. Mario, of course, comes rushing over, asking his brother if he’s alright, checking him for injuries, muttering how he should never have brought his brother on this trip and basically mother henning him to death

This out of the way, the groups make their preliminary, if wary, introductions 

After Mario is distracted by something else, Dimentio sidles up to Luigi. “My most sincere apologies for my earlier actions. I did not mean to frighten you so.”

Geno is definitely watching from behind the bushes, creeping towards them as he DOES NOT trust Dimentio one iota

Luigi laughs nervously, telling Dimentio it’s fine (even though it most certainly wasn’t fine).

“I must ask, however,” Dimentio continues after a drawn-out, awkward silence (a silence Dimentio definitely was enjoying), “what you intent was with your…” Dimentio tilts his head in curiosity. “Vacuum device?”

Luigi hiccups. “Yeah, this. Well…it catches ghosts.”

Dimentio is surprised. Now Geno is lurking about a foot away from both of them. “Ghosts!” Dimentio exclaims. “Have you reason to carry such a machine with you at all times? Are the undead that common in this world?”

Luigi frowns. “No. Well, actually, yes. I mean, not here - not so far, at least. But…I have. In the past.”

Dimentio studies Luigi intently. “And you believed I was a paranormal presence. Thus the somewhat half-hearted attempt at reducing me to a bit of shag carpet.”

“You were floating,” Luigi shrugs.

“And that is the sole qualification to be a ghost? I dare say the undead have certainly loosened their requirements in recent years if that is the case.”

Now Geno is at Luigi’s side. Dimentio spares a brief, neutral look in his direction.

“That and I could kind of see your heartbeat,” Luigi mumbles, staring at the ground, embarrassed.

And now Dimentio is truly taken aback. “My…heartbeat?”

“Yeah. The Poltergust,” Luigi holds up the nozzle, “I mean, this machine. It’s…it’s a long, technical explanation. But there’s a function in it where it exposes the “heart” of a ghost, some kind of dark matter gravitational lensing.” Sees both Dimentio and Geno staring at him with a blank, confused expression. “Anyway, it’s not really a heart, of course, not the way we think of it. More like…a ghost’s connection to the living plane? In as much as they have the ability to take on a distinct form and manipulate matter.”

“Stardust recomposed into half matter,” Geno murmurs, looking disturbed by this information. “And when you’ve taken your captive, what then?”

“Depends,” Luigi answers. “The Professor - uh, the man who gave me this - has a container he uses to study the more dangerous specimens. Others he’s pressed into artwork. A kind of memorial.” Luigi looks off to the side. “Or prison,” he finishes, lamely.

“Wishes ripped from the fabric of the cosmos,” Geno says to himself, looking a bit ill.

“Does this machine illuminate all beings or just the dead?”

Luigi shakes his head. “Only ghosts. And I guess other undead or half-undead things. I haven’t really tried it out on anything else.”

“Hm,” Dimentio hums. “May I ask you to point your contraption in my direction again? Without, of course, the vacuum function.”

Luigi scrunches his face in confusion but does as he’s told. A moment later, hovering over Dimentio’s chest is the half image of a deep violet heart. Luigi's eyes go wide. “Are you dead?”

Dimentio gives a false smile and a bow. “No, only a magician. Master of dimensions and pleaser of crowds.”

“But,” Luigi protests, but before he can get the thought out, Dimentio lifts a hand, Luigi stiffening, Geno readying his finger guns. But all Dimentio does is give a tiny flick of his fingers, deactivating the Poltergust.

“And now? What do you see?”

Luigi stares hard at Dimentio’s chest, his jaw locking in place. His eyes go moon-wide, his gaze fixated on an invisible target above where the jester’s heart would lie.

“N- nothing,” Luigi finally grits, his voice breaking. “I don’t see..I have to go.” And Luigi skitters away, terrified because he absolutely saw something, the exact same thing he saw when the Poltergust was on and he doesn’t want to consider the implications of that.

Dimentio and Geno are no fools and know the man is lying. There’s something off about Luigi. Dimentio, of course, is thinking in terms of the Chaos Heart, weaving plans upon plans. Geno is disturbed by what dark magics could be at work, not only with the Poltergust, but with this seemingly innocuous man. A man who is his friend’s - his best friend’s, if he were allowed to have something like that - brother.

“You’re not dead.” Geno finally addresses Dimentio. “But nor are you fully alive.” 

Dimentio just smiles, floating upwards. “Nor are you.” Geno stiffens at that, but Dimentio just waves, “Ciao, my little wooden friend.”

[witchofhellridge]

Taking the Leap: The Shock of Publishing My Stories on Inkitt

Let me tell you about the moment I officially lost my mind — in the best way possible. It was a regular day, chaotic as usual (because twins), and somewhere between cleaning up a yogurt explosion and folding laundry, I stumbled across Inkitt’s end-of-year contest.

Now, I’d been posting fanfiction there for a while. Nothing too serious, just a place to share my love for other people’s worlds. The contest was open to fanfics, sure, but only if they were new to the platform. And that was the catch — I didn’t have any new fanfiction ready to go.

But you know what I did have? A mountain of original stories, collecting metaphorical dust in old notebooks, drawers, and the farthest reaches of my laptop. Stories I’d written and loved but never thought were “good enough” to share.

Still, even with the contest staring me in the face and that little voice whispering Why not?, I might not have done it. Not without my best friend. She wasn’t just my cheerleader; she became my editor, my beta reader, and the person who gently but firmly pushed me toward the edge of the metaphorical publishing cliff. She believed in my stories when I couldn’t, and without her engagement, I never would’ve had the courage to let them out into the world.

So, with her encouragement echoing in my head and her notes scribbled all over my draft, I took the leap.

The Impulse to Publish

It started with a question that wouldn’t leave me alone: Why not share something original? Sure, I’d spent years as a fanfiction writer, someone who loved playing in other people’s worlds. But here was a chance to step out of that comfort zone, to show the world something entirely my own.

Would I win? Probably not. But that wasn’t the point. The point was that these stories deserved to be seen — not buried in my digital clutter but out there in the world, where someone might stumble upon them and see what I saw in them.

So, with my best friend cheering me on and beta-reading like a boss, I picked a story, polished it up, and hit “publish.”

The Shock of Being Seen

Here’s what I expected: a few polite reads, maybe a comment if I was lucky. Here’s what actually happened: people read my story. Not just skimmed it—they actually engaged with it.

The feedback was overwhelming in the best way. Readers commented on my characters, gushed over my plot twists, and talked about the world I’d built like it was a real place they’d visited. And suddenly, the voice in my head that constantly whispered, You’re not good enough, was drowned out by something louder: They love it.

I didn’t know what to do with all those positive comments at first. I’d spent so much time doubting myself that having strangers genuinely enjoy my work felt…surreal. But it was also heartwarming. Every kind word was like a little spark, reigniting my love for writing and reminding me why I started in the first place.

Finding My Tribe

What really sealed the deal for me was the community. Inkitt isn’t just a platform; it’s a gathering of readers and writers who genuinely support each other.

People there don’t just leave comments; they leave thoughtful comments. They ask questions about your characters, tell you their favorite parts, and cheer you on with every new chapter. It feels like finding a creative family, one that gets how vulnerable it is to put your stories out into the world.

And honestly? I wouldn’t have found the courage to even try without my best friend. She wasn’t just my beta reader and editor — she was my creative lifeline. The one who reminded me that I had something worth sharing, something worth reading. I sometimes just kick me in the ass J

Why I’m All In Now

Will I win the contest? Who knows. That’s not what matters anymore. What matters is that I took the leap. I stopped letting fear and self-doubt hold me back, and I let my stories have their moment in the sun.

Now, I’m looking at my hard drive full of unfinished drafts and thinking, What else can I share? Because here’s the thing: the joy of writing doesn’t just come from creating — it comes from connecting. From knowing that something you wrote touched someone else.

What I’ve Learned (and What I Want You to Know)

If you’re sitting on stories, art, or anything else you’ve created, wondering if they’re “good enough” to share, let me tell you this: they are.

It’s not about being perfect. It’s not about winning contests or becoming the next bestseller. It’s about letting your work exist in the world, where it can find the people who need it.

For years, I kept my original stories hidden, afraid of what people might think. But now, I know that sharing them isn’t just about me — it’s about the readers who connect with them, who see something of themselves in my words.

And if you’re lucky enough to have a best friend who believes in you? Hold onto them. Listen to their encouragement. Let them help you take that leap. Because sometimes, all it takes is one person believing in you to change everything.

Your Turn: Take the Leap

If you’ve ever hesitated to share your work — whether it’s writing, art, or anything else—here’s your sign: just do it. You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to have it all figured out. You just have to start.

You never know who might read your story and love it. You never know what doors could open when you finally let yourself be seen.

For me, publishing on Inkitt started as a whim, a shot in the dark. But it’s turned into something much bigger — a reminder that my stories matter, that I matter, and that it’s never too late to put yourself out there. (I admit, my therapist also help me see this.)

And most importantly, it’s shown me that creativity isn’t a solo journey. It’s a collaboration, a community, and sometimes, a shared dream between you and the people who love you enough to push you toward it.

So take the leap. Let your stories find their way into the world. Because if I can do it — with a best friend cheering me on, twins climbing all over me, and a heart full of doubt — you can, too. And trust me, the joy of being part of a creative community like Inkitt is worth every second of vulnerability.

Your stories deserve to be read. And who knows? You might just shock yourself with how much people love them.

[overland-defender]

05/06/2022 - Day 2

We wake pretty early after the Château was beaten within an inch of its life after a heavy rain storm which passed in the middle of the night.

Meeting the team and the rest of the tour guests at the front of Château, Keith briefed each vehicle individually on today’s agenda and the importance of these locations.

The Longues-sur-Mer battery

Omaha Beach

Pointe du Hoc

Maisy Battery

La Cambe German War Cemetery

The Longues-sur-Mer battery We use mostly paved roads until we reach Manvieux, here we traverse unpaved roads parrallel to the coast overlooking the British channel and arrive at our first point of interest Longues-sur-Mer battery. The battery is a Huge, preserved WWII gun installations, built by the Germans to defend France from sea invasion. It was part of Hitlers Atlantic Wall defences consisting of four rapid firing 152mm navy guns, each housed in large concrete enclosures. The site also includes a fire control post, ammunition stores, defensive machine gun posts and accommodation for the soldiers. The battery is actually located between Omaha and Gold beach which made it a massive threat to the Allied landings. Because of this, the area was heavily bombed on the night before D-Day. This was followed by a naval bombardment in the morning. Although the bombing did not cause much damage to the guns it did destroy the phone line linking the fire control bunker to the guns which severely disrupted the batteries ability to engage with the Allied ships that eventually knocked the guns out of action during a duel in which no Allied ship was damaged despite the battery firing around 170 rounds. On the 7th of June the major responsible for the battery surrendered to the British with 184 men. Gravel paths make access easy from the gun enclosures all the way to the coast line vantage points. Omaha Beach 18.5km west is the infamous Omaha Beach which was part of the D-Day Operation 'Overlord'. I could bang about this place for ages as it's such an important piece of the D-day puzzle. But i'm sure readers are already familiar of what happened here, so i will talk about what is here now... and you wouldn't think it was a place of a blood bath where Americans (1st Army, 5th Corps) suffered roughly 2,400 casualties. White sandy beaches and apart from the traffic noise the sound of waves crashing on the break on the beach was tranquil.We get chance to have a quick bite to eat before we head over to another location made famous by the Americans. One last thing to note is a white house nessled under the cliff, this house managed to survive the naval bombardment and Ally landings, it can be easily found as the owners have a picture of the house on D-day next to there letter box. Pointe du Hoc Not what i expected and though i went with zero expectation it is how i can describe as suprising. Prior to this trip inpreparation i had watched a documentary / read some articles of what is described as the most dangerous mission of D-Day and where the first American Forces on D-Day accomplished their mission objectives. The 2nd Ranger Battalion led by Lieutenant Colonel James E. Ruddler were tasked with assaulting the battery on D-Day to silence the guns, protecting Allied ships and soldiers on the beaches below from artillery fire.

Today the site remains cratered from the aerial and naval bombardment prior to the Rangers assault and features a memorial and museum dedicated to the battle. Many of the original fortifications and bunkers remain which you can access as well as the edge of part of the cliff. Given we are attending a around the anniversary of D-Day, an American ceremony was taking place attended by the new generation of US service men and women, as well as some vet's which was awesome to see.

Maisy Battery

The BF4x4 team always have something up there sleeves and it was the Maisy Battery and this was annouced over CB radio whilst driving through rural normandy. I would be very suprised if many people would know about Normandy's best kept secret where you can walk through 2km of original German trenches and explore their WWII bunkers. The Maisy Battery is a group of World War II artillery batteries that was constructed in secret by the German Wehrmacht near the French village of Grandcamp-Maisy in Normandy. British military historian Gary Sterne rediscovered Maisy Battery in 2004, after he had found a hand-drawn map in the pocket of a US Army veteran's uniform he had bought. The battery was about 1.6 km inland marked on the map as an "Area of high resistance".

The battery had been recorded as the second highest D-Day target in the Omaha Sector group of fortifications, but the exact location had been lost from later records. Using the old map, Sterne was able to locate a bunker entrance amongst the undergrowth. He (Sterne) then investigated further and found additional fortified buildings, gun platforms, and a hospital. Over 3 kilometres of trenches were uncovered and apparently there's still more to discover with time and permissions. Making this a little Land Rover related after enjoying the site i saw another defender parked up, a swiss TD5 110 Hicap which would be the definition of 'overlander spec' unfortunately i didn't get the oppurtunity to meet the owner(s) but had a good nose around. Make this location one to visit if you are in area as it’s really interesting and there are also a collection of WW2 guns and vehicles to view.

La Cambe German War Cemetery

I wouldn't say saving the best till last in this situation and like i had mentioned on our first BF4x4 trip (WW1) you don't see too many German cemeteries. Whether it be Allie or German, cemeteries are a place of reflect and appreciation. Though the enemy, these boys and men lives were needlessly cut short, what makes it worse is the value of these individuals post death.... forgotten and it took the families of the fallen to get this site erected. La Cambe was inaugurated in September 1961. Spread out over 7 hectares and located close to the American landing beach of Omaha, 25.5 km north west of Bayeux. It is the largest German war cemetery in Normandy where 21,222 German soldiers are buried. In fact, the mass burial mound holds the remains of 207 soldiers whose names were never discovered.

This ends Day 2 of our D-Day tour, we retreat back to the Château where we join the BF4x4 team to take advange of the fine dining offered as well as on the house calvados... which i still don't like.

Tomorrow marks the anniversary of D-Day and we don’t have a clue what is installed for us.

[rubyashes]

Since the start of last year, I've decided to watch every episode of every season of Precure (and their related movies and such). Yesterday I finally finished watching Heartcatch, and decided it best to start logging my feelings on the generations for the most part.

Since this is the first of hopefully many posts, I'll just shotgun my feelings of everything leading up to Heartcatch, starting with:

Futari wa Precure/Max Heart: As far as precure seasons go, the first gen is great at making action and combat scenes engaging while also taking special care to make trying to recreate them as safe as possible through little things like a focus on guarded body blows and the girls landing flat on their backs instead of their limbs or heads. More importantly though, it was a believable depiction of the relationship between Nagisa and Honoka (and eventually Hikari) as middle school girls, along with their growth as people over the course of 2 years. Totally worth a watch as a piece of media.

Splash Star: This might be a bit disingenuous, but for the most part Splash Star copies a lot of Futari Wa's homework on story structure, with even some of the episode progression feeling like a beat for beat retelling. However, even in these parts it still tells a story of the girls' personal growth. Where it has an edge as a series though is easily in fostering a sense of community between the precure, their school and the town as a whole, as well as really hammering in the importance of not giving up into the minds of the younger generation. It's a bit of an inherent second placer, but it's got strengths that no other season so far has been able to meet.

Yes! Precure 5/5 Go Go!: Even when not immediately touching on the problems with Coco and Nuts as a whole, I can't say the precure 5 did all too much for me as a group. I love the French aesthetic of the city they live in, but it felt underexplored as far as landmarks went. Rin and Karen being rivals, along with the episodes where Urara got to follow her singing endeavours were good, but I just feel like they were phoning it in overall. Precure 5 de chance is still the best animated episode(s) in the series so far though, so you can watch it just for that.

Fresh Precure: Where the precure 5 felt like they weren't giving their best at what they were doing, Fresh Precure felt like they didn't know what to give their best to. It felt like a lot of episodes were dedicated to exploring a type of storytelling style that could engage the new, older audience they were gunning for, but for the most part their inability to commit cost them some points. Still, I appreciated how the finale was handled a lot, and I think if they spread that a bit more over the series it would have done a lot to help the narrative.

Heartcatch Precure: Giving credit where it's due, this season did try a bit harder to give the girls unique skillsets, even if it's still just energy blasts and shields. It helped with characterization and was generally good design. The Desert Apostles are also distinctively unique to the point they could be sole antagonists of their own arcs, and seeing them interact with each other was always endearing. I probably still like Dark Fall better as an evil organization, but The Desert Apostles are a strong second place.

I still have a long way to go, but I'm happy I started this journey, and I hope Suite Precure innovates even further.

[if-confessions]

I don't get why WIPs without demos get so much hype... it feels weird when there are so many good playable WIPs that get less attention

Hi Anon,

I think it comes down to a few reasons:

Luck

Marketing

Expectations of the readers

As much as we would love to believe a piece of work should get attention based on its worth alone, it's not really the case in reality. Like you said, there are many WiPs without demo that get a lot of attention, while other projects with a working demo/game who barely get anything. This is a generalisation, there are completed games and demos that are widely popular, as well as WiPs without demo who get no traction.

So first, there is plain Luck. Luck in regards to who ends up seeing the post, who reblogs the post, whether it checks the boxes of whatever is trendy in the moment (genre/tropes/customisation/etc), whether followers are actively engaging with the post and blog (replies/reblogs/asks), etc...

You know: right time in the right place.

You can't really plan for that, even if you researched all the trends, where to promote your project, who to send your project to, etc... Still might not be enough.

What can help mitigate this is using marketing to your advantage, with actions such as:

teasing a new project to get some hype with for example: teaser posters, countdown to the intro post/demo, character reveal, lore reveal, UI teaser, quotes from the demo, playlists, etc...

having a compelling intro post, with a good hook at the start, a synopsis that gives just enough to get the reader interested, having nice design in the graphics, including relevant links (demo, forum, tags, etc...), including what the game will feature (or what it already has), tagging the post properly (#interactive fiction, the genres, customisations, type of game, the system, etc...)....

submitting your intro post to directories, or promoting on different platform

continuing to be active on the blog after the intro post/demo drops with snippets, answering asks, and pretty much again what was in the first point....

Does this seem like a lot? Because yeah... it is. And it's not always feasible to do all of this. It requires careful planning, and skills, and knowledge. (I can draw to save my life for example...) And it can be very very frustrating to having done all of that and get little interaction (and the luck part comes back into play here).

And finally, reader expectations (I am not sure whether it is the right word...).

Hype can be a double-edged sword. The more you have, the higher the chance the end result might not match the hype expectations (I would loooove to know how hyped project continued in terms of interaction after a demo drop).

When you don't have a demo, people can only learn about the way you write or the character or the story from what you publish on your blog. As much as snippets can give you an idea, it's still not the actual thing. So you can't really disappoint people just yet.

Until it is set in stone by a demo, Reader's imagination can run wild (and even to the opposite direction of what the author intends).

There was that ask a year or two ago sent to an author, complaining about the amount of snippets they had written or asks answered, when there was no working demo yet. The reply of the author was suuuuch a good one, but I can't find it ;-;

[astoriacolumnstaircase]

This is fascinating. I agree with you that Laudna tries to not be defined by her trauma, and that she tends to go for big swings, either not acknowledging it at all, or considering the risk of giving in entirely. I disagree that we haven’t really seen growth from her until now, because I’d argue that her asking if she should give in at all is a sign of the growth she’s had from her time with the hells.

She’s spent decades on the run (and now we know for sure that any low level cleric had a decent chance of turning undead on her any time she got comfortable, which really puts a finer point on why her being undead is so unusual in a world that includes like, dragon people and everyone is just fine with that), trying to make herself palatable, so to ask the rest of the group “hey what if I give into these horrific urges to consume people’s souls because it might give us an edge” that takes an enormous amount of trust that they won’t just decide she’s too dangerous to keep in the group and let FCG send her fleeing.

He wouldn’t, btw. There’s a very weird and complex dynamic between the robit and the dead girl where they’re like, dark mirrors of each other, but FCG played a big role in getting Laudna back from the dead and I don’t think they’d ever like, actively antagonize her for anything other than a bit that she’s in on.

But yeah I think you really nailed it with “How do you move on from a trauma that strips you from your future, physically alters you, and your abuser never leaves you?” because I feel like, maybe you never really do move on. It’s something she has to grow around. Like a tree that’s always going to be warped because of the boulder that shattered its trunk, but its roots were too strong to let it die. I think it’s a growth that’s actually kind of hard to see, because it happens so slowly, but that’s the beauty of a show like Critical Role; we get the time to see her evolve. And I don’t know if we’re ever going to get any of those big showy moments that we might have for other characters. But Laudna is my favorite character in the Bells Hells because of the way she always has this background conversation running with grief. And I like seeing it play out.

Now, I wanted to address something you said in your tags. And, please keep in mind that this is just my opinion, so I am hoping that my words won’t be touted as reason why Laudna fans or imodna shippers are the worst part of c3. You said:

And I had a really hard time gathering the gumption to even respond to your very good meta. I love meta, it’s the reason I got back on tumblr; I wanted to read what other people were thinking about these characters that I can’t get out of my head. I don’t write very much of it, because the way I engage with my thoughts about characters is through fanfic and little comics, and meta doesn’t really come naturally to me.

The reason I, a certifiable Laudna stan, haven’t posted about what her giving into Delilah means for her character, is because I have found most of the current meta that talks about her and Delilah also, somehow, involves Orym, even though Laudna is a grown woman with her own damn things going on. And, to be perfectly honest, I feel like a lot of the meta that I see that I’d really like to engage with has tags like this, and it puts me on the back foot. Like I have to dig myself out of the “imodna liker” hole before I can even say anything. Criticism for the things I haven’t said yet makes me worry that I’ll try and engage, and then get called out for another thing that I should have talked about but didn’t.

I like Laudna a whole lot. I am not frustrated with her character in the slightest. But I don’t ardently defend her on tumblr because I find that kind of back and forth to be really exhausting. I don’t want to be a public defender for my blorbo, I want to read really interesting thoughts like the ones that you have brought to me (thank you!) and I want to get excited and tell you my thoughts in turn! Because fandom isn’t my job. It’s what I do for fun.

sorry about the essay. And the weird format (I write in a different program because I can't really handle the one on tumblr)

Laudna, for most of this campaign, has desperately wanted to avoid being defined by her trauma. She doesn't always do that in the healthiest way, but she tries.

So for her to say, "What if I feed it? What if I give in? What if I risk it consuming me?," is a change for her.

Laudna only seems to be able to navigate her trauma in the extremes, either compartmentalizing and avoiding it, or letting it over take her. One could argue that actually feeling her anger and need for control is in fact healthier than avoiding it, but I don't believe Laudna sees it that way. Plus feeling extreme emotions and acting on those emotions in a time of distress (ie. Bor'dor) is very different from choosing to actively "feed Delilah." There's clearly a healthier middle ground here, but she can't see it. If Laudna chooses to go down this path, will she lose herself? Or in losing parts of herself to Delilah, will she finally see the woman that Imogen, Ashton, and the rest of the Bell's Hells see? Will she see that she is also deserving of a future as much as Imogen and her friends are?

As frustrating as Laudna's character growth has been for many of us, I still believe Laudna forces us to examine some difficult questions about trauma. How do you move on from a trauma that strips you from your future, physically alters you, and your abuser never leaves you? What would healing and growth look like for that person? Can you get strength by tapping into that anger and grief at times?

Laudna's self-imposed limitations on her own future can make her feel very stagnant as a character. But the fact that she's discussing this with her friends suggests things are changing for her, for better or worse, and I think it's worth discussing (if it interests you of course). More importantly, it's worth discussing on its own merits outside of the context of what this means for Orym and Orym's choices, or any other member of the Bell's Hells. If folks want to defend Laudna when another PC wonders if Delilah can help, we should be willing to talk about what it might mean for Laudna when she says it herself.

[pyrolitheus]

Dear friend (idk what your pronouns are so I'm going with this), we americans already know our measuring system is bullshit. A good portion of us who know how it compares to yours already understand how bullshit it is and want different.

The population of the us in its entirety is ridiculously huge and takes up a shit ton of space.

What I'm saying is:

You don't have to insult us in every other sentence in your post abt density and pricing. It was a really cool thing to learn abt, but being insulted in every other sentence is really enraging! I get it! It's stupid! But jfc don't be an ass!

This is long, please bear with me. For anyone who gets impaled through the skull on sight when seeing a wall of text, Microsoft Edge has a built in immersive reader that is compatible with Tumblr posts and will read them aloud to you.

Dear Anon, I am writing this half to you, and half as a sort of open letter. There are things in here that you probably already know, they're just here because this blog has an international audience and that means I've got readers who don't know what it's like to grow up here and I've filled in some blanks for them even though my response is addressed to you. I'm putting that up front because I don't want to make you feel condescended to.

