#rina angle

[owelrina]

Rina!

My art has been very colorful and bright lately, so I decided to try drawing with more dull and greyish colors!! I really like how it turned out^_^ Two versions bc I'm stupid and decided to add highlights bc of habit lolz(the first one is more what I was going for initially) also, I'm sorry if this looks weird,.,

[gallade-x-treme]

"Go Our Way!", a new Nijigasaki High School Idol Club song from the Next Sky OVA

[chisungie]

.

[stllmnstr]

champagne problems: part one

pairing: jake sim x f reader

genre: enemies to lovers, rich kids au, fake dating au, college au, angst, fluff

part one word count: 15.6k

part one warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, family drama, a fatal case of second son syndrome

soundtrack: boom - dpr live / bad idea! - girl in red / blood on the floor - kuiper / calico - dpr ian / comme de garçons (like the boys) - rina sawayama / lust - chase atlantic

note: another reupload!! hope this hopeless romantic college boyfriend jake hits just as good the second time around. happy reading ♡

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The second son of a wealthy family, Jake Sim has gotten used to always standing in the shadow of his older brother. From grades to girls to talks of becoming future CEO of the Sim Corporation, he’s no stranger to coming in second place. So when an opportunity arises for Jake to finally have the one thing his brother can’t and best him once and for all, he knows he’d be a fool not to take it.

There are only two problems. The first is that the thing his brother wants so badly isn’t a thing at all. It’s you, semi-estranged daughter of the Sims’ closest and most long-standing business partner.

The second is that Jake Sim can’t fucking stand you.

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Fingers wrapping around the stem of your wine glass, you sigh. Punctuality may have been a steep order for someone who you suspect is running dangerously low on both common sense and regard for others, but twenty minutes? Really?

Your eyes land on the obnoxiously ornate grandfather clock next to the hostess stand. In a restaurant with ceilings so high you can barely see them and a carefully curated ambience that practically screams old money, it blends right in. It also gives you an updated timeframe on your would-be date’s tardiness. 

Scratch that – thirty minutes. 

Pulling out your phone, the absence of any new notifications is almost as annoying as whatever threadbare excuse you’re sure your date will offer you when he arrives. Glancing at the door, it remains devoid of any new patrons. Or perhaps rather if he arrives. 

You’re running near empty on both pinot noir and patience, and you use the distraction of your phone to make you seem a little less pathetic. As if this entire restaurant isn’t already privy to the fact that you’re actively being stood up. 

Well, you think wryly, at least you look good doing it. The off white ensemble you selected for the evening is Chanel, and vintage, at that. Usually you wouldn’t pull out all the stops like this for something as flimsy as a first date, but men like James Sim have an eye for this kind of thing. 

Four years your senior, he’s already carving out a name for himself at twenty-five. You suppose it is a little less impressive, though, when the name he was born with already carries a legacy of its own in the business world you usually do your very best to stay out of. Rumor has it he’s already a shoo-in for the next CEO of his father’s company. When nepotism is that blatant, you can’t do much but scoff and raise a glass to it. 

Scrambling for something to do to make your wasted time pass a bit quicker, you search up the social media profile of your would-be date. Honestly, you doubt you would learn anything more substantial about him if he actually bothered to show up than you will from scanning over his feed. In your experience, men like that tend to make up for their success on paper by lacking an actual personality and any sort of self-awareness. 

Gym selfie. Scroll. Gym selfie from a slightly different angle. Scroll. Dog photo. Pausing, you suppress a small smile. The dog in the picture is pretty cute, if nothing else. Zooming in slightly, your eyes crinkle at the way the dog’s tongue lolls out of its open mouth in a grin. Well, at least he’s got that going for him, you suppose. A cute dog is enough to bump any guy’s ranking up a few points in your book. 

If James Sim is nothing but a sum of his social media profile, it’s not like you expected anything else. After all, this is the heir to the Sim Corporation, a golden boy that was born with a crown on his head and a gold spoon in his mouth. Everything he’s earned has been laid out for him in painstakingly placed steps. His entire life has been guided by a heavy hand and the knowledge that he would one day inherit everything that makes his family worth knowing. 

You probably wouldn’t be too concerned with showing up to first dates on time, either. Especially since you doubt he’s ever been denied a second. 

Tonight is nothing but a blip on a radar, you’re sure. Something for a secretary to schedule and him to notice a day or five late. Maybe if you’re lucky, someone on his team will send a consolatory bouquet once he does realize the mistake. He is still building his reputation, after all, and you could use a fresh set of flowers for your apartment. 

With another slightly pitiful sigh and a final swig of wine, your glass is empty and your optimism is shot. A second glance at the clock says that thirty-eight minutes have now elapsed since your scheduled meeting time. And in your opinion, that’s thirty-nine too late for a first date. 

Retrieving your coat from the back of your chair, you figure tonight will be remembered as nothing but a waste of a good outfit. Besides, you suppose forty minutes of aimless scrolling is ultimately less painful than the inevitable headache this date surely would have been had he bothered to actually show up. 

Suddenly, you frown. You won’t complain if this date never actually happens, but you may end up with a slight problem. Although you haven’t been on the best of terms with your mother in a long time, tonight was meant to be the final bullet point on a list of favors you owe her. 

As you pull your coat on, you consider the best way to frame the events of the evening. Lean into the whole ‘getting stood up’ thing in an effort to earn some sympathy points? Lay out the facts in their most basic form, timestamps included? Emphasize the fact that you waited long past the obligatory twenty minutes for him to actually show up? Or leave your message chain as it currently is, tell her nothing at all, and let her assume what she wants?

They’re all equally iffy, you think. Risky in their own regard. 

Signing your name at the bottom of the check, you scribble in a generous tip for the waitress who did her best to check on you often without making it obvious that she knew you were expecting company that never arrived, expertly skirting that line between overbearing and empathetic. At least someone will go home happy, you think, adding an extra zero for good measure. 

Exiting the restaurant, you decide to make it two people. James Sim may be a hotshot at his father’s company, but you’ll be damned before you let him ruin your evening. Before you order the Uber back to your place, you add an extra stop at your favorite sushi place. Takeout in the comfort of your own home will certainly be easier to enjoy than whatever Michelin-Star concoction you would have ordered here anyway, eaten in small bites between forced conversation topics, awkward pauses, and too long sips of wine. 

And an hour later, you’re polishing off the last piece of an absolutely divine rainbow roll, wearing nothing but silk pajamas and a face mask, with old reruns of your favorite show playing on the TV when James Sim finally glances down at the Rolex on his wrist. He’s finally arrived at the tail end of a meeting that’s running so far behind schedule he has half a mind to just walk out of it. He would, too, if his father wouldn’t actually threaten his life for it. 

It’s late, James realizes. Stupid late. So late that he won’t have the time or energy to do anything but pass out by the time he gets home, which really sucks, because he was genuinely looking forward to his date tonight–

“Fuck.”

All he can do is curse, even as the shocked faces of a concerning number of top executives turn to look at him all at the same time. 

…

Jake Sim is about to fail his econ midterm. 

It will be at least a week before grades are released, but he already knows it. He can already feel it in the way the questions start to swim in his mind, making less and less sense the more he turns them over, in the way his gut fills with dread as the minute hand of the clock at the front of the lecture hall ticks closer and closer to the testing time limit. 

And it wouldn’t be that bad, if it weren’t his second time repeating this course. 

Oh, his father is going to have an absolute field day with this one. Jake can practically hear it now. 

“You failed your midterm? After already failing this course twice? You know, James was actually the top scoring student in his economic section. Dr. Jeong still mentions his term paper every time I see him at the university…”

And that’s if he’s in a good mood. Or rather, if things at the company are going well. Jake doesn’t even want to consider the comments he’ll be on the receiving end of if the news of his failure finds his father already agitated. 

Exhaling, he gives his exam one final once-over, scanning for completion more than accuracy. His brain is so fried that he knows it’s of little use to him now. For his own sake, the best thing to do at this point is turn his test in and send a silent prayer to whoever might be listening on his way out the door. 

Leaving the lecture hall behind him, Jake puts his phone out of airplane mode and frowns at the two notifications that pop up on his screen. The first is a missed call from his brother, and the second is a message from the same sender, requesting that he give him a call when he has the chance. 

Considering that it’s neither his birthday nor a major holiday, Jake is more than a little confused. Regardless, he honors the request, pressing his phone to his ear as he begins the walk back to his apartment. Although it’s significantly less spacious than his childhood home, he finds it far more welcoming in more ways than one. 

The outgoing call rings once, twice, three times. Jake is about to be annoyed at the missed connection, but his brother answers in the moments just before he’s sent to voicemail.

“Hey, Jake.” Shocking. He actually bothered to check the caller ID. 

“Hey.” Jake’s voice is careful, guarded. It’s not like his personal life is of any importance to his older brother, but he’s not in the mood to answer any questions. He won’t give James any reasons to ask. “I saw your message.”

“Right.” Jake can hear the shuffle of other voices, scattered movements coming from the other line. James sounds busy. Just like always. Usually, that would usually mean he’s distracted. But Jake has the odd feeling that he has his brother’s undivided attention when James adds, “I have a favor to ask you.”

Immediately, Jake’s stomach drops. There are very few things in this world that are not within James Sim’s grasp, and even less that are within Jake’s, relatively speaking. Whatever it is, he must be desperate, if he’s willing to enlist the help of his little brother. 

“Okay.” Jake’s voice betrays none of his sudden anxieties. “What is it?”

At least James spares him the agony of suspense. “You know ___, right?”

Jake frowns. Sure, he knows of you. Just like he has a vague idea of every one of his family’s business partners and their immediate kin. Particularly the ones that are the same age as him and attend the same university. But it’s not like he’s close with you, not like he’s ever had an actual conversation of any substance with you. 

Especially since the minimal interactions the two of you have had did not leave Jake wanting more. The only child of parents whose last name is on the front of the most successful law firm within a thousand mile radius, you strike him as everything he’d expect you to be. 

Spoiled. Entitled. Vapid. Out of touch with any version of reality that doesn’t consist of you getting everything you want at the exact moment you want it. He supposes it’s a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, considering his own upbringing, but he’d like to think that he’s earned what he’s been given, at least partially. Especially since most of it has been his brother’s hand-me-downs.  And it’s not like his father has ever been in the habit of doing him any favors that don’t come wrapped in criticism, comparison, and disdain.

Although rumor does have it you and your mother haven’t been on speaking terms since you left for university, Jake imagines it’s probably because you wanted to bring the limited edition Versace to campus with you, and she insisted it would be safer at home. 

Oh, well. Whatever designer dispute happened between you and your mother is no skin off his back. Jake has his own problems to worry about. 

One of them being his brother’s question that still lingers on the other line. 

Weighing responses in his head, Jake finally settles on, “I guess.” It’s his best attempt at being noncommittal. 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t do anything to dissuade his brother. “Do you have her number by chance? My secretary should have taken it down, but she can’t find it anywhere.”

Jake balks, footsteps faltering. An equally distracted student walking behind him nearly stumbles right into his back. Wordlessly, Jake sends them an apologetic look before clarifying, “Her number? Like, her personal phone number?”

“What other kind of number is there?” And there’s the James that Jake knows. Annoyed at the perceived incompetencies of his younger brother, just as always. 

Suddenly, Jake’s patience is running short too. James is the one asking for a favor and still has the gall to be annoyed with him. Typical. Jake’s words are clipped when he says, “No, I don’t have ___’s phone number.” 

Jake expects that to be the end of it, but his brother won’t let it go so easily. 

“Seriously? Don’t you two go to the same school?”

Jake rolls his eyes. “Right, because I have the entire student body on speed dial.”

There’s a pause on the other end. Jake half expects his brother to just hang up on him. After all, he’s never been able to take what he gets, to swallow what he dishes out. 

What Jake does not expect, however, is the way James sounds so tentative when he speaks again.  “Well…”

“Well what?” Patience already running thin, it’s all he can do not to snap. 

“Do you think you could get it for me?”

Jake must be dreaming. This must be a post-exam punishment, a hallucination brought on by over exerting his brain too far for too long. “Do I think I could get ___’s phone number for you?” he repeats flatly. 

“Is there an echo in here?” Asshole. At least he’s consistent. 

“Just an echo chamber,” Jake mutters away from the receiver. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Jake stops for a moment to fiddle with his keyring as he walks up the stairs to his apartment. “No, I can’t get her phone number for you.” 

“Why not?”

The key won’t line up quite right. Jake tries again, frustration seeping through. “Because I have better things to do than run stupid errands for you. Why don’t you drive here and get it yourself?”

“Trust me, if I thought she’d give it to me, I’d be there in an hour.”

The lock on his door finally clicks open, and Jake all but throws his bag down after kicking off his shoes. “And what the hell makes you think she’d give it to me?”

“Well, you didn’t accidentally stand her up, for one.” James doesn’t sound embarrassed by it. Just matter-of-fact. Like a date is nothing but a business deal. Something to be rescheduled and redone if negotiations go sour the first time around. 

It is enough to stir up some of Jake’s curiosity, though. “You went on a date with ___?” He supposes it makes sense. Even if the rumor mill and its rumblings about your rocky relationship with your mother ring true, you’re still your parents’ daughter. Still a perfect match on paper for the future CEO of the Sim Corporation. The king of a company and princess of a law firm. It’s a match made in heaven, he thinks ruefully. 

“No, I didn’t. That’s kind of the whole point here.”

“Whatever.” Jake still doesn’t see what the hell he has to do with all this. “Why don’t you just look up her parents’ number in the company database and get it from them?”

Jake can practically feel his brother’s exasperation through the phone. “Right, because that would go over really well. Hi there," he imitates. “I’d like to make your daughter the mother of my future children. Care to pass along her phone number so I can get started on that?”

Jake suppresses a wince. “Jesus. I see why she stood you up.”

“She didn’t. I stood her up,” James clarifies. “On accident.”

Semantics. And not ones that Jake is interested in. “Either way. I’m not getting her number for you.”

“Yeah?” Jake is unsettled by the way there’s still no trace of defeat in his brother’s voice. There’s something almost sinister when he suddenly switches topics. “How are classes going?”

Jake’s lips pull into a taut line, disaster of an econ midterm still fresh on his mind. “Fine.”

“Really? Even econ? Third time’s the charm and all that?” Well, at least his brother can be counted on to consistently be an asshole.

“Why do you care?” The only thing Jake wants to do is end this call and crawl into bed for a well-deserved afternoon nap. Let his subconscious spare him from thoughts of his older brother and econ and you for at least a little bit. 

James has other plans. “You must have taken the midterm recently, right?” Jake’s silence is confirmation enough. “You know, the only thing Dr. Jeong weighs more heavily than the midterm is the final paper at the end of the semester.”

A minute ago, Jake thought you were the last thing he wanted to talk about. The sudden shift in direction in this conversation is starting to prove him wrong. If there’s one thing Jake would rather discuss even less than his older brother’s dating life, it’s school. “What does that have to do with a–”

“And I think I still have my copy of the paper that earned me the top score in my entire section.” The smugness is practically palpable. “I might have to do some digging, but I’m sure it’s in my old files somewhere.”

Jake rolls his eyes, wishes the immediate comparison weren’t the first thing to rise to the forefront of his mind. Wishes it didn’t find him so lacking. Wishes it wasn’t narrated in the voice of his disappointed father. “If you’re trying to gloat, it’s n–”

“I’m trying to strike a deal. Jesus, no wonder you’re on track to be a super senior getting a business degree.”

“This is my third year,” Jake defends indignantly. 

“And your third attempt at econ, which I passed in my first year.” He sounds like he’s settling a little too well into the CEO role when he proposes, “I’m trying to make it your last attempt.” 

Jake would be lying if he said his curiosity weren’t piqued, even just slightly. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, little brother, that my term paper, my notes, all of it, are yours.” It sounds too good to be true. It has to be too good to be true. James is a lot of things, but generous and helpful are very rarely any of them. “As soon as you get me ___’s number.” And there it is. 

Jake hangs up without bothering to dignify that with a response and hopes it sends a strong enough signal of his refusal. Then, he falls into his bed face-first with a groan. 

And a week later, when his econ midterm results are finally posted, the first thing Jake does is let his head fall on his desk with an alarmingly loud thud that has Jay poking his head in the door to make sure everything’s okay. The second thing he does, a solid twenty minutes later, is send his older brother a text. 

Jake [7:21pm]: You better start digging through those old files. 

