#sometimes i look up what certain kinds of cheese taste like

[foxstens]

what the heck does 'nutty' mean when referring to cheese

[marshmallowprotection]

What do you think would be each character’s favorite flavor of cake?

You know what, this is a brilliant question, but I think I'm going to answer it based on vibes rather than trying to break down the semantics of why a character might enjoy a certain flavor over another.

Jaehee

Angel's Food Cake! You thought I was going to say that she would love coffee cake, didn't you? I feel like her favorite kind of dessert is one that is gentle on the tongue. You can't go wrong with fresh fruit and a gentle sponge. I imagine it might take her back to her childhood with her parents and what's better than that? It's nice to have a good memory. I know she makes a lot of different things for her cafe, but for whatever reason, I always think she enjoys the most gentle things.

Zen

Hotteok. Street Pancakes. He just isn't the kind of person who eats a lot of sweets, but I know he loves to visit different vendors because he has a lot of friends who have gotten out of gang life and end up making food for others. I think the closest you can get to him enjoying a suite is something he could pick up from a friend. They can be stuffed with different things, but I think brown sugar and cinnamon might be his go-to! I think they can add nuts too!

Yoosung

Funfetti Cake! I know what you're going to say, I can already hear you, why did I give him the flavor that would make him look like a kid who hasn't tried different things before? Well, I raise you the idea that sometimes people like what they like and it doesn't matter if it seems childish to you, he knows what he likes, and it happens to be sprinkles in his cake batter. You can't go wrong with it at the end of the day.

Jumin

Cheesecake! I just can't see him eating a cake for some reason. That's not to say that he doesn't like them, it's just that when I tried to imagine what he would like to enjoy, I came to the same conclusion. He wants a cheesecake slice and some coffee to go with it. He likes to indulge in the flavor now and again and I think that makes sense for him.

Saeyoung

Red Velvet. Again, I don't know what it is about him, but I feel like he really enjoys cream cheese frosting. The only thing that gets me with this is that in one of the folders that you can purchase from the marketplace, there's a birthday cake with blueberries and strawberries. Which implies to me that he likes blueberries, but there's no other evidence to back that up and there's nothing in the world that says he couldn't put blueberries on any cake so I've decided he's just going to put blueberries on red velvet cake.

Jihyun

Tiramisu! I feel like this makes sense and I don't even need to explain it because the people who get it—will get it and the people who won't—won't. There's just something about him sitting in the back of a cafe with a plate of tiramisu on one side and a scathing 10th grade essay on the other where he's going to argue up and down some sort of pretentious conclusion to an art piece. I'm going to say I support it because he's so goofy, but I can't unsee this.

Saeran

Strawberry Shortcake! The game points this out for me and I don't think I can argue with that. Although, I will say Unknown did have a drawing for his birthday where he had a big Black Forest cake. But, I don't know if that's his favorite, considering that there was a bottle of wine in the picture and I had a bad feeling about who set out a birthday display for him to begin with and why they picked what they picked. In any case, give this man some strawberry shortcake.

Rika

Devil's Food Cake! I didn't pick this because I thought it would be a funny joke. I picked this because she seems like somebody who likes to indulge. She decided she was going to unleash her devil and not let anybody stop her from enjoying herself, no matter what that meant for the people around her who suffered because of it, and tasting a very rich, dense chocolate cake is a representation of that sentiment.

Vanderwood

Carrot Cake! I don't even really have an explanation for this one other than it just feels right. I don't see them as somebody who enjoys a lot of sweets, but if they're going to have something, the most nostalgic thing they could think of would be something from their childhood, and I just think that's carrot cake.

[jacksdinonuggets]

Writing request: Vaggie gets a bad stomachache and tries to hide it in fear of getting in trouble, but Charlie figures it out anyway and comforts her?

Tw: Vomitting

Notes: new Hc, Charlie sometimes slips into Mama/mommy headspace.

It had been about a year since Vaggie showed up in hell. It was very hard for her body to get used to hells atmosphere and she often had bad reactions to certain things. Charlie was really worried when Vaggie got sick whenever she made this certain type of food. So they came up with a list of items she could and couldn’t eat. It was very embarrassing for Vaggie. Mainly because she felt bad for making Charlie cut out a bunch of food from the grocery lists.

Vaggie stuck to a few foods for the rest of the year. It was boring and always made her feel bad for making Charlie eat this stuff with her. 

One morning, a couple of days after the extermination, Charlie brought home groceries. Since the extermination just happened, there wasn’t alot of food. However, when she was putting it away, Vaggie spotted one of the foods in the bag that she couldn’t eat. Demon cows milk. It had been a long time since they found out that she couldn’t drink it, so Charlie must’ve forgotten.

She was about to say something, but shut her mouth. There was no doubt that Charlie would feel really guilty. She would just have to deal with it. Besides, from what she remembers, it would either be a really mild reaction or a really bad reaction. Hopefully the demons milk was the mild one.

“I’m gonna make us some mac & cheese for lunch,” Charlie said with a smile, “We haven’t had it in a while but I can’t remember why.” 

She definitely forgot. Oh boy.

Vaggie waited on the couch, making small talk with Charlie as she cooked. Her anxiety constantly went up as she was getting closer and closer to being finished. She really wanted to tell her that she just wasn’t hungry but then she would ask questions because she hadn’t eaten that morning. 

Somehow, she ended up at the table with a bowl of very cheesy Mac & Cheese in front of her. There was obviously demons milk in the dish but she ignored her anxiety and took a spoonful. 

It was really good! It had been so long since she’s had it that she forgot how amazing it tasted. She gobbled up the whole bowl and even got some seconds. She was feeling really good! Until 10 minutes later.

The cramps started up in her stomach as she was hanging out with Charlie, coming up with more plans for the hotel. She tried not to wince everytime she moved. They started to get close to period cramp pain level. She was literally going through hell. 

However, she managed to hide it while they were working. Charlie didn’t suspect a thing! But when they sat on the couch to cuddle, she could just not get comfortable. Unconsciouly, she made a whimper.

“You okay?” Charlie asked, looking down at her girlfriend.

“Uh, yeah, my back is just hurting a little,” Vaggie lied.

“Oh. want me to give it a massage?” 

“N-no, I’m fine, its not that bad!” She tried to dismiss any concern.

“Alright, but if its gets worse or you need anything, I’m here for you” Charlie said, giving her a small kiss on her forehead. Vaggie looked up at her, refusing the urge to slip. Charlie was probably in her mama/mommy headspace or something. 

The more they cuddled, the more pain she felt. This was definitely not the mild pain. It felt like something was trying to dig out of her stomach. Then, the nausea started. She tried to rest her eyes, hoping that maybe a little nap might fix it, but it hurt too much to let her slip into unconsciousness.

It got so bad that she couldn’t hold back a small moan (not the sexual kind). It was just so painful and crampy. She constantly felt like puking.

“Baby? You sure you’re okay? You can tell me anything,” Charlie assured. Vaggie went to say something but knew if she opened her mouth, she would make a mess all over Charlie. So she got up and swiftly stumbled to the bathroom. 

As Vaggie began emptying her guts into the toilet, Charlie followed behind her. She held her hair back once she got to the bathroom, making sure nothing got messy.

“Shh, it’s okay, sweet baby,” She comforted vaggie. She knew that if she helped her feel small then it could possibly help the situation.

“I know, it feels awful but it’ll be over soon,” Charlie rubbed her back and gave her forehead a kiss.

Vaggie reached up to her hair to try and pull at it but Charlie quickly moved her hands away.

“No, Baby, we don’t hurt ourselves when we’re feeling upset. I don’t want to give you mittens but I will if you hurt yourself,” She held her hands firmly.

Luckily, Vaggie’s stomach seemed to finish emptying after a couple more heaves. The girl fell into Charlie, snuggling up against her. She gripped her shirt when more cramps rolled around in her stomach. 

“You feeling a little better?” she asked.

“Mhm…” Vaggie mumbled. Sure, she was still a bit crampy, but at least he nausea subsided.

“Lets get you changed into a soft diapy, and your favorite onesie. Then we can cuddle for the rest of the day,” Charlie said, slowly trying to pick Vaggie up. The girl couldn’t even argue.

Charlie brought her back to their room and laid her down on the bed before getting her changed into a soft onesie and nappy. She gave the girl her stuffy but not her paci, which Vaggie wasn’t very happy about.

“Wan paci…” She mumbled.

“Vaggie… You can’t. It’ll make you nauseous,” Charlie explained. 

“Bu’ I wan it!” she demanded.

“Sweetheart, no. I don’t want you to get sick again,” She tucked Vaggie under the covers.

“Hmph!” Vaggie pouted. The pouting was making her tummy hurt a little more but she fought through it.

Charlie climbed into bed with her to give some extra comfort. The reaction she had was very similar to something that had happened a couple months before. Then she realized what that reaction was from.

‘Oh. I gave her demons milk, didn’t i?’

She thought. 

The guilt was settling in but she refused to let it be known, as she wanted to focus on giving her little cuddles, rubs and pats, trying to make her as small as possible. Making Vaggie small was a gift that Charlie had. Usually, making her really small helped a lot with her mental health.

They cuddled until Vaggie needed a change. She wasn’t happy about getting a change as she wanted to cuddle more. But luckily, Charlie was quick and they got back to snuggle time.

[babycharmander]

If you’re like me and you never learned a whole lot about cooking from your parents and, when you have to cook for yourself, found yourself cooking the same one or two things constantly or just eating a lot of foods that can quickly be cooked in the microwave or oven, here’s a tip I’ve learned to branch out more:

Be curious, and trust yourself a little.

Cuz, here’s the thing—if you let yourself occasionally wonder “huh, I wonder if I could make that,” there’s a very good chance that, yes, you can!

For ages when I had to cook for myself, I would often just make spaghetti or some kind of canned food or order out or whatever, because I didn’t know how the crap to cook. It especially didn’t help that when I tried to learn to cook by watching my parents, I learned bad habits like “eyeball the amount of ingredients instead of following the goshdanged instructions” which led me to, for a short period, freak out whenever I tried to make myself a box of mac n cheese.

Yes, I was that bad. But if I was that bad and got better, then you probably could, too.

The thing is, at the time, I kindof saw cooking as a magic thing that only skilled people knew how to do. Several of my family members are very very good cooks—good to the point where they didn’t always have to rely on recipes. I thought you had to be able to guesstimate or eyeball accurately all the time in order to cook at all.

But eventually, I started to just look at the recipes, trust there was not some magic skill there that I lacked, and do it. As dumb as this sounds, I know one of the things it started with was the aforementioned mac n cheese—rather than trying to guess or eyeball everything like my mom did, I just… followed what the box said for the amount of butter and milk to add, and what do you know? It turned out fine.

Beyond that, I also started to let myself be curious about foods—both in trying new ones and just in wondering if I could make them.

One day I ran across an animated recipe video for banana bread. I’d never made it or even eaten it before, but it was during lockdown and I had little else to do, and I realized I had all the ingredients on hand and thought “huh, why not” and gave it a whirl. Turns out it was very simple, fun to make, and tasted good! I’ve made banana bread muffins many time since then.

Another time I got a random YouTube video recommendation for a “3-minute breakfast” which turned out to be chilaquiles. I’d never even heard of that before, but I thought “well, making breakfast in 3 minutes sounds nice” so I watched the video. The ingredients all sounded like stuff I would like, so I decided to give it a swing and made half a recipe. It has since become one of my favorite things to make for breakfast.

Instances like this opened me up to being more curious about recipes. Sometimes I run across an interesting food video and try making the dish alongside it, other times I think of a food I’d had or heard of but never made before and go “huh, I wonder if I could make that.”