I think perhaps the part of that post that you missed is the part where I am an American. The fact that I am one makes that post a pretty good example of the point you make in the above ask about how a lot of us actually do know metric, and how a lot of us believe the non-metric units we use here in the USA are bullshit and want something better. Now that you know I am an American, you and I are probably in perfect agreement about everything in this situation with the possible exception of whether or not my post was insulting.

I never expressed consternation with people, only with units. To me, that distinction means that I never insulted anyone. Punctuating my post with rage against the units was something I thought people might find funny, American or otherwise, and perhaps relatable for many Americans, especially American scientists like me.

For me, growing up in America meant being taught by school, by my community, by media, and by my extended family to be prideful about our nation to a fault, prideful of myself by extension, and to take offense to any possible slight made against America, or myself, accordingly. And not just take offense, but to get Very Angry but call the source of that anger "insulting" or "offensive," and then defend accordingly. Growing up in America meant being taught to be Very Angry in a lot of ways about a lot of things, actually, now that I think about it.

Being an adult in America has (for me) involved a long (and still ongoing) process of unlearning all of that for the sake of finding peace, because it is really just no fun to live in a near-constant state of anger and there are more-pleasant options. Besides, I generally prefer to treat people with respect (I am sure you do too, after all, even your anonymous offended ask was far more polite than a lot of people are on the internet, especially when anonymous). Treating people with respect is difficult for me to do when I'm lashing out at people out of anger all the time (which was how I dutifully was as a child and teen), especially when I'm feeling righteously justified in lashing out. I am pleased to say that all that American cultural brainwashing is much easier to unlearn now that I have found a bunch of American friends who value kindness and accountability and give second chances and so on while we all unlearn this mess together.

The more I learn how to engage with the world without letting anger take the wheel, the more I feel like a real adult, and the less likely I am to mistake someone's words as personally insulting when they aren't and the more likely I - and the people around me - are to have a good time.

I obviously don't know you, so I have no way to know if you're going through something similar, but it never surprises me to find out that an angry anon - especially one who took something impersonal personally - is a fellow American, because many (most?) of us Americans have to actively work to undo deeply ingrained things we've been taught our whole lives if we want to figure out how to engage with the world without letting anger dictate our words and actions, and without letting anger become this weird source of justification that it is often viewed/used as in this country. Anyway, that sort of major shift can take years or decades or more depending on the person, but gosh, it is so worth it! If weirdly pervasive anger/offense/whatever is something you're dealing with, and you choose to DM me, I will help you find resources. If it's not something you're dealing with, I am so glad you were raised or are being raised better than I was!

Anger/offense clouds our perceptions, as you've probably noticed before. If you go back and reread that post, I think you'll be able to tell it was written by an American. It has indicators such as using American currency and giving American average 2022 middle class household income to provide context for readers outside the USA who have no idea what $10k USD really means. It even explicitly says at one point, "For my fellow Americans suffering through living with an archaic measurement system..." which, in addition to making it clear that I am an American, directly supports the point you made in your ask above about how many of us really wish we had metric here as standard practice. And if you weren't upset by earlier parts of the post, I am certain you would have read the indicators clearly. This clouding of perception is just one more reason I dislike the anger-loving side of our culture here in America. It makes it real hard for us to communicate with each other effectively because it prevents us from understanding each other even when we communicate clearly.

I value being called out very deeply because that is what has allowed me to pursue the growth described above. Sometimes I really do say or post insulting things without realizing it, and most of the call-outs I get are in those situations. Call-outs like yours allow me to apologize and make amends and any necessary edits. So, even though I disagree with the idea that this particular post of mine was insulting, I am still deeply grateful to you for reaching out to me. Your ask is a gift, and I thank you for it.

Anyway I am glad you enjoyed learning from my addition to that post and I hope this response helps you feel a little better about it.

And, thank you for giving me a notification that wasn't a follow bot!!!

[stutterfly]

Swipe Right 04 | Patch Notes | JJK (M)

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader, brot7 x friendship

Genre: E2L, fluff, angst, humor, [eventual] smut, PersonalTrainer!Jungkook, fuckboy!Jungkook, Nerd!Jungkook, Nerd/IT!Reader

Word Count: 15.1K

Last time on SR03: You joined a gym to increase your confidence and things progressed the way you want with your tinder match. You ended up in an unlikely competition with your friends when you went new bar together, leading to some unexpected conversations and shenanigans.

CW & Other Tags: Drinking, anxiety/panic attack mentions, muscle tearing injury mention, fuckboy Jungkook, pining, flirting, pick-up lines, sexual tension, Joonie is still Y/N’s best boi, soft Jungkook

Series: Activate your SIMCard

Fic: Swipe Right (4/?- Ongoing)

Do not repost.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

When’s the last time you felt as good as you do right now? Jungkook has pretty much stopped bothering you since that night at Seesaw, your date with Jason went well, and you’ve been sticking to your early morning workouts. You definitely don’t push yourself as much as trainer Hwasa, and you know you should really take advantage of the free trial, but it was overwhelming to take in so much at once and the session made you sore all over for days.

At least your stamina seems to be improving and you’ve discovered post-workout endorphins are real. Tonight is your second date with Jason, a date you’ve uncharacteristically elected to host at your apartment. You can place some blame on those endorphins for your boldness, with pining and disappointment composing the rest of it.

While your first date ended without a kiss, there was enough flirting to keep you hopeful. Neither of you were brave enough to do anything about it then, but you’ve mentally coached yourself into pretending like you have an unbreakable spine with nerves of steel. Meeting him only solidified your attraction, and you’ve resolved to take the lead, even though you feel like you have no idea what you’re doing.

It’s not like you often make the first move, but your confidence in him to do so has waned. You’ve been talking and playing games together online for months without any physical touch. Despite how he’s said he likes you and wants to see you again, you’d still be waiting if you didn’t suggest today.

You’re determined to show him what he’s missing by being a recluse. That’s why you’ve picked out the sluttiest clothes and the strappiest heels you own, decorated your face with expensive makeup, and even styled your hair instead of just letting it do whatever it wants for the day. You check yourself out in the full-length mirror on your bedroom door for the millionth time and pull down on the hem of your dress like it will somehow magically grow longer.

You don’t need the heels; no part of the night calls for them. You’re going to be sitting on the couch with him. If you’re lucky you’ll even move it to the bedroom you spent so much time cleaning. But they’re cute and they make you feel sexy, so you’re going to keep them on until he’s peeling you out of your dress.

Nerves bubble in your stomach, but you have to pretend like they’re not there or you’ll fixate on how hard you’re trying to be confident and cool. You’ll fall apart when it’s obvious to Jason how hard you’re pretending to be everything you aren’t. Checking your phone doesn’t help; it’s almost time.

Taking a deep breath, you pace through the confines of your apartment as you wait, and answer group texts from Jennie and Namjoon. You offer up a selfie, hoping any compliments will build your confidence enough to stave off the anxiety in your gut. A few devil emojis later, some keysmashing, and more than a couple hamfisted compliments from Namjoon, your ego is adequately inflated but you can always use more hyping. Maybe you should send it to Jimin to fish for more compliments? He’d indulge you for sure.

Instead you flop on the couch and open Tinder. According to Jennie, Jason is stringing you along; it’s been months, but you hate to admit that she has a point. So you don’t. She’s been telling you for a while now that she thinks you should pursue other suitors. While you object to her assumptions, she has more experience with this kind of stuff. It’s not exactly something you want to believe, not when you’ve put in so much effort for literal months.

You want to believe in Jason being awkward and dorky and that’s why it’s taken so long for the two of you to hook up. He’s shy and super introverted, but so are you. So why are you the only one trying to make things happen? You want to believe, but at this point you’re uncertain enough to heed Jennie’s advice and keep swiping any time you find yourself in a situation where you’re waiting on him. Like now.

You have your reservations about swiping while you wait for your date to begin, but you can practically hear Jennie cheering you on. He’s late anyway, and it will keep you busy until he arrives. You open the discovery tab and swipe left on a couple incomplete profiles. Most of the guys on here don’t put in any effort. How are you supposed to want to give any of them a chance when you don’t even get a tiny snapshot of who they are?

When you pass on yet another fish pic profile, a blue frame appears around the next guy in line. It takes a moment for your brain to register the name along with the duck-faced photo as someone familiar.

[Jungkook said: Your legs remind me of oreos 🥴 wanna know why?]

How fucking dare he? You match with the intent to ream him out and leave.

You: I told you not to fucking find me on here

It takes only a few seconds before you see the dots move on his end, like he was waiting for the moment you would answer, and it keeps you tethered to the conversation.

Jungkook: Princess!! I couldn’t help myself how are you

Jungkook: Surprised you didn’t block me

You: Don’t worry I’m gonna

Jungkook: it’s bc you wanna know huh

You: ???

Jungkook: Your legs

Jungkook: Like oreos

Jungkook: I wanna split them n lick the cream from the center 😜

Electricity rumbles in your gut, carrying heat and a surge of excitement to your cunt that threatens to flood your panties. You swallow hard and squeeze your thighs together as you stare at the screen. Embarrassed by the response his antics elicit, you scramble to formulate a coherent thought.

You: I wish I could unread 🤢

Jungkook: Aw but that’s one of my favorites

Jungkook: Just like you 😘

You: 🙄

You: I hate you so much

Jungkook: So much that you matched with me?

You stare at the message like a clever response will come to you and when it doesn’t you bite your lip. He’s got a point. Haven’t you learned your lesson not to encourage him? Your eyes scan the top of your phone for any notifications from Jason. Nothing. At least this is keeping you distracted. That’s what you tell yourself.

Jungkook: You’re still here which means 👀

You: It means I’m tired

Jungkook: Of?

You pause for a moment. Namjoon and Jennie can’t know how anxious you are about Jason. It’s the guy’s last strike with them and he hasn’t even met them yet. Jungkook, an impartial third party, might be able to lend an ear. As much as you don’t care what he thinks, you need an outlet for the anxiety in your chest. You start to draft a word-vomit. Jason has been so hesitant to see you in person again and now he’s late. Maybe if you just put it out there to someone you’ll feel better.

Jungkook: If you need to sleep how about a massage?

Jungkook: I’m good with my fingers 🥴

Stupid. In what universe could you confide in Jungkook? Deleting your word-vomit before you can send it, you start to type something else, but your thumb accidentally taps enter at the exact wrong moment.

You: You know what? I want you

FUCK. Goddamn you, sausage fingers.

You scramble to rewrite the sentence but Jungkook is quicker. He has to know it was an accident, but you’re still fucking mortified.

Jungkook: 😈

Jungkook: My place

Jungkook: Ten minutes

You: *to stay off my profile

Jungkook: 👉👌?

You: YOU KNOW I DIDN’T MEAN THAT

You: 🤢🤢🤢

Jungkook: 😩

Jungkook: Now you’re just playing games with me princess

Jungkook: Can’t say I mind just fuck me up 🥴

You: Don’t you have a princess to fuck in another castle? Maybe she can stroke your tiny ego

Jungkook: Ouch felt that from here

He goes quiet and you close the conversation out. Setting the phone down on the cushion beside you lasts all of two seconds. When your phone buzzes twice, you know better than to answer, yet you feel compelled to look.

Jungkook: Hey quick question

Jungkook: Is this the most you’ve used the app to talk with someone you like? 👻

Just like that you unmatch with him and take a moment to seethe. Distraction or no, he’s not worth the mental energy. He always seems to draw you in like a pretty little thirst trap and drain you of your sanity. Not engaging is the safest option so why do you always end up doing so? Maybe it’s that shitty little part of you that gets excited any time he shows you attention.

There’s a gullible girl within you; she sets your pulse on fire when he feigns even the slightest interest, fills your head with wind when he brushes against you, and floods your eyes with tears when he walks away. Still, she wants him to look at you, even if it means he’s really looking through you. You hate her. Why can’t she learn that you deserve better?

You check the time again and wince. Jason is really late now. Not even a text. Or a phone call. Maybe it’s traffic?

Try to relax. Nothing bad is going to happen. You’re going to have fun tonight.

You start up a game to take your mind off the options available to explain his absence. When you’re invested in a game you often lose track of time, but tonight you’re hyper-aware of every minute that passes. You bite at your freshly painted nails during loading screens, chipping the red from their edges. Sounding casual is difficult when you’re worried, but you attempt it anyway via text. It’s ten more agonizing minutes of waiting before your phone buzzes with an answer.

The controller drops to your lap and immediately tears begin to sprinkle your thighs with the manifestation of your heartache.

He forgot.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

An earthy scent fills Namjoon’s apartment as he carefully transfers the last of his plants to a bigger pot, filling in the edges of its roots with fresh soil and patting the edges down with care. His plants have needed this, maybe even more than he needs the mini hangout that will soon follow. The kitchen table is covered in dirt, but at least he’s almost done.

It’s not his fault Jungkook showed up earlier than expected. At least he’s quiet now. It’s been a while, but he’s finally stopped asking about how much longer it will take, so he must either be invested in the show he put on or asleep on the couch.

“Almost done,” Namjoon loudly announces. “Can you text Tae?”

“Kay.” Jungkook yawns as he stands and heads towards the bathroom. “Jin was already cooking when I left so it should be ready soon.”

“Good. I’m hungry,” Namjoon says, carefully transporting the plant to the desk in his bedroom.

As he’s on his way to clean up the mess on the table there’s a soft rapid knock at the front door. The moment he opens it and finds you standing before him, he knows something is wrong. Even the ratty hoodie covering your shoulders can’t hide the effort you’ve obviously put into your appearance tonight. While your makeup seems to have fared rather well, your eyes are red and your cheeks are puffy. His mind automatically assumes the worst about your second date and his jaw tightens.

“What happened? Did he hurt you?”

“He never showed.” You throw your arms around him and openly sob.

“Oh, Y/N…” His arms are around you in an instant, hugging you close while keeping his dirty fingers at bay.

You press your cheek against his chest, letting the tears fall freely. “I’m sorry. I know you probably have plans tonight, but I wanted to stop here—” You choke out a loud sob and wipe your nose with your sleeve as you look down at the floor. “I didn’t want to drive upset but you weren’t answering and I just—”

“Shit. Exam today. I left it on silent.” He pats his pocket to make sure it’s still there, wiping as much dirt as he can on his jeans before placing his hands on your shoulders. “Hey, it’s okay. Deep breaths.”

Jungkook emerges from the bathroom quietly with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. Did he hear your voice or is it his imagination? Unsure if you’re some wishful remnant of earlier texts, he peeks around the corner.

Heels: black, strappy heels with a velvety smooth red undersole. Has he ever seen you in heels? If he has, it’s never been something as flashy as these. His gaze travels up the smooth, exposed skin of your legs until it hits the hem of a skirt. The dark fabric seems a little short; it clings to your thighs, riding up as you embrace his friend. It’s hard not to notice how well it accents the curve of your hips and more importantly: your ass. He’s definitely never seen you in something so revealing, not even on nights where you’ve joined them for dancing.

He pauses for a fraction of a second, eyes trained on the swell of your ass before moving up to find the disappointing sight of your favorite hoodie barring much else from view. Namjoon’s arms outline your shape, but the places his hands rest are far too respectable to glean much else other than simple blueprints.

With his dick leading his steps, Jungkook opens his mouth to announce his presence with a joke. He means to selfishly steal a glimpse of your entire ensemble with some snarky comment but you choke out a sob and his stomach lurches to form a whirlpool of apprehension. His mouth remains open, but his words are swallowed back into the dark swirling pit that now wrenches his gut in circles.

Namjoon looks up just in time to read the confusion and shock on his features. He shakes his head and cups yours against his chest, wordlessly signaling Jungkook to keep quiet.

“Is there anything I can do? Do you wanna talk about it?” Namjoon asks, hoping you don’t see the man behind you slowly backing away like he’s just approached a rabid animal.

You’re sobbing. Why are you sobbing? What happened? Was it what he said before you unmatched? Jungkook tiptoes back into the kitchen without a word. He leans against the counter and shoves his hands in his coat pockets, trying to piece everything together. Did he cause this?

You screw your eyes shut to try to keep the tears inside. It’s no use. They always seem to find a way out. “He didn’t show up and when I texted him, he… he said he forgot."

“What?"

“I thought it would be good after the arcade date, you know? Like, good chemistry. He’s weird. I like him! He seemed interested and we made these plans and he just—” you choke out another loud sob. “God. Am I really so fucking forgettable?”

You wanted your friends to be wrong so badly that you ignored the fact that it’s been like pulling teeth trying to get Jason to meet up again. For him to forget completely is like a kick to the face that leaves all the teeth intact, maybe a little bloody, but stubbornly intact.

“Y/N, no. It’s not your fault. You deserve better than this fucking guy.”

Jungkook swallows hard. This definitely doesn’t feel like a conversation he should be hearing, but it’s loud enough to carry through the entire apartment. Kitchen, bedroom, or bathroom: his options are limited, but he knows there’s nowhere to go to pretend like he can’t hear it. It’s not like he can just walk out the front door now.

“Do I? It’s seems like a fucking pattern, Joon. I fall for people so easily and they always make me feel like an idiot for trying. Donghyun. Seojun. Jason. Jungkook… It doesn’t matter. No one fucking wants me.”

Jungkook tenses. He may not know all the names on your list, but his is among them all the same. Has he really hurt you so much?

“Hey… Don’t think like that,” Namjoon says, his voice soft as he rubs your back. “You know your worth, and it’s not measured by how well someone else can see it.”

Every time you think you’re done crying, fresh tears begin to roll down your cheeks. “I’m tired, Joonie.”

“I know. I’m sorry. We'll get you home."

As you step back to look at him your ankle rolls, and you begin to fall. Hearing the scuffle, Jungkook winces and peeks around the corner. Namjoon has a good enough grip to stop you from fully tumbling to the floor, but you’re definitely not stable by any means.

Although you now face Jungkook, you’re too distracted by your ankle to notice the extra pair of eyes on you. He allows himself to stupidly linger within your line of sight, raking his gaze across your form to take in the details of your attire, right down to your choice of earrings. Even with a red nose and puffy, smudged eyes, the time you’ve spent on your appearance remains evident.

You did all that for some guy who didn’t even show? If that’s how you dress for your dates then his innocent perception of you is completely wrong. What kind of moron would pass up the opportunity to peel you out of that dress and dive into your cunt? You look incredible. What the fuck.

"God. Shit. Fuck! Fucking stupid heels!” You huff out your exasperation and let a small pitiful laugh pass your lips as you right your stance with Namjoon’s help. “You know, I spent hours getting ready and now I just look stupid. I feel stupid.”

“You don’t. You’re not,” Namjoon insists, his palm squeezing your shoulder.

“Namjoon, I shaved my entire body. Do you know how long that took?”

Jungkook forces himself to withdraw into the kitchen. If you see him now you might murder him. He purses his lips into a thin line and tightens his grip around his arms. In an instant he imagines hiking your dress above your hips and parting your legs so he might brush his cheek against the smooth expanse of your thigh all the way to your core. Are your panties as slutty as your dress? Are they cute? Lacy? Plain?

“Geeksquad…” Namjoon sighs loudly. “I really don’t need to know— Hold up. Wasn’t this the second date?”

“Are you slutshaming me?” The tired laugh that follows sounds more like you, but it still hurts his heart. “I’m stepping up my game.”

“Nah. You do you,” he says, a soft smile on his lips that’s obviously full of pity. “You want to stay and get some food? I think I have some sweats you can change into.”

Tires screech in Jungkook’s mind. Is he going to be trapped here for the night? Without dinner? What kind of karmic torture is the universe putting him through?

“No, I’m sorry,” you sniffle, wiping your face with the sleeves of your sweater. “Jennie wants me to come over but I—I didn’t think I could make it with having a full meltdown. You were on the way.”

“No need to apologize.” He pulls you into another tight hug. “Do you want me to walk you back to your car?”

“No, no it’s fine. I’m right in front. Thanks, Joonie.” Your phone begins to buzz in your hoodie pocket. You pull back and wave it at him, already on your way to the door. “It’s like she knew. I’ll talk to her on the way. Thank you for listening to me cry for the millionth time.”

“Always. Text me when you get there, okay?”

“Will do, mom,” you tease with a soft laugh.

“Zip up your hoodie.”

You grimace at him with narrowed eyes but heed his advice on your way out. You also pull your skirt down as far down your thighs as it will reach. Men are gross and you trust virtually none of them.

Jungkook waits until he hears the click of the lock on the door to breathe a loud sigh of relief. Namjoon rubs the back of his neck and stares at the door. He worries about you.

“Yikes. That Jason guy is a dick huh?”

Namjoon swivels on his heels and rounds on his friend. “Like you were so much better to her?”

Jungkook casts his gaze to the floor. “I didn’t stand her up.”

Even he knows that argument is flimsy.

“Guk.”

“It was always just a joke.”

“It’s not though. She really liked you, man. I asked you not to mess with her.”

Memories have warped Jungkook into a jaded man: untrusting although not uncaring. Guilt is the only thing churning in his stomach as he thinks of you. He never expected to genuinely hurt you. Somehow things twisted into a gnarled mess that never really felt like more than a playful game of tug-of-war. But these kinds of games only work when the people involved know that they’re playing. It’s shitty when one pulls another into the mud when they’ve never agreed to participate.

Faced with the reality of how you consider him now, it dawns on him that he’s dragged you into the mud face-first without even the slightest resistance. You’ve stood up and you’ve even yanked the rope in retaliation, but you never should’ve been in the mud in the first place. Regardless of his own emotional ineptitude, he knows you never deserved that humiliation. No one does. The weight of his actions sits heavy in his gut.

Still he tries to justify himself. “All I do now is make pass after pass and she’s the one who turns me down.”

“You said it earlier yourself,” Namjoon sneers, irritated by his friend’s immaturity. “It’s always a joke. You’re never serious and she knows it. Look, you don’t have to like her back. She’s my friend and so are you. Just don’t lead her on and stop with the mind games. Be honest with her. The least you can do is apologize for being a dick.”

“That’s— I feel like… I don’t know how.”

Jungkook can’t bring himself to tell him of your conversation earlier tonight. It just adds to the guilt piling on his conscience. Namjoon used his own words against him and the worst part is it makes sense. It’s so much easier when it’s a stranger at a bar or a random encounter at a club, but you’re neither of those things. He lumped you into that category all the same.

Namjoon clicks his tongue and puts an arm around Jungkook’s back. “Starting with ‘I’m sorry’ can go a long way. She’s a good person and I know you guys can get along. Things were going well until you made that bet, right?”

Jungkook opens his mouth to speak and then closes it. “Mmm.”

“Not every girl is a Jiseo, Jungkook.”

“Yeah.”

“I think…” Namjoon sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t know. Can you try to just... tone it down? Maybe try to patch things up?”

“Okay.” Jungkook’s brow furrows and he chews his lip as he mulls over Namjoon’s words. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his keys. “You ready?”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Your head dips forward as your fingers glide across the keys. It's hard to concentrate on your task when you're this distracted by your own thoughts. You stare at the monitor with furrowed brows. Namjoon grabs the back of your chair and leans forward to tower over you.

"Went that well, huh? Did he blow the second chance he didn’t deserve?"

The motion jerks you backwards and you grip the armrests of the chair to steady yourself. Despite your best attempt to curb the irritation in your expression, your frustration remains apparent. You sit back and tilt your head up to look at him, trying to think of something to say, some excuse to not reinforce the "told you so" waiting in your future, not after you showed up at his apartment sounding like a dying whale a few days before. When no ideas come to your immediate aid, you click your tongue and let out a heavy sigh as you turn your attention back to the screen.

"Geeksquad," he presses. "Talk to me."

You exhale through your nose and briefly purse your lips before obliging his plea. The words are quick and quiet so you don't run the risk of bawling your eyes out again. "He canceled.”

Namjoon steps back and the pressure on your seat is gone. He places a large palm on your shoulder. "I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

Despite wanting to give the opposite answer, you shake your head. You don't trust yourself to speak, but you'd like to tell him. He's clever and you know he'll likely find a way to get it out of you with minimal effort anyway. Still, you don’t think you can manage the words without crying like a baby and you don’t want to do that when the morning has only just begun. Silence falls between the two of you as he gives you time to decide if you want to open up.

After a moment of tapping away you finally give in. You know you’ll feel better after you cry.

"He said he had to stay behind and help do clean-up for the party he was at. And that’s nice and all, but we had plans. I feel crazy. I should be glad that he’s so kind, right? Like that shows he’s a good person, right?” Your voice has cracked but it hasn’t quite broken.

He sighs and flops in the chair on the other side of his desk. “Y/N… I think you’re asking me for answers you already know.”

“But tell me anyway,” you press, tears welling in your eyes. “Our first date went so well. So why-y-” Your voice breaks.

“Hey.” He reaches across the desk and brushes his fingers against your arm. “I know you want me to help you make excuses for him... But you deserve someone who values your time. Clearly he’s just looking to waste it.”

“But—”

“Y/N, you don’t need someone like that. If this is what he’s like before you’re even together, then what kind of effort is he really going to put into a potential relationship? Not enough. There are so many people out there, people that would trip over themselves just to have the chance to be with you. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I think it’s a mistake that you even gave him another shot. He blew it. Twice. Delete his number. Forget him.”

“I know,” you croak. Tears fall from your eyes and you quickly swipe them away, focusing on the task at hand.

Namjoon is right and you know it, but you’re kind of irritated about it. You know it’s not really him you’re mad at, but Namjoon is a good enough placeholder while you try to sort through your hurt feelings.