…

All things considered, you’re easier to track down than Jake expects. The university campus is big, and judging from the way he can’t remember ever seeing you in a class, the two of you don’t share a major. But the similarities in your social status mean you’re bound to run in some of the same circles, and Jake is able to use this to his advantage. 

Ultimately, it takes very little digging on his part. First, he mentions your name to Jay in the middle of an upper body superset in the university gym. Jay frowns, setting the weights back on the rack. 

“That name sounds familiar. I think maybe Heeseung knows her?”

That tidbit takes him to Wednesday night, which always finds Jake in the library at a statistics study group Heeseung also makes a habit of attending. On their way out for the evening, Jake stops him by the door. 

“___?” Heeseung pauses for a moment in contemplation. “I’m pretty sure she’s friends with Sunghoon.”

And the third piece of the puzzle proves a bit more difficult to click into place. Sunghoon is harder for Jake to find, at least in a way that comes across naturally. Much like yours, Park Sunghoon is a name Jake hears in passing more than anything. He’s a friend of friends, a mutual acquaintance that Jake has never really had a conversation with and certainly doesn’t know well enough to interrogate for your phone number. 

But his most recent midterm score is still looming over his head, and the thought of retaking econ again is so nightmarish it sends a shiver down his spine  every time he considers it. At this point, there isn’t much Jake wouldn’t put on the line to pass the damn class. Including his pride, apparently. 

So when Jake hears from Jay who hears from Heeseung that Sunghoon will probably be at the party Epsilon Nu Eta is throwing this Friday night, he starts to formulate a plan. 

And he starts to regret said plan less than twenty-four hours later when he finds himself on the doorstep of a frat party. A frat party. He can’t remember the last time he came to one of these things. At twenty-one, he already feels geriatric as he tugs self-consciously at the sleeves of the plan black long sleeve he put on for the occasion. Something that will hopefully hide the questionable stains he’ll inevitably leave with. 

Entering through the front door with hinges that don’t align quite right, Jake has one mission in mind: find Park Sunghoon. Find him and somehow convince him to pass along your number. There’s a fine line to be walked there, Jake thinks. If he comes across as too eager, it will just be creepy. Nonchalance is the name of the game, but he’s never been good at keeping his cards close to his chest. 

For Jake, it’s a tall order, which means the only detour he’ll allow himself is grabbing a cup of lukewarm beer from the kitchen before he sets out looking for Sunghoon. The alcohol is an effort to break the barrier of his inhibitions more than anything. To make what he’s about to do feel a little less painful. 

Making his way out of the kitchen, Jake wanders aimlessly for a few minutes. He doesn’t know much about Sunghoon, other than the fact that he competes for your university’s figure skating team and is undeniably handsome. A good-looking figure skater, Jake thinks as he turns down yet another crowded hallway, narrowly avoiding spilling his drink. Where would one of those be hiding? 

He spends a few more awkward minutes asking around to no avail. Just when he’s on the verge of saying fuck it and making some sort of sacrifice to the econ gods instead, Jake bumps into the man of the hour on his way to the bathroom. 

In the chaos, Jake doesn’t recognize him until it’s almost too late. “Hey,” Jake calls out, bladder all but forgotten for now. He’s trying to fake an air of coolness when he adds, “Sunghoon, right?”

“Yeah.” Jake thanks his lucky stars that Sunghoon must be at least two drinks in, because he doesn’t seem weirded out at all by the sudden question from a near stranger. 

“I’m Jake.” He reaches his arm out for a handshake. Blinking, Sunghoon just stares at his outstretched hand as long, awkward moments bleed into each other. Eventually, Jake just lets it fall back to his side. “I’m, uh, in a statistics class with Heeseung.”

“Right on,” Sunghoon nods, still unsure if this conversation has a point to it. Luckily, the pleasant haze clouding his thoughts means he doesn’t mind too much either way. 

Jake figures there’s no point in dragging this out by exchanging more pleasantries, and he has the feeling Sunghoon might start forgetting his own name, much less yours, if he lets this continue for too long. 

“Listen,” Jake starts, trying to sound as not creepy as possible. “I heard that you know ___ pretty well.”

Sunghoon just shrugs. Jake can’t tell if he’s succeeded. “You could say that.”

“I know this is a strange request, but, uh,” Jake scratches the side of his head, “is there any chance I could get her number? I promise not to do anything weird.” Word vomiting, the extra details are spilling out before he can stop them. “It’s not even for me, actually–”

Sunghoon spares him the rest of a rambling explanation. “Sorry, bud. No can do.”

Jake’s stomach tightens in panic. He really, really just needs your phone number. It has him forgetting his earlier inhibitions, throwing caution to the wind even if he’s making a bit of a fool of himself in the process. “It’s for something important, actually. I’m kind of desperate–”

Sunghoon just puts a consolatory hand on Jake’s shoulder, interrupting his train of thought. “Look, man, it’s nothing against you personally, but I have literally never met you in my life. Besides, if I gave out ___’s number to every random guy that asked, I’m pretty sure she’d shave my head.” Sunghoon leans in close, like he’s about to share a secret. Jake’s nose twists at the scent of alcohol on his breath. “And between you and me, I don’t think I could pull off being bald.” 

Jake kind of begs to differ, but that’s neither here nor there. He opens his mouth to plead his case again, but Sunghoon doesn’t even let him get a word out. 

“Sorry, man, but I really can’t help you.” Pausing for a moment, he considers. “You said your name was Jacob, though, right?” He doesn’t pause long enough for Jake to correct him. “I could ask her if she’s cool with giving you her number–”

“Whose number are you giving out?” And if Jake thought this conversation wasn’t enough of a train wreck already, trust the timing of your entrance to be more disastrous than divine. 

Eyes turning to you and your sudden intrusion on the conversation, Jake’s mind goes blank for a minute.  And yeah, he kinda gets why his brother’s so hellbent on having a second chance at your time. Dressed in all black, your hair is loose around your face. Even though it likely costs more than most people’s monthly paycheck, there’s nothing inherently special about what you’re wearing. Still, Jake is finding it exceedingly difficult to look away. 

It’s something in your aura, he thinks. In the way you carry yourself. Something that money can’t buy. Something that makes his gaze want to linger. 

“___!” Sunghoon grins, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, wobbling slightly. You jostle at the sudden impact, inching away from where the contents of his cup slosh dangerously close to the rim. “What a coincidence. We were just talking about you.”

Your brow creases in confusion. Jake tracks the miniscule movement with parted lips. 

“You were?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon confirms, just at the same moment Jake shakes his head, “No.”

Turning your mildly concerned gaze away from your friend, you glance at Jake for the first time. Brow furrowing further, you cock your head to the side as your lips part in partial recognition. He looks oddly familiar, but you can’t quite place him. “Do I know you?”

“No.” Jake shakes his head again, a little too fervently. “I don’t think we’ve ever met. At least not properly.”

It’s an odd way of putting it. You’re about to ask him to clarify when Sunghoon cuts in, clearing up the confusion for you. “It’s Jacob,” he says, as if that should mean anything to you. Turning back to the boy across from him, he adds, “Jacob Sim, right?”

And that clicks things into place.  

“Sim?” you echo, realization dawning on your features.

“Yep,” Sunghoon confirms. 

Across from you, Jake says nothing. He doesn’t think he could if he wanted to. In fact, he’s pretty sure his life is flashing before his eyes. 

“Sim,” you repeat one final time, jaw ticking in agitation as everything starts to settle. “I do know you.”

“Oh, really?” Sunghoon asks at your side, oblivious to the way your tone betrays obvious animosity. A distaste so palpable Jake can practically feel it radiating off of you. Turning back to Jake, he’s apologetic. “Sorry, Jacob. I guess I could have given you her number, then.” Sunghoon smiles sheepishly, as if he hasn’t just made things a million times worse. “My bad.”

Jake’s eyes widen in horror as he scrambles for some sort of defense, an explanation that will dig him out of this rapidly deepening hole, but you beat him to it. 

“My number?” The look you give him has a concerning amount of venom in it. “Seriously? God, why are all you Sim men so obsessed with me?”

“That’s not–” 

“First your brother views my LinkedIn profile twenty-three times after standing me up, and now you’re harassing my friends for my phone number?”

“Hold on. I’m not harassing anyone–”

“No,” Sunghoon agrees, nodding diplomatically. “Jacob was perfectly pleasant–”

“It’s Jake, actually.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, just Jake.”

“Sorry,” Sunghoon apologizes. Turning to you, he tries mediating again. “Well, like I said, just Jake was perfectly pleasant–”

“I don’t care how pleasant he is.” Your glare somehow becomes icier. “Leave me alone, and tell your dickhead brother to do the same.” Muttering to yourself more than anything, you add, “The last thing I need right now is you practically stalking me–”

“Stalking you?” Jake flounders, an edge of annoyance creeping into his tone. He’s not surprised to learn that you really do think the world revolves around you, but really? Stalking?  “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not like I’m enjoying this interaction any more than you are.”

You don’t back down, crossing your arms over your chest. The movement has Sunghoon teetering dangerously where he leans on you, but you pay him no mind, attention focused solely on the man in front of you. “Then why do you want my phone number so bad?”

“Like I was trying to say earlier when you wouldn’t let me get a word out sideways,” Jake bites, “it’s not for me. I made a deal with someone, and I told them I’d give them your number.”

Your gaze narrows. “Who?”

“What?”

“Who did you make a deal with?”

Jake hesitates, knowing how the truth will sound. Screw it – a lie would likely be just as damning. Still, it takes him another pregnant pause to eventually admit, “... My brother.”

Scoffing in disbelief, you double down on your ire. “Absolutely not.” Shaking Sunghoon off your shoulder, you turn to leave, dragging him with you. Jake’s eyes close; he can’t bear to watch his last chance at passing this semester leave him in the dust.  

So much so that he pleads again, “Wait, ___. Please.” Jake is begging now, and he feels a little pathetic for it. Still, he can’t help the way desperation drives him to continue. “You can block him for all I care. I can’t explain everything, but my life is quite literally in your hands right now. I just need–”

“No.” The single syllable vibrates with finality. “Do I have to spell it for you? N-” you bite, enunciating so sharply Jake thinks you might draw blood. “O. No. I’m not giving my number to you or your flake of  a brother or anyone else that so much as looks like they might have the name Sim.”

God, is the only think Jake can think as he miserably watches your retreating figure, Sunghoon stumbling along  as you drag him with you. I am so fucked. 

…

When Sunghoon finally emerges from your guest bedroom an hour before noon the next day, it’s to ask if you’d be kind enough to spare him some Advil. Even with a bad case of bedhead and the aftermath of overconsumption, he still manages to look good, albeit a little lifeless. 

“I’ll do you one better,” you tell him, but reach for the small white bottle anyway, shaking out a few tablets and offering them to your best friend along with a glass of cold water.

“Bagels and coffee?” Sunghoon asks over the rim of his glass, with a little more alertness in his eyes than there was moments before. 

“Bagels and coffee,” you confirm. A tried and true hangover cure, if there ever was one. And even though your head is feeling nice and clear, thanks to your trusty two drink limit that has yet to fail you, the local cafe a block from your apartment is very rarely something you turn down. 

Thirty minutes later and a change of clothes later, the two of you are trading gossip and stealing bites of each other’s orders when the other person isn’t looking at the table in the back corner of the cafe. Sunghoon is just about to stuff another piece of your bagel in his mouth when he notices yet another notification light up the screen of your phone. 

Sunghoon nods towards where it rests on the table, bagel suddenly forgotten. “Is that your mom again?”

“Yep.” Your lips stretch thin. You don’t even need to glance down at your phone to confirm. She’s been blowing up your notifications all weekend.  “She’s been on my ass about the upcoming fundraiser event for days now. And reminding me about the utmost importance of bringing an appropriate plus-one.”

Across from you, Sunghoon straightens his shoulders. “I suppose it is about time I bust out the trusty old prom suit again.”

You sigh, sending your half-eaten bagel a forlorn glance. “I wish. She told me if I ever bring you again, I lose half my trust fund.”

“What?” Sunghoon looks affronted. “Why?”

You level him with a look. “Does soap ring a bell?”

Sunghoon splutters in indignation. “That was one time,” he defends. “And anyone would have thought those were edible! They were shaped like candies, and they were on a platter–”

“Soap presentation aside, I don’t think that excuse will work on her.” The dejection in your voice is apparent. “Besides, she’s already made it very clear that you’re explicitly forbidden from attending any future family events as my plus-one.”

“Whatever,” Sunghoon grumbles. “Keep all your stupid inedible soaps.” Pausing for a moment, he realizes that still leaves a giant question hanging in the air. “Who are you gonna bring, then? You know, it kind of is too bad your date with Sim number one didn’t pan out.”

You shrug, pointedly ignoring the way your phone screen lights up yet again. It really is a bit of a shame James turned out to be an unreliable flake. One that still hasn’t bothered to apologize to you or even give any sort of indication that he remembered your scheduled date. Still, you can’t think of anyone that would earn your mother’s approval faster. “I’ll probably just fake a stomach flu.” After all, you’re kind of out of options. “I thought about asking Jungwon, but he’s got stuff going on for his internship that night. A big economics conference or something.”

“Speaking of economics,” Sunghoon leans in conspiratorially. “I think I might have some intel on our new friend from last night.”

“How was economics the segue you went with? We were literally just talking about his older brother.” Giving him a look of disbelief, you add, “And what about that interaction gave you the impression that we’re friends?”

“Whatever,” Sunghoon brushes you off before he continues, “Anyway, I heard from Heeseung who heard from Jay that apparently little Sim is hot garbage at economics. Rumor has it he’s already failed the class twice and is on track to do it again.”

You’re not sure why he’s deemed this information relevant to you, but you’d be lying if you said it weren’t a little amusing. 

“Really? Jungwon’s taking it now too, and he said that he sleeps through half the lectures and is still pulling an A.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “Well, we can’t all be prodigies.”

Your lips flatten. “Pretty sure you don’t have to be a prodigy to not fail an entry level course three times.”

“Hey, cut him some slack,” Sunghoon argues. “He’s only failed it twice as of now.”

You scoff, entirely uninterested in the gory details of Jake Sim’s academic failures. “Whatever.”

“Either way,” Sunghoon says, “Jay told Heeseung who told me that’s why he’s so desperate for your number.” Confusion makes itself known on your features. You still don’t see the connection until Sunghoon adds, “Apparently he made some sort of deal with his brother that if he gets him your phone number, he’ll help him pass econ.”

A beat of silence passes between you. The barista at the counter calls out a customer’s name. It’s all you can do to not let your jaw physically drop open, mostly because–

“That is probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my life.” Glaring at Sunghoon, you can’t believe the theatrics of it all. “How many times have I told you to stop believing everything Heeseung says?”

“Technically, Jay said it,” Sunghoon corrects. “And I don’t know... It kind of makes sense when you think about it.”

You beg to differ. “It absolutely does not. What is this, middle school? Are we passing notes behind the teacher’s back and making our friends ask our crushes if they like us back?” It’s ridiculous. Absolutely, utterly ridiculous. 

There is no way. Absolutely no way that James Sim, heir to a multimillion dollar company, is wasting his time giving his little brother an economics cheat sheet in exchange for your phone number. 

Sunghoon raises his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger. I just thought you might be curious.”

And you hate to admit it, but you kind of are. Even though every ounce of logic you’ve accumulated in twenty-one years of life tells you that Heeseung is a notorious gossip whose stories are just as much fiction as reality and your best friend is no better. Even though the whole thing makes absolutely no sense at all. 

Even though you repeat it to yourself over and over for the rest of the day, that damn curiosity is still there. Pestering you and disturbing your sleep and leaving you wondering if maybe, just maybe, some things are entirely too ridiculous to be anything but true. 

…

On Wednesday night, Jake and Heeseung are in the middle of a particularly brutal probability set when a sudden shadow looms over their favorite corner table on the third floor of the library. 

Glancing up, Jake finds Heeseung’s gaze already trained somewhere over his shoulder. Jake can’t quite tell if the look on his face is confusion or terror. 

“Mind if I join?” The request comes from behind him, posed in an oddly familiar voice. Heeseung is nodding in agreement before Jake has the chance to so much as turn around and identify the intruder. 

All is revealed soon enough, though, when you slide down into the seat next to him, ignoring the way Heeseung scrambles to move his things and make room for you in the seat next to him. Instead, you busy yourself with setting your bag on the floor and pulling out your laptop. 