Sometimes the answer is “no.” There’s been times I’ve failed, or where I just did not like a recipe. But far, FAR more often, the answer is “yes,” and I learn something new I can enjoy!

(On top of that, there’s the added benefit of learning that there’s certain foods you like better when YOU prepare them yourself. I used to not particularly enjoy homemade hamburgers until I realized it was entirely the way my parents made them—through trial and error I’ve learned the ways I enjoy them the most!)

If you’re scared of messing up, look up simple recipes online or in cookbooks. (Libraries, if you have access to them in your country, can have a TON of different cookbooks to look through!) Starting with simple, easy recipes can help you build confidence.

If you’re scared of winding up with a food you won’t like, look for recipes for foods you’ve enjoyed previously, and try making those.

If you want something new but are still worried about not liking it, instead of looking at the finished product, look at the ingredients. I’ve found new foods I enjoy just by looking at the ingredients of different recipes and going “oh, yeah, I know I like all of most of the stuff that’s in here, so I’ll probably like this too.” Most of the time, I’ve been right!

If you’re feeling a bit braver and want to try something you’ve never had before, check out how much the ingredients cost first and decide if you’re willing or able to risk that. If so, go for it! You might find something new you really enjoy!

I know this isn’t particularly groundbreaking advice, but man I wish I’d been told it back when I was a young adult, or even a teenager. I hope this helps… someone out there.

[innytoes]

They cut your grilled cheese into triangles, that means they're in love with you, bro for Alex/Reggie

Having his ex-boyfriend become his best friend was kind of weird. Because yeah, at one point Alex had drawn little hearts in his notebooks that read 'Willie Mercer' and 'Alex Throckmorton' and he'd dithered for ages about which of those sounded better even though he'd been too scared to ask Willie to prom.

They had gone to prom together. And then over the summer they'd realised that yeah, they cared for each other, but they weren't really in love with each other. So they'd ended up as mildly co-dependent friends. Willie still crawled through his window at midnight sometimes because he needed cuddles, and Alex still had him as his first emergency contact because Willie was the only one who could keep him from going down an anxiety rabbit-hole.

Well, besides Reggie.

Which brought him to his current dilemma.

"Dude, Reggie is not in love with me," he told Willie. Just because Alex had a crush on his band mate, didn't mean said band mate felt the same way. Willie was just encouraging him to get back out there, like the good friend he was. But dating sites freaked Alex out, and blind dates sounded like a disaster - no Carrie, I will not let you set me up with Heather's sister's friend's cousin, I don't care how hot he is - but Alex didn't want to risk messing up the band just because he was in love with Reggie.

Maybe it would pass. His two week crush on Bobby back when they were fourteen had.

(He ignored the little voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Willie, pointing out that his crush on Reggie had been going strong for over a year now.)

"He cuts your grilled cheese into triangles," Willie stated with so much confidence Alex had to wonder what it was like to be that certain about anything in life. "That means he's in love with you."

"That's not... what?"

"Just look for it," Willie made him promise. Which he did, because well, it was hard to deny Willie anything.

It wasn't every weekend that Reggie made them grilled cheeses after practice, but it was often enough. Reggie was the grilled cheese master, effortlessly combining flavours and cheeses together to make everyone a personalised masterpiece suited to their taste. Ray happily gave up his kitchen in return for a perfectly melted Monterey Jack-Cheddar with just the right amount of mustard.

So Alex watched Reggie make the grilled cheeses. That wasn't unusual, they usually hung out in the kitchen while he did his thing, but this time, Alex really watched. Willie's ham-cheese-pineapple? Cut in half. Luke's American-Mozzarella? In half. Flynn's got a little ramekin of ketchup on the side, and was cut into squares. Bobby's weird vegan cheese one with vegan mayo on the outside to make it golden brown? Squares. Julie? Squares. Carlos? Half.

But Alex' grilled cheese, a Gouda-cheddar with just the tiniest bit of mozzarella? It was cut into triangles.

It was also the one Reggie always made last, right before his own. So they'd have time in the kitchen together when the others inevitably drifted away, back to the studio or home or to their rooms.

And yeah, maybe Alex always kind of offered to help with clean-up, so they could spend even more time together. But that didn't mean anything, did it?

Except when he looked over to Reggie and their fingers brushed when Reggie handed him a plate to dry, he blushed. And Alex thought that maybe, just maybe, Willie could be right. But he had to know.

"Hey Reg? Why do you cut my grilled cheese into triangles?" he asked, before he could chicken out.

Reggie turned back to the dishes, burying his hands in the suds, his ears bright red.

"It's what you do for the people you're in love with," he said quietly.

It was obnoxious, the way Willie gloated in his best man speech five years later.

[suckitsurveys]

Are any of your friendships on a fine line? No. One just kind of ended though. I feel a little shitty about it but this girl did NOT respect my boundaries and I tried talking to her about it several times and she refused to listen so I just kind of stopped talking to her and she finally got the hint and deleted me off of all social media.

If I search your room will I find birth control? No.

Do you expect any of your ex’s to call or text you? Nope.

Have you ever witnessed a birth? Yes, my older niece’s. It was wild.

Where’s your favorite place to be when you feel depressed? With Mark and our kitties.

Are you currently looking forward to tomorrow? Nothing really. It’ll just be one day closer to the girls trip we’ve been planning for a year.

When was the last time you held someone’s hand? Yesterday.

Have you ever faked sick? Oh yeah.

Do you wear hoodies to bed? Not hoodies, I’d feel like I was being choked. But I’ve worn crew necks to bed before.

Are you currently wearing jeans? Yes.

Do you buy eggnog around the holidays? Why is this the second survey in like 4 days that’s asked me about eggnog?? Anyway, we usually get some.

Have you gone to a coffee shop within the past week? [i.e. Starbucks] I don’t think I have.

Would you like to be able to read thoughts? If I could control it sure.

Are you often the last one to understand a joke? Nah.

Your first black eye: Did you give it or get it? I’m not sure.

Do you think baseball is a dying professional sport in America? Definitely not in my family.

Does playing the guitar make a guy more attractive? Eh. Depends on the guy.

Have you ever slept in a tent, indoors or out? Yes.

What does your hair look like at the moment? I HATE the color SO much but I didn’t want to dye it and have it fade right away in the sun/chlorine.

Are you mad right now? No, just tired.

Who did you spend your summer with last year? Mostly my family and friends.

Did you eat a cookie today? No.

Have you heard of wreck this journal? Yes, I have one somewhere.

Do you know any one who lives in California? Yes.

Have you ever been told you were a good writer? Yes.

What do you put on your baked potatoes? Butter and sour cream for sure. Sometimes chives and cheese.

Have you ever been on a farm? Yes.

Who are the last three texts/dms you received from? Margo, Lolly, Mark.

What are you listening to? Nothing.

Are you one to take naps? Nope. They make me feel gross.

Did you ever have braces? Nope.

Have you kissed anyone in the last five days? Yes.

Are you afraid of flying? No. It makes me a little uneasy, sure, but overall I don’t mind it.

Do you have freckles? On my arms.

Do you have plans for today? Work and then I have to finish cleaning my dad’s to prepare for my friends staying there this week with me until we leave for the Dells on Friday.

Would you rather date someone five years older or five years younger than you? My husband is 5 years older than me.

Why aren’t you texting the last person you kissed? He’s sleeping or just getting up.

If you had to live off one type of fruit, which would you pick? Probably avocado.

What were you doing at 7:45AM this morning? It hasn’t hit that quite yet lol.

What was the last thing you drank? Iced Coffee.

Where did you get the shirt your wearing? Torrid.

Do you plan on sleeping in tomorrow? Nope, I have work at 6 am.

How often do you drink Monster? Never, I don’t like how energy drinks taste.

Are you easy to get along with? Yeah.

Are you short? 5'2".

Can you ever get enough of mac ‘n’ cheese? Nope, I love mac n cheese.

Are you allergic to nuts or dairy products? Nope.

Do you have trust issues? Yes, in that certain people have let me down time after time when I’ve asked them to take care of something or help me with something.

Is there someone you want to let go of? My fucking brother in law but unfortunately I’m stuck with him.

Do you have any regrets? Eh.

Has anyone ever called the cops on you? Yes.

How old are you? 34.

Did you talk to someone until you fell asleep last night? I did actually. Margo and I were chatting on twitter until we fell sleep.

Do you go to church every Sunday? Nope, I never go.

Can you recall the last time you liked someone? Right now.

Do you like your height? I’m fine with it. It’s never negatively impacted my life.

Is the last person of the opposite sex you texted single? He is not. He’s married to me.

Could you go a week without brushing your teeth? I have before, depression is fun y’all.

What day is it? Monday.

Are you usually awake at midnight? Not usually. I tend to pass out between 10pm-11pm on work nights. On weekends I’ll usually be up until at least midnight.

Does it get really cold where you live? Yes.

When you get home from school / work do you change into your pjs right away? My pants and bra usually come right off lol.

Have you ever been peer pressured to smoke pot? I wasn’t pressured into it, no.

Have you ever played the game Sims 3? Nope.

What is the temperature currently in the town you live in? 64F.

Do you ever actually drink milk alone? Rarely. This was actually in another survey I did recently too. Who is making these? Lol. Anyway, I will drink it with a PB&J or Oreos or something every once in a while.

If you don’t have one already, would you consider getting an iPhone? Nope.

What year were you born in? 1989.

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hello, recently I've been trying to get out of my comfort zone and tried to write some romantic and fluffy drabbles to challenge myself. But the problem is, I don't really know if the stuff that I'm writing currently can be counted as romantic or not, I always have this fear that I'll write something corny or cheesy instead of sweet and romantic. Is there any way to tell if dialogue/writing style that I'm writing currently can be counted as a cheesy? What kind of signs that I have to look out for? Thanks a bunch, and I hope you have a nice day!

Signs Your Romantic Stuff is Cheesy

It's natural to worry about cheese when writing fluffy romantic stuff. The problem is, "cheese" is subjective. What one reader interprets as cheesy another might find to be perfect swoony goodness. That said, there's no way to avoid cheese completely, but here are some things you can watch out for to minimize it...

1 - It's Not Believable

One of the best bits of advice I've ever heard about "romantic vs cheesy" is that romantic is the reader saying "aww" while cheesy is the reader saying "aww, come on!" That "aww, come on" is a reaction of disbelief... the reader doesn't buy what's being portrayed in that moment, but why?

One common reason is there's no chemistry between the two characters, so the romantic stuff feels forced. Another common reason is the specific behaviors, gestures, and dialogue feel out-of-character for one or both of the characters. It can even be that the situation is over the top... I adore Love Actually, but you have to admit the moment when David and Natalie kiss backstage at the children's show and are caught when the curtains part... it's a little corny. But, hey, sometimes that works! The key is to not overdo it...

My post Guide: Creating Romantic Chemistry will help with the first part. To help with keeping things in character, just make sure you have a good grip on who your characters are, what you've laid out in the story as far as who they are and how they behave, and make sure their romantic behavior fits--and if it doesn't fit, make sure to explain why they're behaving in an unexpected way. Finally, to help with situational stuff, steer more toward things you'd expect to hear about in the every day. Like, it would be bananas to hear that two people were caught kissing backstage at a children's show when the curtains opened unexpectedly, but it wouldn't be odd to hear that two people were caught kissing when someone came into the room or rounded the corner unexpectedly.

2 - There Are Too Many Clichés

Clichés are imagery, elements (like themes or devices), or lines of dialogue that are so common you can't see them without rolling your eyes. These often start out as tropes--elements we expect to see in a certain genre--such as the first kiss in a romance, but when they're done the same way over and over again, people get tired of them.