You muster your most monotone voice as you stand. “I updated your drivers and deleted any cached files that might have been causing issues. Is that all?”

“Don’t be mad at me,” he pleads, rising to block your path as you step towards the door. “You have a big heart and I hate seeing it stepped on.”

In a matter of seconds you melt into his embrace and bury your face into his shirt. “I hate how fast I like people.”

“I know.” He pets the back of your head softly and squishes you against his chest. “It’s gonna be okay. How about udon later? My treat?”

“With beef?” you ask with a sniffle.

“With beef,” he agrees.

“Gyoza?”

“Mhm.”

“And takoyaki?”

“...You’re pushing it.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

You slide the appetizer tray across the table towards Namjoon. “Here.”

He shovels a dumping into his mouth right before he speaks. “I could eat this every day for the rest of my life.”

“Could you afford it though?” you tease, taking a sip from the bottle of saké and crinkling your nose at it before passing it to him.

“Not if you’re joining me,” he snorts. “You’re supposed to pour it.”

“No, thanks.” You push the tiny glass full of liquid back towards him.

"Wow. Are you guys on a date?"

You know the source of the voice before you even crane your neck to see Jungkook.

"Pfft." Namjoon waves the question off with a deep laugh.

Despite finding the scenario of ever dating Namjoon absolutely absurd, you can’t help but feel a little insulted by the volume of his laughter. Namjoon’s hangout night was supposed to take your mind off of how unwanted Jason made you feel. Instead, the pit of insecurity within your stomach grows into a thick, tangled brush of hostility. Is being seen with you really so laughable?

“Why would we be?” you snap, turning your attention back to your bowl.

Heat settles in your face and you purse your lips, not daring to look at either of them. You try to wrangle some noodles to shovel in your mouth before you can say something stupid. Their eyes are on you. Jungkook is definitely confused but not alarmed by your hostility. It’s something he’s grown accustomed to. But Namjoon knows when he hurts your feelings, every time, and it’s easy enough to disarm your irritability.

“She’s way too good for a mess like me,” Namjoon says with a light laugh.

“Why are you here?” you ask, tone already softer than before.

"Post-work snackie," he answers, all too cheery for your sour mood. “Came for the noods. Mind if I join?”

He looks to the rosy-cheeked Namjoon for his answer, as you set your hoodie and purse down in the space beside you to give him yours. Namjoon betrays you by scooting over to make room on his side of the booth. You’d mentioned to him before that you’d eventually like to fix things with Jungkook, to somehow make steps for peace. But you only have so much mental energy left to give today.

“Not tonight, Jungkook,” you plead with a sigh.

The frustration in that puff of breath is enough to make Jungkook hesitate. He blinks a few times, wide-eyed. “What?”

“I just… can’t handle your bullshit tonight.”

Jungkook tries to break the uncomfortable tension with a grin. “No bullshit tonight. Promise.”

“No.” Your answer is firm and somehow so fragile that it makes both men worry their brows in the same fashion. “Please, just go away.”

He shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket and takes a few steps back. He doesn’t know what to make of your demeanor, but he can put enough together to know the basics. You’re upset, maybe not at him for once. However unlikely, that’d be a blessing. Maybe you’re still upset about that guy that stood you up a few days ago. If that’s the case, he probably shouldn’t stick around and risk letting on how much he knows about that.

He tongues the side of his cheek and nods, forcing a smile to his face. “Alright. I’ll just order it to go. Planned on that anyway. Catch you later.”

Guilt wracks your nerves as he walks away. The moment you look back at Namjoon, you’re faced with a wall of disappointment that threatens to topple the scale of decision-making in Jungkook’s favor.

“You’re judging me for that,” you mumble. The noodles between your chopsticks slip back into the broth.

“Little bit,” Namjoon admits, watching his friend sulk over to the entrance waitstaff. “You know he told me he’s trying to be nicer to you.”

“What? When?”

“The other day. We hung out.”

He keeps his answers short and ambiguous, hoping your curiosity has been piqued. Maybe this is the golden opportunity he’s been hoping for to patch your friendship.

“Was this before or after he harassed me on Tinder?”

Namjoon’s heart sinks into his butt. Of course Jungkook would make reconciliation harder than it needs to be. “When did he do that?”

“That night I showed up at your apartment like a big crybaby.”

“I went over his place for dinner after you left. Jin wanted to try a new recipe out on us.” That seems to at least make you pause.

“You guys talked about me?”

“Yup.” He goes back to chewing his food, knowing he’s got you hooked.

Your incredulous stare does nothing to pull information past his lips. “Joonie. What did you say about me? What did he say?”

“Mmm?” He slurps up a long noodle. “A lot of things. But they’re not really my words to tell.”

“No one likes clickbait, Joon.”

“Look, all I’m saying is that he told me that he wants to fix things. If you want specifics, maybe we can invite him to come eat with us. It might be easier for the both of you to talk about it over good food.”

You sigh, seriously considering his words even as you shake your head. “Joon, I’m already emotionally compromised. I really don’t want to cry in front of Jungkook tonight.”

“Why would you cry? This is a night for good things only. Namjoon-approved and protected. You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to... I just thought it might be nice to make some good memories with good friends.”

You roll your eyes but hold your pinky out for him. “Fine. But this is Joonie-Y/N time. You’re cutting into that allotted time slot, you know that right?”

Namjoon rests his elbow on the table, preparing to pinky swear to whatever you’re about to suggest. “Conditions?”

“He sits next to you, he doesn’t make fun of me if I cry, and…. he doesn’t get to talk.”

“Y/N.”

“Fiiiiine. He can talk. But he better be as nice as you say he’s trying to be.”

“We allowed to talk about Jason?”

“If it comes up…” you sigh. “You know, if he’s mean to me and I cry then you have to deal with it.”

He clasps his long pinky around yours. “Deal. But with how all that just went down, you gotta go tell him to come back. He won’t believe me if I do it.”

“Don’t let him be mean to me,” you plead, tightening your grip on his pinky and locking eyes with him. “Good vibes only.”

“He won’t be mean. Good vibes only.” Namjoon nods with a soft smile. “He really is a good person where it counts, Y/N.”

You push your things aside and force yourself to find Jungkook. He’s leaning against a wall near the entrance, scrolling through his phone while he waits for his order. You quietly request to your waitress that you’d like his food brought to your table. She’s nice enough about it, but your stomach churns regardless. It’s the anxiety.

You gingerly poke a finger against his shoulder as you approach. “Um. Hey.”

He seems startled at first, but smiles when he realizes it’s you. “Hmm?”

You take a deep quiet inhale, trying your best not to get lost in the butterflies his charming smile conjures in your gut. You try to tell yourself it’s anxiety and nothing more. Apologies are hard and scary. That’s all.

“I’m… sorry for being rude. I’ve had a rough week but I shouldn’t take it out on you. Come eat with us, please. Namjoon’s buying anyway.”

His eyes seem to light up with surprise and a warm smile deepens the creases around his eyes and mouth. The hope that these feelings of attraction would evaporate with time is a flame swiftly snuffed out and replaced with a burning heartache that deems denial useless. Even now, pangs of infatuation lurk below your feelings of disdain, breaking the tension of its surface with each beat of your heart.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you. “I shouldn’t have invited myself when I saw you guys. I should really get home and shower anyway.”

He looks so clean that you’d assumed he’d already showered. It’s not like you can smell him from where you stand. Maybe he’s lying, but at least you get the sense it’s coming from a place of politeness.

“Jungkook, I want you to come eat with us. Besides Namjoon wants someone to drink saké with him and I cannot keep doing it.”

“I see.” He offers a small laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “Are you sure? You seemed pretty against it before. What changed?”

“Namjoon told me you’re trying to be less of an asshole to me.”

“Did he?” he licks his lips and tries to hide his pleased smile. “I’m surprised you believe him.”

“He also promised me I could punch you in the dick if you make me cry,” you lie, completely stone-faced.

If he knows that’s a falsified statement, he doesn’t say anything. He looks past your shoulder to quirk a brow at Namjoon, who appears to be furiously texting at the table. Jungkook’s phone buzzes a few times against his palm and he’s fairly sure he already knows who it is.

“Come on. I already asked them to bring your food to the table.”

He reads Namjoon’s messages as he trails behind you.

NAMJOON: If you seriously want to apologize stick around, make her laugh, just listen when you need to

JUNGKOOK: Don’t worry

JUNGKOOK: I got u

Before Namjoon can send a text saying that Jungkook's response has the opposite effect, you’re peeking across the table, trying to get a glance at the screen.

“Who’s that?” you wonder. Namjoon’s not usually one to be so secretive with his texts.

“Hmm?” he raises his eyebrows at you and pours you a shot. “Stupid. Don’t worry about it.”

“Ha. Haha. Ha.” You gesture at your face. “You say to the girl with anxiety.”

Crinkling your nose at the glass he offers, you slide it across to Jungkook as he settles in next to Namjoon. “Here. I’m done drinking that stuff tonight.”

He regards it with a quirked brow. Something about your demeanor really has changed, but looking between you and Namjoon does nothing to answer the question of what that may be.

“Okay, so on reddit this guy was reaching. He’s going on about the symbolism in the red scarf—”

Your eyes gloss over the moment he mentions reddit. Is there anything you care less about than Joon’s favorite modern literary discussion threads?

“Got it. Not worrying about it,” you interrupt, bringing your bowl to your lips to slurp some of the broth.

Jungkook hides his smirk by throwing his head back to drink his shot. Namjoon is a genius. It might be scary if he ever decided to use his intellect for nefarious purposes. Lucky for the universe he uses it to protect others, like a real superhero would.

As the three of you dine together, you’re surprised to find that Jungkook isn’t being as annoying as he usually is. In fact, it seems the more he drinks outside of any competitive setting, the more affable he becomes. Maybe there’s something to Namjoon’s clickbaity words. He’s almost the person you remember meeting before the Halloween Party, maybe even more pleasant.

You’re grateful when the two of them start telling embarrassing stories so you can listen and laugh at the way they slur their words and interrupt each other. Laughter makes your heart feel light and full, and brave enough to take the last step to prove to yourself you’re done chasing Jason. As the two men fight over the last piece of gyoza and distract themselves over dessert, you quietly decide to clear your text messages from Jason. Your finger hovers over the delete icon for a second before purging his contact information from your device entirely.

It’s freeing to not have to worry about what you should send him. It’s frustrating to have tried so hard for so long and have nothing to show for it, but at least there will be no conversation history to pick apart anymore. It should feel perfect. That will definitely show him, right? You don’t have to reflect for more than a couple seconds to reinforce the memory of how little he actually reached out on his own.

He still has your number. The only time he ever called was on your first date. He never texted you unless you spoke first. He probably won’t even notice you’re gone. He’s probably relieved he won’t have to answer you anymore. He probably thinks you’re desperate for trying for so long. You don’t realize how well you wear your anxiety.

When you look up Jungkook is watching you while he chews with his mouth wide open. “Hey, why do-” He hiccups and swallows. “Why do you look so sad? You should have some ice cream.”

He scans the table for something to offer you, but he can’t seem to find what he’s looking for in his drunken stupor. After a few seconds his eyes finally land on his own plate where the other half of his red-bean cake sits.

“Do you want my taiyaki?” He holds the tail end of the fish-shaped cake out to you. “It’s really good!”

You can’t help but laugh at the unexpected sweet absurdity of the night. “Jungkook, I don’t want your half-eaten cake.”

He frowns and looks at the pastry. “Is it because I bit it? I’ll break off that part for you if you don’t want your mouth to touch that.”

Although Jungkook definitely is more drunk than Namjoon right now, the older man can’t help but be amazed by how well this is going. He loads up on green tea ice cream and digs his spoon in it. He shouldn’t have been so worried. Jungkook can put away the act when he wants to, especially once alcohol is involved and there’s nothing to prove. You guys are actually getting along. What a relief.

“No, really it’s okay.” You laugh.

Jungkook is already breaking the pastry apart in his hand, watching as it crumbles to pieces on his plate. He blinks a couple times and closes his mouth in a frown.

“I thought that would work.” He sounds utterly defeated.

The waitress walks over just in time to watch Namjoon stick a heaping spoonful of wasabi in his mouth. You're too busy laughing at Jungkook's forlorn expression to notice the way Namjoon's eyes water. His eyes drop to the ice cream he thought he shoveled into his mouth. Right next to the pristine, untouched scoop of green tea ice cream, he finds his spoon resting in the hunk of wasabi adjacent to it. He should really pay attention more. He pushes against Jungkook's side and motions that he needs to get up. The younger man spares a glance his way but Namjoon waves him off while mumbling something about the bathroom.

The waitress tries to keep her composure and looks between the pair of you. "How is everything?"

"Great! Could you please bring us some water?" you ask in your sweetest voice, realizing the two men with you should at least try to start sobering up.

You expected to have Namjoon crashing on your couch on a Friday night, or at least be dropping him off down the hall at Hobi’s place. Jungkook was not part of the plan, but you can’t exactly let him drive home inebriated. You know he’s not your responsibility but you’d feel guilty making him call for a ride home when you’re perfectly capable.

Although you hate to admit it, you’ve had fun tonight. If you’re being honest with yourself you’d like to see what he’s like without Namjoon nearby to police his moves. He’s been nice enough, but you want to know for sure this isn’t an act. You want to ask him if he’s made another bet, or playing some game since he hasn’t hit on you all night. Before you can get your line of questions in order, Jungkook turns to the server with large, pleading eyes.

"Oh! Can you bring some more dessert, please?"

He may be a grown ass man capable of charming the pants off of women everywhere, but right now he is little more than a child begging for seconds. Regardless of everything he's done, your heart softens, endeared and embarrassed by his drunken request to your server.

The waitress nods. "Sure, what would you like?"

His eyes fall to you for an answer. "What do you like?"

You blink at him. "Me? I thought this was for you."

He nods. "Mm. We can split it."

"Um, how about... tempura?"

"Banana?"

Jungkook’s voice is full of anticipation and his upturned eyebrows seem to bargain for agreement. It’s so hard to believe this is the same man who has been so cold to you for so long when he seems so open and warm now. You remind yourself it’s probably the alcohol. It’s probably some secret promise to Namjoon. Some bet with Hobi. Some game he’s playing. It’s probably anything other than what your dumb crush-stupefied heart wants it to be.

The waitress looks to you for approval and you give a nod. "Sure. Banana tempura."

The waitress awkwardly smiles as she gathers the empty platters and gives you a chance to break away from his endearingly drunken face. He smiles across the table at you and wrings his hands while you pick up your phone to check on those nonexistent messages. Maybe if you distract yourself enough you can ignore the feelings that are catching up to you tonight.

“Thank you for inviting me back over,” he says, reaching to the nearly empty bottle of saké to pour himself another shot. “I’ve... been wanting to talk to you."

"I’m surprised you didn’t blow up my phone.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but there’s a harshness in your tone that exposes a venomous bite beneath it.

He downs the shot and plants his elbows on the table, leaning forward on them. "I wanted to say it to your face."

“Oh, really?”

You don’t allow yourself to entertain the idea that he’s about to say anything groundbreaking, but you look away from your phone to meet those dark, twinkling eyes. Suddenly there’s hope in your gut. You’re desperate to put some distance between the feelings jumping to the surface.

“I’ve been a dick.”

“No shit.”

Though the fog of alcohol consumes his apology, his eyes focus on you with clarity. “I’m sorry.”

How long have you waited to hear those words? You never really thought about what you might say in response. His apology sits in the air between you for a moment before he speaks again.

“I’m really sorry. Namjoon is right. I am trying to be less of an asshole to you. We don’t…” he catches himself, “I don’t have a lot of close friends who are women.”

“You don’t say.”

That seems to cut through the fog. He hangs his head and focuses his gaze on the table.

“I never wanted to hurt your feelings.”

“Well, you did,” you mumble.

“I know... I’m sorry.” It’s like now that he’s said it once, he can’t stop saying it. He’s not sure how to make you understand. Maybe you do understand and you just won’t forgive him. Can he really blame you for that?

“Why?” you question; it’s the last barrier protecting your heart, the only thing keeping you from caving. “Why do you care now?”

Jungkook’s head lolls to one side as he sits back against his seat and stares at the nearly empty bottle of saké. “I don’t know. I guess I was thinking… I wish I had a save to reload. Before I messed up.”

It seems that’s the best you’re going to get out of him right now. The waitress sets down a beautiful platter of banana tempura meticulously arranged around a simple mound of ice cream, topped with a single cherry and drizzled with decorative chocolate. She places three waters on the table and you both take a moment to politely force smiles and pause your conversation.

He licks his lips and stares down at the plate and then back up at you. “Can we start over?”

“Depends. Are you gonna go back to being a dick when you’re not drunk anymore?”

“No, no. I mean it. I wanna try to be friends.”

“For real?” You swipe the cherry, pop it in your mouth and tilt your head to regard him. You can’t let yourself fully believe him. You want to. The earnestness in his drunken features charms you, but you hold onto a shred of disbelief as a crutch. You’ll wait for the moment he reverts. Hopefully this time you’ll be prepared for the whiplash that comes along with it.

“For real.”

You reflect on his apology as the pair of you dig into the dessert. “Maybe. Prove it.”

He perks up. He’ll take a maybe. Maybe means the damage he’s done might not be irreparable. The guilt weighing on his conscience feels lighter. It’s a start.

“I will. I’ll find some way to make it up to you.”

You roll your eyes, unwilling to put stock in his words. “Is this another bet with Hobi? About how quickly you can make me forgive you?”

Jungkook shakes his head furiously, wisps of wild black hair whipping his cheeks. “No, I mean it. I promise.”

You drag your lip through your teeth as you teeter on the line of acceptance. “What is a promise from a liar worth?”

He drops the flat of his palm to the table and he pouts. “Hey. I mean it…. Hm. If I break my promise…” His eyes scan the table for anything he can use to change your mind. He looks at his arm pressed against the table and then back at you. “You can choose my next tattoo.”

Your eyebrows rise into your hairline. “Really.”

He eagerly nods. “I’ll get whatever you want wherever you want. Just. Not my face.”

“I want that in writing,” you snort.

Jungkook glances around the table and pulls a napkin from under the plate of tempura. “Do you have a pen?”

“Jungkook, you don’t have to—”

“I’m serious.” He’s not taking no for an answer.

You shake your head and rummage through your purse to supply him with a pen. He smooths out the napkin he’s chosen to use as a conduit for his promise. When he’s finished writing he slides it towards you.

Princess

I’m sorry. I can make it right.

I promise. Please give me another chance.

If I blow it you can choose what & where my next tattoo goes.

As long as it’s not my face. Let’s be friends? #promise.com ♡ Jungkook

Of course he signed it with a heart. Despite his inebriation, his handwriting is still neat. Well, that’s one hell of a promise.

“Okay.” You fold the note and drop it into your purse. “We can try.”

His face lights up as he stuffs a piece of tempura into his mouth, happily chomping with his mouth wide open. He reaches for the saké but you slide a water in front of him instead.

“Friends don’t let friends get totally shitfaced at Hajime.”

He frowns at you but seems to accept your answer with a pout.

“Speaking of which… Where is Namjoon?” You crane your neck to look around the restaurant.

“Friday noodle nights common for you guys?” Jungkook asks, digging into the dessert between massive gulps of water.

“No, not really. We’re usually watching movies at my place or hanging with Hobi. But Namjoon wanted to take me out because I was sad,” you say, finally catching sight of your friend on the other side of the bar.

Jungkook’s chewing slows and he regards you with furrowed brows. “Sad?”

Before you can decide how you want to answer, Namjoon is scooting into the booth next to Jungkook and reaching for a piece of tempura. “Mmmm. What did I miss?”

“Y/N was telling me why she’s sad.”

Namjoon nods like he understands exactly what you’ve been talking about. “He’s a dick, right? Like how do you even stand someone up, not once, but twice? Makes no sense.”

“Joonie—”

“And I know what you’re gonna say, but I disagree. It has nothing to do with you or how you look, Y/N. You don’t need to workout like a maniac to try to change anything. Especially not for someone like Jason. I can’t even imagine—”

“Joon.” You click your tongue and slide a glass of water in front of him. “Please, shut the fuck up.”

As you glare at him, he looks at you with raised brows and wide eyes. Unsure what to do now that he’s obviously fubared the conversation, he casts his guilty gaze to his cup and brings it to his lips.

Jungkook stares at you with furrowed brows, trying to wait to let you fill in the blanks even though he’s itching to ask about everything. He picks another piece of tempura and stuffs it into his mouth, but when you remain silent the impulse to pry takes over. “Jason?”

“He stood me up…” you start, but you close your mouth when you realize you’re going to try to defend him. Your throat feels full, like you can’t get enough air through with a giant knot in it like this. You have to whisper so your voice doesn’t crack. “Twice.”

The couple drinking at the table nearby becomes a much more interesting place to rest your eyes than the two men across from you. Tightening your jaw doesn’t prevent the gloss from coating your eyes. Thinking about it makes you feel so stupid and desperate. Bending over backwards a thousand different ways to accommodate him couldn’t convince him to put in even a minimal amount of effort one time.

Jungkook’s eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise. “Twice?”

The hurt you feel in your chest scorches your cheeks until anger is filling your head like a teakettle ready to release an unhealthy amount of steam right in Jungkook’s face.

“That’s what I get for giving people second chances,” you snap as you focus back on him.

Joon says your name like it’s a warning but you don’t need it. You feel guilty enough for projecting your anger onto Jungkook with a petty one-liner.

“Sorry. It’s not your fault. I just…” Your throat closes around the rest of the words.

Before an uncomfortable silence can settle over the table, Namjoon inches the bottle of saké with his fingertips until it’s in front of him. “Dating is tricky. Jason sucks. It sucks that he hurt you. But you don’t have to twist yourself into whatever you think he wants anymore. And that…” He pours the pitiful remainder of alcohol into a shot glass and slides it towards you.“...is worth celebrating.”

Jungkook silently nods his head in agreement. It’s obvious you’re on the verge of tears and he doesn’t want to be the thing that pushes you over the edge.

A soft smile curls the corners of your mouth. “That’s true, but…” you slide the glass back towards him and steal the last of the banana tempura. “I can celebrate back at my apartment. Finish your water so you’ll be awake enough to join me. Both of you.”

Jungkook perks up and happily reaches for his water while Namjoon gives you a proud, yet confused look. It seems like a new start to something. What that is remains to be seen.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook watches intently as the colors of the city shine through the windows. He runs his fingers over the soft blanket you keep in the backseat, mouthing the words to the song softly playing from your dashboard. Namjoon has been talking nonstop from the passenger seat, which is fine with Jungkook since he’s feeling a little tired. The last session of the day was a bit more intense than intended, but the client left happy and covered in sweat. A success. But Jungkook is sore and exhausted. Physically and socially.

A sense of relief floods him at the memory of his conversation with you. Things may actually be okay from here. Who would have thought crashing your noodle night with Namjoon could have yielded such results?

His head bobs to the music as his eyes wander across the scenery outside until he grows bored and they drift to the interior of your car. A graduation tassel swings from your rearview mirror as you turn. He follows the movement of the tassel when it swings towards you and his eyes land on your face, or at least what he can see of it from this angle.

You look focused and calm while conversing with Namjoon but your posture is a bit rigid and your hands remain planted on the steering wheel in complete control. There’s something about this candid snapshot of your persona that puts him at ease. Your voice is a soft contrast to Namjoon’s, but equally enthusiastic.

He tilts his head as he leans back in his seat, pulling the blanket over his lap and twisting the fabric around his palm. Your eyes flicker in the rearview mirror, catching his. He gives a tiny wave and rests his head against the cushion, fighting the temptation to close his eyelids for longer than a second. The more he listens to you laugh, the more he finds himself smiling. It’s goofy.

It’s also kind of cute.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook is surprised when Yoongi answers your knock; he thought he would be asleep. He’s even more surprised when you make yourself at home on his couch and guilt him with a puppy dog pout to make you a drink, and he complies. When Jungkook asks the same, Yoongi tells him there’s beer in the fridge while measuring out the ingredients for your cocktail. The suspicious sour ache of jealousy stabs his gut as he moseys to the fridge but he quickly shakes it off, settling on the floor in front of the tv with a beer in hand.

After a couple hours of drinking, laughing, and playing Jackbox games with the three men, you’re feeling much better about everything. Life is good. Friends are good. Alcohol is very good.

It doesn’t take much to get you drunk. You’re about as much of a lightweight as Hobi and for better or worse everyone has come to know that fact. What’s nice about drinking in Yoongi’s apartment is that you don’t have to walk very far to get home. Things don’t get awkward with the three of them together; it’s actually kind of nice, like a mini Saturday night pregame.

Soon Namjoon and Yoongi are snoring on the couch with a movie playing in the background while you stand in the kitchen with Jungkook. He pours another drink for himself, though he knows it will mostly likely remain unfinished. Tomorrow may bring a massive hangover, but tonight has been surprisingly pleasant. He feels like he’s finally on okay footing with you, maybe even on the road to serious repair. Amazing how well you get along when inhibitions are replaced by inebriation. If that’s what it takes, he’s determined to keep it up.

As he turns his back to place the liquor bottle in the cabinet by the fridge, you swipe a sip of the drink he’s concocted. He spins around in time to see you wrinkle your nose and stick your tongue out.

“Hey, that’s mine!” he pouts.

“Blegh. You can have it. Yuck!” Your face screws up again at the aftertaste.

He drunkenly giggles as he slides the drink closer to him. “What, don’t like sour?”