It’s all Jake can do to stare at you blankly. This evening, you’ve traded the all black outfit from the other night’s party for something a bit more casual, something comfortable that blends in better to the background of a university library. The sudden proximity also means that the scent of your perfume is quick to waft over towards him. 

Jake does his best to hold his breath before his brain can trick him into thinking he likes it. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” A bold request for someone who just hijacked a study session and sat down with no explanation, but Jake wouldn’t expect anything less from you. 

“Like what?” The words are out before he gives them permission. Across the table, Heeseung is staring too, but all three of you know the command isn’t for him. 

“I don’t know.” Glancing at the battery bar hovering just above empty, you dig around in your bag for a moment for your laptop charger. Jake notes that you still have yet to look at him. Instead, you begin to busy yourself with typing something on your computer. “Just stop it.”

He hopes you can feel the way his eyes burn holes into the side of your head as his blank stare shifts into a glare. 

Heeseung glances between the two of you. His outburst is sudden. “Oh! I just remembered.” He hits his head for good measure. The acting is wasted on this audience, though. Neither of you pay him any mind or even bother to glance in his direction. “I have to go, uh…” he trails off, finishing lamely with a rather flat, “somewhere else.”

“Great.” Your eyes don’t leave your screen, fingers still flying on your keyboard. “See you later.”

As Heeseung scrambles to pack up his unfinished statistics homework and high tail it out of the library, the air that has suddenly become stifling, Jake glances down at where your fingers are still moving. 

Distractedly, he wonders how you can type so fast with nails that long, how you never seem to need the backspace key. How none of the pastel pink that coats your fingernails seems to be so much as chipped. A projection of perfection, he thinks, down to every last detail.  

Moments pass, neither of you saying anything.

You still haven’t looked at him by the time you do eventually break the impasse. “I heard you suck at econ.”

And Jake actually cannot believe you. “Did you seriously hunt me down just to rub it in?”

“Rub it in?” That at least earns him some of your attention, even if it is just a brief, confused glance as your fingers pause in their typing. “It’s not like I’m the reason you can’t pass.”

“Believe it or not, you quite literally are.”

You sigh, removing your hands from your keyboard entirely. Then, before he can blink, you spin your entire body in your chair, eyes, shoulders, and knees all directly trained on him. Jake can’t help the way he flinches back a few inches at the sudden change in pace. 

“Look,” you start. He can already tell by the way you wrap the single syllable sound in patronization that he’s not going to appreciate whatever you’re about to say. “I can tell that you’re not used to, like, having conversations with people, but usually what happens is you give someone enough information so that they know what you’re talking about.” He’s right. 

And he’s quick to defend himself. “Maybe I could, if you’d let me get three words out without interr–”

But you’ve moved on already. “Is the whole ‘deal with your brother’ thing true?”

Jake lets the silence linger for a moment, looking at you in disbelief. “You literally just proved my point.”

You roll your eyes. “I knew what you were going to say, so I sped things along. Now answer my question.” You lay it out for him again. This time, even more directly. “Did you try to get my number because of some deal you made with your brother?”

He’s not sure why it sounds so ridiculous, narrated back to him in your voice. It’s not like it was a brilliant, foolproof plan to begin with, but the way you present it has him feeling about five inches tall. 

“I…”

“It’s a yes or no question.” You really don’t beat around the bush, he thinks. 

“Yes, okay?”

Looking behind you, you suddenly lean in a little closer. It’s all Jake can do not to flinch back again. Bringing your hand up to cup your mouth, it’s like you’re about to divulge a terrible secret when you whisper, “You’re that bad at econ?”

Jake just sighs. “Worse, probably.”

Frowning, you pull back a few inches. “Aren’t you a business major? Isn’t econ, like, pretty important for you?” If he were thinking clearly, Jake might wonder how you know that. But that only thing his mind has space for right now is annoyance. At you, at this exchange, at the way you so easily pick through his flaws and seem to have no problem laying them bare at his feet like he doesn't already know them intimately.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I got any say in my major,” Jake counters. He might have more patience for this conversation if he were having it with anyone but you, if you weren’t throwing his own insecurities back in his face with every follow-up question.

At that, something flickers through your eyes. Sympathy, maybe. “Fair enough.” Whatever it is, it’s gone before he can identify it. And it’s not enough to make you pull your punches. “Still though, that’s probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Jake doesn’t need the reminder. “Just get a tutor like everyone else.”

The thing is, Jake has thought about it. On more than one occasion. He’s even gotten so far as filling out the university tutor request form. He just could never quite bring himself to complete the ‘Name’ field without all of the potential consequences forcing him to hit backspace. 

He might not be his brother, but he’s not stupid enough to think that his family would ever be okay with the Sim name anywhere near a tutor form. He tells you as much. “And listen to my dad tell me how much of a disappointment I am for not being able to even take a class on my own?” Jake laughs humorlessly. “No thanks.”

A beat passes. Two. You’re not done yet, but you at least have the decency to sound a little apologetic, a little tentative when you say, “Not to kick you while you’re down or anything, but I mean, that has to be better than failing twice.”

Jake just shakes his head. “You don’t know my father.”

You shrug but don’t press the matter further. Truth be told, you don’t know his father, but you do know fathers like him. You have one of your own. The third floor of the library doesn’t seem like the place for that conversation, though, even if you’ve already uncovered more than your fair share of each other’s secrets in the last ten minutes. “I guess not.”

…

Your phone is buzzing far too incessantly for a Saturday morning, much less this early on a Saturday morning. Internally, you curse Friday night you, who forgot to switch it into do not disturb before falling asleep. Face still buried in your pillow, you reach around your nightstand blindly with the intention of remedying that particular mistake and enjoying a few more moments of peace.

Before you can make good on your plan, you make the fatal mistake of reading the message preview before silencing your phone. And suddenly, to your neverending annoyance, you’re wide awake. 

Mom [7:36 am]: Looking forward to seeing you next Saturday at the fundraiser. 

Mom [7:37 am]: I also noticed that you haven’t indicated who you’ll be bringing yet. Please fill out the RSVP form when you have a moment. 

Mom [7:45 am]: James Sim hasn’t RSVP’d yet. Are you bringing him? You should invite him if you haven’t already.

Mom [7:53 am]: I also never heard the update after your date a few weeks ago. Hoping no news is good news. I just spoke with his father the other day, and it sounds like he’s doing great things over at their company. 

Mom [8:01 am]: I also heard that he volunteered a few summers ago rebuilding turtle habitats. Wow! I think you two would get along very well.

Groaning, you flip your phone back over. That about sums up how well she knows her only daughter, you think ruefully. If she thought wooing you with turtles was a good idea, she must have forgotten that you’ve had a lingering phobia of the freaky little reptiles since your friend from elementary school had a pet turtle that bit your finger when you were at her house. 

Besides, you have serious doubts that’s actually how James Sim spent his last summer in university. 

If memories from your social media scrolling serve correctly, rebuilding turtle habitats was code for partying on a yacht for a month straight. You don’t care how he spends his free time, but the way he already has your mother wrapped around his stupid finger is enough to annoy any lingering sleepiness out of your system. 

Whatever. James Sim’s white lies are the least of your concerns now, and they certainly won’t solve your problems. If anything, you’re starting to regret not telling your mother anything about your failed attempt at a first date with him. Now, trying to explain that disaster of an evening would only sound like an excuse at best and a flimsy lie at worst. 

And even if she did believe you, you still have the glaring issue of next Saturday and your lack of a pre-approved plus-one.

With one final groan, you pull your blanket over your face, trying and failing to banish any thoughts of your mother, James Sim, and the certain disaster next weekend will be. 

Despite your best efforts, your worries linger. They follow you into Sunday; they start to make you desperate on Monday. With a diminishing handful of days left until the fundraiser, your anxiety only surges. 

By the time Wednesday rolls around, you’re so stressed out that you can barely force your eyes to focus on the nearly blank Word document in front of you, all of the legalese and case details you can usually sort through in your sleep jumbling into one incomprehensible blob. 

Halfway through your third reread of a paragraph that details the basics of copyright law, it strikes you. The seedling of an idea so utterly ridiculous it just might be your saving grace.  

Your mother probably, definitely, couldn’t care less about James Sim’s so-called affinity for wildlife rescue. No, the only thing that makes him an appropriate candidate in her eyes for this Saturday has nothing to do with his personality at all. 

It’s his name that she likes. His family name specifically. 

In the middle of your favorite cafe, it hits you. The seedling of an idea sprouts roots, begins to bloom. 

If one Sim is good enough to be your plus-one, then surely the other one would be too. 

And you know exactly where he’ll be tonight. Glancing down at the time on your phone, you force your brain to think. Now, all you need is a plan. A way to convince him. Something he can’t refuse.  

Closing the lid of your laptop, you smile. You know exactly what it is he wants. 

Before you leave the cafe, you send a quick message to a friend. Set your plan in place so that the details are polished, irrefutable when you present it to him.

And then you set out for the university library. 

When you find Jake and Heeseung sitting at the same exact table on the third floor of the library, Heeseung doesn’t even bother to stick around for the customary greetings. Instead, he takes one single look at you before offering another flimsy excuse about having somewhere to be. Or maybe something to do. You can’t remember, and it doesn’t really matter. 

After all, the only reason you’re here is because–

“I have a way for you to pass econ.” Sliding into the seat next to Jake, the same one you sat in last time, you don’t waste any time before divulging the reason for your presence. 

If Jake is startled, he doesn’t show it. Statistics homework forgotten on the table, the only thing you see on his face is pure, obvious relief as his shoulders relax. 

“Thank god.” Reaching for his phone, he unlocks it, tapping and swiping until he’s ready to enter a new contact. “Give me your number, and I’ll–”

You shake your head, interrupting his train of thoughts. The way you smile makes him suddenly uneasy. He thought this was over, but now he’s not so sure. You confirm his fears when you say, “A different way.”

Now Jake just looks exasperated. If you keep up this habit, he’s about to start failing statistics too. Never mind the fact that he got his hopes up for what he is sure will turn out to be a giant pile of nothing. Still, he humors you. “What do you mean, a different way?”

“I mean,” you start, folding your hands across your lap. Jake has the distinct impression that you’re trying your best to be as convincing as possible. If nothing else, it does pique his curiosity. He’s never seen you be anything but annoyed or uninterested. It’s an interesting change of pace.“I have a friend who’s also taking econ right now and hasn’t scored below a 98 on a single assignment.” Jesus, Jake thinks. Must be nice. 

And then you drop the bomb on him. “He said he’s more than willing to tutor you. For money, of course.” you specify, moving on so quickly he hardly has the chance to process what you’re saying. “And it’s not like you can’t afford it, but I’ll split the cost with you. For the principle of it all.” There’s a beat of silence as what you’ve just said settles into the air. “Oh,” you add, remembering the most important detail. “And he’ll be discreet. Under the table tutoring, if you will. No chance of word getting back to Daddy Sim.” 

You do your best to give him your most trustworthy smile. Jake just stares back at you, mildly horrified.

When he finally speaks again, it’s to say, “... Please, and I mean this with every single bone in my body, please never refer to my father like that again.”

Not even bothering to look sheepish, the only agreement you offer is a mock salute. 

Your poor taste in nicknames aside, it does seem like a pretty sweet deal from where Jake is sitting. He cannot fail economics again, and getting a tutor would mean that his brother couldn’t hold his success over his head, couldn’t claim to be the sole reason for it. And a discreet tutor would be even better. Not going through the official university system would mean a much lower chance of his father ever finding out he got some help along the way.

All things considered, and very much to his surprise, Jake is having a hard time seeing any downsides. 

He goes through the list again. First, he gets to pass economics. Second, he doesn’t have to deal with his older brother in the process. Third, he gets a tutor that won’t pop up on his father’s radar, and all Jake has to do in return is–

Wait.

“Hold on a minute.” There’s an unmistakable edge of suspicion in Jake’s voice. There’s no way you went out of your way to find him a tutor, to help pay for it, without getting something in return. The wheels in his mind are starting to spin when he asks, “What’s in it for you?”

Next to him, you smile. It’s small, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you almost look nervous. “It’s just a small favor, really.” The expression on your face is not reassuring in the slightest. Still, you insist, “It’ll be easy, I promise. Just a few hours of your time at most.”

Jake knows better than to agree without details. And especially to anything you’re proposing. He’s already preparing to kiss his dreams of passing econ goodbye when he asks slowly,“What is it?”

You sigh, pretenses dropping. If you’re going to convince him now, you might as well do it with honesty. “That annual charity fundraiser event my parents throw. Your parents are usually there, I think. I don’t know if you’ve ever gone?”

Jake shrugs, frowning as he tries to remember. He’s not entirely sure either. After a while, fundraisers and events and family obligations all start to blur together. Although the name does ring a bell, albeit a distant, faint one. 

“Anyway,” you continue, “my mother is insistent that I bring a date. Someone she considers appropriate company. You know, runs in the same circles and comes from what she would consider a good family.” Jake nods. He does know exactly what you mean. Picking up on his agreement, you add with a twinge of hopefulness, “Like I said, it would be easy. Especially for you, since you’re used to this kind of stuff. I wouldn’t have to train you–”

That has Jake rolling his eyes. “Let me guess. I get a treat for rolling over?”

The ice in your glare is half hearted. “You know what I mean. There are certain…” You weigh your words carefully. “expectations at these things.” Pausing for a moment, you add, “What I’m trying to say is that I don’t think you’ll eat the soap, even if it’s candy shaped and on a platter.”

If you were trying to clarify your point, you did a terrible job. Jake’s brow pulls downwards in confusion. “Is that supposed to be some kind of metaphor?”

“Unfortunately not.” You shake your head, but don’t explain any further. Sunghoon’s mishaps are not the point of this conversation. A mutually beneficial deal is. Which is why you ask him, “So, what do you say? Are you in or not?”

Is he? Jake says nothing, considering. Mentally, he goes through the list of pros and cons. Pros, he thinks. I get to finally pass econ, and I get to do it without my brother. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, gaze tracking the movement as you nervously bite at your lower lip. Also, I get to show up at an event with the girl he’s been trying to get for weeks now. 

He’d be lying if that didn't spark a certain warm feeling in his chest, if it didn’t inspire a sudden bout of preemptive vindication. But there are other things to consider.

Cons, he continues internally. I have to spend an entire evening at an event hosted by your family and make them believe you don’t annoy the ever-loving shit out of me.

Weighing his options, Jake has one more question. “How long would it be?” he asks, and you try to stifle a grin, as if he’s already told you yes. 

“The event is technically four hours,” you say carefully, “but I’m sure we could manage to sneak out after a solid two and a half.”

Jake nods, thinking it over a moment longer. 

“Okay,” he finally breathes, hoping this isn’t some kind of terrible, elaborate trick, that he isn’t about to sign his life away on a dotted line. 

For econ, he thinks. For what’s left of his struggling GPA. He can manage a single night at a mind-numbingly boring high society function. Even if it’s with you. “I’m in.”

And it feels a bit strange, he has to admit, as he watches you type your contact information into his contact list. It feels odd to have your number in his phone with no intention of passing it on. To know that he’s the one who will be using it to confirm the details of this Saturday. To know that his brother will be none the wiser and not at all closer to having any kind of access to you.  

And if that strange surge of smugness makes another sudden appearance, well, Jake just figures that no one ever has to know about it. 

…

Frowning, you give yourself another once over in the full length mirror that sits next to your vanity. A shimmering, pale gold, the evening gown that flows over your figure was hand-selected by you for this very event. For some reason, you’re having a hard time rediscovering the magic you’d felt trying it on in the showroom here in the soft, ambient light of your bedroom. 

Objectively, you’re sure you must look good. The compliments the store attendants had given you were more than just customary, and gold has always been your color. Still, a slew of sudden uncertainties simmer in your gut. Is the slight sparkle too garish? Does the gold wash you out? Your worries feel too big for your bedroom, at too stark an opposition with the peaceful ambience as soft, instrumental music plays from your speaker.

But this particular Saturday evening has its ways of making you feel jumbled where you’d typically be steadfast. Insecure where you’d usually find confidence.  

It’s true that your mother has always had a critical eye, and especially where you’re concerned. If you were to search deep enough, however, you’d find that she’s not the person you’re most concerned about making a lasting impression on tonight. 

With no small effort, you resist the urge to smooth out invisible wrinkles in the bodice of your dress. A nervous habit more than anything, it’s only exacerbated by the way your phone is still devoid of notifications. The clock on your nightstand is a reminder that your date for the evening should be here any minute, should be sending a message as confirmation of his arrival at your apartment. But your phone is still silent, even as the hour of the fundraiser draws nearer and nearer. 