One of the big ways clichés create cheese in romance is through cheesy imagery. For example, romantic picnics are a common trope in romance when two characters are getting to know each other. But the imagery of going to a nice park, spreading out a blanket, and splitting a basket of cheese, wine, bread, and strawberries--it's been so much that it's not romantic anymore. It just makes the reader's eyes roll. But that doesn't mean your characters can't enjoy a romantic picnic... what can you do to make it different? Maybe they drive up to the mountains and eat on a big boulder overlooking the valley. Or maybe they have a picnic in a rowboat in the middle of a serene pond. If you've seen it before, find a way to do it differently.

Cliché dialogue is another pitfall in romance. If a line of dialogue feels cheesy to you, it's probably because you've heard it a lot before, or because it's out-of-character. What can you do to reword the line to make it feel more original or more fitting to the character?

Another thing to watch out for is cliché description. Chiseled bodies, heaps of muscles, lips that taste like strawberries, red lips and a husky voice... you know what I mean. ;)

3 - The PDAs Are Off-the-Chart

When two people are falling in love, that typically means showing a lot of affection to one another, so we obviously want to reflect that in our stories. However, just as excessive PDAs (public displays of affection) can make people roll their eyes in real life, they can annoy the reader, too. In fiction, we want every look, touch, kiss, and cuddle to mean something, so don't want these characters to be making googly eyes at each other every second they're together. We don't need every touch to be electrical, they don't need to hold hands just because they can, and they shouldn't treat every situation like they're at home canoodling on the couch. Let the characters breathe so the reader can, too. It'll make the important displays of affection all the more meaningful.

Have fun with your story!

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[potroasttheghostdog]

Being on the spectrum, and having weird interests is actually crazy sometimes. Just scratching an itch leads you down an hours long rabbit hole of discovery and wikipedia pages. For me, one of my more mundane interests is fruits, plants, and botany.

I was eating an orange. Just chilling, while feeding my dog. I wondered what my favorite orange (cara cara) was a crossbreed from (it's *gotta* be blood and navel right it's so tasty but distinct from other oranges, can't be a valencia the color's not right!)

So I looked it up. Turns out, there's like 600 of these bastards. Well let's fucking read about all of them.

Oh Ermelo's orange. That sounds weird. What's that.

Oh it's just called that because takes its name from 'Ermelo', a parish in Arcos de Valdevez Municipality, Portugal. It was introduced to the region by Cistercian monks in the 12th century, but it is sweeter than the average orange. Oh, but it's on The Ark of Taste.

What the fuck is that.

Well, turns out it's kinda like the Endagered Wildlife registry, but for sustainably sourced heritage foods and local cuisines. They see local foods as tantamount to cultural landmarks that should be preserved and foods go on the list if they are either impotant orbrelevant to a specific culture or ethnoregion, or are in danger of dying out whether from extinction or a fading cultural relevancy. They urge the perpetuation of their existence by encouraging their continued consumption. This includes foodstuffs like fruit from extremely specific regions, breads, cheeses, and even certain breeds of livestock that meat comes from.

Here's some fun ones: classic mortadella of all things (because it originates in Italy and has been a staple of their cuisine for centuries) cuccalar (a specific type of italian bread) casu marzu (a gross kind of cheese, do not google if you have a weak stomach) carosello (an italian melon), Lake Michigan Whitefish, Gravenstein Apples, Mayhaw jelly, bogong moths, and bunya nuts. They have things on the list from all over the world and it's actually really gratifying knowing that someone somewhere can see whatever random little thing you have and see everywhere, is valued, because it represemts a culture that not everyone has. I've had Lake Michigan whitefish. I consider it just a fish. But it's on a list of important culture for the US that should be conserved for the sake of culture, and that's kind of eye opening.

The Ark of Taste is run by Slow Food.

Ok. What the fuck is that.

Turns out it's an international org dedicated to preserving cultural foodstuffs that also emphasizes sustainability by supporting eating, growing, and traditional cooking local foods. Think Audobon but for cheese.

What was I reading about? Oh right, oranges. Oh the chocolate orange has a 12 Brix.

Ok.

What the fuck is a Brix.

Turns out Degrees Brix (°Bx) is the measure of dissolved solids in liquids and aqueous solutions, but is used to measure sugar content in foods and juices in common. So like Scoville scale but for sugar. Honey, soda, wine, sugar, fruit juice, fruits, and maple syrup use it to measure their sugar content. There's also some other scales that are used for sugar measuring. The Plato Scale (°P) is used in brewing, The Oechsle Scale used on german and swiss wine, and the Balling Scale, which is the oldest and not commonly used anymore.

What was I reading about? Oh yeah oranges.

Oh Smith Red Valencia. Sounds sultry.

It's a pigmented bud sport of the valencia orange tree.

K.

What's a bud sport.

Turns out a bud sport is any kind of sudden morphological difference growing from a plant caused by genetic mutation. Like when a dwarf pine starts growing foliage branches that are morpholigically identical to a regular pine. You ever notice how sometimes your christmas tree, if you get a live one, has irregular branches where they grow out longer than normal, and the needles are a bit different than the rest of the tree? Bud sport. Neat. Oh it's night time.

What was I reading about? Oh yeah. Oranges.

Yeah turns out I was right, cara caras are the hybrid of blood and navels. Knew it. Also, apparently oranges aren't even the original thing. They started out as a hybrid between pomelos and mandarins. Also, also, apparently fruit genomes have "moms and dads", i.e. the chloroplast genome is considered the "maternal line" of a fruit's ancestry. The orange's chloroplast genome comes from pomelos, meaning pomelos are the orange's "mother".

Also---

[helianskies]

hello!! could you maybe tell us about wales and spain? 👀 i'm curious!

hello anon! this is for you: 🍪 and while you munch, we can talk. i mean, i'm not sure what to say without getting too specific or niche, because they are a very new thought to me. but...

something about them together just works to me, especially in terms of personality. there's something about them being the 'looks like a cinnamon roll but will actually kill you' types that i find interesting. i see them being perhaps a bit more devious together, more supported, more at ease, more unrestrained. it's one of those ships i would stick in an au rather than nationverse, probably, though i admit there's comedic potential in grabbing the whole bft and matching them up with england's brothers, just to torment him hehe.

to try and keep it simple, i feel they have the same capacity for good as they do for chaos. i feel like they could be the secret antagonists in a horror film, or the villains of a fantasy story (i totally have not been thinking). i feel that people may easily forget that behind kind eyes lies something perhaps more sinister, or broken, or desperate. there's potential in both of them, i think, to get creative and dark, as well as allowing for softer and slice-of-life moments. and when i put them next to each other, that seems to only get better.

otherwise, i feel this is balanced out by how... nice they are. how simply they would live. the way they would live day-to-day, easy, relaxed, cosy. i love the image of them stood together on the welsh coast, near the edge of a cliff, just staring out across the water while the wind whips around them - followed by a picnic in the grass, a flask of tea, some cake that rhys baked specially. i need them to own a plant store-come-café. i want them to huddle on a single armchair wrapped up in a blanket while they wait for the house to warm up. they're both terrible back-seat drivers. their music tastes do not align. but they laugh so easily and wholly together. they will watch any and every nature documentary they can find. toni will cling and hover and fuss and rhys will not protest. they toss and turn like mad but somehow never startle each other in the night. and when they both wake up with bedheads, still droopy as they make their morning drinks, it's just... bliss. being around each other is sometimes all they need.

i just. i get different things from them in different aus, and i enjoy that versatility. i enjoy having toni in one hand, and a character who i feel mirrors him in certain ways that mean they are likely to get on, and get on well. i hope that all makes sense. i like pairings who are chalk and cheese, like i like pairings where they have some things in comon - but this one just seems to go a step further. a bit like russpa, i guess, but... somehow more. you know? they could be so, so soft, and so, so insane. i love it...

[kahvilahuhut]

🫐 Would your oc eat something they found outside? (for example: berries, mushrooms, not eaten chocolate bar, stuff like that) 🍳 Do they enjoy cooking? What's their favorite thing to cook? Do they cook alone or with someone else? 🥖 What's their favorite kind of bread? 🥚 What is your oc's preferred way to eat eggs? If your oc doesn't eat eggs, what do they think about scrambled tofu or the equivalent in their world?

for Toby & Klara <3

~ @void-botanist

THANK YOUUU <3

food themed oc asks

🫐 Would your oc eat something they found outside? (for example: berries, mushrooms, not eaten chocolate bar, stuff like that)

Klara could consider eating berries and fruits if it, well, looks clean enough? She only likes certain kind of mushrooms and hates the idea of having to go and collect them, but would eat a mushroom she found outside if it's well prepared. I don't think she would eat anything else bc, well, what if it's poisoned LMAO

Toby only eats things that have been in a grocery store. It's a bit scared of things that have been in a dirty environment (nature).

rest under the cut:

🍳 Do they enjoy cooking? What's their favorite thing to cook? Do they cook alone or with someone else?

They both kinda suck at cooking LMAO um. If they had a recipe at hand all the time they could do something easy, but I don't think either of them is able to cook without recipes, not counting things like omelettes.

That said, Tobias enjoys cooking a bit, especially if it gets home early and has enough energy and time to cook something nice and easy they both could enjoy. It mostly loves cooking some kind of pasta, either cacio e pepe or a tomato pasta. He could also make a vodka pasta if he feels like it (the alcohol disappears from it and it just leaves a nice taste, so it's fine for Toby). Every now and then Tobias cooks salmon soup bc that's Klara's comfort food and he is v good at making it, despite being a vegetarian. It ends up making it quite rarely but tends to also eat the soup when it's made by it.

Klara prefers baking a bit more, but could also cook something nice every now and them. She likes to cook on weekends and prepare for brunches. She really likes making salads, because there's basically an endless opportunity to make different kinds of salads :] She also loves to cook soups, especially sweet potato soup, vegetable soup or a mushroom soup. She's also very into ramen soups and really loves cooking them :)

They both tend to cook both alone and together, depending on their schedules. Klara's job can take lots of energy and tends to end very late, which is why Toby's usually the first one home and gets to cook their dinner. Sometimes if Klara's extremely busy and knows that she will probably get home late at night if not later, Toby may show up by the office to give her a box of cooked food, if she didn't have enough time to go to a cafe or restaurant or anything.

They like to cook together on weekends (if they're not feeling like going out) :)

🥖 What's their favorite kind of bread?

Klara is a big fan of rye bread, especially the one that's a bit too tough. She also likes focaccias and ciabattas.

Tobias enjoys multigrain baguettes a lot, and also likes the round rice cakes :) It eats them like chips sometimes. It also likes to eat rye bread every now and then but does it quite rarely bc it's not good for its stomach :(

🥚 What is your oc's preferred way to eat eggs? If your oc doesn't eat eggs, what do they think about scrambled tofu or the equivalent in their world?

Toby barely ever eats eggs in any way other than scrambled eggs or omelettes. He likes to add some things in them, too, such as greens or potato or cheese. He doesn't like eggs in any other way and he strongly dislikes the scent of boiled eggs.

Klara has the same preferences, but she could also eat an egg salad if there's nothing else. She also likes to add bacon or sausages in her omelette if she feels like it :)

[nerves-nebula]

Car wrapping sounds neat! Very niche haha. We were, for some reason? really set on becoming a book binder for a while, which idk if there even IS jobs for that anymore lol.