“Too sour!” You reach for the water bottle Yoongi gave you hours ago and attempt to rinse the puckering sensation from your mouth.

Amused, he tilts his head and watches you take gulp after gulp. He purses his lips and holds back the comment itching to escape, deciding to enjoy a sip of his drink instead. You shimmy out of your hoodie and tie it around your waist and his eyes lazily follow the motion of your arms, noting a slight difference in their musculature. Some errant thought about their shape leads him back to an earlier unaddressed comment that he’s finally comfortable enough to prod you about.

“What kind of workouts are you doing?” he blurts.

Suddenly you feel very exposed. You straighten in your seat and suck in your gut, hyper aware of every imperfection of your body on display to someone so in shape. You immediately begin to fidget with the sleeves of the hoodie you just tied around your waist.

“You don’t have to tell me. I just—” he pauses, exhaling a small breath and looking down at his drink as though he’s wary of continuing the thought.

“No, no it’s fine,” you assure him, too curious to say otherwise. “What is it?”

“When Namjoon said…” he sighs and takes a sip, smacking his lips and licking them before looking back to you. “I thought maybe I can prove myself to you by helping you come up with a plan.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You plant an elbow on the counter and lean on it.

“I want to,” he insists, reaching out for your arm.

His hand is like fire engulfing your skin and your eyelids flutter at the sensation. Instinctively you place a hand over his and rub your thumb anxiously over it. He looks down to where your thumb grazes his knuckles and then back up to your face with a surprised smile.

“Um… Everything,” you say, trying to sound as vague and nonchalant as possible so he doesn’t judge you for your lack of knowledge.

“Like, full body?”

“Uh...” You’ve managed to make a habit of going to his gym a few days a week while successfully avoiding him, but it seems that time is coming to an end. “I… machine.”

“Oh. Like at a gym? Did you join one?” He seems genuinely curious.

“Um, yeah.” Suddenly you pull your hand back when you realize the speed at which your thumb is moving.

“Which one?”

The more you say, the more suspicious you seem, but is saying less any better? Jungkook rests his elbow on the counter and simply looks at you but you don’t look back. A slow smile spreads his lips as the possibility dawns on him.

“Princess… Did you join Iron Kingdom?”

You puff your cheeks and force the air through the tiny opening of your mouth. You don’t offer any sort of confirmation and continue to avoid his gaze.

“And you didn’t tell me?” he playfully prods, drumming his fingers against your forearm.

“I… Yeah,” you admit, your voice small as you stare at the counter. “I didn’t want you to know.

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because?”

“I don’t want to give you another thing to make fun of me for.”

“I’m not gonna make fun of you.” When you don’t respond he tugs on your arm. The motion is enough to angle you towards him. “Hey. Hey. Hey. Hey.”

“What?” you grumble, staring at your lap even as you face him.

He takes your hands in his and drunkenly waves them around. “Heeeeeeeey. Look at me.”

He pouts until you reluctantly drag your eyes to meet his. “What?”

“Everyone starts somewhere,” he says softly. “Even me.”

The shift in his demeanor catches you off guard and you subconsciously lean forward as you relax. “Well I started with Hwasa, but I was too sore to ask for another session with her.”

He nods sympathetically, clapping his hand over yours. “You should try again.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know. I feel like…”

“Like?” he prods when you let the silence trail for a bit too long.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you sigh. “I feel like I don’t belong there. I look so stupid reading the instructions on the machines. I don’t even think I’m doing it right.”

“What?” He makes a sound between a laugh and a grunt. “There’s nothing wrong with making sure you don’t hurt yourself. Nobody knows how to instantly do things. If they tell you they do, they’re lying.”

“Or they’re Namjoon,” you say with a roll of your eyes, glancing over at your snoring friend.

He smiles and clicks his tongue against his teeth in thought. “I didn’t know what I was doing when I started.”

“Really.”

You’re skeptical. It’s always seemed like he was born in a gym. Or maybe hatched. He’s kind of inhumanly gorgeous. Maybe he sprouted from a flower like a mythical god.

“For real. First time doing squats. I think it was gym class? Yeah, I was like twelve or thirteen. I was… not very athletic. Didn’t play sports or anything. Kind of shy. Didn’t really have a lot of friends either…”

The way he trails off makes your heart hurt. Puberty isn’t nice to most people. It’s hard to imagine a world where someone like Jungkook isn’t instantly popular and naturally fit. While you’re not exactly the same person you were at twelve, a lot of your interests and personality quirks have remained the same. You’re still painfully awkward at times. How did he manage to overcome something like that? Is it not ingrained in him like it is you?

“Just a big dork, you know?” He laughs. “I see this girl I had a crush on, Amber. She’s looking at me. I think I have to impress her. So I’m stacking up weight and I think I’m hot shit and go too fast. Know what happened?”

“Please don’t tell me you dropped it on your foot or something,” you plead, squeezing his palms at the way he’s building up the story. The secondhand embarrassment is too real.

“I hear a pop.”

“No!” you gasp, bringing your hands to your face as if you can stop the past from happening.

“And pain. So much pain. I don’t remember putting the weights down but I remember ending up on my back, staring up at the ceiling.”

“Oh no. Knees?”

“Worse.” He points down to his crotch. “Pulled a muscle in my groin. Had to sit the rest of the day with an ice pack on my junk. Was not fun. My point is: don’t give up. You learn more as you go. Give Hwasa another shot.”

His anecdote gives you pause but you’re desperate to cling to the comfort of your anxiety. “My free trial with her is almost up and I don’t think I’ll be able to afford to keep at it.”

“More excuses,” he teases, taking a sip of his drink. “At this point I should just—” His eyes widen, a lightbulb practically forming above his head as he puts his cup down. “I’ll be your personal trainer!”

“Uhh…”

“No, no. It’s perfect. We’re friends now.” He smiles, proud of himself for finding a way to prove himself to you. “I can teach you everything you need to know about working out. I can set up a plan for you and figure out the best way to help you achieve your goals. Oh, man we’re gonna have to figure out your goals. What do you—”

“Hold on. Hold on,” you interrupt with a nervous laugh. “You’re missing the part where I still can’t afford it.”

He rolls his eyes and grabs your glass, holding it under the sink to refill it. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll cover it.”

You’re stunned into silence as you observe the expanse of his back, searching the black fabric of his t-shirt for the definition of his muscles. He sets the cup in front of you, waiting for your agreement. When it doesn’t come, he second guesses himself. Did he overstep?

“I mean if you’re okay with that. Would-would you want to do that?”

The innocent drunken sparkle in his eyes makes your stomach do a flip. When you woke up this morning you hardly thought the day would include getting sloshed with Jungkook and having him offer to take you on as a fitness trainee. It’s like he’s opened himself up just enough for you to see the soft mess beneath. You like it. You like it a lot and you kind of hate yourself for it. While you don’t know if you can trust him past the evening, you find yourself hoping you can.

“You won’t make fun of me?” you ask timidly before bringing the cup of water to your lips.

“It’s my job not to make fun of you. We start where you’re at and go from there. And like I said, I’ll cover the fees for as long as you want. No pressure.” He smiles at you. “What do you think?”

“...Okay,” you murmur with a nod of your head. “If you’re serious, then I’m… I’m in!”

His lips part to expose his teeth as his grin spreads. “Yes!”

As he brings his hand up in a sign of victory, his knuckles knock against his glass. You reach for the cup with impaired reflexes, hands fumbling over the slippery surface in conjunction with his. The sour contents spill across the counter as the pair of you struggle to right the glass. While he’s quicker at getting the glass upright, your brain is faster at processing what to do next and you already have a paper towel in hand, wiping up the liquid as fast as possible.

Your eyes follow the spill to the edge of the counter where it’s flooded over the side. Acting on instinct rather than rational thought, you quickly press down where the liquid has begun to pool in his lap. As you fold the paper towel over, you rub frantically as if the action will keep the stain from setting into the fabric. He shifts in his seat and squeaks out a sound so small that you can’t actually tell whether it came from him or the chair.

It only dawns on you how inappropriate your actions are when you glance towards his face and find his wide eyes gazing back at you. His cheeks, already flushed from inebriation, seem twice as vivid and his mouth is parted slightly as though he means to speak, but he doesn’t. Maybe he doesn’t want to embarrass you, but it’s too late for that.

Your palm stills against his crotch as the shape beneath becomes clear in your mind. For a second you’re frozen, but your lips work quickly to mumble an apology. It feels like an eternity before you will your drunken fingers to release the paper towel. The clearing of Jungkook’s throat is followed by a tiny giggle, then a full on snort. A grin spreads across your lips and you soon follow him into a fit of laughter. You thank the universe for the small mercy of being drunk enough to push your embarrassment to the side for the time being.

“I wasn’t thinking!” you wheeze, tears in your eyes from laughing so hard. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’ll dry.” He laughs, dabbing his pants and shirt in the absence of your hand. As he stands he pulls the hem of his shirt away from his torso and looks down at it. “Really. It’s my fault I’m so…”

“Sticky?” You quirk an eyebrow at him, a blatant flirtatious action thinly disguised as a joke as you eye the blot of liquor staining the lower half of his shirt.

Both of his eyebrows raise and a mischievous smile curls the corner of his lips. “...Wet.”

You consider his answer with a pleased hum and turn back to the counter to polish off the last of your water. You’re friends now, right? It can’t be that easy. But it kind of is. So what’s wrong with a little harmless flirting between friends?

Drunk brain, who happens to be a notorious hoe, assures you it’s great. Rational brain might disagree, but she’s taking a well-deserved nap. You’ve at least had a good night. You’re not sure it matters at this point who is giving you the attention you crave. It feels good. So good, in fact, you’re sure you can indulge drunk brain a little more.

You’re drawn to the inky shapes swirling around Jungkook’s bicep as he wipes the counter down. Every time your eyes begin to focus on an object marking his skin with some kind of meaning, he moves and you lose it. It’s brush strokes, isn’t it? You’ve definitely seen a paintbrush and mountains and a knife surrounded by roses. A swathe of grey and purple connects to each one you’ve seen, but you know there are more.

Before you can blurt that you’re dying to know how many he has and how bad it hurt to get them, he turns toward the sink and begins to work his t-shirt up his torso. You watch in awe as the toned muscles of his back are exposed. The image of the bright phoenix does little to hide their definition.

Trying to will yourself to look away is of no use; he’s hot and you’re drunk enough to acknowledge that fact. Of course he peeks at you just as the shirt slips over his head to find you open-mouthed and dazed, ogling him as though there isn’t any shame in the world that could pull your gaze from him. He turns to the fridge to give you a moment to compose yourself, nabbing a water bottle from the shelf in the process. You’re clearly not ready for the way he quickly spins on the balls of his feet to face you.

Y/N.exe has stopped working.

Your fingers hang in the air suspiciously until you lazily drop them. But Jungkook dons a toothy grin and has the audacity to look shy. He mockingly shields his chest from you with the shirt clutched in his hands.

“Princess! Are you… checking me out?”

Somehow you don’t let the fire in your face turn your brain to ash.“Pfft, no.”

“What’re you doing, then?” he teases with a laugh as he sits, scooting his chair closer to yours.

“Counting,” you reply simply, brow furrowed in concentration. To drive the point home, you poke at his flesh everywhere you can make out an object drawn into its surface.

“How many?” he wonders, watching with cloudy, amused eyes.

“Mmm…” You trail your finger down his arm and back up, following the curve of the brushstroke around his shoulder. “Can’t tell if this counts as one.”

He shrugs and rests his head on his palm as he leans against the counter. “What do you think?”

You hesitate when he quickly quirks a brow.

“I think… A lot.”

“Definitely accurate,” he says with a grin.

Awkward laughter steers the pair of you towards your waters. The TV in the background provides enough noise to steal your focus; you’re grateful for the distraction from the attractive man beside you. Drunk brain is telling you to touch him again, to grab his hand, to feel the touch of someone just for the night, to ruin every good thing this night has started to rebuild between you. Anything to stave off the emptiness of your bed, the 2AM thoughts of failure, and the drunken desperation to find someone, anyone, who will fall in love with whatever image you happen to project on your dating profile.

Heart pounding wildly in your chest and blood rushing through your ears, your fingertips tap against the countertop as they inch closer to where his arm rests. Luckily your futile attempts at nonchalance go unnoticed. Jungkook anxiously turns his water bottle over in his hands, trying to gather words in his brain before freeing them from his mouth.

“So…” he begins.

You jump at the sudden sound and retract your hand while he’s not paying you any mind.

“I was thinking. About that guy…”

You wish you could at least pretend you don’t know who he’s talking about. You’ve vented plenty tonight, but still your heart sinks. Deleting Jason’s digital footprint from your life was simple and quick, but the feelings of rejection and disappointment that swirl in the back of your mind spill forward the longer his pause continues.

“I know this probably means nothing coming from me. But I just— I know you liked him, but you can do better.“

Your posture stiffens at his reassurance and you find yourself grateful he’s not looking at you. Do you deserve better?

“You deserve better,” he affirms, as if somehow aware of your internal struggle.

“Thanks,” you murmur with a distinct lack of enthusiasm as you stare down your glass.

It's cry hours, isn’t it?

Realizing you don’t believe him, he takes a deep breath and nudges you with his elbow. “Hey.”

“What.” You refuse to look up because you know you’re on the verge of an irrational stream of tears over some guy you hardly knew. It’s stupid and you know it. But the wet warmth coating your eyes tells you it’s coming regardless.

“I’m... sorry that you don’t feel like you do. Some people can’t get over the weight of their own shit. But that doesn’t mean it’s on you to pick it up for them. If they can’t even bother to carry themselves to meet you halfway, then they’re not worth the effort.”

It’s a perfect time for your heart to seize up and it takes the opportunity to do so. The advice he offers doesn’t stave off the tears, but it resonates deep within you. Namjoon said something similar. It makes you ache to hear it again from someone else. It just leads you back to the same questions you keep asking yourself. What’s so wrong with you that people don’t even want to try? Is it your personality? Physicality? Is it a lack of confidence? What is it?

‘I can’t even get a shitty guy to like me. Maybe I’m the one not worth the effort.’ You don’t dare say those words out loud. Pity isn’t something you’re looking for. A warm body to fill your bed maybe, but not pity.

“Sounds easy when you say it like that,” you murmur, trying in vain to will the tears not to fall. You’re quick to swipe at them and force a smile. “I guess I have trouble giving up on people. It’s not that I’m naive. I try to be realistic. But no matter how many times I get fucked over I just... hope for the best in people. I can’t help it.”

He pats your arm reassuringly. “That’s why you deserve better.”

If only it was as simple as hearing those words and magically being able to believe it. A big chunk of your confidence has crumbled away and there’s no clear path to restoration. As the warmth of his palm comes to rest against your arm, you place your hand over his and squeeze.

“I don’t know if I believe it,” you pause and thoughtfully add, “but thanks for saying it.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise and he offers a tiny, “You’re welcome.”

A shaky chuckle passes your lips. All of his features seem to soften the more you look at them. Maybe it’s the drunken gloss coating his big brown eyes or the way his lips slightly part as he looks back at you. The tightly coiled nerves in your belly urge you to unravel.

Although it's a subtle gesture, he licks his lips as he smiles and it practically seals your fate. If you don't leave now you're bound to do something you'll regret.

"It's late. I should sleep."

Or masturbate.

The speed at which you launch yourself from the seat is unpleasant. You're not sure what's worse: the dizzying vertigo or waves nausea sloshing in your gut. Jungkook's reflexes may be delayed but he's a steady mass of muscle the moment you reach out to steady yourself.

"Whoa. You okay?"

"Maybe," you mumble, finding yourself drawn to the heat radiating from his skin. Instead of walking away, slump down to rest your cheek against his shoulder and sling an arm around him. You might be drunker than you thought. "I don't know."

"Hmm. What do you need, princess?"

"Just wanna stop spinning."

His stance shifts to better accommodate the additional weight you press against him.

"How about you take over Yoongi's bed tonight," he suggests softly. "He's passed out anyway."

"No, I should go home." You peel your cheek from the warmth of his skin.

“You gonna make it there?”

“Yes,” you say indignantly. The world may be a bit wobbly right now, but you’re certain you can handle the short stroll down the hall.

"Okay.” He smiles, loosening his hold. As you step back your foot catches on the leg of the chair and it drags loudly against the floor.

Despite Jungkook’s attempt to keep you standing by grabbing at your arms, he loses his balance and he drops to his knees. The chair clatters to the floor before your ass does. Luckily his grip keeps your back and head far from impact, but you’re too cramped to be comfortable.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Those big, dark doe eyes of his are frozen in fear and a frown adorns his face. He looks so serious it’s ridiculous.

You can’t help but laugh, wiggling backwards to make space between his body and the heat steadily building between your legs. “I’m fine. Stop making that face.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” He sits back on his feet and tilts his head to the side in confusion.

He breaks into a fit of giggles when you dramatically mimic his expression. You roll back onto your elbows, making another ridiculous face to further mock him.

“No, no. It’s more like…” Jungkook takes the opportunity to lean over you, reaching with one hand to squeeze your cheeks to pucker your lips. You blow a disjointed raspberry at him before pulling his hand off to the side.

While the clamor of the fallen chair did nothing to rouse the men on the couch, the sound of Jungkook’s hearty laughter is loud enough to disturb the rhythmic snores of Namjoon.

Jungkook sits back on his heels and peeks over the countertop. He seems miles away, even as you sit up and scoot in to bring yourself closer. Laughter fades into a quiet hum as Namjoon’s snoring resumes.

You're lost in the abyss of his gaze as he turns his head to look back at you. All that remains in your brain at this point is a foggy desire to tug on the silky spirals of his ebony hair until he presses himself against you one more time.

Your hand settles for following the curves of his bicep instead, wondering how it might feel to be wrapped within his embrace. Some might say liquor makes you bold and stupid, and they're right. They should say it. But it also makes you feel invincible, like a goddamn glowing Mario star power-up.

"Princess?"

Enraptured, his eyes follow the motion of your hand as it slithers around his arm and squeezes. Unable to ignore the prompt, he answers with a flex against your palm. His ego swells when you shiver and noticeably hold your breath.

You know it's a mistake. You know it goes against all of your sober judgement, but you find yourself doing it anyway. It doesn't matter that you still harbor a grudge that holds your heart hostage. Drunk hoe vibes are taking the wheel. You’re tired, drunk as hell, and just want to feel wanted. And he's here.

Every fiber of your inebriated being is singing in unison: Why the fuck not?

Heartbeat pounding against your eardrums, you attempt to gauge his reaction as you lean towards him. It's hard to tell from beneath half-lidded eyes, but you think he's leaning towards you too. If he isn't you suppose you can always play it off like you're just a mess. It's not far from the truth. Focusing on the tiny freckle below his lip, you allow yourself to finally close your eyes and go for it.

But the universe isn’t here for your dumb boozy bitch mistakes.

The front door swings open with the sound of jingling keys dropping to the floor. It snaps you back to reality and you freeze, realizing there's no defense that will save you. Jungkook is quick to disengage, poking his head above the counter to acknowledge Hoseok’s presence with a wave. But his friend is completely enamored with the company he’s ushering towards his bedroom.

“Yeah, baby? How bad?” Hoseok whispers to the giggling girl wrapped around his arm.

He pins the stranger against the door to drag his tongue across her neck. Their bodies move rhythmically in a slow grind, a precursor for what’s likely to come. Jungkook purses his lips. How long until one of them notices him watching? It’s not until the girl moans Hoseok’s name softly that Jungkook spares a panicked look towards you.

Oh shit.

You gesture for him to get down before he draws their attention. The last thing you want to explain is why you’re on your knees in Hoseok’s kitchen with a very shirtless Jungkook standing close by. He obliges your silent request, squatting down beside you.

“Feel how hard you made me?” Hobi chuckles quietly.

The girl giggles, her voice growing closer. “You gonna fuck me right here or what?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Naughty girl. What if my roommate wakes up? Looks like he has a friend over too. You really want them to see what a dirty slut you are?”

You can hear her giggle as he directs her where to go, failing to keep his voice down so you hear every filthy thing he says after. Your hands fly to cover your mouth. Is your skin made of lava? You want to blame it on the close proximity to Jungkook, but the only thing you can imagine is Hoseok’s dick and the eager mystery woman about to be impaled by it. Can you scrub your brain of this memory? How are you supposed to look at him after this?

Jungkook watches your face carefully, trying his hardest not to laugh. Your eyes look so big he’s pretty sure they could roll out of your skull any second. Are you really so innocent? The way you cover your mouth says you are, but maybe it’s just the shock. Maybe you’re just trying to not laugh. Or scream. Or breathe? It kind of looks like you might pass out.

Are you gonna make it, princess? he wonders.

Once you hear Hoseok's bedroom door close, you fuss your hands over your hair and scramble to your feet, releasing a big exhale. The hushed words fall from your lips while you scurry away like a timid mouse. "I should go."

Despite being too far to make contact, he reaches out as you round the counter. "Wait—"

As soon as the word leaves his mouth he struggles to come up with the rest of his statement. There’s no reason to keep you here, except to maybe laugh a little about what just happened to smooth over any second-hand embarrassment. So why doesn’t he want you to go?

He swallows down the blank space caught in his throat and searches every last crevice of his brain for something of import to say. Guilt weighs his gut down, though there isn’t a clear cause. He’s probably screwed something up again without realizing it.

“Thanks for giving me another shot,” he says softly.

You breathe a sigh of relief and offer a tiny smile as you half turn, your hand already on the door handle. “Don’t blow it.”

He nods with a smile. “I won’t. Goodnight.”

“‘Night,” you mumble.

As soon as the door is closed you practically sprint down the hall to lock yourself within your apartment. Maybe it will also lock out all the mistakes your brain has made tonight.

The world feels colder now that you’re not pressed against the human-shaped heater that is Jeon Jungkook. Thinking about him makes your heart swell and ache at the same time. Regardless of how badly you wish you'd asked him to bed, you know loneliness is fleeting and guilt would be a far worse feeling to be saddled with.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Jungkook picks up the fallen chair, finding your soft, worn hoodie draped over it. Rubbing a thumb over the material, he considers running it back to you, but he can't remember which door is yours. It's not like he's been here often enough to know. Instead he slips his arms through the sleeves before flipping the hood over his head.

He settles on the floor in the space he previously claimed for the night, pulling a blanket out from under Yoongi's ass. Yoongi rolls his head up, a scowl on his features though his eyes remain closed. He grumbles but lies down, facing the couch.

Jungkook regards his friend for a moment before deciding to drape the blanket over him instead of claiming it for himself. Jungkook rolls onto his side and fluffs the throw pillow under his head. As he watches the credits roll on the TV, he nuzzles into your sweater.

He closes his eyes, thinking of you. He knows he shouldn't linger on the little occurrences of the night, especially with how foggy his brain is. He can't trust anything about his memory.

Still he thinks of the way your fingers trailed along his arm and curled tightly around his bicep. He lets himself dwell on the tiny sound you made, the involuntary tremble of your body, and the subsequent hitch in your breath.

He smiles and inhales the subtle scent you've left behind. A new spark of adrenaline fans flames that inflate his ego, spreading warmth from his stomach up into his chest. The world may wobble around him right now, but the little magical warmth within his gut helps him comfortably drift off to dreamland like he's the world's most immovable object.

[a-stone-in-flight]

jsdak'lfjsdaklfjsad;l @orangeswithsquirrelfaces how does it feel to be the funniest and most imaginative person on tumblr (assuming you're a person and not a collection of squirrelified fruits). i wasn't expecting any response to my rambling lamp monologue, especially not one this frickin incredible, thank you so much!! i literally cannot stop giggling. all of these lamp ideas definitely count as fucked up, evil, and very very malevolent in the best way.

here's my response to your response to my response to your response to my post:

salty coffee (or even worse, salty tea? salty hot cocoa? salty lemonade? saltwater?) is just the perfect level of malicious lamp subterfuge. even better if it happens when there are guests over 😭

a party where the lamp grew fouRTEEN CHICKEN LEGS and ran around covered in baked beans would be, hands down, the best party of my life.

oh my god imagine getting that shipment. like u come home from work one day and there is a HUGE pile of lampshades! thats the funniest way to max out a credit card sakdf;jlksak

and holy heck that short horror story is WONDERFUL (definitely not abhorrent!!). I'd read 100 more pages of The Epic Saga of Bethany and the Fucked Up Evil Lamp. your talent at improvisation is mindblowing and your writing is so engaging and eloquent!!

the romance between an evil lamp and a character would sure be something. whether it's a one sided fixation on a fixture or a shared love across an unbridgeable gap or something else, that's definitely a play I'd pay to see.

and wow now that I think about it, a lamp is pretty hard to define. a computer or a lightsaber probably wouldn't make the cut (and I do NOT want to see evil versions of those objects). but we definitely can't leave any awesome short lamps out :)

I think a dubstep strobing lamp could range from pleasant to debilitating depending on the target and I feel like migraine inducing is a whole other level of evil but a lamp that just decides "time to party" randomly would be a barrel of laughs. and oh I didn't even THINK about morse code that'd be so funny and frustrating 😭

thank u so much for your kind words abt my owl house rambling! i definitely agree that the light symbolism in that show is worth adoration.

i love the way you put it — light, like so many things, in shows and books and real life, rly is a double edged sword. you make such a good point about the fear of the unknown and how the desire for the perceived safety and comfort of light can hold us back.