Maybe this was a terrible mistake, you think, a new bout of uncertainties beginning to brew. It shouldn't be a surprise, really. Trust him to be just as flakey as his brother, with absolutely no regard for previous commitments or anyone else’s time. It’s just your luck that you get stood up again, this time by the other Sim. 

You're in the middle of disguising your fears and distracting yourself by cursing him and his future bloodline when your phone finally pings with an incoming notification. Well, you think, grabbing your coat, feeling a bit ridiculous for the slight overreaction, you’ll have to look into removing generational curses when you have the time.

For now, you settle with pulling on your heels for the evening, ignoring the way you feel a bit wobbly despite the fact that you’ve walked in far worse. Locking your apartment behind you and striking a slightly unsteady pace towards the elevator down the hall, you whisper a silent plea that tonight isn’t as much of a disaster as you’re afraid it could be. 

You watch as the numbers on the elevator screen tick lower and lower, a swirling mix of dread and excitement starting to swim in your stomach. When you finally reach the first floor, you’re surprised to see a familiar face waiting for you in the lobby. Something in you softens, albeit just slightly. You’d incorrectly assumed he would just wait for you in the comfort of his car and spent the whole ride down preparing to awkwardly check license plates in the near dark till you found the right one. 

An overwhelming sense of  self-consciousness returns to you under the brightness of the lobby lights. Unconsciously, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, wondering how long it will take him to notice you as you begin to walk towards him. You’ve only made it a few steps when it strikes you that he’s already distracted by something else. 

Across the lobby, Jake Sim is engaged in a conversation with your doorman. One that looks slightly heated, by your judgment. 

As you get closer, their words become more audible. 

“Like I just told you,” The exasperation in your date’s voice is apparent. “I’m here to see ___.”

And you really should make your presence known, should step in and divert the brewing argument, especially since you seem to be the subject of it. 

But then you look at Jake. Really look at him. 

Realistically, you knew he would come well-dressed. That had been a big part of your reason for choosing him. The Sunghoon soap fiasco aside, you already knew Jake Sim wasn’t someone who needed you to put together a PowerPoint presentation on formal event dress code. He didn’t need you to explain the concept of complementary colors or the advantages of getting a suit tailored. Didn’t need you to explain that Converse were not an appropriate show or that no, a bolo tie is not acceptable attire. 

Up until now, you were grateful for his pre existing knowledge. It saved you a lot of time and effort that you could use to focus on other things, like getting ready yourself. But it also meant that you were entirely unprepared to see him like this. 

Eyes scanning him again, the immaculate fit of his suit is undeniable, as is the way his dark hair is perfectly mussed. It’s styled enough to avoid withering comments from elderly attendees who have the habit of asking how people see with their hair covering their eyes. But it’s also messy in a way that looks intentional, in a way that makes you want to run your fingers through it, tug at it just a little, just to tease. 

It’s not just that he’s dressed well, though, despite the fact that he undeniably is. 

No, what has you freezing in your footsteps is the fact that Jake looks good. 

“And like I just told you, you’re not on her guest list. So I’m sorry, sir.” There is not a single trace of apology in your doorman’s voice. “But I’m afraid I can’t let you up. You’ll have to contact her and ask her to add you to her guest list.” You’re not sure how he manages to do it without losing any professionality, but your doorman makes it very clear that he thinks that will happen just as soon as hell freezes over. 

Jake’s shoulders tense in visible frustration. You have to suppress an actual sigh at the way fabric stretches over the muscle there. “Again, I’m not asking you to. Could you please just let her know that I’m here? She’s not answering her messages–”

“How odd.” The sarcasm is unmistakable. 

Getting a little desperate, Jake ignores the slight and continues anyway. “And we’re on a bit of a time crunch, so–”

From here, you can see the way his features start to twist in panic. It’s sobering enough to snap you out of your trance.

Cutting in, you make your presence known. “It’s okay,” you tell your doorman first. “I know him.” Then, you turn to Jake, putting on an award-worthy performance of false nonchalance when you explain, “Sorry I didn’t respond to your message. I was just on my way down.”

You watch as some of the tension drains from his features. “That’s alright,” Jake concedes easily. “I just wanted to make sure we weren’t late.”

A funny feeling, a new one, stirs again. Something in you softens. “I appreciate that.” 

You can’t help the way you take another look at him. At his suit, his hair, his face. At him, at all of it. 

Mistaking your gaze for scrutiny, he asks, a bit self-consciously, “What do you think? Will your mother approve?”

She will. There’s no doubt in your mind. But you’re not looking at him through her eyes when you tell him, “Yeah, you look good. Really good.”

The last part probably wasn’t necessary, but the way he flushes makes it almost worth it. Casting your eyes downward in an effort to hide a smile, you notice a detail that you missed earlier. 

Jewelry. Gold jewelry. A handful of rings on his fingers and a delicate bracelet on his left wrist.  

Suddenly, his message from last night makes a little more sense.

Jake [9:02 pm]: What color is your dress for tomorrow?

You [9:08 pm]: Gold. Don’t worry about trying to match. A black suit will be just fine. 

Now, you’re grateful he didn’t fully listen to you, touched that he even bothered to ask.  

Across from you, Jake is suddenly having a bit of a hard time breathing. The earlier near-fiasco with your doorman all but forgotten, you’re still admiring his bracelet as his eyes scan the length of you, throat bobbing by the time his gaze makes its way back up to your face. 

“You, uh,” he coughs. “You look nice too.”

“Thank you.” You miss the way his gaze wanders, can’t seem to find a place to land that won’t dust the tops of his cheekbones an even deeper shade of crimson. “I’ve been looking forward to wearing this dress forever.”

And it is a nice dress, Jake thinks, but he’s not sure how to tell you that’s not what he meant. 

Eyes finally landing on your feet, or rather, on the stilettos you’re wearing, he frowns. “I had to park kind of far away.” Meeting your gaze, he adds, “Why don’t you wait here? I’ll pull the car around front.”

“Okay.” Something in you melts a bit at his consideration, at the fact that he even noticed. “Thank you.”

And it is nice, you think, to not be beginning the evening with your feet already sore. To have someone pick up on the little things, even if he’s being compensated for it in the form of half-price tutoring.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you try not to sigh like a lovesick schoolgirl when he opens the door for you, when he puts his hand on the back of your seat as he reverses the car out of its parking spot. Get it together, you think. You’ve turned up your nose at far more obvious attempts at wooing you, and it’s not like Jake is here with you out of his own volition. The thought is surprisingly disappointing, as he adjusts the stereo, soft music filling the silence.

The drive passes like that, in a quiet that’s only uncomfortable if you look at it too close. Eventually, the soft melodies filtering through the stereo become a pleasant sort of background noise as you watch the world blur outside the window. 

It would be smart, probably, to sort out your story for the evening and put together something coherent for when the two of you are inevitably asked invasive questions, but you can’t bring yourself to be the one to disturb the peace. 

So when you arrive at the fundraiser a handful of minutes later, you just have to hope that the image the two of you strike together will be enough to stave off any unwanted questions for the time being. 

Again, Jake opens your car door for you, offers a steadying hand as you step out of it. And when he gives you his arm as you enter through the front door of the venue, you take it, wrapping your fingers around his elbow. Pausing just outside the entrance, you watch as he takes a deep breath.  

“Ready?” You’re not sure if you’re asking him or yourself. 

Jake answers for the both of you. “Let’s do this.”

Walking through the lobby, you hand your jackets to the coat check attendant before entering the ballroom where the fundraiser is held. Despite your general distaste for this evening and everything it entails – you sneak a glance at your partner in crime. Well, mostly everything – you can’t help but admire the space around you.

Decorated immaculately down to every last element, your mother truly doesn’t spare any expense or detail when it comes to throwing parties. And like always, she somehow manages to have a sharp eye on everything and everyone, no matter how chaotic or busy. You’ve hardly taken two steps inside the ballroom when she finds you, approaches you will all the grace of a panther stalking its prey. 

Pulling you in for a quick hug, the warm greeting she gives you is more for the benefit of onlookers than for you. And it forces you to remove your hand from Jake’s arm.

Looking over your shoulder, her voice is sickeningly saccharine. “And this must be James,” she beams, making eye contact with the wrong brother. Directing her attention to him, she gushes, “My daughter has told me wonderful things about you.”

Your eyebrows raise in disbelief. Jake stifles a laugh, expertly turns it into a cough. 

Really? You think. She did all that digging on James’ so-called turtle philanthropy but never bothered to pull up a picture of the guy? And you mean, standard genetic similarities aside, it’s not like the two of them look that much alike.

“Actually, mom,” you spare him the expense of having to correct her mistake, “this is Jake Sim. James’ brother. We go to school together.”

“Oh,” her eyebrows fall at the slip, no doubt an unforgivable social faux pas in her mind. “You never filled out the RSVP form, sweetie,” she somehow makes the term of endearment sound like a curse, “so I wasn’t sure who you’d be bringing.” Trust her to find a way to make her mistake your fault. 

Turning back to your date, she tries to remedy her mistake. “Jake, then.” She offers him a smile so forced you’re surprised her cheeks aren’t aching. Looking back at you, she fishes, “And he’s your…?”

Her dangling bait goes untouched. “He’s my plus-one.” It’s an intentional choice of words on your part. In your mind, it’s a neutral enough term that will hopefully let you navigate the evening without too many rumors or invasive questions about your personal life from people you only speak to out of reluctant obligation.  

Jake is less used to the way your mother tends to poke and prod, the way she likes to examine the superficial details of your life with a microscope and make sure she can frame them in a way that will be pleasing for public perception. The way she doesn’t ask about your love life because it’s of any genuine interest to her, but because she wants sole control of the rumor mill’s production. 

Next to you, he stiffens, feels as though he’s already failed some kind of test he didn’t know he was taking, wasn’t given any materials to study for. 

There’s a lot to be said, probably, about the way you pick up on his discomfort so easily. The way your hand returns to the crook of his elbow wordlessly and gives a single, gentle squeeze. Reassuring him, putting his nerves at ease, as you begin to navigate your way out of this conversation. 

“We’d better find our seats,” you tell your mother. The only reason Jake can identify the icy edge hiding in the superficial sweetness of your voice is because he’s been on the receiving end of it. On multiple occasions. Directed at someone else, he finds it almost amusing. “Wouldn't want to miss anything.”

“Of course,” your mother concedes, but there’s an undertone there. Jake can tell that there’s a war being waged here, battles and skirmishes in subtext and stilted pauses. He’s no stranger to the way high society likes to wrap up insults in niceties and skirt around delicate topics, but his own family has never been anything but blunt when it comes to their distaste for him and his choices. 

He’s still not entirely sure what he just witnessed, but you’re dragging him by his arm to find your assigned table before he can sort through the offending slights and put on armor that may be of any use to you. 

Carefully arranged, the maze of tables is easy enough to navigate. Each seat has a white place card in front of it, embossed with a shimmery golden script that matches your dress and holds the name of the guest who’s been assigned to sit there. 

You drag Jake past a flurry of names and attendees he half recognizes, stopping only to grab two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter, handing one to Jake before you continue on your mission. After another minute of searching, you find your name at a table a few rows out from the far wall. Rolling your eyes, you can practically hear your mother’s reasoning: Not too close to the wall. Wouldn’t want people thinking I’m trying to hide her. But certainly not anywhere near the center of the room, in case she falls into that pesky habit of being an awful embarrassment.  

Standing behind your chair, your eyes find the place card stationed in front of the seat next to yours at the same time Jake’s do. 

“Oh my god.” The exasperation is apparent, even though your words are barely audible where you mutter them under your breath. 

Because of course this hasn’t already been enough of a train wreck. Because of course the place card next to yours doesn’t have Jake’s name on it. Nope, embossed in the same shimmery gold is the name of another person entirely. 

James Sim. 

You turn to your date, apologetic. “God, I’m sorry. I really didn’t fill out the RSVP form, but I didn’t think she’d just assume…”

“It’s okay.” Jake gives you some grace. “Really, it wouldn’t be the first time.” And all things considered, he kind of is in his brother’s seat tonight. Attending an event that’s better suited for the future head of the company than his forgotten younger brother. Accompanying the girl that public opinion surely dictates would be a better match for him. 

Still, you frown. Reaching for the small clutch that sits against your hip, you rummage for a moment before pulling out a black permanent marker. 

Jake glances at you sideways.Your bag of the evening is tiny, barely even big enough to hold your phone. He’s surprised you managed to fit the marker in there, much less prioritize it enough to bring it with you. “You carry that thing around with you all the time?”

You shrug. “Never know when you’ll need to do some DIY vandalism.”

It would be a lie if he said something in him doesn’t soften, just a bit, when he watches you reach for the place card in front of his seat and put a giant, bold X over his brother’s name. 

Your handwriting is no match for the computer-generated script, but Jake still likes the place card a little better when you’re done with it, likes the way his name looks next to yours when you set it back on the table, alterations completed. 

“There,” you say, looking entirely too satisfied with your handiwork. “All better.” This time, you slide down into your seat before Jake has the chance to pull it out for you. Turning to him as he tentatively takes the seat next to you, he finds a small frown on your lips. “Wait,” you pause, realization written across your features. “Your brother isn’t coming, right?”

Jake shakes his head. “I mean, I don’t know for sure, but I doubt it. He has no reason to come. My parents are on a business trip, so they won’t be here either. And that also probably means he’s more swamped than usual at the office.”

Nodding, you take a sip of champagne. “Good.” Pausing, your lips quirk. “Although it would be kind of funny if he–”

“I think you’re in my seat.” The sudden interruption is flat, leaves no room for arguments. 

Startled, the two of you spin in your chairs. 

James Sim, despite his brother’s predictions, is in fact not otherwise occupied at his office. Instead, he stands directly behind his younger sibling, strikes an imposing figure where his shadow blocks the chandelier light behind him and extends over his brother and his altered place card. 

Eyes flaming, he looks at where his name has been crossed out. Replaced. 

Next to Jake, you remain silent, figure that you’ll let Jake handle this one the way he let you handle your mother. Far be it from you to step in on a family matter.

But then you notice the way Jake shrinks a little in his seat, hides a little further in his brother’s shadow. Reaches for the place card like he wishes he could take it back.

Sliding your gaze back to your least favorite Sim sibling, your voice is even, albeit icy, when you point out the obvious, “It’s not actually. Can’t you read?” Jake’s hand stops in its tracks, falls back to his lap.

A quick look your way is the only indication James even hears you. Instead, he continues his one-sided conversation with his brother, a barely controlled sort of fury crossing over his expression. “Hm,” he muses, glancing between the two of you. “Sure seems like you two are awfully close.” Casting an accusatory glare at Jake, he adds, “That’s funny. I could have sworn you said you barely knew her.”

Her. You’re sitting right there, and you don’t even get a name. 

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Jake either. And it turns out to be just what he needs to find his voice. You’re almost proud of the sarcasm he manages to muster when he counters, “Yeah, well, this funny thing happens when you spend time together. You actually get to know each other.” Straightening his spine, there’s an unmistakable edge in his voice when he adds, “You know, when you actually bother to show up, that is.”

You hide a laugh behind your hand, albeit not very well. Glancing at Jake, a feeling swells in your chest that you can only identify as pride. You didn’t know he had it in him. 

Reassessing his strategy, James turns to you, forcing a nonchalance that is entirely contradicted by the way his cheeks are rapidly reddening. “Actually, ___,” he tries, acting as if the last thirty seconds faded out of existence at his will. “I was hoping to speak to you about something. I’d love to get you a drink if you–”

“Actually,” Jake cuts in, doubling down. “We already have drinks.” Behind you on the table, the two near full glasses of champagne are undeniable evidence. The laugh that spills out of you this time is impossible to hide. Yeah, you decide, between the two of them, you definitely hate James more. Entirely amused, the only thing you wish you had is a bowl of popcorn as you root for the underdog. Not that he needs it. Much to your satisfaction, he’s been landing his punches well. 

The giggle dies on your lips, though, when you feel the warmth of another hand suddenly cover the top of yours where it rests on your thigh. Gaze flaming, James follows the movement. Startled, your eyes fly to Jake. The only view you’re offered is of his profile as he keeps his gaze trained on his brother, the challenge in his features unmistakable. 

The only consolation he offers for your sudden shock is a small, reassuring squeeze against your knuckles. 