Yeah, I get you on the food thing. Due to circumstances we just.. don't feel hunger. like idk, it's weird. We also are kinda picky texture wise so we often fall into that autsim-food-vibes where we pick a food and eat almost only that for a week or so and then move onto something else. Mac and cheese is good but it can be a trigger for me unfortunately. The first 4 or 5 years of my life the only food I really had was mac and cheese LOL (you can laugh don't feel bad xD). I'd try frozen burritos if they didn't cost an arm and a leg lol

hmm so body sharing. Honestly it's kind of like being minorly dissassociated at all times? Like I'm usually the person in control of the body so it's more of a "there's two voices" sort of thing, but every once in a while my head partner gets control.

They are more of an influence? So like depending on how much they're there they can kind of influence how we function but they don't take control. They're more confident than I am and don't worry as much about what others think plus they care more about appearances so they'll try to make us look more put together. They have... better posture than I do so. it'd be nice if they came around more to help with that lmao.

It's weird though because it can feel like I have different levels of my own personality fluctuating, so sometimes I know I like certain things and sometimes I honestly don't know. I know logically I like chocolate, but depending on how much influence they have over the body we might not enjoy the taste if that makes sense? But apply it to more things. It's kinda messy but we've adapted.

We mostly are just like two heads in one body. When I'm really dissassociated the other guy can help out more, and it turns out they are really good at tests because I've actually done better when they're more in charge during tests than I would by myself xD. Downside is when we're super dissassociated they don't usually come out much so it's more like we're both trapped in a room together and we're vaguely seeing what's going on outside with the body.

Very odd to describe but it gets into derealization and depersonalization BUT the entire time we're internally vibing with each other (if it wasn't triggered by ptsd lol). We're just some silly guys living in the same head ig, like roommates but more extreme xD. Mental breakdowns are less jarring when you have a pal to hang out with. Great for distractions too, but sometimes neither of us are the impulse control lmao. We accidentally ended up collecting spoons found in the forest because of that haha

Oh I ADORE book binding. I love to make books. I love having something physical and weighty to hold once I've completed a project. I really want to print a book full of of my art/comics one day just to bind it. My college just bought a spiral binder too that we can use for free, so that's a TON of fun haha!

uhhh I'm trying to think of what else I eat but HONESTLY I can't remember. I like frozen pizza, I guess?

the mixing of your personalities is fascinating, the fact that you might dislike the taste of something you previously liked because the other guys got a different taste is so interesting. really kind of puts into perspective just how subjective experiences are, huh.

i've never been able to pin down what kind, but I've dealt with dissociation before but I don't think I've ever had the "trapped in my head watching whats happening" kind. At least your not alone? :')

your spoon collecting reminded me of something! i once brought in a spoon i found in a bush outside my house growing up and we cleaned it and started using it. it was slightly bigger than a normal spoon but not big enough to be a serving spoon. I miss that weird little utensil.

anyway, thanks for sharing and tell the other guy I said hi hah!

[tiptapricot]

thoughts on the mk boys and their tastes in foods? cuisines, fav snacks, how they might bicker about things, whatever u feel <3

I love talking ab food preferences hehehhehe this kinda ended up being a look at their relationships with food in general as well which was actually rlly fun to explore! (Obvs food talk, as well as talk of the system’s childhood, food sensory issues, and specifically issues with eating due to neurodivergence, not any ED stuff, but still, if any of those r squicks for you 🤙)

Marc

I think Marc��s the most rigid when it comes to his foods. He’s not adverse to trying new things, he just keeps his circles small and knows what he likes

Bar a few specific cases, I don’t think he’s much of a mushy/goopy food person, or a sweet tooth

Soup’s fine (he loves bean soups and soups with meat bc they’re hearty), some puddings, some dips (like hummus and guacamole), but he’s not a huge fan of tomato products in tomato form (pizza is fine, bruschetta wouldn’t be) or things that feel slimy (like pasta with Alfredo sauce, or uncooked beans in sauce)

Some exceptions include Chicago deep dish, star fruit, salsa, and pickled veggies

I think he generally likes crunchy things like chips, carrots, apples, crackers, and more neutral baked goods like breads and bagels. He’s absolutely a bagel with cream cheese on the go kind of guy, nostalgic and tasty (though for his preference the ones in Chicago beat out New York and London any day)

He doesn’t mind sweet stuff, it’s just not his favorite. He’ll have a danish every now and then, maybe a brownie, but it’s just not stuff he actively seeks out

I think he still tries to keep roughly kosher, out of familiarity and comfort and connection, but I could also see him only adhering to certain rules (like no pork but good w cheeseburgers), or it slipping if he’s in deep emotional distress or especially bitter at his parents, but he does try

I think he knows how to cook pretty decently, maybe not top of the line but he can absolutely make a meal, and usually tries to make stuff from scratch to avoid shopping too much. He’s not a huge fan of crowded stores or having to make lists and plan meals, so sticking to basics and stuff he knows, stuff he can make again and again and have as leftovers later, is usually how he likes to do things

He tries to recreate family comfort foods he remembers from his childhood sometimes (like hamantaschen with guava filling, local deli potato salads, their Passover tamales), kind of as a coping mechanism, and it’s never quite the same, but every time he gets a bit closer to whatever dish he’s attempting, it feels more worth it to keep trying

Overall he likes stuff that’s hearty, stuff that he can eat that will last him most of the day. It’s the kind of food he relied on in the military, and when he needed to spend as much time out of the house as possible when he was younger, and it works nowadays to keep the body fed and healthy when dealing with executive dysfunction and memory issues

Having stuff that can hold him over and that he doesn’t have to worry about too much creates a reliable structure he can depend on, familiarity in chaos, and so that’s what a lot of his food choices circle back to

It’s another grounding mechanism for him, another piece of the puzzle and routine

Steven (I will b using American n British terms interchangeably just ignore it)

Steven’s pretty British and snacky with his food, and obviously he’s vegan and keeps kosher, but beyond that he’s not too picky, and isn’t the best when it comes to taking care of the body with food

He likes sweets and fruits and chips, stuff like blueberries and nuts that he can eat absentmindedly while he reads, or that he can stuff in a ziploc and take to work

Crisp sandwiches and beans on toast are big too, and he uses vegan butter and cheese to make them, usually for breakfast or after work, and those are both comfort meals for him, ones that are quick and easy and don’t take much effort

He gets vegan sausage rolls from the store or makes them himself if the premade brands aren’t certified, and he likes those for breakfasts on days off when he can have a bit more of a lazy day in, make some tea, put on a long documentary, hang back with a bigger breakfast, that kind if thing. He makes Yorkshire puddings and hash browns for those kind of days if he has the energy

Yorkshire puddings are also a general favorite of his, and he usually leans into having them more for dessert, with big scoops of vegan ice cream after he’s had a bad day (his favorite flavor is vanilla but he experiments with weird flavors a lot)

Cereal’s a big one too, usually with almond milk and he oscillates between liking sweetened or unsweetened kinds more

I think the spiciest thing he eats semi regularly would be stuff like jalapeño potato chips or slightly spicy veggie dips, he’d probably consider brown sauce kind of spicy, and I think his tolerance is low

Steven also absolutely falls into the neurodivergent trap of food being in the background, something that easily slips his mind, or when it doesn’t, ends up at the mercy of convenience

None of his foods are bad on their own, but the issues arise when all he’s eaten in a day is two pieces of beans on toast and it’s already bedtime, or when he gets so engrossed in reading he doesn’t get up for six hours and suddenly feels lightheaded

He tries his best, he just never thinks about it much and usually falls into things that are quick when he does, which can easily lead to him eating sandwiches and almonds for a whole week

He also has some sensory issues that can muddle things, like a usual go to food being fine one moment and disagreeable to his mouth the next, and if he can’t find anything to eat it’s easy for him to just shrug it off and forget

Reminders started popping up on his phone at some point (totally not from Marc) to check in and make sure he’s gotten some food in him, and those have helped loads, but it’s still not perfect

Post Cairo Marc helps more, checking in with Steven when the body feels funky and usually having the spoons to cook between the two of them, so they end up having stuff available to grab in the fridge when they need. Marc even tries to label the stuff that’s non-vegan as well as which things have meat and which have dairy, and even when their fridge gets cluttered and extremely disorganized the care in it always makes Steven smile

Jake

Jake’s a big proponent of good food

His time in front over the years has been short enough that he always tries to make eating worth it, so he’ll seek out a good solid meal whenever he can

I think he spent a lot of time perusing Chicago and New York’s hole in the wall shops or food trucks, and has a pretty wide taste because of that

He doesn’t really keep kosher? Like sometimes he’ll lean into it if it suits the situation, or pisses Khonshu off, or it feels… right to him, but his relationship with shit is complicated and he fluctuates a lot, and it’s definitely not the defining thing that dictates his food choices

He likes pizza (New York style) and hotdogs (Colombian style, Chicago style, or ones all decked out like wrapped in bacon with carmelized onions, jalepeños, tomatoes, mayo, etc), and is also partial to wet beef sandwiches

Lots of Latino comfort food as well, like chicken pepián, Cuban coffee with sweet bread, Guatemalan empanadas, tacos al pastor, pupusas, etc.

He’s hates eating warm food cold, so whenever he eats Steven or Marc’s leftovers he always has to warm them up, otherwise it hits bad in his brain. He doesn’t have many sensory issues with food beyond that though

He was recommended to Gena’s by some acquaintances in London after hanging around a few bars and clubs with a high Latino community, and her food is the first stuff that really hits for him there. It’s not like it’s the only good food he’s tried in London, but something about Gena’s just clicks and becomes comforting

He also has a pretty strong sweet tooth, and will especially seek out sugar for comfort. He loves tres leches and while he’s also a straight black coffee enjoyer, Gena’s tintos always hit just right. He’s also always down for a classic slice of apple pie a la mode

Even though my take on Gena has her specializing in Colombian food, she makes Jake some of his favorite dishes once they get to know each other better, hoping to bring some of that comfort to the new area. She surprises him with her own take on rellenitos during one particular visit, and he ends up bringing a small take away container of them back to Steven’s apartment because he couldn’t make himself eat them all, and he didn’t want to waste them

He may not have any solid memories of Wendy outside of stepping in to get yelled at when the others couldn’t take it, and he sure as hell doesn’t have any fondness for Elias, but for some reason he can remember how that kitchen smelled, and the sound of the frying pan, and wrapped up leftovers in the fridge, and it’s still important to him and part of him

He scrawls some little note on the top of the take out container with a little “From Mum” to tie it off, and that ends up being enough for Steven not to question where the rellenitos came from when he finds them in his fridge. And he’s so excited!

Jake’s not even mad when he eats the rest of them before he can front next, he’s just glad he got to share a little bit of something that Steven enjoyed :-)

All together

I’ve already talked a lil ab Steven and Marc post Cairo, but I think once all three of them are on functional speaking terms and are cohabiting more, food is very chaotic!