I was not expecting a funny pondering on malevolent lamps to turn into an insightful analysis of the psyche of CEOs and their parallels to the collector but oh my god this is the most wonderfully wise surprise that I've had in ages. I completely agree with what you're saying. and if only more ppl with power dared to step into the dark unknown and take the risk and learn, maybe our world would be a little better. maybe that's what fantasy and sci fi are for — to hold up a funhouse mirror to our flaws, to show us the double-edged sword while making us laugh, to invite us to consider our own nature, the complex morality of existence, and, above all, evil lamps.

...this was VERY unexpectedly existential and I am so glad you decided to post that quesadilla lamp rant :) on the off chance u read through all my rambling, thank YOU so much for taking the time to share this existential and hilarious magnificence with the world!

I'm very curious what u cut from the original quesadilla lamp rant and if u have any other lamp-related or generally chaotic musings, i'd be delighted to hear them ;)

characters of all time

[helnjk]

Stitching Together - G.W.

George Weasley x fem!reader 

Requested: yes !! by my lovely bean marissa @lumos-barnes

please accept my humble request for a george x reader where the reader owns a shop in diagon alley and one day they walk into WWW and george knocks over a whole display, he is a complete SIMP & cannot compose himself. complete buffoonery when the reader is near. they become friends & do all these nice things for each other and the reader is oblivious like "george, i'm so lucky to be your friend" (even though the reader is secretly simping) and he's like "um what, i'm literally in love with you"

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: mentions of meals and drinks (coffee), but other than that it’s just pure fluff & Dumb Idiots In Love

A/N: somehow i always end up writing george knitting? idk how it happened, but it happened. i hope you like it marissa 🥺💕

–

You took a step back to admire your handiwork. 

After what seemed like neverending hours, the layout of your shop was finally perfect. From where you stood, you had a view of the streets of Diagon Alley, several passersby coming and goings from your sight. The display of charmed knit work by the window was already moving, demonstrating simple stitches that formed into a scarf. 

It had always been your dream to open up your own shop in the most prominent wizarding area of Britain, with your passion for knitting and crafting, but the timing had always been off. Now, about a year or so since the war had ended, your grandmother surprised you with the capital to make your dreams come true. 

The gesture was extra special because she was the one who first taught you how to knit. Many summers were spent in her cottage, sitting side by side and working on personal projects together. 

Outside, your sign read ‘Stitching Together: Grand Opening’. There were a few flyers posted right on the door and on the window advertising the different classes and crafting groups you were offering, as well as the different products that could be found in your store. 

It was as if your heart could burst at the sight of your fully furnished shop and you could wait no longer. With a flick of your wand, the sign on the door flipped to say open and that was that. 

–

“Hey Freddie, have you seen that new shop that’s opened down the street?” George yelled from the bottom of the stairs once the last customer of the day made their leave. 

“Haven’t gone in, but it’s gotten a lot of customers from what I can tell!” the disembodied voice of his twin replied from somewhere above. 

As he began the process of cleaning up and reshelving, products floating in midair or zooming towards their proper shelves, he called out once more, “What type of store is it d’you reckon?” 

“Arts and crafts? Something like that.” 

George’s eyes drifted towards the shop window, where he could just barely see the outline of the new store. Dusk had begun to set in London, so the sky was filled with brilliant hues of purple and orange. His curiosity getting the better of him, he decided that he would go welcome the new shop owner to Diagon Alley. 

With a shout to let his twin know where he was off to, George strode out of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and into the brisk weather. Luckily for him, Stitching Together was still open. He could see you bustling around inside, fixing displays and swishing your wand to tidy everything up.

It had only been around a month since your shop had opened, but the local wizard folk of London seemed to be very keen on buying the different things you sold. Many came around to purchase the instructional books and the different kinds of wool and yarn, and some of your regulars had even taken an interest in the classes you held weekly. It was a great way for you to get to know the community and to establish friendships. 

You had always taken note of the joke shop a few shops down from you, but with the hustle and bustle of just opening, you hadn’t had a chance to visit or introduce yourself to the owners. It was just your luck that one half of them pushed open the door to your shop, the little bell at the top of it ringing to indicate his presence. 

“Oh, hello!” you smiled, turning to face the redheaded man, “Welcome to Stitching Together, what could I help you with?” 

Unbeknownst to George, your heart began to beat rapidly in your chest. How could a man be so positively handsome you didn’t know, but at the sight of him standing by the door, all you could think about was how gorgeous he was. And he hadn’t even uttered a single word yet! 

The charming smile he sent your way did not help the heat you could feel creeping up your neck. “Just popping by to say hello and welcome to Diagon Alley! My twin and I run Wheezes just down the street,” he said. 

Your smile grew as he stuck his hand out for you to shake, “Oh I was just thinking about how I’ve been wanting to pay your shop a visit! I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“George Weasley at your service,” his hand was firm and warm as he shook yours, eyes sparkling with something you couldn’t quite name. “Nice to meet you!” 

“So tell me about your shop!” 

Somehow, after that evening, George Weasley snuck his way into becoming a part of your daily routine.

Every morning he would show up with two cups of coffee in hand right before your shop was set to open. After realizing that you depended on caffeine to function throughout your day, he made it a point to bring you one everyday. As you sipped on your coffees, the two of you would spend a few minutes chatting about your plans for the day before going to work. 

Whenever you would offer to pay for your own cup or even try to insinuate that you could get your own coffee in the morning, just so that he wouldn’t have to go through the trouble, he would stop you in your tracks.

“But George–”

“Nope!” he would say in a voice louder than yours. “I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart. I really feel for your customers who have to deal with a Y/N that hasn’t had her coffee fix. Could you imagine the grumpiness? Not on my watch!” 

You would roll your eyes, but secretly it warmed your heart how sweet this boy could be. He was slowly inching his way into your life and becoming a great friend. 

–

“So,” said Fred one day as George had gotten back from delivering your daily coffee, “The bird from the knitting shop, huh?” 

His twin only rolled his eyes in response, used to the teasing that came with being brothers (and twins) with Fred Weasley. Instead of engaging, George went instead to do the routine last check over their store before they officially opened their doors. Still, Fred couldn’t resist the temptation to continue provoking him. 

“Oi! C’mon, you bring her coffee everyday even if you don’t like the stuff. If I don’t remind you that you have a store to run, you would spend the whole day staring out the window just to catch a glimpse of the girl! Tell me you’re not whipped for her,” he teased, following George through the shop.

From their position at the till and on the second floor, both Verity and Lee tried to hide their smirks. This was too good a story to not eavesdrop on. 

“Come off it, Fred.” George rolled his eyes. “I’m just being a good friend, that’s all!” 

“Yeah but you wouldn’t mind being more than friends.” 

The cheeky wink Fred sent George was not appreciated, as the prior soon found out, having to duck away from a stinging hex. Still, Fred’s laugh rang through the semi-empty store as he ran away from his brother. 

Later in the day, as the lunch crowd tapered off, the four of them were left to mull around a bit. Lee and Verity were off taking stock in the back room, Fred was doing some accounting (because his twin couldn’t be trusted with any sort of math), and George was reshelving some Skiving Snackboxes. 

The bell above the door to the shop rang, but he couldn’t quite tell who came in from his position towards the back of the shop. 

“Welcome to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes!” he yelled, rushing to get all the boxes in order before he could help the new customer, “I’ll be with you in just a second!” 

Just as he admired his handiwork, eyes scanning the display to make sure nothing was out of place, a familiar voice called from behind him, “It’s alright, take your time. I’m not looking for anything in particular.” 

George almost jumped out of his skin as he heard your voice. He was so surprised that as he turned to meet you, his elbow caught on the edge of one of the Snackboxes and the whole thing toppled over. 

You watched as the tower of boxes crumbled around him, and your hand automatically covered your mouth as you tried to contain your laughter. It didn’t work, though, and soon the whole store could hear your guffaws. 

Thankfully, George was a wizard, and what would’ve taken a muggle quite some time to fix, only took a quick flick of his wand. 

“Oops,” you smiled at him bashfully as he finished, “Didn’t mean to startle you, Weasley.”

“Erm, it-it’s alright,” he blushed, “I just didn’t expect you to come ‘round today.” 

In truth, the reason why George was so flustered at your appearance at his shop was because he had just spent most of the afternoon thinking about you. He often did that, getting lost in his thoughts about the many little things that made you, well, you. The deep breath you took before that first sip of coffee in the morning, revelling in the aroma. How your face lit up when you spoke about the different people you met in your classes. Your hands and how skillfully they worked whatever project you were creating at the moment. 

He wouldn’t admit it to Fred, but what his twin had said earlier in the day was accurate. He was absolutely smitten over you. 

“Well you’ve been a regular over at mine for the last couple of weeks, I’m just returning the favor and visiting my favorite redhead at his place of work!” 

“I-I,” he stuttered, his brain refusing to acknowledge the fact that he was your favorite anything. 

Fred, who had heard the commotion and had gone down to check if everything was okay, nearly face palmed as he watched George fumble through his words. The man was whipped for you, no doubt about it, and as a good twin, he decided to save his brother from further humiliation. 

“I think what my lovely twin here is trying to say, is that you just haven’t met enough redheads to make your decision about your favorite one,” he said, smoothly inserting himself into the conversation. “Fred Weasley, at your service!” 

Your smile immediately brightened at the sight of George’s twin holding out his hand for you to shake, “Nice to meet you! I’m Y/N, George’s told me loads about you!” 

“Has he?” Fred raised his eyebrow, turning to look at George who was still a little dumbstruck at the sight of you in his shop. “Well, that just means it’s my turn to spend some time with such a lovely lady. C’mon, I’ll give you a tour of the shop!”

“Oh I’d love that.” 

With a small glance and wave at George, you took the arm that Fred was holding out for you, and so began his (largely amusing) tour of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. 

“What in Merlin’s name was that!” yelled Fred the moment you left the shop. 

George groaned into his hands, embarrassment creeping back into him. He had acted a fool, unable to even mutter a single sentence to you the whole time you were around. 

“Mate, I have never seen you so flustered around a girl,” his twin muttered, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Just tell her you’ve got feelings for her! Ask her on a date, do something! From what I could tell, you’re not the only one who’s caught feelings.” 

“It’s not like that between us,” he said, “I doubt she even notices how much I fancy her.” 

–

Somehow, George wound up taking Fred’s advice. Though, in typical-George fashion, he never explicitly mentioned to you anything about the way he felt. 

Instead, he would stay around your shop longer in the mornings, taking slower than usual sips of his coffee (which he still couldn’t say he preferred over a good cup of tea). Other days, he would come around closing time and help put everything back in order and if he was lucky, the two of you would go out to dinner. Of course, he would also never let you pay a sickle for your meal, no matter how much you insisted. 

Weekends were usually spent together as well. 

Saturdays were for brunch and muggle films on the telly. It was one of the rare occasions he would drink a beverage in front of you that wasn’t that (god forsaken) coffee. 

Sundays were more for crafting together. He would floo into your flat after having lunch with his family and the two of you would continue working on his little project. 

“My mum loves to knit,” he mentioned one day, while he observed your quick hands skillfully moving the thread through your needles. “She knits us all sweaters for Christmas. It’s become a tradition of sorts.” 

“That’s lovely,” you smiled up at him.

“Yeah, anyone who’s practically family gets one too. Like Harry and Hermione,” he mused.

“I could teach you how to knit her something, if you wanted,” you offered. “It’d be something pretty simple though, especially if you’ve never knitted anything before.”

The smile he sent you was so dazzling, you had to take a moment. You were practically melting under his tender gaze and you swallowed thickly, trying to gain your composure. 

 “That’d be bloody brilliant, Y/N!” 

You only hoped he didn’t notice how your face got hot and how your hands couldn’t move the needles to do what you wanted, too flustered to be precise with your movements.

Since then, the two of you spent most of Sunday afternoons making sure George had the correct strings of yarn on the correct needle. You would keep a close eye on him and his progress, but most of the time he was alright on his own. Sometimes, he would purposely sit closer to you on your couch and you could practically feel the warmth radiating from him. 

In between knits, your eyes would drift towards his focused face and you would smile. George had a habit of poking the tip of his tongue out when he was knitting. Something about the gesture helped him concentrate, and you found it absolutely adorable.

The more time you spent together, though, the more confused George got. It was getting to a point where in his head, it was impossible to miss what he was trying to say with his actions. You had to have caught on by now. And, since you hadn’t acknowledged what was going on between the two of you, he had assumed that this was your polite way of rejecting him.  

On a chilly morning, he clutched the warm cups of coffee in his hands as he pushed the door to Stitching Together open with his back. 

“Morning, Y/N!” he greeted.

You grinned in his direction as he made his way towards you. The moment he placed the warm drink in your hands and you took your first sip, a small moan of gratefulness escaped your lips.

“Merlin, I don’t deserve you,” you mumbled to your cup. 

“Sorry?” George asked, brows furrowed slightly. 

“Oh nothing!” you quickly said, “I’m just really glad you’re my friend, Georgie.” 

Friend. 

The word seemed to make his heart sink down to his stomach and ignite something in him at the same time. It was time that he told you how he felt, no matter what would happen afterwards. He couldn’t keep going on pretending he wasn’t head over heels in love with you. 

“Erm, about that Y/N,” he began, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his work uniform, “I’ve got to tell you something.” 

It was now or never. 

You smiled up at him encouragingly, almost oblivious to the bundle of nerves that were most definitely visible in his expression. 

“I-I don’t want to be just friends, Y/N,” he said, lips pursed in anticipation.

“What do you want then?” you still didn’t understand what he was trying to say. 

In a burst of confidence, George took your hands in his and gripped them tightly, “I want to be with you. I fancy you loads, I think I might even be in love with you, Y/N. Honestly, I might’ve been in love with you from the moment I first walked into your shop.” 

Your lack of an immediate response left him to back track, “But I understand completely if you don’t feel the same way, I just wanted to get it out there.” 

For a moment, the two of you were silent. George eyed you nervously, wondering what was going on through your head, bracing himself for the rejection that he thought was on the tip of your tongue. 

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore, “Y/N? Do you want me to go?” 

Instead of answering, you flung your arms around his neck. He was so startled at your sudden gesture that he almost didn’t notice your lips on his. Almost. 

As suddenly as you had kissed him, all of his apprehensions melted away. Almost automatically, his arms found themselves wrapped around your waist and he pulled you closer to him. Your lips melted together seamlessly. It was as if this was where the two of you were meant to be, and you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss. 

Sooner than you had liked, George pulled away from you slightly. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t help but dip his head down to peck your lips again. Once, twice, three times. This left you a giggly mess, your nose scrunching up in a way that was practically begging him to kiss it as well. 

“Does that mean you fancy me too?” he murmured against your lips. 

“Absolutely, head over heels,” you smiled in return. 

The pair of you spent a brief moment with your foreheads pressed together, giddy smiles on your faces. That was until a knock on the door of your shop sounded. Immediately, you sprung apart, a blush coating tip of George’s ears and cheeks. 

A few people stood outside, eyeing you amusedly. 

“Oh shit,” you said, hurrying to flip the sign on the door to say ‘open’ and to unlock the door with a flick of your wand. “I completely forgot I had a class today.” 

As the small group of people began to file inside, they sent knowing glances your way to which you only groaned softly and looked up at George.

“I’ll see you tonight?” you asked hopefully. 

With a kiss to your cheek and a mischievous grin he said, “You can count on it, love.” 

–

General taglist: @expectoevans @george-fabian-weasley @gxthsanrio @slytherinscribbles @harpyloon @nuttytani @mesmerisedangel @amourtentiaa @sarcasticallywitty15 @lumos-barnes

Weasley twins taglist: @whizboingies @pineapplesandpinas @papapapadumb @Mrs-g-weasley @a-castle-of--glass @hey-there-angels @leovaldez37 @pinkypurplemagic @werewolfslut @surprizeshawtyy

crossed out means i couldn’t tag you for some reason, sorry!

[she-who-fights-and-writes]

How would one write a realistic argument?

How to Write a Realistic Argument

Everyone argues.

Whether it be with a friend, sibling, parent, or coworker—arguments usually break out whenever there’s a stark contrast in opinion over certain things, which can happen a lot.

There are a variety of different kinds of arguments involving a wide range of people with different tempers. Because of this, writing arguments can be a bit difficult, but fear not, for this post is here to help!

1. Know The Writing Style of an Argument

For a very serious argument, the characters probably won’t stop and listen to what their opponent has to say.

It’s quick, choppy, and broken—each character shoving their emotions at one another and trying to get their point across without bothering to understand the other side’s opinions.

There should be a lot of em-dashes and italicized words for emphasis, and if it’s between two people, you want as few speech tags as possible; because there’s going to be a lot of back and forth, speech tags can serve to trip up the flow of the argument rather than help them.

When you do want speech tags or if there are multiple people arguing at once here’s some examples you can use:

Roared

Screamed

Yelled

Bellowed

Barked

Hissed

Shouted

Accused

Interrupted

Growled

Snarled

Spat

Screeched

Shrilled

But you also must know that your characters won’t just be standing stock still and yelling at one another; they’re going to be moving around, so here are some things you can describe your character doing during an argument

Expression contorting

Eyes narrowing

Speaking through clenched teeth

Baring their teeth

Lips twisting (into a sneer/into a snarl)

Hands balling into fists

Trembling

Breaking things/knocking stuff over

Pointing accusingly

Shoving

Spittle flying from their mouth

Stamping their feet

Face getting hot

Vein in forehead popping

Blood roaring in their ears/heart pounding

And if you want, to build tension you can put it in a dangerous place, like at the edge of a cliff or something—so you know fully well that if one of them goes too far it may end up with the other’s accidental death.

2.Know Your Characters

The most important factors of your argument are the characters participating in it.

You should have your characters’ tempers established beforehand so you know if they’re going to be hanging back while others argue or if they’re going to be throwing hands every other chapter.

Your characters’ tempers will shape how much tension the argument causes.

An argument with someone who is usually chill and slow to anger will be a whole lot more impactful and important than an argument with someone who is a known hothead, but it wouldn’t make sense if the argument happened over something minor.

Here’s a list of some of the tempers your character can have, ranked from lowest to highest on how much tension an argument with them causes

 (Just so you know, these aren’t rigid categories; most people are usually a mix of everything!):

–Hotheaded Character–

Fights with a hothead hold the least tension. 

Hotheads will fight over anything and everything, their quick fuse making them easy to irritate and anger. Their words can hurt people who aren’t used to it, but usually bounce off of close friends who are used to it and know that the hothead usually doesn’t mean it.

Arguments with hotheads have a high chance of turning physical, because their rage explodes in bursts rather than a slow buildup (the definition of going from zero to one hundred), and in any situation, hotheads are usually the ones to throw the first punch.

 Because a hothead could get riled up about a spilled drink just as quickly as they can get riled up about a friend dying, just having a hothead getting angry during a moment of severe tension won’t bring you the umph that you’re looking for.

However, your hotheaded character can serve as an instrumental character in triggering more serious arguments, one of their mindless snide remarks going too far with a level-headed or shy character.

Examples of hotheaded characters:

Stanley Kowalski, A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams

Lt. Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky, Top Gun (1986)

Anger, Inside Out (2015)

–Aloof Character–

These characters are a lot like hotheads, but the many, many fights that they pick don’t involve them getting raging, screaming mad.

They’re cold, calculating, and cutthroat, and they couldn’t care less about what you think of them.

Their anger is a lot less “loose cannon” than the hotheads’. They say what they mean and mean what they say, and it’ll take a long time to recover from the tongue-lashings these people can dish out.

The greater tension, however, comes from when the aloof characters raise their voices and start shouting—their schooled, uncaring façade fades away and they’re left truly and undeniably angered by whatever tipped the scales.

It’s not too tension-building because these characters were just bastards to begin with, but it’s still unnerving and shocking to see a normally collected character lose their cool.

Examples of aloof characters:

Mr. Darcy, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Prince Cardan, The Cruel Prince by Holly Black

Alex Stern, The Ninth House by Leigh Bardugo

Sherlock Holmes, Most Media Types

Tony Stark, The Avengers

–Nonchalant Character–

These people usually don’t engage in meaningful arguments because they literally don’t care enough to bother. 

When another character tries to pick a fight, a character who is more nonchalant will sometimes roll their eyes at whatever accusation is being leveled at them rather than retorting. This can go either way, perhaps escalating the tension or diffusing it by not offering up a reply.

Kind of like with the aloof character, they don’t have any emotional attachment arguments that they start or are dragged into. They’ll argue for the sake of arguing, but they really don’t give a fuck about it. 

The part that draws the tension, however, is when the characters do give a fuck. A fight they get into turns heated, and a character’s normal devil-may-care attitude may morph into something else altogether.

Most nonchalant characters also may exhibit some hotheaded tendencies, which shows how muddles these archetypes can be.

Examples of Nonchalant Characters:

Han Solo, The Star Wars Saga

Deadpool, Deadpool (2016)

Angel Dust, The Hazbin Hotel

–Level-headed/Stoic Character–

These characters are the cool cucumbers of the group. They’re very, very, VERY slow to anger, and usually exhibit more maturity than their peers, almost never starting arguments. 

They’re the masters of diffusing arguments with a few words, and hardly ever raise their voices.

Sure, they may serve as backup to someone else and may jump to their aid with a bit of heat behind their words, but this hardly happens when the argument is their own.

Many hotheaded or aloof characters may try teasing or pushing these characters in order to act out, but it rarely works.

On the few instances that a level-headed character is angered, it is pretty serious.

Either one of the other characters poked fun at something they shouldn’t’ve—their dead parents, something they’re self-conscious about, etc.—or a member of the group makes a terrible mistake with dire consequences, and the stoic character has had enough.

This causes a lot of tension because “oh shit, the calmest person in our group just went off” and can usually signal a breakdown of the group because their strongest link is snapping.

Examples of Stoic Characters:

Geralt of Rivia, The Witcher

The Mandalorian, The Mandalorian

Spock, Star Trek

The Doctor, Doctor Who

Atticus Finch, To Kill A Mockingbird

–Timid/Shy/Quiet Character– 

An argument with a timid person causes by far the most tension out of everything, to the point where I call it “The Snap.”

Someone who is timid, shy, or quiet would rather not argue at all because they don’t have it in them to retort.

They may care a whole lot about the situation under contention, but for one reason or another they don’t want to start too much trouble. These people actively avoid conflict and usually try their best to diffuse situations before they start, whether it be by conceding, walking away, or pulling the nonchalant route and not saying anything.

However, unlike the stoic characters, they might be much more emotional; it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for a timid character to cry when being berated by the others, and they may even be outwardly livid, but they always back down in the end.

 However, they can only hold it in for so long.

 If you have a character who spends the entire book meekly accepting the verbal (or perhaps physical) harassment of other characters, you should most definitely put a “Snap” somewhere in the story, a point where the character has had enough and fights back.

 The timid character’s pent-up rage and sorrow explodes into a raging argument that will most definitely frighten the other characters.

 The tipping point may be the death of the loved one or just a simple, ordinary jab from an antagonist—the straw that broke the camel’s back.

 Unlike with the hothead’s quick bursts of anger like snap fireworks, the anger of a quiet character—much like with a stoic character—is like ten thousand pounds of dynamite with a very, very long fuse.

A quiet character will almost never have a contained argument once they’ve snapped; it will be like a category five hurricane, and God help the poor bastard that set it off.

Examples of timid/shy/quiet characters:

Carrie White, Carrie by Stephen King

Amélie Poulain,  Amélie (2001)

Bilbo Baggins, The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkein

3. Know The Rhythm of An Argument

An argument isn’t just 0 to 100 and then back to 0. 

The tension levels look more like a squiggly line than a single spike; the tension peaks and ebbs on various levels throughout an argument, especially if it’s a long, important one where both characters are snapping over a novel’s worth of building tension.

The argument can come in like a freight train or it can build up slowly, a character storming in after a realization or a single snide remark that snowballs into something much greater.

Then comes an accusation. Both characters brace themselves and realize that this argument isn’t just going to putter out.

More back and forth words exchanged. “I don’t like that you do this, this and this,” while the characters’ tempers flare even further, pushing them to say more extreme, hurtful things and working each other up into a rage.

A physical fight may break out between the two, throwing punches and insults.

The climax should be a huge, shocking exclamation or accusation. “I hate you!” “If you were never born, Mom would still be alive!” “This is all your fault!”

The tension ebbs. The characters stand in silence, bitter and ashamed of themselves.

They may agree on a few things, their tempers start to die down. They may come to some understandings or storm off with the tension unresolved. The argument ends.

This is the basic format of an argument; however, there are usually several levels of accusation-buildup before the eventual climax.

The whole point of an argument is that it leaves the characters’ relationships much different than they’d been before; they either understand each other much more, or they’ve become much more wary of one another.

If your characters’ relationship doesn’t change after an argument, then there was no point in writing it.

I really hope this helped! Happy Writing!

[theartofdreaming1]

Katniss, bravely stepping inbetween Gale and Thread (and his whip) - she’s so courageous and protective, she deserves the world 😭

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and (many) random thoughts on chapters 7-9 are below the cut. (Is it just me, or are my notes getting longer and longer with each and every post? I swear, this book is so meaty, we’ll soon reach the point where I have to type out the entire chapter, with my thoughts in the margins)

heart

“Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else in unthinkable.” 