And then he says, “And I’d like to keep my girlfriend right here, actually.” At that, he does finally turn to you, eyes pleading, gaze imploring when he seeks your permission. Even though they’re performative in nature, his words aren’t solely for James’ benefit. “If that’s alright with you, that is.”

Girlfriend.

You were perfectly happy in the role of the observer, but now Jake has dragged you into the spotlight. Even though it pains you, you know you can’t leave him hanging. Not when that would mean a sure victory for his dickhead of a brother. 

Girlfriend. The word echoes in your head, has you feeling dizzy.

“Of course,” you return hollowly, barely recognizing the sound of your own voice over the sudden rushing in your ears. “Boyfriend.”

When you smile at him, you make sure it looks sickeningly sweet enough to deter James. Your eyes, however, flash with a warning only Jake can read. 

“You’re dating?” James can’t hide his shock, and his outrage is just as obvious. 

“Yep,” Jake passes you a panicked look. But you don’t need it, don’t need his convincing. You’ve already dug yourself a deep enough hole. Trying to climb out now would only mean everything crumbles. 

“Sure are,” you confirm with a tight smile. Turning back to Jake, you add, “Actually, sweetie, I need to talk to you about, uh…” you scramble for a moment. Finish vaguely with, “that thing.” 

“Right.” Jake picks up on the threat in your eyes seamlessly, knows there’s only one acceptable response. “That thing,” he echoes. 

“Yeah, so,” you turn back to James, barely acknowledging him as you start to stand. “We’re gonna step out for a minute.”

Jake is all but putty in your hands as you switch the positioning of your grip so that the hand that was resting on yours is now encased firmly between your fingers. 

“See you later,” are Jake’s breathless parting words to his brother. 

“Hopefully not, though,” you alter. 

And then you’re dragging him back through the crowd towards the exit, and it’s all Jake can do to not run into the other guests or knock over the delicately balanced trays of hors d’oeuvres waiters carry throughout the room. He’s at your mercy all the way through the double doors of the ballroom, and you pause only briefly to determine which hallway is less likely to have people in it before deciding on the one to the right, towing him along behind you.

Once you’re far enough away from unwanted eyes and ears, you start wiggling every door knob you come across, growing visibly more frustrated until you finally find an unlocked one. Huffing, you push Jake into the spare storage closet first. Following him in, you close the door behind you. 

The sudden change in space puts you in close proximity. Your nose is only a handful of inches away from his when you start laying out accusations. 

“What the hell?” With the same hand than just dragged him on a half marathon, you shove at his chest. “Boyfriend?” You have half a mind to grab the broom standing next to you and start whacking him with it. 

“I’m sorry!” Jake holds his hands up defensively. He doesn’t miss the way you’re eyeing every cleaning tool around you, no doubt deciding which would make the most effective weapon. “I panicked, okay? I just hate that smug little look he gets on his face–”

“Well you’re about to be seeing ‘that smug little look’ a lot more once he calls your bluff!” you half-shout, trying to convey your anger without alerting anyone to your presence.“The timeline barely lines up to begin with. It’s only been what, a few weeks since I was supposed to go on a date with him? And that’s not to mention the fact that there won’t be anyone to corroborate our story, because we don’t spend any time together, since, y’know, we’re not dating.”

Jake begs to differ. You’ve invaded more than one of his Wednesday night statistics study sessions. 

But before he can point this out, you’re continuing. “Which means you’re gonna have to come up with some sort of believable explanation for why we break up after, like, three days.”

“Ugh.” Jake drags an open palm down his face. He hates to admit it, but you do have a point there. 

Fingers running through his hair, his sudden stress is apparent. And you’re not trying to send him to an early grave, but would it have killed him to think before he spoke? Consider the consequences of starting the exact kind of rumor you’ve been hoping to dodge all evening? You get that his brother is not exactly an easy person to get along with, but was the short-lived victory really worth the potential fallout? 

Across from you, Jake seems to be having the same realizations. A million thoughts whirring through his brain, he’s not sure where to place his focus. 

After a moment, he settles on optimism. “Look, I think it will be fine.” The more he thinks about it, the more he convinces himself he believes it. “James has been up to his ass in company stuff since the second he graduated, so it’s not like he has extra time to check up on us or anything.” And even if he did, James would have no way of knowing who to ask. Jake has the sneaking suspicion his older brother couldn’t name a single one of his friends if his life depended on it. He would have no idea who to track down to corroborate your so-called romance. 

“We won’t have to do anything,” Jake reasons. “I’ll just mention you in passing for the next few weeks if he happens to ask.” Even that should be simple enough. After all, Jake seriously doubts he will. “And by the time the holidays roll around, I can just say things fizzled naturally.” Easy. Simple. Uncomplicated. Mutual, and your pride and his both remain intact. “No big deal.” 

Across from him, you weigh his words. It makes sense, yes, but there’s something starting to swirl in your gut that you don’t like. It feels a little too much like dread, like trepidation. Jake can read all of the uncertainty written across your face when you tell him, “I still don’t like it. My mother and your brother were both here tonight and already got different stories from us. This could get messy really quickly. I mean, what if our families start talking–”

“They won’t.” Jake shakes his head. “Your mom thinks I’m just a plus-one, and when my name comes up in James and my father’s conversations, it isn’t to discuss the ins and outs of my dating life.” Of this, at least, Jake is sure. His father couldn’t care less who he dates, as long as it’s not a liability to him, to the company. “Besides, we're university students.” Jake tries to lighten the mood, clear some of the tension. “Twenty-one and immature and all that.” For a moment, Jake imagines what life would feel like if that’s truly all he was, if that’s the only thing he got to be. No added pressure of a notorious last name and a reputation to maintain. Tucking that thought to the back of his mind, he decides he’ll mourn it later. “A short-lived relationship with a story that doesn’t quite add up is practically a right of passage. Not something to be suspicious of.” 

You remain silent for a moment, but your hand doesn’t get any closer to the broom.

“Okay.” Some of the tension seeps out of your shoulders as you turn his reasoning over in your brain, nodding as his logic starts to piece together. “Okay,” you reiterate. You still don’t like it, but he’s right about one thing: it is the best option you have. 

After all, there’s no way in hell you’re about to go tell your mother that your plus-one is actually your secret boyfriend, and you hate to admit it, but James’ little smirk is incredibly agitating. And it will all blow over, you’re sure. Like Jake said, James and your mother have no real reason to talk, and if Jake is convinced that his brother won’t be spreading this particular rumor, you’ll just have to believe him for the time being. 

Letting him out of the closet first, you only imitate hitting him upside the back of the head once before you catch up to him, linking arms again before reentering the ballroom. 

As the evening goes on, your worry starts to subside. Thankfully, every other part of the night goes perfectly to plan, even if you do have to force yourself to laugh a little too hard at one of Jake’s awful jokes when you catch James watching the two of you. The second glass of champagne you down helps, if nothing else. 

Exactly as you predicted, after two and a half hours have passed, you and Jake are sneaking out the back exit, tiptoeing to his car as the fourth speaker of the evening continues their droning speech inside the event. Your mother is none the wiser to your early departure, and you hope it’s the first in a series of victories for the evening. 

When Jake drops you off just outside the front doors of your apartment building, his smile is almost reassuring enough to put that lingering sense of unease to rest where it still sits in your gut. 

Makeup removed, hair washed, and evening gown traded for pajamas, sleep is slow to find you a handful of hours later. Eventually, though, it does, and your rest is undisturbed, dreamless. 

…

The next morning, with nothing but the pastel tones of sunrise and the sound of his brewing coffee maker to keep him company, Jake Sim stares at the message on his phone in abject horror. 

Mom [7:32 am]: I can’t believe I had to find out from your brother! Family dinner next weekend at our place. Bring your girlfriend. :) 

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

PART TWO IS UP AND LINKED ON MY MASTERLIST!

note: thank you for reading!! this is the version I had saved in my docs and it should be identical to what was posted before but in case there are any slight differences, that's why. I also sometimes make the fatal mistake of doing small grammatical edits in tumblr itself, so please excuse any minor errors as I didn't do a read through this time around. as always, I love to hear any thoughts you may have!

[yncoreee]

I LIKE THE WAY YOUR HAND FITS IN MINE. Karina x reader

Synopsis— Karina warming up your hand due to the cold only to notice yours were smaller and it fits perfectly in hers.

Warnings .ᐟ established relationship, it’s winter, very short :P, reader is implied smaller than Karina, female reader, FLUFF

꩜ — ⵌWord count 307

After hours of playing around in the snow. Building snowmen’s, snow angles and having snowball fights. You felt yourself getting more cold to the point it almost felt like you were Turing into ice.

“Hey Rina I think we should go inside, I’m feeling really cold” you shivered as you made your way towards her.

She nodded in understanding. “Yeah, I’m feeling cold too” she agreed placing her arms over your shoulder as you both made your way back to your shared apartment.

As you reached home, you took of your gloves and coat hanging it next to the door then going upstairs to change into your comfy pajamas.

In the meantime Karina turned on the heater making everywhere warm.

“Let’s watch a movie!” Karina suggested as she saw you coming downstairs.

“Sure, what movie” you responded taking a seat next to her. “Uhh I don’t know anything romance” she shrugged.

“Alright, I’ll see what movie I can find”

It didn’t take long and now you found the perfect movie. You grabbed the popcorn off the table and snuggled your way into the blanket leaning close to Karina.

Not even a minute through the movie your hands started to get cold.

You rubbed both of your palms together in hopes of producing heat to keep it warm.

Karina noticed your actions and stopped you before placing her hands under yours. “Ooo your hands are so small~” she teased followed by a chuckle.

You slightly pouted. “Hey my hands aren’t small, yours is just abnormally big” you huffed.

She laughed again and poked your nose. “Don’t worry tho, it’s the cutest part about you. Plus I like the way your hand fits in mine” she added, holding up both of your hands in hers.

The both of you continued to watch the movie, interlocking hands under the blanket.

[thenerdykneazle]

Wild Ride

Summary: You and Seb aren't on the best of terms in sixth year. He's desperate to get you to let him back into your life - to the point of inviting himself along on a trip to Clagmar Coast to get ingredients for Garreth's newest potion. The simple errand turns out to be much more dangerous than either of you could have anticipated.

Sebastian Sallow x M!MC

Another collab with the talented @darch7995 who turned this story into audios. Listen to part 1. I gave Rina a task with this one with all the fighting, and she killed it. If you've never heard her audios, you're missing out.

Warnings: violence, swearing, angst with a happy ending, reckoning with the Scriptorium b/c I'm still mad it's glossed over in the game lol

Word count: 6203

You stalked along the edge of the raised platform, scoping out the perfect angle. “Accio!” you said, dragging the blue stone towards you. You held on longer than normal. You released the spell, and the stone kept rolling. It smacked into a red one at the end of the court, which jolted forward – right off the platform and into the grass. The blue sphere slowed to a stop just before the edge, earning you another 50 points.

“Ugh! That’s the third game in a row,” Leander groaned.

“You really should stop going first,” you said, unable to hold back a chuckle.

Leander glared at you. “I should just stop playing,” he said hopelessly.

“Also a valid option,” you replied drily before smirking at him.

You grabbed your bag and sauntered off to head into the library to get some studying done for once.

“Hey, MC! Do you have a moment?” Garreth said as he jogged up to you.

“Sure. What’s up?” you replied as Garreth joined in step.

“I’ve got a favour to ask,” he said. “I need you to help me track down an ingredient.”

You sighed. “Yeah, okay. What is it this time?”

Garreth beamed at you. “You’re the best! It’s just knarl quills,” he said.

“Knarl quills? Seriously?” you interrupted, indignant. “Can’t you just buy some in Hogsmeade?”

“Normally, I would, but Brood & Peck is wiped out after Sharp’s lesson on Laughing Potion. It’ll take weeks for them to get new stock. But it gave me a brilliant idea for a new drink. I’m calling it Gigglewater. Imagine pairing a nice buzz from firewhisky with the euphoria of Laughing Potion! So…think you could get some quills for me?”

He looked at you with a hopeful expression.

“All right. I know where to find a den,” you said, resigning yourself to being an errand boy yet again. “But if this brew of yours works out, I expect a steady supply.”

“Brilliant!” Garreth said, clapping both hands on your shoulders. “You’ll have as much as you can drink, mate. I promise.”

Garreth bolted off to go prepare the rest of his ingredients. You picked up your pace to head inside before your to-do list could grow any longer. Before you’d taken ten steps, you were stopped by another voice.

“Oi! MC!” they called from across the grounds.

You turned to see Sebastian headed toward you with his broom slung over his shoulder.

“I’m headed to the pitch to get in some practice before Quidditch try-outs start next week. You want to join? Ominis mentioned you’re planning to go for chaser,” he said. He added under his breath, “Not sure why he knew before I did, but…”

“Oh,” you said uncomfortably. “I was just headed inside to study, actually. Got to finish that essay on bowtruckles for Howin. But you have fun.”

“Oh,” Sebastian said, crestfallen. He had been excited to practise with you – you never turned down a chance to fly. He’d also hoped a little rough-and-tumble play on the pitch might relieve some of the tension he felt around you lately. “Yeah, no problem. I suppose school does come first.” He forced a laugh. “So, what, uh…what did Garreth want?”

You assumed he had been aiming for a ‘casual’ tone with his question. He ended up sounding rather nervous. “Just help with another potion,” you said shortly.

“Oh, are you going into the forest?” he asked, eyebrows raising slightly. He stood his broom up on the ground, leaning on the handle. “Need a hand?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks,” you said with a tight smile.

“It’s no trouble,” Sebastian insisted with an annoying level of earnestness. “Besides, I can’t have my charge wandering through the woods alone.”

You rolled your eyes. “Professor Weasley put you in charge of me for one trip to Hogsmeade – a year ago. I can handle myself, thanks,” you said before turning to head inside.

“Wait!” Sebastian called as he shouldered his broom again and jogged after you. “I know you don’t need my help. I just thought it might be nice to hang out. It’s…been a while.”

“Has it?” you said, feigning ignorance. “I hadn’t noticed, really.”

“Are you cross with me about something?” Sebastian asked, grabbing your arm to stop you.

You pulled it back out of his grasp. “Maybe I’m just not in the mood to hang out,” you replied coolly, avoiding the question.

“Well, I could come with you to study,” Sebastian said. “I miss my friend.”

You gave a bitter laugh. “Is that what we are?” you asked as you crossed your arms over your chest in what you hoped was an imposing stance.

His brows drew together. “Don’t be ridiculous! Of course, we’re friends!” he asserted.

You flattened your mouth into a thin line and gave a disbelieving grunt. “I figured I was more of a useful acquaintance,” you replied.

“Are you actually joking?” Sebastian asked, gaping at you.

You sighed. “I don’t have time for this,” you said. “If you want to help, then fine. Meet me in the Room of Requirement at half 9.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sebastian said, looking like he wanted to say a lot more. “I’ll see you then.”

“Grand,” you said sarcastically.

That night, Sebastian arrived in the Room of Requirement at 9:35. “Sorry I’m late!” he said as he burst in. “Weasley was asking me all sorts of questions when she found me wandering the corridors. I swear that woman has an extra sense about when students are planning to sneak out.”

“It’s fine,” you said tersely. “We’ve got a long journey ahead, though. We should get going.” You checked your supply of potions again. You made sure Sebastian had a full set, too. Garreth had set you up with a large store of all sorts of potions, including a particularly strong form of the edurus potion. You had to admit that your partnership with the ginger was quite mutually beneficial.

“Is this what you did all the time last year?” Sebastian asked. “Sneaking out and running around the Highlands?”

You shrugged. “Basically,” you confirmed.

“No wonder you were always so exhausted,” he said. “I swear you had permanent bags under your eyes.”

You shot a glare at him. “Cheers, mate,” you said sarcastically.

“Not that you looked bad,” he assured you, hands raised in defence.

“Mhmm,” you said sceptically as you grabbed a handful of floo powder. You threw it into the little flame. “Clagmar Coast.”

You disappeared in a haze of flames and soot.

Sebastian sighed. “Smooth, Sallow. Real smooth,” he said to himself, shaking his head. He quickly went through the floo, as well.

He landed in a small cabin. It was cold, as the shabby building let the wind rolling off the sea slip through its many cracks. He pulled his cloak more tightly around himself as the two of you stepped out of the little hut and onto the beach. “Merlin, it’s freezing out here!” Sebastian groused.

“Yeah, that tends to happen when the sun goes down,” you snapped as you started down the beach.

“What is your problem lately?” Sebastian asked as he followed you.