They have to talk about boundaries and figure out what counts when it comes to who’s fronting and each other’s dietary restrictions

Some of the foods Jake likes are too spicy for Steven and some of Steven’s foods make Marc squirm, it’s complicated

Overall though there’s a lot of sharing and talking and bickering, fighting to see who makes dinner or frustration that someone else got to front and eat the last of something tasty, but they make it work

Feel free to add on your own hcs or additions! Or any corrections if something here sticks out as very obviously inaccurate (truly no worries!). Most of the stuff here is from research and friends, so tysm to @scarabgrant n @steverogers-against-disney n others for the food talks we’ve had that helped contribute to this :-)

And a general reminder as well: Stand up, stretch, and rmr to drink water and eat something if you haven’t in awhile! Have a lovely dayyy💖💖🤙

[ichorai]

pearls and pastries ; j.jk

pairing ; pirate!jungkook x baker!reader (gender-neutral)

summary ; a crew of pirates have been pilfering your village for several weeks now and one particularly keen buccaneer has stopped by your bakery practically every visit; whether it be for the delectable pastries or for the sweet baker he's taken an interest to, jungkook couldn’t say. but there’s a catch - the baker doesn’t know that he’s a pirate.

themes ; fantasy, angst, fluff, pining, slight action, pirate au, baker au, medieval au

words ; 3.6k

warnings / includes ; descriptions of weaponry, stealing (from the rich), jungkook being a sad lovesick sap, pirate!bts, poetic sadness but when do i not do angst lmfao everything i touch turns into written sorrow </3

a/n ; written for the @ficscafe fic exchange event for @sunshinerainbowsbts !! i hope you like it <3 i'm definitely considering writing a part two to this :D

Jungkook wasn’t quite fond of parrots. Well, his mislike wasn’t necessarily directed towards the multi-hued rotund bird itself, but the fact that the wretched thing was squawking out a poor rendition of what Jungkook had announced earlier whilst clambering down the crow’s nest.

“I’m going to the bakery! I’m going to the bakery! I’m going to the bakery!” the winged devil screeched from atop Jimin’s shoulder, ruffling its bright feathers as if taunting him.

Shooting it the nastiest of scowls, Jungkook reached behind his head to untie the vermilion bandana holding his overgrown locks away from his narrowed eyes. “You better shut that bird up before I toss it to the sharks, Jimin.”

“If I let you do that, I’d also have to throw you overboard. The both of you are equally annoying,” the other pirate snorted in contempt, glancing up at his younger friend striding across the ship before moving his gaze back to the knapsack he was emptying for the pilfer. Out fell several empty bottles of rum, a few gold pieces glinting in the harsh midday sun, two jewel-encrusted daggers, and a worn eyepatch that suspiciously looked to be the same as the one Yoongi always wore over his left eye. “You seem to forget that we’re here to steal from the rich, not buy fancy breads! You’re lucky that Namjoon has half the decency not to kick you off the boat. Jin, however fond he is of you, still calls you a moocher.”

Rouge faintly dusted across Jungkook’s cheekbones as he coughed into his fist, lifting his shoulder in a half-shrug. “I steal stuff sometimes,” he muttered under his breath. It was useless to defend himself against someone who saw straight through him.

“Sometimes, my foot!” Jimin scoffed, hiking the bag over his shoulders. “Bringing back a goblet you found rolling down the street doesn’t count, you know that, right?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes to the cloudless sky, far too stubborn to admit that Jimin was right. With not another word, the young pirate clambered off of the large vessel and onto the rickety docks, grunting upon landing. It didn’t bother him much that Jimin was irked at his lack of contribution. They were rich enough as it is; what was the rush?

The air was tangy with sea salt and damp wood as he inhaled a deep breath, setting off for your bakery. Walking there took exactly three hundred and seventy two steps. Jungkook had memorized the shortest route to your little shop, mumbling the numbers under his breath with a growing grin blossoming across his lips. He subconsciously rolled the sleeves of his white tunic down, the fabric concealing the pirate tattoos inked all over his arms.

When the youthful sea wolf stepped foot into your store, a familiar chiming of the bell hooked atop the door echoed across the cream-walled room. At the reverberating sound, your head peeked out from the kitchen situated in the back. An illuminating beam danced on your features, eyes lighting up with mirth at the sight of Jungkook.

It made the muscle within his chest slam against his ribcage, desperate to be freed from its confines because it belonged to you, and only you. He wasn’t quite sure when the sudden fixation for the village baker his crew was stealing from started, but he had acclimated to his own change of heart by visiting you as often as he could.

“Fancy seeing you here today. Are you coming in or are you now my human door stopper?” Your heavenly voice floated towards Jungkook, snapping him out of his thoughts. Sheepish, he shuffled inside, engulfed by the warm scents of chocolate cakes, powdered pastries, caramelized fruits, and toasted almonds. His stomach gave an impatient snarl at the sight of tempting desserts. You had also walked to the front of the counter, dusting your flour covered hands on an apron. Some of the white powder had managed to smudge on your cheek, and Jungkook had to resist the urge to reach over and thumb it away.

“Hi,” he said with the brightest of grins. “I’ve missed you.”

At his bold statement, you suppressed a chortle. “I think you missed those chocolate cream puffs you like so much, not me. What’ve you been up to while you were gone?”

Jungkook hesitated at that. For the short amount of time he’d been visiting you, not once had he mustered the courage to tell you of his true origins. A savage pirate like him shouldn’t even be around the likes of you. You had no idea that he was part of the crew that was robbing your village, and the very thought of you finding out had him terrified. You were a taste of all the goodness in the world, and Jungkook was afraid you’d crumble into ash if he dared touch you. The sinner had no rights touching an angel, after all.

“Visiting family,” he hummed, quick to move on. If you noticed his strange demeanor, you didn’t say anything. For that, Jungkook was grateful. “I brought something for you.”

There was something about your smile that seemed to expel any and all feelings of gloom in a room. Jungkook was no exception to this feat, his knees almost buckling against the soft pink counters. He righted himself by leaning his elbows on top and propping his chin up with a palm. Gods, he didn’t know he was in this deep.

“Oh?” you set your hands on your hips, tilting your head to the side. “To what do I owe such pleasures?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “For those cream cheese tarts you made me last time I visited. Thought I’d repay you.” Whilst saying this, he used his free hand to reach into his back pocket, fishing out a string of authentic pearls, adorned with a glimmering clasp of gold the same hue as the sun.

Your smile melted into a confused pucker, brows knitting together in a muted painting of hesitance, yet you ogled the expensive necklace dangling by one of his spindly fingers nonetheless. Where on earth had he gotten such a valuable treasure? “But you already paid me with money. I really can’t take that, Jungkook.”

Disappointment was easily detected as he slanted his lips to the side. “Alright, then.” He tucked the pearls back into his pocket. It surprised you how easily he had complied.

The worrisome atmosphere was quick to dissolve when the bell jangled once more. A small child meandered in with a toothy beam, holding a small pouch of clattering coins in their palm. They were no taller than Jungkook’s midriff, and he liked it a little more than he should have watching a certain softness adorn your features at the sight of the kid.

“I recommend the cinnamon apple pie. Or maybe the brown sugar crepes if you’re looking for something sweeter,” Jungkook said, gesturing to the treat behind the display glass. The child angled their head to stare at the taller man with wonder. “Anything Y/N makes is to die for, though.”

The child excitedly babbled something in return, but you didn’t quite pick up what they had said. You were far too focused on Jungkook’s animated features when he kneeled down to point at some more desserts. Sure, he was a handsome man, you’ve known that since day one. You’ve never really looked at him in this light. It was as if he were carved from pure luminosity, whittled by the hand of the most skilled sculptor. Everything about him was practically perfect; the gentle slope of his nose, the angles of his raised eyebrows, the dappled rouge of his lips, the beauty marks mottling his dewy skin, the dangerous cuts of his jaw, the twinkle of gaiety you found in his irises. With the sunlight filtering through the windows, it basked Jungkook within a golden radiance, the shadows casted along his face only highlighting his best features, doing nothing to aid your fluttering pulse. Has he always been this beautiful?

“I’ll have a slice of apple pie!”

The sudden clinking of coins being dumped onto the counter snapped you out of your trance, and you kindly wrapped up what the child ordered and handed them the paper bag. Both you and Jungkook watched as they smiled in thanks and trotted out of the bakery. Curse his handsome physique.

A little flustered by your earlier thoughts, you busied your hands by sorting the coins the kid had coughed up. Jungkook, ever the kind soul, merely stood with you as you worked, engaging you in entertaining conversations to keep you occupied while your store was empty. Where did the sun go once it disappeared down the horizon? Why did everybody else seem to enjoy the bitter taste of coffee except him? Why did his heart beat so quickly when around you? The last question he couldn’t muster the courage to ask, and much to his perturbation, he already knew the answer. You enjoyed Jungkook’s company very much; to the point where you couldn’t quite remember what it was like before he had sauntered into your life.

Before the both of you knew it, the sun was already setting. Jungkook noticed the way you deflated just slightly when red kissed the sky. It was a telltale sign that Jungkook was long overdue to go back to his ship. Yoongi would have his ass if he was late again. The whole situation was ridiculous, really. He felt like a fairy tale princess running away from the ball before his clothes grew into tatters. Well, in his case, he supposed it’d be pirate-wear.

Your smile betrayed only the gentlest hint of disappointment as you thrusted a bag of warm cookies into his arms. “Take this for the road,” you had said.

And so Jungkook did, smiling like an idiot the whole way back. A part of him absentmindedly wondered what your face would look like when you noticed that he had left the pearls on the countertop for you.

The ship rocked as the young pirate scampered across the deck at a startling speed, flinging the doors to the cabins open. Six older pirates stared at his panting form, a few looking on with unsurprised indifference, most glaring at him in disappointment. Jimin merely stuck his tongue out, his childish way of saying I told you so. There was expectancy in the captain’s eyes, but it waned away at an instant upon seeing that Jungkook carried nothing of value. Namjoon pinched the space between his brows in mild frustration.

Stiffly, Jungkook jerked his arm to thrust the bag in his hand forward. “Cookie?” he asked. Nobody said anything. Jungkook slowly brought his appendage back down, guilt roiling in his abdomen. “I take it you guys don’t want the cookies?”

With a huff, Namjoon stalked forward. “Of course we want the cookies, give me that.” He snatched the bag out of Jungkook’s hands and tossed it to Taehyung, who caught it with eagerness vividly splayed across his ruffled features. “I do have to admit, we’re getting tired of you bringing back nothing but sweets every time we go on raids, Jungkook. C’mon, kid, this is a team effort here. Look, just today Yoongi managed to steal a dozen coffers from a nobleman. The least you can do is try.” True to the captain’s word, there was a mountain of chests and boxes full to the brim with gold coins and shimmering jewels piled to the side of the cabin.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Jungkook nodded in understanding, though not without a miniscule frown twinging his lips. What was a pirate without his treasure, right?

Taking note of his glum demeanor, Namjoon clapped a hand to the younger man’s shoulder. “We’re not mad at you—”

Yoongi snorted at that.

“We just… want to help you help us,” Namjoon finished, ignoring the salty pirate’s quip from behind him.

The youngest man on deck raised his hand to his forehead in an awkward salute. “Yes cap’n!” Shame prowled within his chest; just thinking about the dishonor he brought to the pirate reputation by loitering in a bakery all day, ogling at sugary treats (and the sweet baker, but Jungkook digresses).

A part of him felt even worse knowing that he’d see you less and less, what with the other pirates breathing down his neck. He could only hope that you’d still look forward to his visits, though few and far in between.

Authentic bottles of expensive wines were shoved into his knapsack by Taehyung, lacing chains of aureate crammed into his hands by Hoseok, bars of cold silver wedged into the pits of his arms by Jimin, and more treasures thrown at the youngest pirate to hold as they lithely ran across the village. Being one of the stronger and more agile ones of the group had its downfalls, after all. He was being treated like a pack mule, hauling all the treasure for them. Not that he was going to complain; Jungkook knew that he deserved the rough-housing.

“Hold onto these for me, will you?” Yoongi gruffly uttered as he slid the thick hilts of gem-encrusted daggers into his belt. Jungkook complied hesitantly, but not without a suppressed groan of annoyance. “They’ll sell for more than a pretty penny, so don’t lose them.” The older pirate seemed to be in a grumpier than usual mood, considering he lost his eyepatch and the mottled scar crossing over his eye was on display for anybody to gawk at. It would’ve been worrying to Jungkook if he wasn’t aware of the fact that Jimin was merely prolonging his juvenile game of ‘keep away’, attempting to dance away from Yoongi’s inevitable wrath.