I think these words are a result of Katniss being so afraid of losing Gale that she’s kinda overcompensating; their relationship has been strained these past few months and they’d just had a row, separating from each other on bad terms - and the next time she sees him, he’s been whipped so bad that he’s lost consciousness and could be potentially dying from his wounds. Of course she’s so terrified of losing him, that she’s holding on as tightly as she can to him. It’s important to keep in mind how important their relationship is to her and we see that in her preceding thoughts: What a pair we were - fatherless, frightened, but fiercely commited, too, to keeping our families alive. Desperate, yet no longer alone after that day, because we’d found each other. I think of a hundred moments in the woods, lazy afternoons fishing, the day I taught him to swim, that time I twisted my knee and he carried me home. Mutually counting each other, watching each other’s backs, forcing each other to be brave. - Gale was the first person who was her equal, a kindred spirit, her partner. After Katniss had lost both of her parents when her father died and her mother succumbed to her depression - the people who were supposed to care for her and guide her through growing up - she was stuck with the role of sole provider and protector of her family at age eleven. She must have been so lonely all this time until she met this boy who understood what she was going through and they learned from each other and shouldered their burdens together, to take off some of the overwhelming pressure. Of course that relationship, of course Gale is important to her. But also now their relationship has become more fragile, after the Games they are in danger of growing apart - it’s got to be so terrifying to feel like the one proper, mutual relationship you’ve had seems to be slipping through your fingers. With everything that’s going on, her entire life as it is teetering on the razor’s edge (heck, the president himself has been threatening her and her family!), it’s no wonder that Katniss is craving that familiarity and safety that her relationship with Gale used to provide her with. And seeing Gale in this state just has her holding on to him more tightly than ever.

mind

Hmm, no big moment is coming to my mind right now; I think I’m always most impressed by the tiny moments that show how tenacious, resilient and fiercely kind humans can be - like Darius stepping forward to stop Gale’s cruel punishment, Leevy volunteering to tell Hazelle about Gale and promising to stay with the Hawthorne children, Madge bringing the morphling, Katniss pressing Darius’s hand in the Training Center, Twill taking Bonnie with her to flee to D13 and so on.

soul

I believe that Katniss was honestly surprised to learn that Gale had feelings for her; she had categorically shut down the idea of entering a romantic relationship for herself, so I don’t think she’d seriously consider anyone being romantically interested in her in return (that’s not how that works, of course, but I think that’s how she perceived the whole shtick). Their kiss threw her completely for a loop and if anything, she mostly saw it as something that contributed to the deterioration of their previous, easy and comfortable relationship.

Chapter 7

A mockingjay is a creature the Capitol never intended to exist. [...] They hadn’t anticipated its will to live. - In a way, the Capitol continues to make this mistake with the people living in the districts, too - underestimating their will to live (opposed to just surviving)

I look in his [Gale’s] eyes. His temper can’t quite mask the hurt, the sense of betrayal he feels at my engagement to Peeta. This will be my last chance, this meeting today, to not lose Gale forever. - Okay, we don’t know how much Katniss might be (incorrectly) presuming here, but the idea that Gale might feel betrayal because his best friend is being forced into an engagement pisses me off. It’s fine if he’s feeling jealous because she’s being paired off with Peeta when he wishes he could have a shot with her, but how in the world does this even rate as a betrayal?! A) It’s done against her will and B) Just because they’re friends doesn’t mean Katniss owes him anything when we’re talking about romantic feelings... Ugh 😒 Also, it’s quite noteworthy how insecure Katniss feels about their relationship - she’s constantly worried Gale will drop her and their friendship (waiting for Gale after the camera teams left after winning the Games: I’d begun to think that he’d given up on me in the weeks that had passed.- Ch. 2) and it doesn’t help that she’s been through that extreme, traumatic experience without him and they haven’t had much opportunity to spend a lot of time with each other (with the Victory Tour and Gale having to work so much) and when they do hang out, they don’t seem to really talk much, which doesn’t exactly help...

He [Gale] tosses the gloves on my lap. “Here. I don’t want your fiancé’s old gloves.” “He’s not my fiancé. That’s just part of the act. And these aren’t his gloves. They were Cinna’s,” I say. “Give them back, then, he says. - Gale can be so petty sometimes 🙄

While I talk, [...] [Gale] occupies himself with turning the food in the leather bag into a meal for us. Toasting bread and cheese, coring apples, placing chestnuts in the fire to roast. I watch his hands, his beautiful, capable fingers. Scarred, as mine were before the Captiol erased all marks from my skin, but strong and deft. [...] Hands I trust. - Oh boy, this moment really shows how these two are at cross purposes right now - Gale’s prepping the food as you would for a toasting (romantic connotation), while Katniss is oberserving his hands, thinking how their hands used to match (not anymore!) and basically wishing herself back into the time before the Games, when things were ‘simpler’/more clearly defined (and also platonic!); there is nothing romantic from her P.O.V. - it’s all about the friendship and trust

[Gale] steps in and I feel myself lifted off the ground. The room spins, and I have to lock my arms around Gale’s neck to brace myself. He’s laughing, happy. “Hey!” I protest, but I’m laughing, too. Gale sets me down but doesn’t release his hold on me. “Okay, let’s run away.” [...] “You’re sure?” I say. [...] “I’m sure. I’m completely, entirely, one hundred percent sure.” - Yeah, and I’m sure you’re not going to change your opinion in the next five minutes, Gale... In his defense, Gale didn’t know all the details, so in that regard it’s totally valid that he might decide to change his mind after having more input... It’s just that Katniss specifically asks him whether he’s sure and his reply is so full of conviction (100% sure!), only for him to do a complete 180 just a couple of minutes later; Gale’s very hot and cold, which makes for such a harsh contrast when compared to Peeta’s more measured reaction later in the chapter

He tilts his forehead down to rest against mine and pulls me closer. [...] I don’t try to move away. Why should I, anyway? His voice drops to a whisper. “I love you.” That’s why. - Oh man, Katniss just can’t catch a break 😞 Really not wise of Gale to drop the L-bomb here (after, what? a kiss they never talked about and little else... their communication is truly abysmal and it’s really damaging to their relationship, hurting the both of them)

“Gale, I can’t think about anyone that way now. All I can think about, every day, is how afraid I am. And there doesn’t seem to be room for anything else. If we could get somewhere safe, maybe I could be different. I don’t know.” I can see him swallowing his disappointment. “So, we’ll go. We’ll find out.” - I mean, honestly, I totally understand where Katniss is coming from - she doesn’t need a romantic interest, she needs a partner, which is why she’s been so eager to talk to her hunting partner, someone she’s used to rely on for survival and now he’s also confounding their relationship by introducing that romance-angle (as if it wasn’t bad enough that her relationship with Peeta got kind of messed up when that same angle was forced upon them prematurely)... Also, telling how Katniss thinks she’d have to be different to maybe even consider a romantic relationship with Gale - Katniss as she is right now just can’t see herself wanting to be with Gale romantically; it would require a change... I’ve got to give Gale credit for still going along with it, and trying to push past his disappointment, though

“My [Gale’s] mother is going to take some convincing.” [...] “Mine, too. I’ll just have to make her see reason. Take her for a long walk. Make sure she understands we won’t survive the alternative.” “She’ll understand. I watched a lot of the Games with her and Prim. She won’t say no to you,” says Gale. - That’s interesting, I wonder what exactly Gale means by that? That Mrs. Everdeen won’t say no to Katniss because she feels guilty that Katniss had to go through the Games or because watching her daughter compete in the Games really made her realize how messed up Panem is? Or that she’s more inclined to trust Katniss’s judgement after everything that has happened?

“Haymitch will be the real challenge.” “Haymitch?” Gale abandons the chestnuts. “You’re asking him to come with us?” “I have to, Gale. I can’t leave him and Peeta because they’d-” His scowl cuts me off. “What?” “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how large our party was,” he snaps at me. - Gale doesn’t seem to have realized how close and important Peeta and Haymitch have become to Katniss... maybe because they never properly talked about this aspect of Katniss’s life (I swear, their shoddy communication must account for at least half of the damage their relationship has taken in these past few months alone)

“What if he [Peeta] decides to stay?” he [Gale] asks. I try to sound indifferent, but my voice cracks. “Then he stays.” “You’d leave him behind?” Gale asks. “To save Prim and my mother, yes,” I answer. “I mean, no! I’ll get him to come.” “And me, would you leave me?” Gale’s expression is rock hard now. - Boy, oh boy! I think Gale knows (like Peeta) that Katniss could never leave behind the people she cares about; then, he’s kind of gauging whether Peeta has already received the Katniss Everdeen Stamp of ‘Caring’ - and, as it turns out, he has! And then Gale ends up making it into a bit of  competition by asking her whether she would leave him behind (or, alternately, her turning him down has him confused about the depth of their relationship, I dunno); not fun

“There’s an uprising in Eight?” he [Gale] says in a hushed voice. I try to backpedal. To defuse him, as I tried to defuse the districts. - Katniss is going to be about as successful as she’d been at defusing the districts, too - But here we have another example of Katniss trying to rein in Gale’s temper because she’s afraid he’s going to get himself in trouble (like when she decided not to tell him about Snow’s visit to her house because she was worried what he’d do with that information)... It’s really not great that she feels the need to censor herself so he won’t do something dangerous... Katniss knows first-hand how badly impulsive actions and decisions can be received in the Capitol - and she never even meant for a rebellion to happen!

“And it’s my fault, Gale. Because of what I did in the arena. If I had just killed myself with those berries, none of this would’ve happened. Peeta could have come home and lived, and everyone else would have been safe. too.” “Safe to do what?” he says in a gentler tone. “Starve? Work like slaves? Send their kids to the reaping? You haven’t hurt people - you’ve given them an opportunity. They just have to be brave enough to take it. - Katniss is taking all the responsibility upon herself again... Gale is right to point out that she was merely a catalyst, not the cause for the rebellion - the cause are the awful living conditions of the people in the districts

“Stop it! You don’t know what you’re saying. The Peacekeepers outside of Twelve, they’re not like Darius, or even Cray! The lives of district people - they mean less than nothing to them!” I say. “That’s why we have to join the fight!” he answers harshly. “No! we have to leave here before they kill us and a lot of other people, too!” [...] “You leave, then, I’d never go in a million years.” [...] “What about your family?” “What about the other families, Katniss? The ones who can’t run away?” - This discourse is so painful because they are both right - Katniss has seen more of the districts and how things are handled beyond the (relatively tame) confines of D12 and it’s fair that she wants to know that the people she cares about are safe from harm; Gale, of course, has a point commenting that not everyone has that opportunity and the only way to have a long-lasting, wide-spread improvement of their conditions is through rebelling against their oppressor - but that will inevitably come along with sacrifices and collateral damage and it’s easy to say that it will be worth it in the long run, but when those who are hurt/dead could end up being your loved ones, it’s definitely easier said than done

He throws Cinna’s gloves at my feet. “I changed my mind. I don’t want anything they made in the Capitol.” And he’s gone. I look down at the gloves. Anything they made in the Capitol? Was that directed at me? Does he think I am now just another product of the Capitol and therefore something untouchable? The unfairness of it all fills me with rage. But it’s mixed up with fear over what kind of crazy thing he might do next. - Gale getting rid of Cinna’s gloves just because they are from the Capitol is a prime example of this “us vs. them” mindset that he will be (worringly) fast to adopt - of course, perceiving the opposite side as “other” will make it easier to fight against them; however, it’s all too easy to lose sight of your opponent’s humanity when you think like that (think of how Gale has a hard time understanding Katniss’s distress upon seeing her prep team being treated so terribly/inhumanely in D13); Katniss feeling upset that Gale might perceive her as a product of the Capitol instead of its victim is understandable (and isn’t that exactly what the inhabitants of D13 are going to think of Peeta in MJ?) - and yet, she is still worried Gale could get himself into trouble with his impulsivity; she’s a good bean

”Going to town?” I ask. “Yes. I’m supposed to eat dinner with my family,” he [Peeta] says. - I’m tripping over the word ‘supposed’ here - it doesn’t sound like Peeta’s looking forward to hanging out with his fam, although it can’t be that often, since they’ve been away on Victory Tour and he is living alone (maybe the end of the chapter will give us another hint why that is 😒😒)... I can’t help but wonder whether these family dinners are mainly for public perception (in that case... it really is no wonder Peeta is so good at playing the cameras - poor guy had to fool the outside world his entire life) or because they are the only chance for Peeta to hang out with any of the members of his family he might actually want to spend some time with

“Peeta, if I asked you to run away from the district with me, would you?” Peeta takes my arm, bringing me to a stop. He doesn’t need to check my face to see if I’m serious. “Depends on why you’re asking.” President Snow wasn’t convinced by me. There’s an uprising in District Eight. We have to get out,” I say. “By ‘we’ do you mean just you and me? No. Who else would be going?” he asks. - Peeta doesn’t just blindly agree to Katniss’s proposal; he needs to know what’s going on first (he has been burnt before - no more secrets!) - and it’s a testament to how well he knows her that as soon as he’s asking whether she meant just the two of them, he corrects himself because knows that Katniss would never leave the ones she cares about behind

“What about Gale?” he says. “I don’t know. He might have other plans,” I say. Peeta shakes his head and gives me rueful smile. “I bet he does. Sure, Katniss, I’ll go.” I feel a slight twinge of hope. “You will?” “Yeah. But I don’t think for a minute you will,” he says. [...] “Then you don’t know me. Be ready. It could be any time.” - Telling how Peeta immediately agrees to the plan once he gathers that Gale won’t come - he knows that Katniss cares about Gale and could never leave him behind, ergo she’d never actually leave under these circumstances - he knows her so well. Also, Katniss’s reaction is like that of a petulant child, it’s kind of funny 😄

“Katniss, hold up.” [...] “I really will go, if you want me to. I just think we better talk it through with Haymitch. Make sure we won’t be making things worse for everyone.” - Ultimately, Peeta would follow Katniss to the ends of the earth - doesn’t mean that he can’t throw in a sensible suggestion in there as well 😉 (Also, in the next chapter we will see how Katniss, Gale, and Peeta might be a little too inexperienced/naive to be able to form accurate expectations of what is to come - Haymitch and his generation have a little more experience in that regard)

He raises his head. “What’s that?” [...] I haven’t noticed the strange noise coming from the square. A whistling, the sound of an impact, the intake of breath from a crowd. “Come on,” Peeta says, his face suddenly hard. I don’t know why. I can’t place the sound, even guess at the situation. But it means something bad to him. - Why does my sweet boy know what a whipping sounds like, Suzanne, huh?! Care to explain that? 😭

Peeta steps up on a crate against the wall of the sweetshop and offers me a hand while he scans the square. I’m halfway up when he suddenly blocks my way. “Get down. Get out of here!” He’s whispering, but his voice is harsh with insistence. - Peeta was offering his hand to help Katniss up the crate because they are a team (and he’s a gentleman)! It’s only when he recognizes who is receiving those lashes and realizes that Katniss will lose her shit once she knows, which could make the current situation even worse, that he urges her to leave, and he is not the only one to think that: - Voices hiss. “Get out of here, girl.” “Only make it worse.” What do you want to do? Get him killed?”

Chapter 8

It’s too late to stop the arm from descending, and I instinctively know I won’t have the power to block it. Instead I throw myself directly between the whip and Gale. I’ve flung out my arms to protext as much of his broken body as possible, so there’s nothing to deflect the lash. I take the full force of it across the left side of my face. - Katniss is so selfless; she knows that it’s either Gale getting hit again or a lash to her own face and she chooses the latter

“Hold it!” a voice barks. Haymitch appears and trips over a Peacekeeper lying on the ground. It’s Darius. [...] He’s knocked out but still breathing. What happened? Did he try to come to Gale’s aid before I got here? - Haymitch sure appeared quickly - I can easily imagine Peeta taking off immediately to get him (or send someone to bring him to the square) once he knew Katniss couldn’t be stopped; but if Haymitch had been at his house in Victor’s Village, there is no way he’d have made that quickly to the square... maybe he was already at the Hob and had gotten wind of the whole situation? Also, poor Darius! Wearing a uniform/being in some sort of position of power is no guarantee you won’t get punished as soon as you show the tiniest glimpse of compassion - in a place like Panem, nobody is safe from the caprice of the people in charge

I see a flicker of recognition in the eyes of the man with the whip. [...] it wouldn’t be easy to identify me as the victor of the last Hunger Games. Especially with half my face swelling up. But Haymitch has been showing up on television for years, and he’d be difficult to forget. - Getting Haymitch truly was the smartest move to make (which is why I’m pretty sure it was a move on Peeta’s part - he’d know how to use reminders of ‘appearances’ to ensure a punishment wouldn’t go ‘too far’, y’know 😢). But also - Thread must have lived under a flipping rock, to not being able to recognizes Katniss (her face must have been plastered all over the place during the Victory Tour, which just had concluded recently) - or he was just too in the heat of the moment, with someone opposing him, bleugh 😒

“He [Gale] was poaching. What business is it of hers, anyway?” says the man. “He’s her cousin.” Peeta’s got my other arm now, but gently. “And she’s my fiancée. So if you want to get to him, expect to go through both of us.” - I love how Peeta’s just laying it down as it is; his phrasing just sounds so factual, rather than provocative (although it is, of course); he really has a way with words - Maybe we’re it. The only three people in the district who could make a stand like this. Although it’s sure to be temporary. There will be repercussions. - Haymitch, Peeta, and Katniss working together as a team again! Also, a good example of the effect people with public influence can have 

One [Peacekeeper], a woman named Purnia who eats regularly at Greasy Sae’s, steps forward stiffly. “I believe, for a first offense, the required number of lashes has been dispensed, sir. Unless your sentence is death, which we would carry out by firing squad.” “Is that the standard protocol here?” asks the Head Peacekeeper. “Yes, sir,” Purnia says, and several others nod in agreement. I’m sure none of them actually know because, in the Hob, the standard protocol for someone showing up with a wild turkey is for everybody to bid on the drumsticks. - It’s kinda nice to see the local Peacekeepers supporting Purnia’s claim to get this display to stop - this is the only way out of this situation where Thread’s authority is not openly challenged (and we know Thread doesn’t take well to having his authority challenged - see Darius)

There’s no stretcher, but the old woman at the clothing stall sells us the board that serves as her countertop. “Just don’t tell where you got it,” she says, packing up the rest of her goods quickly. Most of the square has emptied, fear getting the better of compassion. But after what happened, I can’t blame anyone. - It’s sad how that air of intimidation makes people want to mask their acts of compassion (and also says a lot about the precariousness of the existing living situations if that old lady is still selling that board - I’d never even consider exchanging money for that, but that’s probably my privileged situation showing here; Katniss brings up the theme of fear vs compassion - very fitting, since it seems to be her driving force (although, generally, her compassion wins out over her fear) and despite her assertion that fear appears to be getting the better of compassion we see a good amount of people reaching out to help, such as the following example:

Leevy, a girl who lives a few houses down from mine in the Seam, takes my arm. My mother kept her little brother alive last year when he caught the measles. “Need help getting back?” Her gray eyes are scared but determined. - The subtle suggestion here that Leevy might be further motivated to help out because Katniss’s mom helped her little brother is also an excellent example of how kindness breeds kindness

“Get some snow on that,” Haymitch orders over his shoulder. I scoop up a handful of snow and press it against my cheek, numbing a bit of the pain. - This moment reminded me of Peeta immediately reaching for some ice from that fruit tureen after Haymitch hit him on their way to the Games in THG (Ch. 4) - their different immediate reactions to getting hit in the face could simply be due to the fact that Katniss is a little too preoccupied worrying about Gale to think about her injury, of course, but I feel like you could also interpret them as examples for how much experience Katniss and Peeta have with being hit in the face, respectively...

Gale must have gone to Cray’s house, as he’s done a hundred times, knowing Cray pays well for a wild turkey. Instead he found the new Head Peacekeeper, a man they heard someone call Romulus Thread. No one knows what happened to Cray. He was buying white liquor in the Hob just this morning [...] but now he’s nowhere to be found. - As I’ve already mentioned regarding Darius, inhabiting some position of power does not guarantee you any safety in Panem (there is always someone more powerful who will treat their inferiors like garbage, if they feel like it)

By the time I showed up, he [Gale]’d been lashed at least forty times. He passed out around thirty. - Jesus 😨 poor Gale!

“What about Darius?” Peeta asks.“ After about twenty lashes, he stepped in, saying that was enough. Only he didn’t do it smart and official, like Purnia did. He grabbed Thread’s arm and Thread hit him in the head with the butt of the whip. Nothing good waiting for him,” says Bristel. - It’s so messed up how it is not enough to have someone who’d stand up and do something about a horrible situation - they have to do it the right way, or else they’re toast; there really shouldn’t have to be a smart way of doing the right thing

Snow begins, thick and wet, making visibility even more difficult. - (President) Snow is coming down hard on them, making it hard to see what’s up ahead

Ever so gently, she [Mrs. Everdeen] begins to clean the mutilated flesh on Gale’s back. I feel sick to the stomach, useless, the remaining snow dripping from my glove into a puddle on the floor. Peeta puts me in a chair and holds a cloth filled with fresh snow to my cheek. - Although she’s quite squeamish, Katniss stays as Gale gets treated (the force that holds the loved ones of the hurt/dying, just like when Peeta was being treated after their Games); meanwhile, Peeta is taking care of Katniss - there is so much care + love to be found in this moment

My mother has to save the strongest [painkillers] for the worst pain, but what is the worst pain? To me, it’s always the pain that is present. If I were in charge, those painkillers would be gone in a day because I have so little ability to watch suffering. - Honestly, same; I can’t stomach seeing other people suffer without feeling overwhelmed and feeling like crying... I don’t know how professionals do it

“Just give him the medicine!” I scream at her. [...] “Take her out,” says my mother. Haymitch and Peeta literally carry me from the room while I shout obscenities at her. They pin me down on a bed in one of the extra bedrooms until I stop fighting. - Oof. Poor Katniss! But yeah, it was the best call to remove her from the situation, Mrs. E. had to focus on what she was doing... Also, Haymitch and Peeta are the ones to get Katniss out of there and stay with her - these three take care of each other!

After a while, my mother comes in and treats my face. Then she holds my hand, stroking my arm, while Haymitch fills her in on what happened with Gale. “So it’s starting again?” she says. “Like before?” - Katniss’s mom has become a much more active and soothing presence in this book, I like it... Also, what does “again” mean? Does this imply there has been an attempted uprising in D12 that needed to be squashed before?

Cray would have been disliked, anyway, because of the uniform he wore, but it was his habit of luring starving young women into his bed for money that made him an object of loathing in the district. In really bad times, the hungriest would gather at his door at nightfall, vying for the chance to earn a few coins to feed their families by selling their bodies. Had I been older when my father died, I might have been among them. - Horrifying and absolutely disgusting 🤢 Those poor women! How desperate they must have been! 

... when the doorbell rings, I shoot straight out of bed. [...] “They [the peacekeepers] can’t have him,” I say. “Might be you they’re after,” Haymitch reminds me. “Or you,” I say. “Not my house,” Haymitch points out. “But I’ll get the door.” “No, I’ll get it,” says my mother quietly. - Again, Mrs. Everdeen is taking the initiative! She was so watered down in the movies

[Madge] holds out a small, damp cardboard box to me. “Use these for your friend,” she says. I take off the lid of the box, revealing half a dozen vials of clear liquid. [...] “What is that stuff?” asks Peeta. “It’s from the Capitol. It’s called morphling,” my mother answers. “I didn’t even know Madge knew Gale,” says Peeta. “We used to sell her strawberries,” I say almost angrily. What am I angry about, though? Not that she has brought the medicine, surely. “She must have quite a taste for them,” says Haymitch. That’s what nettles me. It’s the implication that there’s something going on between Gale and Madge. And I don’t like it. “She’s my friend” is all I say. - I mean, Katniss could be mad because A) Gale had literally just told her he loved her a few hours ago and if there was something (reciprocated) going on between Gale and Madge, that would have been pretty shitty for both girls involved and also B) she is friends with both of them and it would be hurtful to learn that two of your closest friends had been seeing each other without telling you anything about it... also, she’s super upset over Gale getting so seriously hurt just after they’d had an argument, her feelings are all over the place

... I’m selfish. I’m a coward. I’m the kind of girl, who, when she might actually be of use, would run to stay alive and leave those who couldn’t follow to suffer and die. This is the girl Gale met in the woods today. No wonder I won the Games. No decent person ever does. You saved Peeta, I think weakly. But now I question even that. I knew good and well that my life back in District 12 would be unlivable if I let that boy die. - Yes, Katniss, you knew that your life back in D12 would have been unlivable if he died - but not because you feared that people would shun you; it was because you “couldn’t lose the boy with the bread” and because “if he dies, I’ll never go home, not really”... This is an excellent example of how distorted your memories can get when you are in a bad headspace at present

The berries. I realize the answer to who I am lies in that handful poisonous fruit. If I held them out to save Peeta because I knew I would be shunned if I came back without him, then I am despicable. If I held them out because I loved him, I am still self-centered, although forgivable. But if I held them out to defy the Capitol, I am someone of worth. - Katniss, you don’t have to be planning to overthrow a corrupt and cruel government to be someone of worth! You’re someone of worth just by being yourself! - The trouble is, I don’t know exactly what was going on inside me at that moment. - Frankly, very rarely are our motivations clearly defined by a single factor - or my professor would not have been able to teach an entire semester-long course on motivation psychology😉)

Chapter 9

Gale’s dead to the world, but his fingers are locked around mine. I smell fresh bread and turn my stiff neck to find Peeta looking down at me with such a sad expression. I get the sense that he’s been watching us awhile. “Go on up to bed, Katniss. I’ll look after him now,” he says. - Peeta! Must have been hard for him to see Katniss like this (and the underlying strength of Katniss and Gale’s relationship, when his relationship with Katniss is still not all that solidified), and yet he’s being such a good bean about it 😭

I give a strangled cry and wake with a start, sweating and shivering at once. Cradling my damaged cheek in my hand, I remind myself that it was not Clove but Thread who gave me this wound. I wish that Peeta were here to hold me, until I remember I’m not supposed to wish that anymore. I have chosen Gale and the rebellion, and a future with Peeta is the Capitol’s design, not mine. - Katniss, gurl... Maybe your instinctive desire to receive comfort from Peeta is trying to tell you something??!? Also, Katniss is forcing this strange dichotomous association of Gale = rebellion and Peeta = Capitol, when in just a bit, she’s clearly connecting Peeta to the rebellion as well (aside from the fact that Peeta was basically the first person to suggest to her that maybe a rebellion was necessary... just saying)

Fighting the Capitol assures their swift retaliation. I must accept that at any moment I can be arrested. [...] There might be torture. Mutliation. A bullet through the skull in the town square [...] I imagine these things and I’m terrified, but let’s face it: They’ve been lurking in the back of my brain, anyway. [...] I’m already a target. - Oh geez! Despite admitting that she’s terrified of what the Capitol is capable fo doing to her, Katniss is still pretty composed naming the possible horrors in store for her, which is just a heartbreaking reminder of how many terrible things she has already had to endure.🙁

Now comes the harder part. I have to face the fact that my family and friends might share this fate. Prim. I need only to think of Prim and all my resolve disintegrates. It’s my job to protect her. [...] I can’t let the Capitol hurt Prim. - 😭😭😭 Katniss has reached a point where she can put her own need for survival/physical intactness aside, but the thought of something awful happening to Prim stops her short (it’s so strange to think that, in a twisted way, it wasn’t the Capitol who’d ended up inflicting the final harm upon Prim...)