Before you could answer, you heard a distant voice.

“I swear, every time we draw straws for patrol, I get the short one,” a man said.

“Hide!” you hissed in a low voice. You practically body-slammed Sebastian against the cabin, tucking yourselves just behind the chimney. As you did, Sebastian steadied himself with a hand on the wall and the other on the chimney, while you slapped your hand over his mouth so that he didn’t make noise. All he got out was a little “oof” as his back hit the stone wall.

You cast a nonverbal disillusionment charm over the both of you. Sebastian’s heart was racing. He genuinely wasn’t sure if it was due to the sudden presence of unfriendlies or your practically invisible body pressed against his in the near-perfect reverse of the position he so frequently desired to put you in lately.

You both heard the crunch of their footsteps on the sand as the two dark wizards approached.

“I don’t see why you’re complaining. Going on patrol’s more interesting than standing around at the camp,” a feminine voice replied as the footsteps continued to draw nearer.

“At least there aren’t dugbogs at the camp,” the man huffed. “That last one nearly took my eye out with that slimy tongue!”

Just then, Sebastian’s hand slipped as the brick he’d been holding came loose. He squeezed his eyes shut, wincing as it clattered against the rocky ground.

“What was that?” the woman asked.

“It came from over there!” the man replied.

“Bombarda!” the woman yelled.

Sebastian launched you both away from the cabin just before the spell hit the chimney you’d been hiding behind. It burst apart, sending dust and brick in every direction. Your disillusionment released as you tumbled across the damp sand before clambering to your feet.

“Stupefy!” you yelled, aiming for the man in front.

“Confringo!” Sebastian said just a split second slower.

The man, who was dressed in a soldier’s uniform, dodged your spell but was hit with Sebastian’s. He yelled in pain as the fiery curse burned his side. “You’ll pay for that!” he said.

The woman, an assassin, sent a slew of curses your way. You dodged and deflected, waiting for an opportunity to strike. Meanwhile, the soldier was locked in a duel with Sebastian.

“Time for some assistance,” the assassin said, aiming her wand at the ground.

Several inferi burst out of the sandy shoreline. They lunged for you. “Incendio!” you shouted. The ring of flames that erupted around you knocked them back. You levitated one before dispatching of another. A third clawed deep gashes into your back. As you whipped around, sending a blasting curse its way, the assassin hit you with a disarming charm.

The inferius crumpled in a burst of flames as your wand went flying. With your wand gone, the inferius you had levitated crashed back to the ground.

Sebastian finished off the soldier with a severing charm before summoning the remaining inferius away from you just as it lunged to attack. You dove into the sand, and just as you grasped your wand, the assassin attacked. “Petrificus totalus!”

The spell hit you as you were half-way to your feet. You could do nothing as you heard the assassin cry out, “Expulso!”

You were blasted back into the rocky cliffs that rose up from the sand behind the ruins of the cottage. You collided with a crunch before falling to the ground. Your lungs burned as you tried to replace the air that had been knocked out of them by the impact.

“Reducto!” Sebastian roared. A blue jet of light erupted from his wand. It arced through the air before striking the assassin in the chest. She shattered into ash – the sea breeze scattered her remains across the wet sand before the tide rinsed them away.

Sebastian turned to you, looking panic-stricken as he saw your crumpled form. Behind him, the soldier who lay bleeding on the beach raised his wand. You summoned your remaining strength, reaching deep inside to your connection to the ancient magic, and sent a nearby boulder soaring through the air before crashing it down on the man’s body. It collided with a sickening crunch as his bones splintered apart. His arm fell back to the earth. He didn’t move again.

Sebastian had watched the final blow with wide eyes. His attention quickly snapped back to you as you struggled to get back to your feet. He rushed over and grabbed your arm. “I’ve got you,” he said.

“I’m fine!” you bit out, ripping your arm from his grasp in a painful, jerking motion.

“I was just trying to help!” Sebastian said irritably.

“Yeah, well, you helped enough giving our position away by knocking that stone loose,” you said. You uncapped a wiggenweld and gulped it down. The ache in your side faded, and you were able to breathe easily again.

“You’re seriously blaming me for a loose rock?” he asked.

“It’s an old shack. You should’ve been more careful,” you argued. “Clearly it didn’t take much to bring down that chimney.” You gestured to the wreckage.

“Yes, well, we’ll certainly be needing a different way back to the castle,” Sebastian said bashfully.

“What an astute observation,” you said sarcastically. You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “We should get going before anyone notices that two Ashwinders are missing. The knarl den is in a cave just west of here.”

You made haste up the rest of the coast, breathing a sigh of relief when you reached the mouth of the cave without incident. “Well, that’s inviting,” Sebastian said, noting all the warning signs and paintings of skulls and crossbones. “‘Turn back or perish.’ What more invitation do we need?”

“Oh, it’s not so bad inside,” you said. “Especially since all the poachers should be gone.”

“Any other surprises that might be awaiting us in there?” he asked.

“I mean, it’s a cave, so spiders are likely,” you said.

“Naturally,” Sebastian replied unenthusiastically. “I’ve been living arachnid-free for too long, anyway.”

You gave him a cheeky smile. “Look at you learning the difference between insects and arachnids,” you said with mock pride. “You studied over the summer didn’t you, you little bookworm?”

Sebastian gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “I’m so glad that Ashwinder didn’t knock that charming sense of humour out of you,” he said sarcastically.

“Come on, you grump,” you said. “I don’t want to be out all night.” You ducked into the cave, and he followed after you with a begrudging “fine.”

The first half of the trek into the cave was uneventful other than some cobwebs and egg sacks, both of which were easily burned away. Fortunately, there was no sign that any poachers currently occupied the cave. It was just damp corridors, jumping over crevices, and climbing ladders.

Sebastian groaned as you started up yet another ladder. It was even taller than the earlier ones. “You were just gallivanting through caves like this all the time on top of all the things we got up to together?” he asked.

You paused in your ascent. “Pretty much,” you confirmed. “That and helping Poppy to fight poachers and Natty to take down Harlow.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten that. Or all the errands you were running for other students – which, clearly, is one hobby you haven’t given up,” he said. He followed you up the ladder. He had to admit, all this climbing did come with the perk of some very nice views of your arse as the fabric of your trousers was pulled taught against it. You were waiting casually as Sebastian hauled himself up the last bit of the ladder. He doubled over, hands on his knees, as he caught his breath. “No wonder you’re so fit.”

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“I-I mean, not fit fit, but actually fit,” he added quickly. “Not that you’re ugly, though! It’s just that you’re very, erm…athletic…is my point.”

You nodded slowly, resisting the urge to laugh at him. A small smirk had found its way to your lips, though. “Right…Maybe you should worry about your own stamina, Sebastian,” you said. “You do have quidditch try-outs coming up.”

“Yeah, that’s probably good advice,” he said sheepishly. He was thankful for the flush he had already had from all the climbing, or his embarrassment would be obvious in the blush on his face.

You just shook your head at him before marching on. The awkward conversation was quickly forgotten as he had to focus on crossing rickety boards and passages with steep drop-offs. You progressed rather quickly through the maze of tunnels as you were able to recall the proper path forward.

“You know, it’s quite nice going through a cave without you stopping every five feet to rummage through an old chest,” Sebastian teased.

“Well, if we’re sharing, it’s nice having you actually follow my lead to hide and assess a situation before rushing in wand blazing,” you said, glancing back at him before ducking into a tunnel.

“That was one time!” he argued as he followed in behind you.

“Only if you don’t count the second trip into the catacombs. Or the scriptorium. Where you cursed me. Which, I never got the chance to say, but fuck you for being able to, by the way,” you said.

Sebastian was taken aback. This was not how he anticipated the night going.

“What had I done to you at that point, anyway?” you continued.

You were out of the low tunnel now and were moving at a quick pace. Sebastian grabbed your hand so you would stop and look at him. “Just wait a second, will you?” he said.

He sighed, releasing your hand and then shifting nervously on his feet as he tried to find the right words. You watched him impatiently with an arched brow.

“You hadn’t done anything,” Sebastian said honestly. “I just wanted to get us out of there.”

“Well, you must’ve had some reason to hate me enough to want to cause me that much pain,” you replied bitterly.

“I didn’t,” he vowed. “I imagined that the day I brought you to Feldcroft to meet Anne – when you talked to Uncle Solomon after our fight – you sided with him. And I imagined that you would try to stop me from finding a cure for Anne. Obviously, I know that’s not true. But it was the only way I could think to want to hurt you. Even then, I…when you started screaming…” He squeezed his eyes shut as if in pain. “I don’t think I could do it again. I still have nightmares about it.”

You nodded in understanding. “So do I,” you admitted.

Sebastian knew he had caused you immense pain that night. He loathed himself for it. He had lost his nerve the second you started screaming, though the curse had still crackled between you and the door for what seemed like an eternity afterward. He had never considered, though, that it haunted you like it did him. “Merlin, I’m so sorry. I…I didn’t know,” he said. His eyes had welled with tears.

“I think it’ll help – knowing what you were thinking, I mean,” you said. “In the dream, you just don’t stop. Not when the door melts away. Not when Ominis begs you to. The pain goes on and on until I wake up.”

“I swear I’ll never, ever hurt you again,” Sebastian vowed. He couldn’t bear the thought of all the pain he had put you through. The curse alone was bad enough. But having to relive the torture in your sleep? More than ever, Sebastian regretted not insisting you learn the curse to cast it on him, instead.

“You’d better not,” you said light-heartedly. “Now let’s keep moving. We’re almost to the den.”

You reached the nest of the knarls with only a few spider hatchlings to dispose of during the rest of the trek.

The den was in the middle of a grassy patch. Moonlight filtered in through gaps in the cave ceiling. Several knarls scurried about, fleeing into their nests when they saw you and Sebastian approaching. You two filled a satchel with shed quills. It was tedious work picking up the tiny spines, and you were admittedly thankful you didn’t have to do it alone.

“That should do it!” you said. “Now, we’ve just got to get back out of here.”

Sebastian quickly spotted an exit from the cave right by the nest. “Why didn’t we come in this way?” Sebastian asked as you walked along the gravel path.

“I didn’t remember it was here,” you admitted. He gave you an irritated look. “I’ve been in a lot of caves, you know. I can’t remember every detail.”

Sebastian just chuckled at you. Though, his smile disappeared when you shrieked. In the darkness, you hadn’t noticed the path took a steep downturn. Sebastian yelled your name as you slipped out of sight. He jumped down after you without hesitation. You tumbled out onto a path carved between the rocky hills of the seaside. Sebastian soon slid next to you. He stood up first and extended a hand to help you. “Are you hurt?” he asked as he pulled you to your feet.

“Just a few scrapes,” you assured him.

All of a sudden, jets of light streamed all around you. You and Sebastian dove for cover as the spells blasted dirt up from the ground and ricocheted off the rocks. You two managed to scramble behind a large rock formation along the path. “I guess the Ashwinders noticed their scouts went missing,” Sebastian said.

“Or else heard me yelling when I went arse over tit,” you replied.

More spells flew overhead. They were coming from the ruins atop a nearby hill.

“Cover me,” you ordered.

You popped up, and Sebastian sent a deluge of spells up at the hill.

“Accio! Bombarda!” you said, summoning one of the Ashwinders into range before blasting them back into the cliffs. Sebastian levitated another foe before slamming them back to the ground. You and Sebastian each sent a flurry of curses at respective enemies, while dodging curses sent from a third. When the other two Ashwinders were down, you both focused on the sole remaining combatant. You each sent a blasting curse at her, and the infernos seemed to magnify each other. She was taken out instantly.

“Well, that was surprisingly easy,” Sebastian remarked brightly.

The wooshes of apparating forms sounded all around you as enemy after enemy appeared in a haze of black smoke.

You sighed. “You had to say it, didn’t you?”

Before you knew it, there were a dozen Ashwinders around you. You and Sebastian quickly downed edurus potions and started firing off spells. You injured several of them, but it was difficult to focus on any particular foe with so many running around. That made it difficult to thin their numbers. You took a thunderbrew, as well. You also threw out some tentaculas. You were pulling out all the stops to try to get the upper hand. You quickly took out three of the Ashwinders, using your ancient magic to call down additional lightning upon them each in turn. You both took another edurus potion to keep your protection. A few exploding charms, blasting curses, and a severing charm later, and you were down to the last four enemies. You disarmed one, and the fire they had been summoning rained down on them instead of you.

As Sebastian dispatched another one of the Ashwinders, another wave started apparating in. There were close to twenty surrounding you now. “Well, this is just perfect,” Sebastian said sarcastically as he sent several basic casts at an animagus, forcing them back into human form. “Where are they all coming from?”

“Clagmar Castle is just over that hill. They’ve got a stronghold there,” you replied while dodging incoming spells.

You downed potion after potion – edurus, thunderbrew, and maxima. You even threw out more tentaculas and a few Chinese chomping cabbages for good measure. You threw spells, boulders, and even dark wizards you’d transfigured into barrels of explosives until you and Sebastian were the only two left standing.

You both gasped for breath. “Are you okay?” Sebastian asked.

“Yeah. You?” you replied.

“I’m fine. This better be some bloody magnificent potion Garreth’s working on, though,” Sebastian groused.

You rolled your eyes. “Let’s just get out of here before–”

More Ashwinders began apparating in around you before you could finish your sentence. Around the bend, a troll collared in goblin metal emerged on the path.

“Bollocks,” you said as you realised you were out of edurus and thunderbrew potions. You downed a maxima potion.

The troll charged you both, and you dove in opposite directions to avoid its attacks. It caught Sebastian’s side with a swipe of his club, and he flew high into the air before landing hard on the ground.

You focused on the troll first, while dodging attacks from the dark wizards. You dodged another swing of its club before flipping it back into its own face with a knockback jinx. While it was dazed, you sent spell after spell at it. In your rush to attack the creature while it was vulnerable, you didn’t see the duellist behind you. They blasted you with a reductor curse as you dealt a final blow to the troll. It knocked you forward as a burning pain spread through your back. You yelled in pain. You landed on your stomach, but you quickly rolled over despite the agony it caused. You cast a protection charm just in time to block their next spell.

Sebastian disengaged from the executioner he had been duelling to focus on your attacker. “Confringo!” he yelled, blasting them off their feet. “Accio! Incendio!”

Sebastian cast a severing charm that separated the witch’s head from her already lifeless body and both thudded to the ground. His eyes were filled with pure rage.

Just then, a bolt of green light coursed through the air, hitting Sebastian in the leg. For a brief, terrifying moment as he crumpled to the ground, you thought he’d been hit with a killing curse. But as he cried out, you knew he was alive. For now, at least.

“Reducto!” you yelled, blasting the executioner back, but, somehow, he was still standing.

You scrambled to your feet as the three remaining Ashwinders began to close in. Sebastian was still writhing in pain. “Now this has become personal, you little brat,” the executioner growled.

“Like lambs to the slaughter,” another wizard said.

“I'll put some flowers on your grave,” the third said, chuckling darkly.

They froze when a loud roar came from behind you. The ground shook as a large beast leapt into view from the cliffs and sprinted forward. The wizards shrieked, but their cries were short-lived as the massive graphorn trampled them. Sebastian yelled in fear as the graphorn rounded on him.

“No!” you yelled.

The graphorn turned and headed straight for you.

“Hey, you stupid monster!” Sebastian said, raising his wand as he struggled to his feet.

“Sebastian, don’t!” you yelled, lunging to get between the wizard and the beast.

The graphorn growled behind you.

“Get out of the way, MC!” Sebastian yelled.

“Stand down,” you ordered before turning to the large beast. “Easy boy. He’s on our side.”

The beast instantly relaxed. You reached out a hand to pet his muzzle. He nuzzled into your shoulder, closing his eyes as you stroked his neck.

“You know this overgrown lizard?” Sebastian said, flabbergasted.

The graphorn huffed.

“He didn’t mean it,” you said soothingly. “This is the Lord of the Shore. He was part of my final trial with the Keepers. Lord of the Shore, this is Sebastian. He’s my friend.”

“So, we’re back to being friends now, are we?” Sebastian asked.

“I’d say we’ve been through enough tonight to merit it,” you replied. “Speaking of, do you have a spare wiggenweld? That reductor curse bloody hurts.”

“Yeah, here,” he said, limping over to you. He handed you a phial before downing his own.

You grimaced as you downed the brew. You hoped you never had to take another potion in your life, as you felt near bursting with how many you’d had to drink that night.