Perhaps being a pirate wasn’t his true calling, because Jungkook found that his mind kept wandering off to the matters at hand—running away from the guards. Though it was a relatively easy task (the guards were quite thick-headed in this village), he thought about the pretty plants dangling from the balconies of a building they jogged by, or the scents of exotic spices carried by the souq market not far from where they were. Most of all, much to his expectancy, his thoughts were centered around you. Had you gotten many customers for lunch rush? Were you lonely without him? How many times have you smiled today? Jungkook was all too fond of your smile.

Blinded by his unsaid affectionate ramblings, he only barely caught on to Namjoon’s quiet, “We shook the guards off for now. Be careful next time, Seokjin. The sun’s about to set soon; we should head back to the ship before it gets dark.”

Jungkook hissed out a small sigh of relief, bending over to catch his breath. Jogging across the village would have been no problem, but running with treasures twice his weight draped all over him was a different story.

When he righted himself back to standing, the sudden pit of shocked trepidation unfurled within his abdomen. There you were, beautiful as ever, but a terrifying sight to see. Normally you’d be the only person he would want to see, but as of this moment, you were the absolute last person he fancied bumping into.

Why now? He had the most rotten of luck.

Today you weren’t wearing your regular apron, but a pair of fitted grey trousers and a soft beige blouse far too large for you, hanging off of one of your shoulders as you cradled a basket of breads and cheeses and other groceries in your arms. It was a simple outfit, but one that made his heart clench nonetheless. The glinting of iridescent pearls draped over your décolletage had his breath stolen away from him as raw sentiment overtook his form. You were wearing the pearls he left for you and you never looked more beautiful. Jungkook, on the other hand, was clad in clothes that practically screamed pirate; a golden-clasped corset tightened about the small of his waist, a tattered white button-up tucked into his dark trousers, worn sea boots covering his feet. A large gun was also slung over the belt cinched around his hips, along with multiple daggers of the like, and not to mention all the riches and jewelry the other boys had thrown at him.

You couldn’t see him. No, it would absolutely ruin Jungkook.

Perhaps dropping everything he was holding in a panicked effort to dash away as quickly as he could was the worst possible thing he could have done to not warrant any attention.

The concerned and confused questions erupting from the other pirates as they whipped their heads towards their youngest comrade went completely ignored. He scampered away from them, lunging towards a shadowed alley and hiding behind a teetering pile of musty boxes. A stray cat nuzzled against his leg, but Jungkook merely shooed it away with a frustrated glare and not-so-subtle shushing gestures.

What a fool I am, the young buccaneer berated himself, pressing a knuckle against his temple in frustration. He waited for another minute, before slinking out from the shadows, peering around the corner to see if you were still there.

No sign of you. Relief seized his chest, but not without the gentlest flower of disappointment staining whatever solace he felt, a weed amongst the roses. Jungkook’s mind was still reeling from the fact that you were wearing his pearls.

Treading carefully, he strode out of the alley, turning the other direction before halting in his tracks completely. A queer, garbled noise tumbled past his lips.

It was you, a confused smile gracing your features, and all Jungkook could think about was how the sunlight was made for you, how you glowed in front of him, how he wanted to cradle you into his chest and murmur confessions of his pure, unadulterated love into your ear. But Jungkook didn’t do any of that. Instead, he merely stood there, as if he was imitating a statue in all of his pirate glory. Terrified, regretful, and ever so angry at himself.

Fate was a cruel game.

The pearls shone prettily on your skin. A reminder of the best mistake he’s ever made.

Your eyes had yet to wander down to fully take in his appearance, for your expression still held fondness for the man that’s visited your bakery so often, still having no idea that he was a filthy pirate, locked into his molten gaze. “I think you dropped something…?” The golden chains dangled loose between your fingers as you held them out to him. Jungkook didn’t take them, frozen on the spot.

It was as if he could pinpoint the exact moment you found out his true origins. Your brows furrowed upon seeing the weaponry strapped onto him, one of his pirate tattoos on display (Jungkook cursed himself for not thinking of rolling his sleeve back down), and the six other men watching in silent despondency behind them. You had always been a sharp one, far too smart for your own good.

Or, perhaps, it's always been obvious. Jungkook was only wishing for the impossible.

“You’re a pirate.”

The statement wedged a stake into his chest, splintering his heart into pieces. When you stepped away from him, confused horror marring your beautiful features, Jungkook knew that it was over.

He lost you.

A flurry of emotions, overwhelming and tumultuous, evidently took over you at his lack of denial. You looked to be just as heartbroken as he was.

“You’re a pirate,” you repeated, dazed. You wanted him to say something, anything. Much to his surprise, you didn’t sound angry. You took several steps back this time. The weight of pearls around your neck suddenly felt choking.

The sudden calling of his name had his head whipping around to look at his captain, watching the brutal exchange with gentle sternness. “We have to go.” The guards’ll be coming soon, no doubt.

Jungkook looked back to you, any and all words lodged in his throat. Despite the fear in your irises, a soft expression of acceptance folded over your visage, for under all his pirate exterior, he was still the same man that you thought so fondly of from your bakery. The look was short-lived however, quick to fade away when Jungkook reached out for you hesitantly. A part of him pondered how a simple baker managed to steal from the stealer. You had robbed him of his heart, and Jungkook didn’t even try to stop you.

Upon seeing you inch away in mortification at your new revelation, Jungkook retracted his arm and pursed his lips. The agony clawing at his stomach was begging to be set free. He wanted nothing more than to get onto his knees and plead for your forgiveness.

I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry I’m not the man you thought I was. I’m sorry I fell in love with you.

His name came out again, this time from Yoongi. That meant it was serious.

“I’ll come back,” Jungkook said, tears rimming the bottom of his warm doe eyes. You watched him start to trek backwards. “I promise.” The words felt heavy on his tongue, like he was swallowing down a knot of thorned ivy.

Before you had the chance to say anything back, he was gone, bounding back to his ship with his comrades. Not long after, the distant barks of guards pursuing them rang throughout the village. You took that as your cue to leave. Swallowing down the urge to cry, you forced your eyes away.

You hoped he wouldn’t uphold his promise, for the both of your sakes.

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Headlights Girl

Genre: Urban fantasy + wlw romance

Words: approx. 8k

Summary: The story of a girl with headlamps for eyes and the moth-girl she meets along the way.

My book 🌸 Ko-fi  🌸 Patreon

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Most humans carry the night with them. Even during daylight hours, they can shut out the sun, turn off the light, recede into themselves and into that soft secret place behind their eyes.

Did you know certain animals don’t have eyelids? Gecko’s have nothing between them and the violent sun which wishes to cook the colors of their world. They have to use their tongue. Dust and sand and rain, can you imagine? I was obsessed with lizards as a kid.

I stacked up books on snakes and lizards and skinks. I traced the way that sand snakes crested across the dunes, sideways and wrong. I put glue on the pads of my hand and tried to climb the walls of my room— I didn’t even get one handhold up. I went to the zoo and peered into their cages, up on my tiptoes, trying not to smudge the glass or breath too hard. I tried make out their triangle heads and slow tongue-flicks, but they each shrank away deep into nooks and crannies of their cages. Most things do when I look at them.

Most humans carry the night with them, right there behind their eyelids is an entire world of darkness. I have something else inside me, not quite, not soft, not secret. They called me “headlights girl” in the newspapers.

There were even stranger kids born in the Age of Spirits. I checked. Every morning of fifth grade, I scanned the papers for mentions of “oddities” growing into anomalies.

A boy who could breath fire. A girl with leaves sprouting from her head. A kid with antennae that could taste the wind. There are stranger things than me in the age of beasts and magic. My father called it the “Epoch of Bastards,” sons and daughters of flickering fire elementals and wind ghosts who seduced half-asleep ladies from their beds.

He didn’t look at me much growing up. And I knew what he meant. I knew what he was getting at by calling it the Epoch of Bastards. Growing up, I played in my little puddle of carpet on the floor as he blustered in and out of rooms like gale force winds. He’d be looking for his keys or a left shoe or wallet since he was going out, out, out. I think I missed him at first, in the way you miss strangers you’ve never met.

Later, still on my puddle of carpet, still on my island, I would glare at him with that sour, acid taste in the back of my throat. Acrid, smoky, I would barely blink as he passed; he’d jump when he turned too quickly and accidentally fell into my path. Later still, I would begin to wish they were both like that—blustery and calling people names, gone more often than not.

It sometimes felt better than hearing my mom weep to herself on the couch. I wish she’d do it in her room or outside or anywhere else than that theatrical sobbing in the middle of the house, a naked heartbeat to the place. She spoke to her friends on the phone in that same watery voice, handkerchief in hand and sniffling, she spoke to them more than me.

What else am I supposed to do? This isn’t how it was supposed to be. She’d wail, just a bit, and then find a new thing to wail over. They could barely afford to send me to That School. They could barely afford the special doctor’s appointments for my eyes. They barely knew what to do with me.

Sometimes, I wanted to shout right back: It’s not like I didn’t want to be here either!

But she wasn’t talking to me. 

School wasn’t much better. We weren’t the same, not really. None of us were the same age or had the same affliction. Plus, most everyone else stayed in dorms where they bonded with secrets and whispers and hiding from matrons. It wasn’t the same.

They called me The Lighthouse and Car Face and Nightlight. Sometimes they’d give me a few bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face. I did it. They’d laugh and reassure me I was as ugly as you’d think. Or beautiful. Or perfectly average-looking or I had a pig-nose or unibrow. I’d never seen anything but the blinding light of my own eyes in the mirror so I could never contradict them.

A boy with antlers handed me a twenty for a kiss in the 6th grade. I closed my eyes for that too. It was chapped and dry and he ran away with a screaming laugh afterward. There are stranger kids than me, I reminded myself. So why do I feel so much stranger than the rest of them?

I was 16 when I heel-toed my way down the stairs toward the front door. A duffel bag slung over my shoulder stuffed with loose clothes, change, a bath towel, three books with broken spines, all the tampons in the house, and a Swiss-army knife.

I hoped to stuff as many cheddar-cheese sandwiches in my sack as possible before the midnight bus came, but he was at the kitchen table. I don’t think either of us expected it, like running into your teacher at the mart and you’re both buying the same brand of toilet cleaner. There was a beer in front of his idle hands and he still wore his rumpled work shirt. He glanced at the bag on my shoulder for a long minute.

Finally, he sighed like I cut him off in traffic.

“Gimme a moment.”

My father leafed through a wad of cash he kept in a safe. He handed me almost three hundred bucks and we nodded at each other. At the time, I thought there was a kind of satisfaction to that nod, an endnote.

I was out the door before the midnight bus arrived.

Only three people were at the terminal. None of them looked at me with my pack and my knife stuffed in one hand and my eyes glowing. They did look at the glow, but not for long.

Remote and empty like maybe the world had ended and the last bits of if were nothing but strangers not making eye contact.

Finally, I watched the headlights of the midnight bus approach through dense summer night. I was struck by the thought that it was like looking at like, the glow of my eyes against its eyes. Can a bus be your father? Can your father be a man after all this time? Will your mother come looking for you?

I got on the bus and kicked my feet up against the seat in front of me. Scrunched into a ball, crossed my arms over my chest, and watched the trees turn into flickering bodies of shadow with each passing mile. ------------- My feet moved like tides. They tossed me against nameless city streets and toward empty forested slices of land. I stumbled into the painted deserts toward the west. I dipped my toes into the neon districts of the east with lights brighter than my own. I slept on benches and in kid’s treehouses and hunched my shoulders against brick walls of back alleys.