And then it hit’s me. They already have. They have killed her father in those wretched mines. They have sat by as she almost starved to death. [...] She has been hurt far worse than I had at the age of twelve. And even that pales in comparison with Rue’s life. [...] Prim... Rue... aren’t they the very reason I have to try to fight? Because what has been done to them is so wrong, so beyond justification, so evil that there is no choice? Because no one has the right to treat them as they have been treated? Yes. This is the thing to remember when fear threatens to swallow me up. What I am about to do, whatever any of us are forced to endure, it is for them. - All these things are very true and it’s also very fitting that the main motivation for Katniss would be to ensure a better future for the children of Panem (and to avenge the evils done to the people close to her heart... while Katniss of course can see the abstract bigger picture/reason for the rebellion, she always operates best when it comes to specific people/circumstances she has a deep, personal connection with)... But also: all these things apply to you, too, Katniss! Despite your tendency to feel responsible for everything and everyone, you’re still a child that had to grow up way too fast and had to endure way too much!

We need someone to direct us and reassure us this is possible. And I don’t think I’m that person. I may have been a catalyst for rebellion, but a leader should be someone with conviction, and I’m barely a convert myself. Someone with unflinching courage, and I’m still working hard at finding mine. Someone with clear and persuasive words, and I’m so easily tongue-tied. Words. I think of words and I think of Peeta. - Katniss’s idea of a great leader for the rebellion is Peeta - interesting, isn’t it (she could have considered Gale, but no)? She makes a good point, though: it helps when a leader has plenty of charisma, and our boy has that in spades; he’s got a good set of morals, is not above joining in on the action/risking his own neck when the need arises and is very genuine and purposeful with his words and actions, which is inspiring... I think Katniss is severely underselling how courageous she is, though

He could move a crowd to action, I bet, if he chose to. Would find the things to say. But I’m sure the idea has never crossed his mind. - Why would you assume that, Katniss? Peeta’s literally the one to suggest to you that trying to placate the district might not be the right thing to do... Peeta’s not someone who’d stir up trouble just for the sake of stirring up trouble, sure; he’s much more deliberate about doing things the ‘right’ way, but he’s not generally opposed to challenging authorities (he’s literally the one to openly gift some of your winnings to another district!)

She knows what she’s doing, my mother. I feel a pang of remorse about yesterday, the awful things I yelled at her as Peeta and Haymitch dragged me from the kitchen. “I’m sorry. About screaming at you yesterday.” - It’s so sweet how Katniss feels sorry for yelling at her mom and apologizes to her; their relationship really has improved so much in this book - “I’ve heard worse,” she says. “You’ve seen how people are, when someone they love is in pain.” Someone they love. [...] Of course, I love Gale. But what kind of love does she mean? What do I mean when I say I love Gale? I don’t know. I did kiss him last night, in a moment when my emotions were running so high. But i’m sure he doesn’t remember it. Does he? I hope not. - Katniss is struggling to figure out in what way she loves Gale... She definitely doesn’t want him to remember their kiss because she knows it wouldn’t be fair to give him the hope that she might be able to return his romantic feelings when she is still in the dark about her own

... and I can’t really think about kissing when I’ve got a rebellion to incite. I give my head a little shake to clear it. “Where’s Peeta?” I say. - Lol, goes on to immediately mention the guy she’s been kissing these past few weeks (see, with Peeta you could actually have both: kissing and rebellion, Katniss - he’s the perfect man, isn’t he? 😉😋)

“He went home when he heard you stirring. Didn’t want to leave his house unattended during the storm,” says my mother. - Yeah, I don’t think Peeta left because of his house; I’m pretty sure he needed some time to himself after seeing Katniss and Gale this morning - he is the type of person who needs to be alone to work through his feelings when he’s feeling upset - “Did he get back all right?” [...] “Why don’t you give him a call and check?” she says. I go into the study, a room I’ve pretty much avoided since my meeting with President Snow, and dial Peeta’s number. After a few rings he answers. “Hey. I just wanted to make sure you got home,” I say. “Katniss. I live three houses away from you,” he says. “I know, but with the weather and all,” I say. “Well, I’m fine. Thank you for checking.” There’s a long pause. “How’s Gale?” - Aww, Katniss is worried about Peeta and gives him a call, although she hates being in the study 😊 Also, her calling him must have been at least of some reassurance to Peeta that she genuinely cares about him, in some way (though, he’s still clearly busy processing her relationship with Gale, since he’s asking about him as if he hadn’t seen that dude just a couple of minutes prior)

“Have you seen Haymitch today?” “I checked in on him. Dead drunk. But I built up his fire and left him some bread,” he says. “I wanted to talk to - to both of you.” I don’t dare add more, here on my phone, which is surely tapped. -  Despite everything, Peeta still made sure to look after Haymitch! And I know, there is also the issue of their houses themselves potentially being bugged, but I couldn’t help imagining how they could easily avoid the whole phone-tapping thing simply by using a tin can telephone (they do live pretty close to each other, after all) 😂

“You don’t even have a phone,” I say. “Effie had that fixed,” he [Haymitch] says. “Do you know she asked me if I’d like to give you away? I told her the sooner the better.” “Haymitch.” I can hear the pleading creeping into my voice. “Katniss.” He mimics my tone. “It won’t work.” - Okay, but Haymitch mimicking Katniss’s tone reminds me so much of when Peeta mimicked her tone towards the end of their Games, when she was trying to persuade him to climb into a tree as a lookout while he was insistent she’d show him some plants to gather; these three, I swear! 😂 On a sad note, Haymitch is talking from experience here when he’s advising Katniss not to challenge the Capitol 🥺😢

Some streets away from the square, I see a blaze flare up. None of us has to say it. That can only be the Hob going up in smoke. I think of Greasy Sae, Ripper, all my friends who make their livings there. - Katniss considers the people from the Hob her friends - honestly, even if the Hawthornes, Everdeens, Peeta and Haymitch all had agreed to leave D12, I don’t think Katniss would have been able to go through with it - she cares too much about the people in D12 to have been able to leave them to their fate

“Well, I better go see how much rubbing alcohol the apothecary can spare.” He [Haymitch] trudges off across the square and I look at Peeta. “What’s he want that for?” Then I realize the answer. “We can’t let him drink it. He’ll kill himself, or at the very least go blind. I’ve got some white liquor put away at home.” “Me, too. Maybe that will hold him until Ripper finds a way to be back in business,” says Peeta. - Another instance of Katniss and Peeta being on the same wavelength, having taken precautions to help out Haymitch so he doesn’t have to go cold turkey again

We find Hazelle in her house, nursing a very sick Posy. I recognize the measles spots. “I couldn’t leave her,” she says. “I knew Gale’d be in the best possible hands.” - The second mention of someone having contracted the measles in D12 - Why the heck does the Capitol withhold measles vaccination from the people in the districts?! They’re inflicting unnecessary damage onto the very people they want to exploit... But I guess cruelty isn’t always about playing it smart and logical...

When we’re outside, I turn to Peeta. “You go on back. I want to walk by the Hob.” “I’ll go with you,” he says. “No. I’ve dragged you into enough trouble,” I tell him. “And avoiding a stroll by the Hob... that’s going to fix things for me?” He smiles and takes my hand. - They are a team, they stick together (and they are constantly holding hands, always physically linked to each other)😩💕 Also, Peeta pointing out the irrationality of Katniss’s train of thought to calm her down and stay with her reminds me of how he’s going to use logical reasoning to calm her down after the jabberjays in the Quarter Quell arena

We go back to the square. I buy some cakes from Peeta’s father while they exchange small talk about the weather. No one mentions the ugly tools of torture just yards from the front door. The last thing I notice as we leave the square is that I do not recognize even one of the Peacekeepers’ faces. - How weird is it that Peeta and his dad just talk about the weather?! Is this supposed to illustrate how in the Mellark family they just ignored the ugliness going on in their lives *cough cough* the abuse *cough cough* and just pretended that everything was fine, on a very superficial level? Also, it makes perfect sense that the Peacekeepers have been exchanged; the more time we spend with people, the more likely we are to like them - that won’t do if you want to have a ruthless authoritarian police force in the districts

As the days pass, things go from bad to worse. The mines stay shut for two weeks, and by that time half of District 12 is starving. The number of kids signing up for tesserae soars, but they often don’t receive their grain. Food shortages begin, and even those with money come away from stores empty-handed. [...] The eagerly awaited food promised for Parcel Day arrives spoiled and defiled by rodents. - This is just so awful and despicable 😞 Life in the districts was already horrible but now the government does not even honor the extortionary rules they themselves have set up! I can’t help but wonder if the lack of food could be traced back to rebellions in the food supplying districts and, to keep this from the inhabitants of the Capitol, the reduced amount of good food was (obviously) kept for the Capitolites, so that the bad food had to be sent to the districts, anyway... It just seems like such a breach of ‘honor’/etiquette on the Capitol’s part, I dunno... Or maybe Snow was just desperate to use any means necessary to stamp out any potential rebellions in the districts that he still had some control over...

Gale goes home with no more talk of rebellion between us. But I can’t help thinking that everything he sees will only strengthen his resolve to fight back. [...] Rory has signed up for tesserae, something Gale can’t even speak about - Poor, Gale! Poor Hawthornes :(

My fingers have all but decided to release the arrow when I see the object in the glove. It’s a small white circle of flat bread. More of a cracker, really. Gray and soggy around the edges. But an image is clearly stamped in the center of it. It’s my mockingjay. - It is so very telling that the true symbol of the rebellion combines something symbolic of Katniss (which also contains a nod to Rue) and something symbolic of Peeta (the bread/cracker!) The people in the districts have rightfully recognized the both of them as symbol of the rebellion; they have a truer vision of the matter than the more artifically/forcefully constructed symbol of rebellion that D13 /Coin will push - we will also see that when the people in D13 will view Peeta as a traitor, while the rebels Katniss will visit in D8 instead ask her about Peeta and assure her that they know he was speaking under duress

[stxleslyds]

LET’S TALK ABOUT BATMAN AND ROBIN #20 (2011).

And the issues that followed that story (Batman and Robin vol.2 #34-37)

DC and the fandom really let Bruce get away with what he did to Jason in that issue. DC because they had Jason go back to Bruce a few issues later to finish their story and the fandom because this moment in comics isn’t talked about enough which has led people to believe that the the concept of “batfamily” as it is in fandom belongs in canon.

This type of moments in stories should make a bigger impact on comic relationships and fandom’s perception of said relationships. From where I am standing Bruce’s actions in that issue are right on the edge of unforgivable and they could have used them as a key moment for Jason to finally move on from all Bat related bullshit without thinking that he had to stay and finish the job (of getting Damian back).

Making Jason move on so easily from that situation really makes it look like if Batman is physically, emotionally, or mentally abusive to his children then it’s not that much of a big deal, it’s just a subplot to a bigger story.

And that is something that happens repeatedly in current comics and it’s disgusting.

Anyway, now that I am done with my rambling, I will start talking about the issues that I mentioned.

Batman and Robin (2011) #20 – Written by Peter Tomasi.

For a little context, this issue is set after Damian’s death and Bruce is looking for ways to resurrect him.

And in this particular issue of this run, Batman recruits Jason Todd between the events of RHatO vol. 1 #18 and #19, that’s why in the cover of the issue the name of the run is changed to ‘Batman and Red Hood’.

A bit more context is that in issue #18 Jason finally recovers from the injuries that he got when the trap that Joker had put on his helmet detonated, and Jason was also having an existential crisis after the Joker convinced him that he was always present in Jason’s life and that he shaped the man that Jason had become (If you want to read more about that and the times' Joker has played with Jason’s mind, I have this post in which I talk all about that).

Good, now I can finally talk about this hellish issue.

Bruce asks for Jason’s help because he wants to take down some marksmen and women that are based in Ethiopia that might or might not have been the same people who took on the job of looking for Damian when his mother had put a bounty on his head.

One would imagine that Bruce calling Jason for this job means that he would let Jason kill some people, bounty-hunters that are money-driven enough to kill children seem to be the kind of people Jason would have in his black list, but Jason is smart and he knows that Batman won’t let him kill so he asks why is Bruce asking him of all people to join him on this mission, Batman replies with “Because I am seeing red”.

If you, like me, don’t understand why Batman would ask the Red Hood to stop him from killing some very shady people then don’t worry, Batman was lying, he didn’t ask Jason to go with him to beat some bounty-hunters, he has ulterior motives.

I will give it to Tomasi, he wrote Jason as the smart cookie that he is because Jason doesn’t stop picking up on the weird technicalities of the mission, and I will go as far as to say that Jason never truly believed that Bruce was being honest about the true nature of their mission. Smart Chonky, I miss you and love you.

Once they get to Ethiopia Bruce starts setting the rules of engagement (don’t shoot to kill, only hands, knees, and elbows), and off they go. Bruce even makes a comment about how it “feels like old times” and Jason is all happy and warm that Bruce invited him to beat some baddies and he also brings up the fact that Bruce stayed by his side while he was recovering from his injuries, very lovely stuff that will soon mean nothing (and that should have meant nothing because Bruce and his lies had resulted in Joker knowing all of their secret identities and messing with all of them in horrible ways, but the Bat can get away with that too).

Here is part of Bruce’s speech about trust and his lies, “You don’t ever need to thank me, Red Hood, for a family always looks out for each other” to which Jason says, “Yeah but a family also needs to earn each other’s trust” and Bruce continues his speech with, “comes a time when having to keep earning someone’s trust stops and you hope the people you’ve put your faith in will always have your back no matter what”.

Batman, everyone, master detective and master manipulator.

As Batman is talking manipulating Jason he beats every bounty hunter almost effortlessly because he had brought some bat-gadgets that were going to make the fight really easy. And as the fight is over in what looks like a minute Batman and Red Hood get on the Batmobile ready to leave Ethiopia… or not.

Jason is very aware that Batman didn’t need him for that so-called mission so he starts to ask more and more firmly about the real reason as to why Batman brought him to this place.

Batman brought Jason back to Ethiopia, but most importantly back to the Magdala Valley because he wants to see if Jason going back to the place where he died will make him remember how he was resurrected.

Yep, talk about having messed-up parents. Bruce is positively the worst at this moment, but it gets worse.

Jason is rightfully pissed off, he says, “You lied to me, this wasn’t about taking down those mercenaries. You wanted to bring me here, to the worst place in the world and here I was starting to believe all your crap about trust and faith...”

To which Bruce says, “I thought bringing you here could jog your memory, maybe retrieve a detail buried deep in your subconscious that could help piece together how you came back to life so I…”

And my man Jason really continues his thought process only to later tell him how much of a piece of shit he truly is (I love this Chonky, go Jason show this man that he ain’t shit).

“…could apply it to getting Damian back. Yeah, I get it. Did it ever occur to you I might like keeping whatever the hell happened to me buried deep? If you cared about me, you wouldn’t want me to dredge up the one thing I’ve been trying to forget. I don’t want to remember the most horrific day of my life all right? You may like wallowing in your tragedies, Bruce, but I’m done looking back!”

Jason, bravo, tell him exactly how you feel! Any sort of good human being would surely accept that they crossed a massive line and that they should ask for forgiveness next, right?... Right?

No. And that’s because Bruce is a horrible human being, I am sorry but it had to be said, this man has zero empathy for Jason and he proves it when he says the following.

“If you cared about me and what I’ve lost, you’d want to dredge this up! Don’t you see, there is a chance you can help me erase one of the worst days of MY life, Jason! You can give me the greatest gift of all and help me figure out how to bring my son back”

Fuck Bruce Wayne. This man has no right whatsoever to talk this way to Jason, no matter how you see this situation, the whole thing is fucked up. Bruce puts his needs above Jason’s feelings and he diminishes Jason’s position as his son because Bruce only refers to Damian as his son. This whole thing is incredibly nasty.

Here we should have had the point of no return for Jason and Bruce’s relationship, although if you are like me, you might think that the point of no return happened way back in Batman (1940) #650 when Bruce decided that saving the Joker by throwing a batarang at Jason’s neck (how did he know that Jason would survive that, I have no idea, maybe Bruce can see the future) was a better option compared to Jason finally killing the clown. Because that’s the thing, Jason was going to kill the clown but Bruce didn’t let him because he didn’t want more blood in Jason’s hands, I laugh until this day about how stupid Bruce’s thinking was there.

Anyway, the point I was trying to make is that Jason should have said bye-bye to Batman and all related Batman crap from this moment on. It would have been perfect but DC can’t help themselves and Lobdell’s self-insert-Jason really wants to be part of this amazing family so, no luck for Jason or us.

If you have read my latest post about Joker getting under Jason’s skin or read issue #18 of RHatO you know the context of what Jason says next.

“Yeah, and how about me? How about the gift of not knowing that the Joker manipulated my entire life, huh? The clown tainted everything, the good, the bad, hell my life’s even been tainted by you!”

Yup, Jason was going through it, and he had talked about these feelings with Bruce previously in issue #17 of RHatO, he had asked Bruce if he thought that Joker had created him and Bruce said, “No Jason, He didn’t make you, I never did either. You made you” and Jason was extremely thankful for that. And now, here we are, these feelings are being brought up again but in a very different situation.

Them arguing becomes a physical fight and after Jason asks Bruce “why are you making me stand in the exact same spot he beat me to death?” He replies this “Because I want to watch Damian grow up damn it! Damian earned that right! And I want to give it to him!”

This conversation only gets worse and Bruce’s most horrible side comes to light, like, I understand that Bruce wants Damian to be alive and all that but he is saying all the wrong stuff to Jason. I feel like as the reader I am being told that Bruce values Damian more than he ever did Jason because he is willing to put Jason through his own personal hell for Damian but refuses to see the reasons as to why Jason doesn’t want to do it. Bruce is being incredibly selfish and he is not caring enough about Jason to notice that he is hurting him. He even doesn’t notice after Jason says, “I was ready to stand by your side and you’ve thrown it all away!”

It is incredibly sad but it's also a bit of a look into what Bruce will do to Dick in Nightwing vol. 3 #30. It has the exact same vibe in both issues, Bruce going completely berserk on his children and telling them that he “trained them to be better”.

This issue ends with Jason punching Bruce several times and Bruce taunting Jason by telling him that he might as well continue because he is “still standing”. The levels of manipulation that Bruce had going on here weren’t as high as the ones in Nightwing #30 but he sure was a little bitch every step of the way.

Jason, being smart, doesn’t take the bait and tells Bruce that he is leaving and he is taking the car.

Wouldn’t this have been an amazing moment for Jason to finally rid himself of all Batman-related events and bullshit? How did DC miss this amazing opportunity to make Jason Todd/Red Hood a character that can stand on his own and with his own rules?

The potential that was wasted when they made Jason go back to Bruce and help him get Damian back in issues 33 to 37 of this same run is immeasurable. And just like Joker being able to get under Jason’s skin, him going back to Bruce and the “family” for plot purposes harmed Jason’s characterization greatly.

Batman and Robin (2011) #34-37 – Written by Peter Tomasi.

Whatever kind of respect I held for Tomasi because of the way he wrote Jason in #20 is now gone. Issues 34 to 37 have Jason fighting alongside Batman and him being all buddy-buddy with him.

Now, let me make something clear, Bruce wanting to bring Damian back to life/from Apokolips is absolutely fine with me, a father fighting for his son’s life can always make a good story, the thing is that at this point in time not only the events of Batman and Robin #20 have happened but so have the events of Nightwing #30.

So, Bruce going through all of this for one of his kids (that keeps being brought up as if he were his only son) after he emotionally manipulated Jason and Dick makes this story very bitter.

But I understand what DC is doing, you know? Here is how they manage to make this story as bitter-sweet as possible. In issue 34 of this run, Dick shows up in his Spyral get-up and offers his help in getting Damian back, because the kid meant a lot to him but Bruce can’t have Dick helping him out along with Barbara and Tim because Bruce has everyone convinced that Dick is dead. So, DC was like “here is this big brain idea, let’s have Jason, Barbara, and Tim helping Bruce get Damian back”. And that’s exactly what they did.

They dragged Jason back to Batman-related crap after he was manipulated, insulted, and punched by the man that is supposed to be his father. And this issue is also happening after Jason had such an immense existential crisis that he decided to have his memory wiped so he could cleanse himself on any doubt that the Joker had manipulated his free will.

How on earth are we supposed to believe that Jason is dumb enough to go back to Batman after all that? Does DC and its writers read their own material? Do they check if the characters that they are planning on using have contradicting narratives?

It’s so messy, the opportunity that DC, Tynion, Tomasi, and Lobdell got to make Jason his own man and his own character was completely wasted, just for a Batman event!

And it isn’t like Jason’s participation in getting Damian back was crucial, it really wasn’t, if I am planning on taking a team of heroes to Apokolips for a rescue mission, Jason, Barbara and Tim wouldn’t be my first options. Jason was put in that book only so they could have someone making snarky comments and for Jason to be like “Bruce we are family, we will always have each other’s backs” I mean, who is Jason supposed to be, Dom Toretto?

Here are some of the moments that seemed the most out of touch for Jason in these issues.

Batman and Robin #34

In issue 34 Bruce gives a long speech about him not wanting to hide things anymore from them (like he did during the events of Death of the Family) and that he wants a new start because they “have been broken long enough” so from that moment forward “good or bad, the truth rules”.

The audacity of this man, my god, how dense can Bruce be? “we’ve been broken long enough”? YOU have broken your relationship with these people time and time again! As you are standing there talking about the truth you are hiding the fact that Dick is alive and well somewhere far away because YOU sent him on a very dangerous mission after he died and you manipulated him.

THE AUDACITY OF THIS PIECE OF SHIT! Am I becoming an anti-Batman blog? I think I am and quite honestly, I am having the time of my life. Fuck this guy.

But back to the issue, after Bruce says that the truth is all that goes now, Barbara basically says that she doesn’t believe him, that all it takes for Bruce to go back to lying is “another situation that justifies you going dark on us in more ways than one” HA! You go, girl! But he is already hiding something from all of you.

Jason being himself supplies a situation like the ones where Batman lies to them in order to get them to work for him, he says, “or bringing me to Magdala Valley on a sightseeing trip to reminisce about the good old days of crowbars and explosions”, ah yes, sure, Bruce did all that back in issue 20 and now it is brought up as an afterthought… how wonderful.

Bruce, of course, lies to their faces when he says “I promise that nothing gets held back. We speak our mind no matter what the cost” to which Jason says “Unconditional truth now and forever, Bruce, otherwise this is all a load of crap”.

AND IT IS! IT IS ALL A LOAD OF CRAP CHONKY! RUN, RUN LIKE THE WIND!

Man, what a mess, poor Dick. He had to wait there and watch his father lie his ass off. And he really wanted to help Bruce get Damian back. Even after Bruce told Dick (as well as Barbara, Tim, and Jason) that he had to go to Apokolips alone Dick still helped Bruce in other ways, Dick really is the MVP, what a man, I love him so much!

(I really needed to show my love for Dick right then and there, sometimes you just have to do it. Dick Grayson is, after all, the greatest comic character to have ever been created).

Batman and Robin #36

First of all, seeing Jason and Barbara wearing the Robin symbol really makes me laugh. It’s just weird to see Barbara wear it, it almost feels like it’s something that shouldn’t have happened and in Jason’s case, well, the last time he wore it he died and it’s kinda funny to see beefy and tall Red Hood wearing a Robin symbol, it’s just funny not a critique.

What I am going to critique from this issue is that after they (Jason, Barbara, and Tim) go to Apokolips and find Bruce they say, “You’re here in this hellish place for your son, Bruce” and Jason continues that with, “And we’re here for you”.