“We should get moving before the next wave finds us,” you said as you mounted the graphorn.

“You want me to ride that?” Sebastian asked in disbelief.

The Lord of the Shore growled.

“No offence,” Sebastian added quickly.

“The nearest usable floo is in Bainburgh. Unless you brought a broom, then your only other option is to walk and face whoever you find along the way,” you said, holding out a hand to him.

“I’ll take my chances,” he said stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Sebastian, just get on!” you urged.

“Ugh, fine!” he relented.

He grabbed your hand and mounted the beast behind you.

“You can pet him if you like,” you offered.

“I think I’ll pass,” Sebastian replied, looking horrified by the idea.

You rolled your eyes. “Suit yourself. Now hold on,” you said.

For a moment, Sebastian didn’t know where to place his hands. He eventually decided on holding onto your hips. His face flushed as he settled in behind you. It was a rather intimate position to be in.

“All right, boy, Sebastian’s not used to this, so unless we see any dark wizards, let’s start nice and–” The Lord of the Shore started out in a sprint, making both of you yelp. “SLOW!”

You held onto the graphorn’s neck, while Sebastian clung to you with his whole body as he yelled ineffectually.

“No need to race now, my friend,” you said nervously.

The beast continued on at full speed.

“Slow down now,” you said, willing him to listen. He did not.

“Is he always like this?” Sebastian asked as the graphorn crashed through barricades blocking the path.

“No, he’s normally much calmer,” you replied, yelling over the rushing wind. “I think you offended him.”

“Offended him?” Sebastian roared.

He shrieked again as the Lord of the Shore leapt into the air over another set of barricades. The beast landed on the ground with a hard thud that nearly bounced you both off. A few remaining Ashwinders attempted to slow the massive animal, but he mowed them down.

He crossed the bridge toward Bainburgh, then deviated down to the beach.

“Where are you going? We need to get to the floo!” you said, but the graphorn trekked on. “Stop! Not through the–”

The Lord of the Shore splashed through the creek, soaking you and Sebastian.

“…water,” you said dismally as the beast continued splashing his way down the stream. You gave an exasperated sigh. “Thanks for that.”

Sebastian, who had gotten a mouthful of water due to his screaming, coughed and spluttered. “Okay! I’m sorry I called you an overgrown lizard!” Sebastian said. “Just let us down!”

The Lord of the Shore slowed to a walk, and you breathed out a sigh of relief. “There’s a lad,” you said, patting his neck. “Are you done with your tantrum now?”

The animal growled at you.

“Guess not,” you quipped.

“Sorry,” Sebastian muttered when he realised he was still wrapped around you. He quickly went back to holding your hips.

“Oh, erm, don’t…don’t worry about it,” you said, a blush rising to your cheeks.

The Lord of the Shore kept a leisurely trot toward Bainburgh. It was rather bumpy riding bareback on a graphorn, even when he was just walking. Every step the beast took was making your arse bounce along Sebastian’s front. He had his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth digging into his bottom lip as he tried not to be hyperaware of the sensation.

He tried to push himself backward to put space between you two and end the maddening friction.

“Ow! Sebastian!” you said as his hands dug into your hips. “Enough with the death grip! I promise you’re not going to fall off.”

His cheeks flushed as you glared at him over your shoulder. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. He looked like a scorned child as he stared down, avoiding eye contact with you. Eventually, Sebastian was still able to shift his hips back enough to stop his suffering.

“Merlin, I can’t believe the sun’s starting to come up!” you said as you noticed the light peeking over the horizon. “I guess it’s been a longer night than I realised.”

“Time flies when you’re having fun,” Sebastian joked. “Or, you know, fighting for your life.”

You laughed. “I’m gonna squeeze in a bath and a nap before defence against the dark arts when we get back,” you said.

“Maybe Professor Hecat will give us a free period if we tell her we fought two dozen dark wizards and a troll,” he joked.

You laughed. “Wouldn’t that be nice?” you said. “Thank you for your help tonight, by the way. I don’t know what would’ve happened if those Ashwinders had found me alone.”

He smiled, but there was a sadness behind it. “Anytime,” he said.

He was relieved when you reached Bainburgh and he could finally dismount. “Thank you for rescuing us,” you said, patting the graphorn. “I’ll come visit you soon.”

The beast chuffed happily. He even gave Sebastian a lick before setting off.

“Ugh, that’s disgusting,” he groused once he was certain the Lord of the Shore wouldn’t hear him.

You just chucked. “At least he likes you now,” you replied. You threw floo powder into the green flame. “Room of Requirement, Hogwarts.”

You whirled through the floo, appearing almost instantly in the familiar room. You stepped aside and Sebastian whooshed into the room a moment later.

“You know, I was hoping that he’s not the only one who’s forgiven me,” Sebastian replied. “I really am sorry.”

“What for?” you asked.

“All of fifth year, basically. But especially cursing you,” he replied. You had almost forgotten about your earlier fight. “I should’ve insisted you or Ominis cast the curse on me. It was my fault we were trapped down there.”

“I don’t think either of us would’ve preferred that,” you said honestly. “It’s not a night I’d wish to repeat, but…we did what we had to. All three of us would be dead otherwise.”

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair anxiously. “What if Ominis was right? What if we could’ve found another way?” he argued as he began pacing. “I mean, I didn’t even try. Not bombarda or confringo or finite incantatem. I didn’t do anything to try to protect you.”

You shrugged. “You were focused on helping Anne,” you said simply.

He turned back toward you. “And I’ve used that as an excuse to hurt too many people,” he said. He looked at you imploringly. “I just…I want you to know that I really am trying to change.”

You pulled him into a tight hug. “I know, Sebastian. And I’m glad you are.”

Sebastian melted into your embrace. Of all people, he needed you to accept him. If you could see all the parts of him you had and not run away, then perhaps there was hope for him yet. If you still saw good in him, then he would continue to believe it was there.

Sebastian pulled back to look at you. “I was really scared that Ashwinder was going to finish you off,” he said gravely.

You nodded in understanding. “I thought that executioner hit you with a killing curse,” you admitted. “I was terrified that I’d…I’d lost you.” You cleared the emotion out of your throat. “I mean, you’re a git, but…I don’t know what I’d do if you were gone.”

He gave you a crooked smile. “You’ll always be stuck with me, I’m afraid,” he said.

“That doesn’t sound like such a bad thing,” you replied.

Sebastian bit his lip. He looked uncertain about his next words. “MC, I realised something…when I thought you were going to be taken from me,” he said. “I…I don’t want to never have told you…”

“Told me what?” you asked, prodding him to continue.

He took a steadying breath. “Well, you see, I…I like you…as more than a friend, I mean.”

You stared at him in disbelief.

Sebastian shifted uncomfortably as the silence stretched. “Could you…say something?” he asked. “I mean, it’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I know I haven’t treated you the best. But I swear I don’t just see you as a means to help with Anne or defeating goblins. I really do care quite–Mmph!”

You had crashed your lips into his. The kiss was brief but passionate. “The feeling’s mutual,” you said, beaming at him.

Sebastian, though he had been caught off guard, recovered quickly. He reconnected your lips, kissing you fiercely as he pushed you back against the wall. He gripped your robes in both hands as he pinned his body against yours. You gripped his strong arms as you returned his fervour, sliding your tongue across his bottom lip teasingly before delving into his mouth. He had the coppery taste of a hard-fought battle, and it spurred you on as you thought again of how close you’d been to losing him.

You were the one to break the kiss as your lungs burned, begging for oxygen. “We should get what sleep we can,” you said, and Sebastian reluctantly let you go.

“Right,” he said as he recollected himself. “Well, maybe we could…go to Hogsmeade this weekend?”

You smiled. “Only if you promise there won’t be any trolls,” you joked.

“I’ve always thought you handled them quite well,” he said playfully. “But I’ll scope it out beforehand to make sure it’s troll-free.”

“Then it’s a date,” you said, unable to stop grinning. “We could go visit the Lord of the Shore after, too! He’ll probably even let you ride him alone.”

“Erm, yeah. Course. Brilliant,” Sebastian replied uneasily.

“Only joking!” you assured him.

He breathed out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank Merlin!”

A/N: Not me headcannoning that Garreth invented gigglewater. Also, the cave is modelled after the phoenix cave, just in a different part of the map now. That whole entrance/exit thing is true in the game, and I felt the need to include it in this story.

[baltharino]

Making a GifSet for Each Piece of Rina Tennoji Merch I Own Pt 4 / ? Merch Under the Cut

the board is angled a little low so we can see her eyes easily :)

[xenodile]

For ZZZ, since I dont play it but looks sick, 2 questions: what would Nicole onlyfans look like? Is it legit or a scam? And for Ellen, is there an story reason why she is a maid cafe instead of an actual maid like the rest of the Victorian group? Why is she larping?

1) Nicole's OnlyFans is legit in the sense that she is selling nudes and videos, but she posts the absolute bare minimum of content which is what makes her high prices so outrageous. She basically uses it like a blog she can make money off and posts like one thirst trap selfie a week, and once a month uploads a 14 second video of her tits.

2) No no, Ellen's not the one LARPing, everyone else in Victoria is. Ellen is a high schooler working 2 part time jobs. One of her jobs is at a maid cafe, where she doesn't give a shit about the presentation and is hitting your omurice with the flat, monotone "moe moe kyun (utter contempt)" and getting harassed by perverts. The other is with Victoria Housekeeping, which despite the name are more akin to mercenaries and assassins than domestic servants. The thing is that Lycaon insists on the whole housekeeper aesthetic because he's a neat freak. Ellen is willing to do her job(s) but will NOT expend the effort to play the part of the diligent maid like Corin or Rina. Like the maid costume is just her uniform that happens to work for both her jobs, but she doesn't want to be a maid, unlike the rest of the gang who are committed to calling themselves maids when they're really not. The rest of Victoria are playing up the courteous professional housekeeper angle because that's their gimmick, but at both her jobs, Ellen is giving it all the effort a bored irritable teenager that's only here to get paid can, which is none.

[n7punk]

“Make Me a Monster” Fic Notes

MMaM was pretty short and this will be too but this fic has some Backstory and I wanna talk about it lmao.

Playlist:

Warriors (AJ Michalka version)

heavy. — Au/Ra

The Creeps — Garbage

LIFE AFTER SALEM — Lil Nas X

The Heartless (original rock version) — PVRIS (kind of hard to get. Was only available on their PARIS EP which isn’t available for streaming last I checked)

Waking Up (Acoustic) — PVRIS (from the acoustic version of the PARIS EP, which is available on youtube)

chaotic — Tate McRae

Hate myself — Tate McRae

R.E.M. — Mothica

Shatter — Against The Current

Frankenstein — Rina Sawayama

My Limb — Hayley Williams

Epilogue Life:

It takes awhile and I could never write this fic in a timespan where it’s complete, but Adora does come to accept her new prosthetics. After the revelations about She-ra and the Heart, she comes to realize this version of them is the most ideal she could get purely because they don’t need maintenance, removal, cleaning etc and she can care for them the exact way she can the rest of her body, which makes them feel a lot more like her body. Her sense of touch isn’t 100%, still losing some texture differentiation and the ability to really feel light touches (she wouldn’t feel a bug walking on her arm for example), but as shown in the epilogue she learns to adapt, and eventually she stops covering up so much either. When she starts to wear her jacket less is when Catra knows she has made real progress. Her prosthetics are magic and never need intervention, which helps.

On Catra’s part, her guilt also takes a lot to process, as does her trauma from her time chipped, which only feeds into her guilt because she feels like she inflicted that same dehumanization on Adora. She comes to focus her energy on “fixing” things instead though, which does lead to some unhealthy burnout, but the worry her friends show for her then does a lot to help her internalize that no, they really don’t hate her.

It’s one of those cases where they take longer to get to a healthy place than in canon, but they do eventually reach it. They get through the worst of it early on, but those effects echo for a long time.

Chapter 1:

⦁ I was pretty worried going into this how people would feel about this, mostly because it’s an incredibly complex situation. Prosthetics are often helpful, but they tend to not be as effective as people hope and even when they are, that still doesn’t mean people don’t look at them and see what they lost sometimes. This situation in particular, where the prosthetics were largely unnecessary and completely forced on her, was painful. Adora is struggling not just with that, but with the very familiar process of trying to get back where she was before an injury/disability, but sometimes that’s just not possible. She’s seeking every piece of functionality and feeling she gets with her prosthetics, but that doesn’t mean she is less for having lost something either. I was worried about people thinking that attitude she has is ableist, when it’s really just a part of the disabled experience. Some people never have it, but I’m definitely someone who has struggled with trying to get things back while knowing I’ll never get it all. It… really sucks, and even when things seem good, there can be a bittersweetness to them. That’s the kind of attitude I was approaching this fic with. There was also the medical abuse angle with her prosthetics. Despite her impossibly advanced prosthetics, this is a very real thing I actually saw conversations about when TotK came out, which is what gave me of the exact phrase for that trigger because I was having trouble naming/describing it in the content warning before that.

⦁ Hordak was working on prosthetic limbs in the event that his deteriorating state made it impossible for him to keep working, using Adora as his guinea pig to test their effectiveness. Shadow Weaver kind of thought there was a chance She-ra could regrow them entirely even if that wasn’t what she was banking on. She actually thought the second accident was a mercy, because Hordak already wanted to test out the set on Adora at that point, so making it “necessary” was supposed to be easier on Adora. Her empathy meter is broken.

Chapter 2:

⦁ Catra just can’t “get” why Adora stayed, but it was kind of impossible for her to leave before that. Part of her already knew Shadow Weaver would be back for more, but she couldn’t let herself do it because it was the “wrong” thing to leave Etheria to the princesses. When she realized the Rebellion wasn’t actually monsters, it was all so much worse because she realized everything — her arms, Catra’s punishments, the horrible way they grew up that she didn’t even really have perspective for — had been for nothing. Catra was right all along. They should have runaway. So she did

⦁ I didn’t intend to title the chapters of this fic since it was so short, but then the “You promise?” line came up and I wanted to make that the chapter title for clarification purposes if nothing else, so I added them in.

Chapter 3:

⦁ I know I’m kind of the “let’s talk about traumatized Catra” person but tbh I still don’t think we give enough weight to having your body literally puppeted while you watch and undergo nightmare hallucinations. Like how the fuck was she functioning after that. So yeah on top of Adora being extra traumatized in this (and Catra additionally having extra trauma from watching that happen), I wanted to go a bit into the echoes of having been under Horde Prime’s control for Catra too. (Other members of the Princess Alliance who were chipped definitely deal with nightmares from this too, but I have a feeling the nightmare scenarios were mostly unique to Catra, especially considering the green pool wasn’t used on the others and by the time Prime had the others under his control he was dealing with a lot of chips and conjuring up nightmare scenarios for them all doesn’t make sense.)

⦁ In this AU there was a lot more immediately obvious awfulness from Shadow Weaver, so even after the portal Glimmer did keep her confined to her room, not that it helped Adora’s mental state much. She was a lot more hated and shunned in Bright Moon and when they were on the run. Catra and Adora still cried watching her die, but after the fact their general attitude is a mixture of “good riddance” and “how could she do all that to us and then just die without ever acknowledging it?” They take her sacrifice as the closest thing they’ll ever guilt to an admission of feeling guilt.

⦁ The thing about Adora never being able to tell if her sensation is back to “normal” is a very real thing when it comes to disability. I remember at one point telling a friend that I couldn’t tell if I wasn’t in pain or was just shouldering it because I didn’t remember what not being in pain felt like anymore.

⦁ If you know my poll, this was “in the engine room.”

Chapter 4:

⦁ In this AU, they have no idea the First Ones Virus could infect She-ra with just the sword since it seemed “obvious” it spread from the robots, to the sword, to her prosthetics, which somehow caused everything to go haywire. Because she was working with her original set that was less advanced, the virus was legitimately latched onto She-ra itself, which also explains why it went away with she reverted the transformation. They just thought changing “bodies” let her purge the virus when she transformed back. The corruption from the First Ones… worm, thing, corrupted Adora’s limbs similarly to how the virus took over her, only with green instead of red, completely changing the colors of her arms and legs and then slowly creeping up her veins. It was gnarly.

⦁ Entrapta just has a better connection with Catra and was looking to her for an answer, but a small incline of the head was their signal back in the Horde that she should really just agree with whoever she’s talking with. She almost never paused to notice it, but Catra was trying her best (and failing) to keep her out of trouble.