No one touched me. Maybe they’d approach now and then, but I’d open my eyes and they’d see nothing but heaven or devils or an absent lightning-God father that would smite them. I was the daughter of spirits after all.

I found my way to the ocean; beaches where other stragglers gathered and it was easy to stretch out on empty pieces of warm sand. I didn’t talk much by then, I didn’t like to; people stared whether I was speaking or screaming and clamping down on my jaw so hard it ached. Sometimes I get yelled at: Turn that off! No phone lights in here. You’re blinding me, bitch!

I’d never seen a movie in any theatres, but I could imagine what it’s like.

It was crowded, but I liked that ocean city, despite myself. It had pale buildings built into cliffs, narrow winding sidewalks where cars couldn’t fit, reckless bikers, and crushed seashell parking lots. I liked the tang of salt in the air and the way my hair crinkled from the ocean water as it sun-dried. I camp out on beaches and bummed cigarettes and hotdogs off strangers. I was good at taking care of myself once I got into a rhythm.

I had a tent by then and even an enormous sun umbrella to keep any prying eyes away. I still liked to sleep under the stars most nights though.

I often dreamed of sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I dreamed of descending on pointed ballerina-feet to the silted black bottom. I’d be weighted down through the cold and the silence to where no human being had ever been. I’d open my eyes there, open them all the way, lightning-bright, and unflinching. In my dreams, the salt didn’t even sting. I lit up the world, the whole untouched world of whales and fish and terror and maybe I’d do something good then. Maybe I’d do something good and bring the sun to places that had forgotten it. 

I hated those dreams.

I met Mags on the beach after one of those dreams. Mags had one eye and twelve teeth and carried around nothing but string and scissors everywhere. She smelled like seawater and burning kelp, dank and crusted over. Her clothes were neat despite her leather-cracked skin and arms and neck covered in tattoos of shipwrecks. We ran into each other at some bum gathering and she cackled and pulled me aside.

“What’s your name?” Her voice was old creaking wood. I didn’t answer. “I could give you one.” She offered with a grin that was more empty space than anything.

“Nana.” I gritted out. “You want something?”

“Not sure. What do you want, kid?”

I glared openly, my beam of light slanting. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come here.”

I didn’t know why I was chosen.

Mags liked me more than I deserved. I pocketed her last pair of socks when she wasn’t looking. She never mentioned it and dragged me down to the community showers to get clean with soap and shampoo. She took me to the soup and salad restaurant for something that wasn’t burnt or freeze-dried or from a convenience store. She cackled, she spat when she talked, people shot her looks as well.

I thought she was normal, not touched by the spirits, but she liked me more than most people and I didn’t know why.

“You like art, kid?”

I snorted. “No.”

“Why not? You broken?” Yeah. Probably.

“How am I supposed to know?” I snapped back.

“Lippy squirt. Come on, I’ll show you something worth your forked tongue.”

She heated the needle before she used it, red hot and untouchable. She dipped it into deep black inks, only black and sometimes red, she called them the only colors that matter. She shows me how to prick the skin and clean it. She showed me how to slowly, painstakingly etch images. I wasn’t sure I liked it, there was something so permanent and intentional about the act.

I watched her lessons though: stick and poke to her right foot, all over those fine little bones that must hurt, in and out, a little bloody.

It took her six hours to make a tiny shipwreck right above her big toe. It was a narrow schooner going under and I was the only witness. She made the waves come to life and crash against its sides and sometimes I forgot to blink. She didn’t seem to mind.

She washed another needle. She heated it red-hot. She dipped it in ink and handed it to me.

I still wasn’t sure I liked the permanence of it, but I told myself I was bored and it was something to do. I decided quickly I did like the bite of it, I liked the focus it took, and the ability to pull something from nothing.

I practiced all over my thighs first, there was enough meat there and it was easy enough to reach: a lizard design that looked like nothing but squiggles, a TV set playing static, a tiny smudged skink with its tongue out. I practiced designs in the sand and then on paper when Mags splurged on pen and paper.

Mags took me to the museum on Sundays. They were always free on Sundays.

Something stirred in my chest, even as the guards yelled at us about how flash photography wasn’t allowed in the museum. Even as I was shooed out of exhibits for ruining the paint. Still, an ache so old it rotted roared to life in my chest.

I stabbed in and out, gentle, a collection of stars right above my right knee. A winding sand snake on my wrist, and then finally, something good, something that gave people pause and reason to stare. I made it in the mirror: a ghost on my collarbone. Shadowed and intricate and yet simple, I put a ghost right above my collarbone and it bleeds more than any of the others.

That was a good year or so; one of the best I could remember.

I didn’t want to leave the ocean city though and Mags said she had to keep moving. She had places to be. She gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“You're a gem, kid. You’ll knock ‘em all to the pavement.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You’ll be back?”

She cackled. “Wouldn’t miss it. You know me.” She winked as she turns to the bus, my second father. “You think I’ll miss your great becoming, kid? I’ll be back.”

I wanted to make her pinky-promise like I was a kid again begging one of the others to tell me if I’m beautiful when I close my eyes. I couldn’t do that; I waved as she tottered up the steps of the bus and was taken away with the tides of her own feet.

A had a moment of thinking it was the end then; I was ready to get back to my real normal. I was ready to disappear again. But even shipwrecks with no witnesses leave things left to be found.

------------ I got an apprenticeship. Technically, Mags talked them into it and I just followed up when I had nothing better to do.

I didn’t think I’d like it much, but couch surfing and camping out was the pastime of the especially young. And I’d lost my giant umbrella.

It was a small shop that smelled like bleach and dried flowers. A tattoo parlor in one of the steep arts districts neighbored by food trucks and beaded necklace shops.

Penguin Davies and Bitch-Annie ran it together. Davies walked like he’d never encountered land before, and Bitch-Annie had a throw-pillow embroidered with “If you don’t have anything nice to say then come sit next to me.”

Davies was covered in nothing but birds and dizzying M. C. Escher house-designs up and down his chest and arms. Bitch-Annie had topless mermaids and pinup girls across her shoulders and legs. She’d been asked to leave a number of stores before the children started staring or thinking thoughts.

Neither of them had ever met someone like me. It was not that type of town. I rankled at most their questions, a cat meeting a steel brush. Where are you from? What’s your family name? What kind of school did you go to? Is your sight better than other people you think?

I brushed off anything more personal than my favorite type of soda. Bitch-Annie called me “Shadow” probably as a joke, probably. Davies said I must be possessed by the ghost of some dead star: a blackhole that takes everything in and lets nothing out.

Neither of them let me touch a needle in those first six months. They had me practice on pig skin and trace designs and stand by their shoulders as they worked. I felt like a dental assistant except I was the hanging light shining into open mouths instead of anything with a pulse. I stood at their shoulder as they drew thick lines and thin dots and made hearts and wolves and names of dead lovers come to life.

They asked me to stand still and stop wiggling the light. I almost walked out several to find a new cliff to crash against, almost. 

No one had ever expected anything of me before. They never expected me to show up somewhere or do something well. No one really cared if I went to school or if I did my homework, if I dressed well or went to bed on time. And no one kept any tabs on me at all after I took that first bus. That’s how I liked it.

I should’ve left, tattooing didn’t mean anything to me, not really. But Bitch-Annie stomped up to my attic-apartment one morning and threw pants at me.

“Get up, Shadow,” she barked. She was sterner than Mags, no hint of humor in her eyes. “I told you 9am so I expect 9am.”

“The fuck!?” I was eloquent in the mornings.

“Pants, shirt, shoes, and bra if you don’t want that desk idiot staring at something other than your eyes all day.”

“Are you serious?”

“Serious as a root canal. Mags swore up and down about what you. Let’s see some of that, up, up!”

I grumbled. I put on everything but the bra. No one ever expected me to be anywhere before and 9am shouldn’t have even been a concept much less a real thing. I told myself I hated it. I’d leave the next week. Or maybe the week after that or in just one more month. I kept a bus ticket under my pillow but every time the date arrived I shrugged and made myself busy.

There’d be no harm in having a savings too and seeing what all the fuss was about with having a dishwasher and a kitchen.

I wasn’t an artist of course. I didn’t understand what everyone else was seeing when they looked at the “old masters” paintings of water or war or lovers pulled apart. I didn’t feel anything in front of stain-glass windows in churches or mosaics on walls. Maybe there really was something wrong with me, my eyes. I didn’t let up though. I put on pants for it after all.

Penguin Davies hovered by my shoulder when I made my first real design.

“Mm.” He rumbled deep in his chest. He’d gone grey at an early age, had tired eyes and quick hands. The desk kid said he’d been in medical school once, a surgeon. It was hard to tell. Davies muttered a lot, stared off into space too much, and laughed like it was always a painful surprise

“Perfectionist,” he muttered at me as I start over on a crappy unicorn design. “That line was barely off. You’re being a perfectionist, Nana.”

I scowled over my shoulder and let the full weight of my light hit him across the face. “Got a problem with it?” I challenged. He chuckled darkly. His grin was crooked like a broken door handle. I tried to hide my work from him with my shoulder. “It’s not done yet.”

“It’s late.” The rest of the street was dark. I knew that.

“I said I’m not done yet! You can go home.”

“Hmm.” He scratched his grey beard.

“What?”

“Look at you. You know who makes the best artists, Nana?” He was always a bit of a philosopher. Maybe he used to study that before medicine.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. I’m working on it.”

He gave my shoulder a light push. “The ones that don’t quit.”

They let me touch a needle gun after that. I told myself I’d only sign my new apartment lease as an experiment. I didn’t have to actually stay. I’d just run from the ink on paper and hope no one chased after girls with eyes that glow.

I didn’t break my lease. I drew suns and moons, trees and fireflies, hunks in speedos on tipsy college girls who swore they were sober and erotic vampires on the chests of men getting their first divorce. I had to give two refunds for a duck that turned out lopsided and a tattoo of someone’s dog which I swore really was that ugly to begin with.

There was one at the end of that next year though, another college girl with perfectly white piano-key teeth. She asked for a stick and poke, that was what I was best at anyway, she asked for a butterfly. Butterflies were easy, I could do the little ones in my sleep. She wanted one all across her back, she said I could make it look however I wanted. So I did. Wings like fringed shawls and straight heavy lines combined with wispy swirling ones. It was dark, black ink with red highlights and gray shadows under each wing to give it movement and flight.

I hid my smile when I finished and showed her the results in the mirror. She went to my bosses and jumped up and down. She pointed and babbled, ohmyspirits, the best thing I’ve ever seen! Fuck. I should pay you double! Where did you get this girl? 

I held myself perfectly still and studied the ceiling until my eyes dried out.

I took the long way home that night. I stopped once, at the corner where the midnight bus arrived, and watched the the passengers trudge off. I didn’t expect to see Mags again so soon, not really, but sometimes I wanted to show her: Hey, maybe your work wasn’t all wasted. Maybe I did start to become.

---------------- “I’m getting you chocolate.” Annie spat, her thick arms flexing as she cleaned off the spotless counter. “I’m getting you fucking chocolate, Shadow, ‘less you tell me what flavor you actually like.”

I hung at the back of the shop next to the narrow window that faced the road. I let the sun warm my face in thick strips and watched the bicycles pass. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Tell us what your actual birthday is then, you sugar-toasted tart.”

I shrugged. “Not today.”

“Well happy fucking birthday. You’re turning two. You came to work for us two years ago today, washed up from the beach like a deranged feral cat, so this is your birthday now.”