Ah, the irony. Of all people, having Jason say that to Bruce is wild. This man has done nothing for Jason and here Jason is, in Apokolips, of all places, to help a man that does not deserve it. This is proof that Jason is a good man but its also proof that he is an idiot in the New 52, I am sorry but come on, writing Jason this way after what Bruce did to him in issue 20 seems like DC is confirming the fact that even though Batman does the most horrible stuff to his kids, he can still get away with it because his kids still love him all the same.

I understand, loving your parents when they are flawed but Bruce had been written at this time like an abusive father, and he was written like that towards Jason and Dick, so it is not a good look. Bruce saying that he promises that he won’t do it anymore isn’t enough DC, make the man pay for being that way, make his kids stay away from him for a while (or forever).

And here is the other thing, I say that Bruce is Jason and Dick’s father but DC doesn’t, they only acknowledge Damian as Bruce’s son and they do it because the New 52 timeline is non-existent. After all, they deleted a lot of history from these characters, I think it’s fair to assume that Bruce never adopted Dick or Jason and that both of them were Robin for a very short time. What I am trying to say with this is that not only is Bruce getting away with being abusive but he is also getting away with being an abusive father. Because Bruce is their father, at least I see it that way, he isn’t just his friend/mentor/tutor he is their father. He used to be before New 52 and that’s not something that we as the readers are ready or want to let go of.

All in all, Jason didn’t do much in these issues thus confirming (to me, at least) that the only reason he was invited to the party was because they couldn’t use Dick. And that’s an insult to Jason’s character, it would have been better if Jason didn’t appear in this story and he actually had the chance to do something else, like go back to being the proper Red Hood, an anti-hero that does what Batman won’t do for Gotham and its people.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Runaway Ride

Fandom: Never Have I Ever Pairing: Devi/Paxton Rating: T Word Count: 4889

Summary: Kamala gets herself into a pickle, Devi needs to go to her, and Paxton has a car. Problem-solving has never been so simple, but that's how it is when your new boyfriend is Paxton Hall-Yoshida. Throw in a little hand-holding on the highway and this family crisis might just be the best date Devi will ever have.

When they finally took a break from dancing—disconnecting hands from hips and shoulders, lips from lips—Devi stepped away in a dreamy headspace. She almost collided with Jonah, but he didn’t tell her to look where she was going, only offered a shrewd, indulgent smile.

Actually, everybody was treating her like that; every eye that caught hers on her way to the table where she’d left her stuff was unjudgmental, admiring, straight up fairy-godmotherly. Devi hadn’t received this much notice since her dad’s death and her subsequent paralysis. And those looks had been pitying, freaked out. Positive attention was new and cool and she wondered, as she grabbed her phone out of her turquoise clutch, whether her socials would show more of the same when she opened them. Would people have snapped stealthy pics of her and Paxton dancing now that she’d been vaulted into the pseudo-celebrity strata of the high school hierarchy? Would the Insta posts be captioned with hashtags of their ship name? Paxi? Daxton? Vishwall-Yoshumar?

Devi never got to check.

Unlocking her phone, she found two missed calls from her mother. Maybe two wouldn’t have seemed like a whole lot to someone else, but Devi knew that, in order for her mom to risk rudeness by stepping away from the company she was hosting at home not once but twice, she’d need to be pretty frantic. Two missed calls from Nalini Vishwakumar were the equivalent of six or seven from any other mother.

Skirting the edges of the gym as she headed away from DJ Humanoid—that nit-witted saboteur of slow dances—Devi was about to call her mom back when her screen changed to an incoming call from Kamala. She pressed her other hand to her ear and answered it.

“Hey. Do you know what’s going on with my mom? She called me twice and, honestly, she knows I’m at the d—”

“Devi, shut up. Sorry,” Kamala sighed. “But I may have kidnapped your history teacher and now I’m panicking a little.”

Devi stopped in her tracks.

“You did what? Why is the sound weird?”

As she was trying to identify the background noise coming from Kamala’s end, her eyes swept over the crowd of her classmates and landed on Fabiola’s. Her friend had been smiling, mid-sway as she held Eve from behind and chatted with Sasha, but it fell off her face like Devi off Dr. Jackson’s roof. Fab disentangled herself from her girlfriend and crossed the room to stand with Devi. She was frowning, silently asking for an explanation for Devi’s distress, but Devi didn’t really have one yet.

“We’re in his car on the highway,” her cousin was saying. “He was a little drunk, so I’m driving.”

Devi had imagined that Kamala was exaggerating, but no, this was really starting to sound like a kidnapping.

“You better be on hands-free right now,” she lectured. Then, because she wasn’t exactly a paragon of road safety herself—barely an hour ago, she’d walked right out in front of Paxton’s jeep—didn’t wait for confirmation. “What the hell happened? Context, Kamala!”

“Well, as soon as I snuck out of the house—”

“But why did you sneak out?!”

“Devi, I can’t talk about that right now!” Devi’s eyebrows shot up at the clear and abnormal hysteria in her cousin’s voice. “I ran out of the house,” Kamala continued, “totally directionless, and the first thing that popped into my head was Manish’s invitation for me to come to karaoke…”

“Ew, what the fuck, don’t call Mr. K that.”

What? Fab mouthed at her, but Devi shook her head.

“That is his name and what he asked me to call him. Anyway,” Kamala said, sounding strained, “I went to your school and met up with him and now I’m driving his car and I think I might have shut my sari in the car door, but I’m scared to pull over and check because if I stop the car, I’m going to have to confront things and I think I’d rather not do that yet.”

“Kamala,” Devi said in a heavy, careful voice. “You have to pull over. I totally get what you’re saying because it sounds like something I might do—minus the part where you kidnapped Mr. K—” Fabiola’s eyes went dramatically wide as she was adjusting her tiara. “—but this isn’t you. You don’t run away from your obligations and elope with my teachers!”

“Manish and I didn’t elope. It isn’t in any way romantic.”

“For sure though? It’s not?” Devi heard another voice in the car ask.

“Mr. K, back off! Kamala’s in the middle of a crisis!” she shouted. “And please be drunk enough to forget that I yelled at you.”

“Devi, what should I do?” Kamala asked, sounding desperate in a sad way now.

“Where are you?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Ok, well, which direction are you heading in?”

“Um, either north or south.”

“You’re a disaster,” Devi muttered.

“What was that?”

“Uh… I said, don’t drive any faster. Try to read the next sign you pass so you can tell me where you are.”

“Alright,” Kamala said.

Devi tilted her phone away from her mouth so her cousin wouldn’t hear her frustrated sigh. She locked eyes with Fabiola.

“Kamala panicked at her engagement dinner and ran off with Mr. K. They’re either headed for Mexico or Canada, but I’ll know more in a minute.”

Fab blinked.

“Wow.”

“I know. It’s a lot. And this is me talking,” Devi emphasized.

“I don’t know if you would do anything this big. Mainly because you don’t have a driver’s license.”

“True.”

“Santa Barbara in twenty-six miles,” Kamala said in her ear.

“Damn, you made good time.”

“The traffic was quite manageable.”

“Try to calm down a little and get off the highway when you can. Don’t go past Santa Barbara. I’m coming to talk you down in person,” Devi said. “Oh, and don’t answer any of my mom’s calls; she’ll just stress you out.”

“That doesn’t seem very responsible. How about I send her a text when I stop to let her know I’m ok?”

Devi rolled her eyes.

“Suit yourself.”

“Thank you, Devi. But how will you get here?”

“Let me worry about that. Text me when you stop so I know exactly where I’m going.”

“I will.”

“’K. I’ll see you in a bit.”

Devi hung up and sighed massively, slumping into the wall and feeling a streamer crumple against her back. She and Fabiola stared at each other.

“What are you gonna do?” Fab asked.

“Be the hero my family needs, but not the one they deserve.”

“Are you misquoting Batman to justify doing something reckless?”

“First of all, rescuing Kamala isn’t reckless, and second of all, the movie isn’t called Batman, it’s The Dark Knight. Young-ish Christian Bale, hello.”

Fabiola pointed a finger at her own face.

“Young-ish out-of-touch lesbian, hello. At least I was close.”

Devi sighed again while Fab smiled sadly at her in obvious sympathy.

“It’s after ten at night. How am I gonna get to Santa Barbara?”

“Assuming you’re not going to ask your mom—”

“No.”

“Then you need a ride.”

“You need a ride? I’ll drive you.”

It was Paxton, walking up and tentatively taking Devi’s hand while darting uncertain glances at Fabiola. Devi felt her entire face light up.

“You don’t want to know where or why?” she teased.

His expression said those were insignificant details. Wow. Devi’d never had a fantasy where Paxton joined forces with her, bounty hunter-style, to track down a flighty Kamala, but this felt oddly romantic. Passionate even? They’d see where the night took them.

“You wouldn’t wanna leave the dance unless it was serious,” Paxton reasoned. “So, I’ll drive you. You wanna go now?”

“I guess we better. Lemme just grab my…”

“I’ll get it,” Fab said, raising a hand like the nerd she was as she volunteered.

She darted back through the dancers to grab Devi’s things and Devi watched their classmates part for their Cricket Queen. She was so proud of Fab. Also, she felt kinda bad for ditching such a momentous occasion. But Kamala needed her, and would totally do the same for her if she ever went off the deep end and kidnapped a dude while fleeing a proposal. Not that Devi could see herself fleeing a proposal (she glanced at Paxton as she thought this, then quickly away, thinking, Way too soon!). Carrying out a kidnapping? With a sufficiently convincing pro-and-con list, anything was possible.

“Basically, Kamala freaked and drove to Santa Barbara with a drunken Mr. K,” Devi said, because Paxton might not have asked to be informed, but she wanted him to know what he was getting himself into. Beyond that, she wanted to give him the chance to say, No way, Devi. I came here to look hot and dance up on you, nothing more.

“Oh shit,” was what he said.

“Damn right, oh shit. You still want to drive? This is going to take a while.”

She should probably have felt guilty about trying to subtly persuade him with her eyes, but not only was Paxton the least complicated option, he was also her first choice. If she maintained eye contact long enough, Devi figured it might trigger some kind of boyfriend override that made going for a long drive at night just as appealing as staying here and dancing with her butt pressed thrillingly to his groin when the teacher-chaperones weren’t looking.

“As long as we can hit up the bathrooms first. I was going to, but then I got talking to Trent, and then Marcus was doing a handstand…”

“Definitely,” Devi assured him. “Good call. Empty the tank. Oh, actually, that reminds me… how much gas do you have in your jeep? If we need to stop at a gas station, I’ll have to factor that in to the ETA I give Kamala.”

Paxton shook his head at her, smiling in what she liked to think was affectionate amusement.

“I filled it up on the way here. I needed a minute to, uh…” To her epic astonishment, he ducked his head self-consciously, cheeks pinking. “You know. Get my shit together. Up here.” He tapped his temple with his index finger. “I wanted to show up for you, like, completely. You know?”

Right as Devi was at dangerously high risk of sagging to the floor in blissful bonelessness, Fabiola sprang to her side, shoving the rest of her possessions at her.

“Ok, ok!” Devi said, harried.

She had to dump it all on the bathroom counter a minute later anyway, but after she’d done her pre-road trip pee, she came out and gave Fab a better thank-you.

“Your Highness,” Paxton told Fabiola with a nod.

Fab nodded back, smiling wryly.

“Prosecutor.”

“I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship,” Devi assessed, “but we gotta go! Say congrats to Eve for me again!”

“Sure. Drive safe!”

Devi and Paxton pushed through the doors together, striding quickly with his hand wrapped around hers. In the parking lot, she glanced sideways to see him digging his keychain out of his front pocket.

“Oh,” she said, “so I wasn’t just feeling that you were very happy to dance with me.”

Until they got into the jeep, it was too dark to see whether she’d gotten him to blush again, but she liked to think that she had. He was definitely smiling.

They got in and Devi carefully tucked her skirt around her legs, mind on Kamala’s cautionary tale. At least it was until Paxton leaned forward to shrug out of his jacket and she saw his shoulder muscles jump beneath his fitted button-down, his narrow black tie swinging forward. Dang. Fifty shades of Hall-Yoshida.

“Santa Barbara?” Paxton double-checked once he was settled behind the wheel, steering out of the student lot.

“Santa Barbara.”

Until they were on the highway and heading out of Los Angeles, Devi did her best to keep her worry about Kamala’s situation contained to the way she flapped her phone against her thigh. Usually, she was stressing about the problems right in front of her (when she wasn’t blatantly ignoring them, only to have that approach bite her in the ass later), but with whatever was going on with Kamala, she kinda had to look ahead.

Had she wanted Kamala to get engaged to Prashant that badly? Well, the best thing about Prashant was that you never knew when having additional hot relatives would be to your benefit. (Devi was already hoping that Mr. K would get over the more nerve-wracking elements of this night and just remember having fun with her stunning cousin… and that this could possibly translate into at least a month of generous grades, if she could somehow spin these shenanigans as an intentional blind date arranged by herself.) However, an engaged Kamala was wholly different from a married Kamala. She wouldn’t be around to watch nonsensical episodes of Riverdale, or be duped into hijinks, or listen to Devi when her mom was too tired, or bitch about her shitty lab-mates in exchange for sitting through Devi bitching about her complicated feelings on the subject of Aneesa dating her ex. She wouldn’t live with them anymore, and the family that had begun to miraculously fill out after her dad had died would be back down to three. And the other two members of it would be old (Sorry, Mom, she thought) and not at all prepared to champion her dating life or the cleavage-accentuating formal dress currently buoying it.

So, yeah, Devi was looking ahead—eyes glazed over as the yellow lights of cars slipped around them to prevent her vision from fully adjusting to the blue-black sky—and feeling more than a little nervous and scared of the Kamala-shaped hole she’d have in her life if her dazzling, dorky cousin left her house for one she might eventually fill with the most beautiful children the world had ever seen.

Thankfully, Paxton was there. It startled her when he took one hand off the wheel and felt across her lap to grab hers, loosely interlacing their fingers. Devi quit hitting her phone against her leg. She sent off their updated location to Kamala and then let her phone fall flat.

“Did she say where she was?” Her boyfriend’s voice was quiet in the car and she realized for the first time that her head had been too crammed with thoughts to put on any music.

“Carpinteria State Beach. Do you know the exit?”

“We’ll find it.”

“And if you want me to drive while you rest on the way back…”

Paxton laughed.

“No way. Safety first.”

“Says the guy driving one-handed,” Devi countered, not that she was eager to surrender the hand warming hers.

He turned his head just long enough to shoot her a look.

“Whoa, pal, eyes on the road!” she said. (She had a half-baked plan to call her boyfriend ‘pal’ a few times and thereby de-weaponize the word in a memory that still felt like a fading bruise, an almost-gone sore spot in who she and Paxton were before they were openly a them.)

“Sorry,” he said, staring out the windshield again. He grinned. “You look gorgeous.”

“Really?”

“So gorgeous.” Paxton’s voice was softer this time, the underlying laugh it had carried since she’d offered to drive his jeep drained out of it. It was nearly a sigh.

“Thanks. So do you.”

“You know, I feel fucking awful for hitting you with my car, but I still think I mighta felt worse if I’d walked in and seen you dancing with somebody else.”

Devi twisted their hands, touching the back of his to her thigh so she was sandwiching it between leg and palm for a moment, aiming for reassuring.

“I wanna say I would never be that flaky, but my previous offenses speak for themselves.”

“So does doing this with me.”

“Uh,” she droned, “to recap, you left a fun thing to do a huge favour for me. You’re talking about it like this is my act of redemption. I feel like if you examine it for a sec, you’ll see how I’m actually kind of a dick for accepting your help.”

“I want us to be together,” he said bluntly. “Here we are. Together.”

“It’s that simple?”

“I don’t see why it can’t be.”

“Huh. I think you’re really gonna be good for my tendency to overcomplicate a situation.”

Paxton laughed and unthreaded his fingers from Devi’s. But it wasn’t to release her for pointing out that this date was, in actual fact, the coordinated response to a family crisis; his fingertips moved lightly over her palm, momentarily trapped when her fingers flinched inward in reaction to how it tickled, then traced along the thin skin of her inner wrist. He wasn’t trying to pull away. He was lingering. Though his touch when he sunk his hand into her hair or drew her closer by her waist had always been fairly gentle, it had often had the faint aggression of hastiness to it, clutching her as they made out in her room, always listening for footsteps in the hallway. How Paxton touched her now was pure, exploratory tenderness. It made the hairs on the back of Devi’s neck stand up as a wave of shivers rushed up her spine and crested somewhere around the nape of her neck.

He must’ve felt that wave break, the foamy aftereffects in some tic of her arm or quickening of her pulse while his fingers skimmed gradually up the inside of her arm towards her elbow, because he chanced another quick glance at her.

“That feels good,” she explained.

Paxton looked forward, nodding slowly, and shifted in the driver’s seat.

“Good.”

She thought it must have felt good for him too, knowing he’d made her shiver.

—

The miles were flicking past for Paxton—another, another, another, as fast and steady as the dashed lines painted between the lanes, his arms cutting the water on the front crawl. He wanted Devi, beside him, to believe that he was paying attention to his driving, but he was honestly kinda zoned out. Like that time he’d swum to San Diego, he let his body go through the motions (in this case, twitching the wheel, putting on cruise control when traffic thinned so he didn’t have to focus on the pedals) while his mind floated freely.

Where it floated was to his girlfriend.

At ten years old, he’d been the last kid in his swim class to jump off the 10m board. It was optional—a treat after getting water up their noses turning somersaults below the surface and doing egg-beater legs in between—but all the other boys in the group had done it eagerly, shrieking on their way down to sloppy pencil dives. Paxton had climbed the stairs all the way to the top easily enough, even stepped onto the wide platform, bordered by metal railings and rough under his bare feet. He’d walked out to the end and frozen to find himself so high above the pool.

He hadn’t feared the water, he’d feared the air. Being so exposed on his own at the end of the diving board. Eventually, he’d retreated, then surprised the coach waiting down at the poolside by turning around and taking the jump at a run. Few memories felt as good as the sensation of giving himself back to gravity and letting it reunite him with the water. He’d just had to get past the exposure.

Same thing tonight, going to find Devi at the dance. Holding her hand in his had been him reaching the platform, but when they stood together, just inside the school’s doors, Paxton hadn’t known for sure whether he would take the leap or retreat. And not just for a running start this time, but in a way that turned his sixteen-year-old present self back into one of those nervous ten-year-olds who wimped out and had to take the coward’s way down—descending each step they’d climbed. He might not have run, and yet he hadn’t needed to back up and race into their relationship either. Momentum hadn’t carried them inside for everyone they knew to see them. It had been a calm approach, even if he’d been shaking on the inside when he saw Trent staring at them.

So maybe Paxton had learned something in the last six years, or maybe it was harder to feel exposed with somebody right next to you.

She really did look gorgeous, like he’d said, and because he didn’t want her to worry about his focus if she spotted him gazing at the side of her face while she texted her cousin, the glances he stole were of the knee region. Her dress’s overlay sparkled when the high lights of eighteen-wheelers passed them and the specific teal of the dress itself reminded him of a river he’d swum in once during an out-of-state family vacation. Natural and deep and fresh, and exasperating for his parents because he’d accidentally doggy-paddled himself all the way to a small waterfall and hadn’t heard them calling him back for dinner around the campfire. He felt all that about Devi, except for hoping for a different reaction from his parents when they met her.

Holy shit. He was going to have to introduce his girlfriend to his embarrassing hippy parents. But then, she’d already met Rebecca, so maybe they were set? A sister’s approval should count for a ton.

No, no, no, Devi would have to meet his parents. He was doing this. The two of them were doing this. Paxton exhaled determinedly through his nose and made himself concentrate on the remaining miles he needed to cover. His mind, anyway. His hand continued to stroke and search, covering his girlfriend’s hand with his until he had her fingers tucked away protectively under his own, and then caressing all the way up to the crook of her elbow so suddenly that she made a noise between a laugh and a yelp because he’d unintentionally tickled her. Man, she was cute.

The very end of their journey required the most concentration from Paxton; he finally took back his hand to have both on the wheel as he steered them off the highway and Devi’s got lonely or something, because it chased across to where he was sitting and landed on his thigh. His jaw clenched. He could feel the heat of her palm through his pantleg and congratulated himself on being a driving legend for driving smoothly to where they needed to park for beach access.

Devi had a pink sweater that she put on, but Paxton grabbed his jacket out of the back as well in case she needed it. It was almost midnight and a breeze rolled up off the water, rippling his tie and swishing Devi’s dress. He didn’t have to ask what they should do next—there was just one other car parked nearby and Devi’s cousin was already standing outside of it, raising a hand to wave sheepishly as they got out of his jeep.

“Here,” he said, holding out his jacket for his girlfriend to put her arms through the sleeves. “You guys talk. I’ll be down at the beach.”

Devi turned her back to him as she accepted the jacket, but she glanced over her shoulder with a look of concern.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. You’ll want privacy. I need to stretch my legs anyway.”

“Just don’t swim away, ok?” she requested. “I don’t think I can handle more than one rescue mission per night.”

Paxton could tell by her expression that it wasn’t entirely a joke. He grinned and gripped his lapels, now on Devi, reeling her in.

“I promise. You’d probably take the opportunity to try to drive the jeep home, and I don’t want to risk that.”

“Me committing grand theft auto or me getting hurt?”

“I bet they tested you for smartness,” he said, “but you think they have a test for being a smartass? You’d score high, Vishwakumar.”

“I know, I know, you don’t want me to get hurt.”

She was so infuriatingly flippant, rolling her big brown eyes at him.

“That’s right,” Paxton said plainly. There he was, up on the platform again.

Devi straightened his tie and let her hand rest flat on his chest. He remembered how overwhelmed she’d looked the first time he’d placed her palm there, right on his skin. Even now, it almost made him laugh.

“Ok,” she said, and he was surrendering himself to the sweet strength of gravity, propelled down to the beach while Devi stayed to talk to Kamala.

—

Devi had heard that there were tidepools here, and she was nervous about stepping into one and spearing some aquatic animal on her high heel. Well, she couldn’t magically improve her night vision, but she could take her shoes off and remove the possibility of impalement. They dangled from her fingers as she picked her way down to the beach.

Her boyfriend was sitting in the sand, staring out at the ocean. It just looked so romantic—with the stars the sky was too bright to see at home, and the waves, and the back of Paxton’s white shirt in the moonlight—that Devi decided to slip into the scene without saying anything at all.

A mistake. Paxton gasped and jumped. Apparently, he hadn’t heard her over the noise of the water.

“Sorry, sorry!” she said.

He sighed and smiled, getting to his feet.

“How’d it go?”

“I think it went well. She was feeling calm enough to drive, so she’s on her way home now. She’s gonna cover for me until we get back.”

“That’s good… but what about Mr. Kulkarni?”

“He was passed out in the passenger’s seat,” Devi stated. “I guess he’s kind of a lightweight? Kamala said she’s going to drive back to our school and leave him and his car in the parking lot. She’s planning to call my mom for a ride home. If it were me, I think I’d take the bus and try to sneak back into the house as quietly as possible, but Kamala still has a lot to learn about how to thoroughly dodge your problems.”

“And maybe about how to climb to the second floor of your house from the outside?” Paxton suggested with a meaningful smirk.

She did her best to return it, but the odds were that it didn’t look nearly as sexy on her. Then again, she had moonlight and midnight and well-displayed cleavage on her side.

“How’d you learn to do that so quietly anyway?” Devi asked, tossing her shoes to the sand and stepping forward to boldly wrap her arms around Paxton’s waist.

He’d had his hands in his pockets, but as soon as she’d begun to move towards him, he’d pulled them out. His arms encircled her, his hands on the back of his own black jacket. Although Devi wanted to offer him the jacket back—he felt slightly chilly through his shirt—she didn’t want the two of them to separate. Besides, body heat was a thing. This was practically what it was for. So Devi just pressed herself closer, breathing the scent of the ocean and Paxton’s fading cologne.

“Trent,” he said.

“Yeah, actually, that checks out.”

Were there boundaries between warming someone up while having a conversation and just hugging them? It wasn’t clear to Devi, but it felt good when they both went quiet for a while. She stood unevenly on the cold sand and listened to the thud of Paxton’s heart.

“You never said yes,” he said eventually, quietly.

“Yes to what?”

“I told you I came to the dance as your boyfriend and you never actually agreed to be my girlfriend. We kinda just started making out.”

Devi lifted her cheek from his chest so she could look at him. He didn’t appear disappointed, more like he was making an observation. Maybe he’d been reflecting, out here in the dark, while she and Kamala had talked.

“In my books, that’s an obvious yes,” she said, grinning. “What more do you need?”

She could see him trying not to smile.

“A little atmosphere would be nice,” Paxton said. “Maybe a long drive, or the beach. A full moon. Romance me, Vishwakumar.”

Devi vibrated with silent laughter. Or her heart was just beating really, really freaking hard.

“Sounds like you’ve got some pretty big expectations there.”

“And stars,” he added. “There should be a shitload of stars.”

With that, he took one hand off her back to point far above them. Devi tipped her head back, the light of the stars a friendly blur as she tried to pick one to settle on, just one. Paxton’s face coming forward to hover over hers blotted them out. Her boyfriend kissed her, light and ghosting and then firm and slow.

“On the other hand,” he said, pulling back a little, “I think we were onto something with the making out.”

Devi smiled and dug her toes into the sand to make herself taller, lips at the ready and realigned with his.

“We did set a precedent.”