Original Outline:

Originally this AU was supposed to be longer, starting when Adora first lost her limbs, then skimming through scenes throughout the series, until finally landing on Darla. That was just an extra 2-3 chapters probably, but 1) god that’s too much angst. It kept me from writing it for like 9 months because I didn’t want to do it, 2) the balance just wasn’t there? Everything got “minute-to-minute” once they were on Darla, with entire chapters dedicated to it, where as the previous chapters were scattered moments taking place over literal years. This did mean I lost some ideas that were supposed to take place in the war and such (the princess prom scene, for example), but it’s still better for it.

I started to write that longer version of it back in 2022(!) but only worked on it for two days to about 2k before I was like this is not vibing and dropped it. When I picked it back up with the shorter timeline in mind, I wrote 70% of this fic in one sitting back in September, but then I got kind of stuck on their reconciling conversation and I think it was just a little too much angst for me then so I didn’t come back to it the next day. I’ve opened it occasionally since then to glance over but it just wasn’t clicking until this week. I edited what I had and wrote the rest of the fic in two days once I was there, though. I am proud of this fic but it’s definitely a very emotional one so it kind of has to happen in bursts like that. I’m glad to have finally gotten it out now, as rocky as getting from idea to completion was. I had the idea November 14th 2022, wrote most of it September 4th 2023, and finally finished it March 9th 2024.

Upcoming:

Start Your Engine ;)

[salvador-daley]

Chained ⛓ NEW CHAPTER

A Klaus Hargreeves murder mystery

A/N: Not me making you wait two months for an update. Sorry folks, my personal life has been kinda nuts lately and I’ve not had the time or brain capacity to focus on writing as much as I’d like. However, I am still chipping away at this story and the result is this fully loaded chapter which is CHOCKFULL of clues.

Many thanks to @ramblingluna aka @helunar1 for the absolutely glorious artwork, which I have been saving especially for this chapter. And thanks as always to @allisoooon for the patient beta read and unbending support. 😘😘

Thanks so much for reading and remember: your comments and kudos mean the world to me (and help to keep the writer’s block at bay) so please do lemme know your thoughts and theories.

Snippet from Chapter 28 Nancy Drew:

Klaus returns the glare for a moment longer, remembering the time he won a staring contest with a particularly pugnacious Yorkshire terrier that time he attempted to steal meds from a vet’s office and somehow ended up in the quarantine kennel.

But then the discomfort becomes unbearable and he can hold it in no longer. “Can I help you with something, Inspector Clouseau?”

Wesson nods, mostly to herself. “That’s a great question, Mr Hargreeves. A great question.” She reaches into a leather messenger bag by her side and pulls out a white spray bottle, placing it on the table in front of them. “Do you know what this is for, Mr Hargreeves?”

Klaus looks at it. The bottle has a label. Red writing, lots of warnings. Something scientific. Although he can’t make out the whole name from this angle, it looks like surface spray. He shrugs. “Cleaning your bathroom?”

Wesson reaches forward and wraps her hand around the bottle, squeezing it in her big fist. “This,” she says, “is a chemical called luminol.” She holds the bottle up to her face and admires it, turning it in her hand as she speaks. “Great little invention. It allows us to see traces of blood, even when it’s been cleaned up.”

Klaus gulps.

Ben looks at him.

Wesson continues. “We used this all over Mr Templeton’s house and do you know what we found, Mr Hargreeves?”

He knows what she found. He can’t let her know that though. He tucks his arms even tighter around his body and slouches against the red leather of the booth, cocking his chin at her in a way he hopes comes across as confident and defiant and not at all guilty as sin. “No? Surprise me.”

“Bloody footprints. All the way down the stairs. In the hallway, in the bathroom. Traces of blood all over his shower. We found blood on the door handle, on the nightstand. We even found it in the sink.”

Klaus decides to switch to his preferred tactic; feigned idiocy.

It works every time.

Well, it works some of the time.

It works about 30 per cent of the time, if he’s being honest.

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean to me, hmmn?”

Wesson lowers the bottle and leans in, penetrating him with her stare now.

He thinks of the dog at the vet’s office. How Klaus had poked his head through the doggie door and the beast had bared its teeth at him, its tiny body shaking all over with unchecked rage.

“It means,” she growls, “that someone was in the room when Mr Templeton died. That they were there when his throat was cut. That they got all covered in his blood and that afterwards they attempted to clean it up.”

Klaus freezes.

Ben’s eyes dart from Klaus to Wesson to Klaus again.

Wesson is still holding his gaze, attempting to snap him open, to break him like a dry twig.

He waits a beat.

“Have you ever seen Heat?” he asks. “Amazing film. Robert deNiro at his best.”

Read the rest on AO3

Tagging in the hopes you might reblog please pretty please: @badsext @softforklave @anglophile-rin @neist @purblzart @maerenee930 @firstpersonnarrator @allisoooon @cemeteryklaus @super-unpredictable98 @courtneytarynofficial @mokolataddict @pickledbeefwastaken @love-is-dirty-baby @rina-cydonia @inspiremeandsetmefree @jender123 @vonkimmeren @sylvertyger @merrilark @rob-private @pietro-t1me @not-oscar-wilde @squishitude

[owelrina]

Mrrp sorry for the lack of posts, due to the circumstances, I can't really use my PC to draw digitally, so here's a school doodle!

Rina as always, I love her

[katyspersonal]

Tagging game

Tagged by @bimbomcgee

Nickname: Kat, or Katy! Rom or Hina if you are very intimate with me and Rina if you want to be dead instantly

Sign: You really have any doubts? It's fuckin' Aries, binch!

Height: Boring generic 165 cm (5'4''). I love extremities, I'd love to be either very short or very tall.

Last thing I googled: 'Elden Ring Alberich face data'. Look at these mfers and tell me they are not implied to be related, especially considering that they are both big people in regards to Roundtable Hold:

Bonus - at first I misread this field as 'last thing I DOODLED' so here you can look at the result of me and Val having been drawing on Whiteboard and him mishearing me say "they added shapes" as "they added apes":

Sorry for NFT Boc everyone </3

Amount of sleep: From 4 hours to 4, it depends. I love consistency.... xD

Dream job: I want to work with plants... I just want to tend to flowers. Unfortunately spots like this are seldom open. Alternatively, I'd love a boring office job with buncha boring documents and high salary. Just take me somewhere where I won't have to interact with people -_-" You think I am not very social online, but in real life I get aggroed when a person I am not pals with as much as says my name!

Wearing: I am in my pajamas because it is 9 AM and I need to go to job soon! It is silly light blue one with pink flowers :3

Movies/books/media that summarize you: I used to have more interesting answer, but at this point my personality IS Soulsb0rne. I don't have to elaborate, just have a discussion with me that last longer than 10 minutes and you will understand. (and also probably go insane xD) However, if you really want to understand me well, you should also be familiar with Undert4le and Delt4rune, and also Mad0ka (ESPECIALLY Magia Record) and Gravity F4lls!

Favorite song: I don't have favourite song of all times, and in general it's been years of me not listening to music as it should be and instead abusing music as a podcast while drawing... This is one of the favourites since childhood tho:

Why it was so hard to find the subbed version... т.т

Instrument: None, but I often have dreams of playing piano! Makes sense because it is like, a dream haha.. hah

Aesthetic: It used to be all flowers and nature and blooming but Bloodb0rne seriously skewed it towards water and space and eldrich abominations.....

Favorite author: Lmao I don't read sorry dfshfsdhfd xD Focus issues! I read a couple of sentences and end up thinking of them from every possible angle, imagine every possible scenario, put them through my own memories and feelings..... and hella time sips away. Rom has MANY eyes, she should scrutinise the concept with EACH of them @_@ However, Dostoevsky and Bulgakov really pulled me <3 Dostoevsky has absolutely unrivaled fucking Russian depression in his works that I haven't found elsewhere, and Bulgakov just.. pulled religious themes so well, and I love his fucking CHARACTERS, so iconic xd If you read Master and Margarita you'll get it! (Crow I know you here LOVE classic Russian literature!)

random fun fact: I am in the walking distance from the sea! x) Could not have had it any other way, haha.

I tag: (You tagged some of our mutuals now already I guess?) @wikipedianna @lizteaart @val-of-the-north @saint--adeline @jarognieva @cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme @bobbyzombiegg @greenblueyulum

[8bitsupervillain]

Higurashi When They Cry Hou Ch. 6 Tsumihoroboshi pt. 16

Rena, having made her daring escape from the school with none of her friends or Chie any the wiser, doesn’t catch that they’re talking about her escape. Keiichi is vaguely aware that she’s probably fallen under the spell of another cockamamie story, or maybe the one she was already certain was true before.

It’s an interesting juxtaposition of how she hates the fact that Takano left her these scrapbooks, but she also views them as an absolute necessity in her struggle to stay alive. Rena then starts thinking about how exactly this unknown conspiracy is going to use the curse as a method to seize control of Japan. Settling upon the idea that the conspirators are going to use the curse and Rika as the embodiment of a miraculous wonder cure for the curse Rena spirals deeper into paranoia. Since Rika is being used as a figure head clearly that means she can’t trust her nor Satoko in her fight. That goes double for Mion, since she’s the leader of the Sonozaki family, and is therefore the leader of the muscle for the conspirators. She reflects back on Takano’s research, and comes to the conclusion that since the conspiracy killed her this means that their understanding of the parasite has clearly advanced to such a point that it is capable of taking over the entirety of the land all the way to Shishibone City. Or worse than that, the entire prefecture! And if it’s possible that it can cover the prefecture, this means that it’s more than likely able to cover other prefectures too! Clearly this is why they killed Takano, and are now plotting to kill Rena, because they’ve worked out all the kinks in their mad revolutionary plan to seize control.

How much sleep do you think Rena’s got over the past… since she got caught chopping up the bodies of Rina and Teppei? She latched on really tightly to this conspiracy angle that she just read about less than two days ago. Now I know that this can all be explained away with information we learn in Minagoroshi, but you know that her mind isn’t exactly at the best place it could be given the events of the last week or so. She committed a double homicide, she was caught trying to dispose of the evidence, she was given these scrapbooks filled with absolute bullshit, she recently began remembering previous trauma she’d mentally blocked away. Then on top of that, Ooishi mentions to her that Takano and Tomitake were found brutally slain shortly after she was given the scrapbooks of garbage. Around the time the rest of the gaming club helped her dispose of the bodies she did explicitly mention she was feeling exhaustion. So I can’t help but wonder if her excessively strong paranoia here might be the result of all of these various stressors just finally catching up to her.

And so, thus armed with $17,558 (adjusting for inflation) Rena goes to her secret hideout in the garbage dump. She reasons this is a perfectly good hiding spot, even if she’s ignoring the fact that both Rika and Mion know about this location. Rena, feeling the restlessness that comes with having to wait until nightfall to contact Ooishi leaves her hideout.

Which then cuts to Rena’s father talking with a local police officer because it looks like someone broke into his house and stole 800,000 yen out of his lock box. During said discussion with the officer Keiichi calls asking if Rena went home? Rena’s dad informs him he hasn’t seen his daughter since she left that morning and hangs up on him, the missing 800,000 yen and break-in being a slightly larger issue than his daughter’s friend wanting to chat over the phone.

Rena, meanwhile is off to go look at where they dumped the bodies of Rina and Teppei.

Wuh oh! Just like the bodies in Watanagashi the bodies of Rina and Teppei went out for a stroll! Also, I love how the text for Rena’s narration is now this just blood red, it’s a very nice touch.

One of the things that I like about this chapter, and it continues a little bit into Minagoroshi as well, is this notion that even though we have Mion’s word for it that the Sonozaki family isn’t as nefarious as they seem, but actually are still highly suspicious. I don’t doubt that the Sonozaki group at large just decides to take credit for some of the more illegal deeds that happen around Okinomiya/Hinamizawa. But there’s things like this, where if the Sonozakis were indeed on the up and up why are they willing to help dispose of these corpses with no one raising a fuss? It just acts at odds with the claim that they’re not actually a crime syndicate, and maybe there is something to their criminal reputation outside of their actions during the dam conflict.

Rena then rationalizes that the Sonozaki family must actually fear what she knows. After all, they moved the bodies, why do that if not to use against her in the future if she proves unruly? Emboldened by this new information Rena leaves the site where the bodies used to be.

I feel like it took tremendous restraint on either Ryukishi07 or the translators parts to not include some variation of “I know that she knows that I know that she knows that I know that she knows.” It just seems like the sort of line that would be included in some way you know? Although I guess you don’t really see that used in a serious context very often. Cause as we all know this series has never indulged in a silly line like that at all during the course of it all. Still I appreciate how even in the ever worsening depths of her paranoia Rena still is aware enough to think that hey wait, what if Ooishi is in on it? However I do like the version of these events where even though she’s dead certain most everyone’s out to get her Rena is still willing to try to get some help on her side. It’s an interesting change from Keiichi and Shion’s dives into paranoia and eventual murder where they just kept it to themselves.

[banji-effect]

This article helps puts Mrs. Trump's professed support for abortion rights in the context of other high-profile Republican women married to politicians. Like, if she's for real on this, I certainly agree with her, but while it might be her genuine belief, she also has essentially zero agency to affect her husband's actual control of women's bodily autonomy.

...In a black-and-white video posted on her X account on Thursday, Mrs Trump said "there is no room for compromise when it comes to this essential right that all women possess from birth: individual freedom". "What does my body, my choice really mean?" Mrs Trump continued. The video comes one day after The Guardian published an excerpt from her new book, Melania, set to be released on 8 October. In the excerpt, quoted by the Guardian, she writes: “It is imperative to guarantee that women have autonomy in deciding their preference of having children, based on their own convictions, free from any intervention or pressure from the government." “Why should anyone other than the woman herself have the power to determine what she does with her own body? A woman’s fundamental right of individual liberty, to her own life, grants her the authority to terminate her pregnancy if she wishes," she continues. “Restricting a woman’s right to choose whether to terminate an unwanted pregnancy is the same as denying her control over her own body. "I have carried this belief with me throughout my entire adult life.” Kate Andersen Brower, a journalist and author of the book First Women, said she was "shocked" by the comments. "So shocked that I wanted to check it was real," she said. "She's very much been in line with her husband, so on this issue how did she spend all those years watching him derail something that she seems to care about?" More than the other first ladies, Ms Brower said, Mrs Trump's comments appear "diametrically opposed" to her husband's approach on the issue. And she is the only first lady so far to make her stance on abortion known while her husband is actively seeking re-election. Indeed, the timing of Mrs Trump's comments suggest a possible political angle, Ms Brower said. "It's not out of the realm of possibility that this was done intentionally to come out right before the election, because it could appeal to those swing state voters who are upset about the overturning of Roe v Wade," she said. "Maybe they could see this as a sign that he [Trump] perhaps is softening on abortion." But Republican strategist Rina Shah offered a different view. The notion of Mrs Trump trying to help out her husband "doesn’t track with the Melania we know", she said. "At this point in the game it doesn’t change anything, and she knows that," Ms Shah said. "Early ballots have already gone out in certain places. It’s just too late."

[drish1121]

The world is painted in different colors, depending on the angle you see it from. Every single ideal can be turned monstrous when it’s pushed to the limits. I’m the limits. I’m the edges humans are warned to stay away from but are attracted to anyway, because it’s just so different from what they know.

God of malice

Rina kent

[heystephen]

Read an article that was comparing Charli XCX to Sabrina and was saying that how, unlike Sabrina, Charli seemed “cool”

HAHA. I’m sorry but Charli XCX gives huge NLOG energy. “I’m a feminist and all” no you’re not honey and your misogynistic fanbase especially isn’t. Stop bringing other women down just cause you are insecure about yourself and apologize to Rina. She acts like she’s so much better for going out clubbing instead of being a “traditional pop girlie” or whatever GOD I want to punch her. She and Billie are the worst type of women. Women who act like they are better than other women

the whole comparing women to other women and defining who’s a cool girl and who isn’t is just so strange to me. sabrina and charli are very different and they’re both good musicians.

that being said, charli has always worked the controversy angle, and so has billie. i think some female musicians take that route because it’s harder to fall from grace if you never had it tbh. when charli does mean and shady things, and i say this as a fan, the response is always “oh that’s just so charli” and everyone shrugs and moves on, as opposed to if say, sabrina carpenter were to do something like openly mock other female musician on her socials or subtweet about her peers like charli does. i do think charli owes an apology to rina but i can’t say i really expect one from someone who’s bestie’d up with matty healy. like she’s drawn her line in the sand, unfortunately.