I rolled my eyes which served to look like a flashlight given a shake. Annie spent another minute splashing disinfectant on anything that might have had even a passing conversation with a germ.

“You talk to Birdie?” She asked, but mischievously this time. I responded by setting my mouth in a hard line. “You’re turning twenty-something and you’re not even talking to Birdie, are ya?”

“I’m not telling you what I’m turning. It’s still not my birthday.” I dodged inelegantly.

“Birdie will give you a proper go-around. Even shadows like you must need a little rub now and then.”

“Go dunk your head, Annie.” I huffed.

“Afraid you’ll blind her in bed?”

I turned with a snarl. “I’ll start with you.”

“I’ve seen you flipping through those poetry books, every word about hands or mouths or rosebuds.” She gave me flat a once-over. “You’ve got a sweet tooth in you.”

I dragged myself over to the desk to snarl at her some more, but Annie was already putting her hand up and going toward the backroom.

“I’m getting you a chocolate cake either way.”

There must have been a proper way to get her to never look at my little leather poetry books again, the ones with watermarked pages, the spines broken-in, and words that oozed. No one had to know that I could read, much less that I read that.

The door dinged instead.

“Excuse me.” She walked in. Her. “Is someone, um, named Nana here?” I turned before I could stop myself. That was still my name. And it was still my work.

Twenty-something, curtains of straight black hair falling in her face, pinched nose, thin energetic lips, shorts that gave way to milk-dipped legs that never seemed to end. A slight girl in a university t-shirt. College kids came in often during their breaks, but this one was a bit different. My eyes dragged up and fish-hooked there.

Feathered tendrils sprouted from her head and reached toward the ceiling. Long and searching, a pearly green color that reminded you of leaves or plumage.

I knew within a moment where I’d heard of this: Antennae Girl. The newspapers ran our stories close together along with the boy that breathed fire and the girl with roots growing from her head. We were all born in the same year during the epoch of monsters and bastards.

I think she recognized me too.

We stopped like heartbeats seizing up before the ambulance could make it. A confused, unnatural silence. I glanced at the door and considered making a run for it.

She cleared her throat first.

“Someone said that Misty’s butterfly tattoo came from here?” She blinked once and I noticed how her feathered antennae seemed to twitch. I averted my eyes so I wouldn’t blind her. She took a step forward. “So are you . . . Nana?”

The door was right there.

“What do you want?” I had been spending too much time with Bitch-Annie.

“A tattoo?”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Then why are you here?” I grunted. Footsteps came in from the back room. I was examining the smudged off-white tiles of the floor one by one.

“I wanted to . . . hey, you can look up if you want.” She said, curiously, softly. I didn’t look up. “I’m still figuring out the design.” She trudged on ahead.

“Fine.” I pivoted away. “But we’re busy. Come back later.”

A hand slapped across my shoulder. “This is Nana.” Annie stopped me from leaving. “Don’t let her eyes fool ya, it’s her personality that’s actually the problem. You saw her butterfly you said?”

“Yes!” She gushed. “It was gorgeous.”

“It was fine,” I corrected.

“It’s her birthday today.” Annie shared because she could and because she was a failed evil villain still trying to get her kicks in.

“Oh cool, happy Birthday.” A deep pause followed that could fill oceans. “You can look up. I don’t mind.” She repeated.

I opened my eyes wide and lifted my chin in one jerky motion. A beam of fluorescent headlights hit her across the face. “Is this what you want?” Venom dripped from my lips. This was why I tried not to talk too much.

The young woman squinted for a moment before covering her eyes and nodding. “I read about you,” she stated as if it was nothing. “I’m turning twenty-two this year . . . so I guess, you are too?”

“What?!” Delight filled Annie’s entire expression. “Hot damn! Twenty-two?” I groaned deeply. “Hey, you, girlie,” she addressed antennae-girl, “you want to come out for drinks tonight?”

I tried to protest as quickly as possible, but somehow didn’t summon the words quickly enough.

“Sure.” She agreed. ----------------------

The night was humid and clung to us like a second skin. I wandered through the hilly streets with Penguin Davies wobbling beside me. The desk kid—Daft Jeff, said Davies had some inner-ear problem that made it hard for him to keep his balance. Annie said he just didn’t belong on land— he couldn’t walk straight unless something was tilting and rolling under his feet.

Davies made his way up the hill, faltering and missing the musical beats of it. He refused to let me steady him and I refused to have him sing to me. It was apparently my birthday.

“Someone saw your design.” He noted on the downhill.

“Yeah. Some college girl.” I grumbled.

“What’d you think?” He asked in his usual mysterious way.

“She just wants a good look.” I returned in a neutral tone. “She read about me in the paper. All she wants to do is look.”

“She saw your design.” He paused. “And Jeff said she was like you.”

I blinked hard so the path ahead was eaten by shadow and Davies stumbled. “Not all of us have to be friends . . .” I said sourly and didn’t fill in the rest. “I’ve met kids with antlers and frog-hands before. I doesn’t mean anything.”

“Any of them come visit?”

“They’re smart enough not to.” I snark. “But the ones who manage to be pretty don’t have the brains to stay away.”

“Mm.” He made a soft sound. “What kind of tattoo do you think she’ll get?”

“How should I know? A heart or anchor or something dumb like that.” I walked on ahead. “Maybe I’ll give her a quote from some dead poet.”

“You like poetry.”

I huff dramatically, “Not what I mean. Girls like her don’t like my type of poetry, you know I’m saying.”

“What kind of girls?” Davies was patient. I hated that about him.

I stopped at the corner to let him catch up. “Don’t play dumb. Hot ones, college ones, getting a degree in money or music. They don’t watch over their shoulders enough or know when to stay away.” I scuffed my shoe on the ground. “Whatever.”

Davies was still thinking. I considered pushing him over. He finally spoke up again as we approach the bar, “That sea witch ever show up again?”

“Mags?” I snorted. “No. Why?”

“Cause I’m sure she’d like to see this.”

I didn’t say anything else as we reached the doorway. -------------------- The bar was loud. More people than I liked came to my “party.” I should have seen it coming. If the cliff city liked one thing it was an excuse to drink.

I crammed myself up against the bar and ordered a gin and tonic before the rest of the night crowd could arrive. Birdy was holding court at a corner table and waving at me. “There she is! Someone put a blanket over Nana, lights out, party up!”

Her puns usually left something to be desired. She sang “Blinded by the Light” every time she saw me for half a year.

I drank half my gin and tonic in the first gulp as a new stream of townies burst in. They arrived to buy me birthday beers and shout their opinions on the shitty new chain restaurant on 3rd street. I was almost tasting the bottom of my second glass when someone tapped on my shoulder.

I barely looked over.

The girl with sheets of black hair and a practiced-appearance stood before me—like she was at dress rehearsal and expected everyone else to know the lines as well. She carried a baby-blue bike helmet in one hand, and I noted there were two hand-drilled holes in the top.

“You.” I was tempted to shake her hand like I might make this a transactional hello and goodbye in short order.

“Hey.” She smiled, hesitant, like maybe the food on the fork might be too hot. “Nana, right?”

“Yep.” I sighed the word real long and heavy. “Listen, I really can’t give you a tattoo if you don’t know what you want.”

“No, no, I get it. But I want you to know . . . I didn’t know it was you.”

“Uh, okay. Though I’m pretty hard to miss over here.” I was looking at the dirty wine bottles stacked near the ceiling. Her antennae hang over both of us like fern fronds.

“No. I mean, when I saw the butterfly. That’s when I wanted to come here. Not after.”

“After what?” I was gonna make her say it.

“After I found that it was, well, you know, Headlights Girl.”

“Mm.” I was spending too much time with Davies. “You want something to drink?”

She sighed as well, real long and heavy. “Sure.” She took the seat next to me. “I’m Park by the way.”

“Park.” I rolled the name around in my mouth. “And you already know me.”

“I don’t think I do.” She laughed, sharp and bristly like something you can get cut on. “And I’ll have a beer. . . but only once you look up. Come on, I’m not like that.” I looked up. Her face was bright, round like the moon, her grin was sneaky and unearned. “There we go.”

She waved over the bartender Kipp and ordered her dark beer.

“It’s not really my birthday.” I informed her, dumbly. Every word felt dumb and clumsy all at once.

“Why not?” She was teasing. I knew that.

“That’s not how birthdays work.” I informed and wished I could backtrack into hostility again.

“Oh darn,” she winked. “And here I was about to make it my birthday too.”

“Uh, well,” I really should have left when I had the chance. “It’s not too late?”

“That’s the spirit!” She laughed, fuller this time and rounded. I looked her straight in the face and then quickly looked away again. Her grin was aimed at me, somehow, and seemed to reach high cupboards inside me you usually needed a stool for.

“Park,” I repeated the name and shifted in place. “So did you go to Haveryards or Simmons?” There were only two schools in the country for spirit bastards like us. Haveryards was close enough for me to get bussed to—an hour one way and then an hour home.

“Neither. I went to public and then Bakerville Uni.” She rapped on the counter. “Hey, you want another gin and tonic? Or I’ll mix you up something.” Her eyes flickered over everything. “I bartended my way through college so I can make a mean margarita.”

“Oh, Bakerville U., yeah. That ones close.” I stuttered a bit. She was leaning across the counter and trying to get Kipp’s attention a second time. My words were feeling dumber and dumber by the moment, perhaps losing all shape and meaning altogether. “That’s where you went?”

“How’d you guess?” She said playfully and pointed to her t-shirt. She finally got the bartender over. “Right, you want something hard? Vodka maybe? A mule?”

I scratched my chin. “ . . . I don’t care. I’m easy.”

She rolled her eyes and I knew she must feel me staring. “I can’t imagine shopping for you for today then.” She snickered and climbed over the counter. “Happy birthday, how about one chocolate mule for a free tattoo?”

“You wish.” I made a face. “You don’t even know what you want.”

“And you do?” She was still grinning, somehow. “I’ve decided I’m making you the equivalent of all the soda flavors mixed together at once. Close your eyes.”

I closed my eyes and I tried to turn off my thoughts. It was bright as knives inside my skull; I carry the daytime with me. Panic threatened to rise up (for no reason of course), but a soft hand brushed against mine, soft like sheets in fancy hotels and flower petals. I peaked and Park slid a full murky glass toward me.

“Drink up.”

It was sweet. It wasn’t even my birthday. I didn’t care. She called it a chocolate-mule-Park Special and maybe chocolate really was my favorite flavor. -------------- Park started coming around. She rode a sky-blue bike with a white basket and rusting hinges. I couldn’t imagine doing all the hills in the city without any gears, but she managed. She said she was figuring things out after graduating. She said she liked it here.

I grumbled when she came by. I complained like Annie when Wicker the cat visited: Get that thing away from me. I hate that. Smells awful. I’ve got allergies. Put that away, it’ll kill me.

I never said anything when Annie left fish heads out and bowls of milk of course.

Park smelled like sunscreen and breath mints. She had strong opinions on everything from street paving techniques to which sun hats went with which dresses. She invited me on walks. She invited me to help her change a flat tire. She invited me to the corner shop to help her pick out bottle can openers.

I said no. Sometimes I said no. I started to say yes.

“Look at this,” she liked to show me things. She liked to show me pictures of squirrels on her phone and weird pieces of glass she found. She liked to point out new restaurants (that I’d already been to) and play videos of funny traffic jams.

This time she held up a seashell. It was rounded and flat with a swirl in the center.

“I’m looking.” I said carefully.

“Watch how it catches light.” I shun my eyes on it and she moved it back and forth. There were bits of silver veins caught in the cracks of it.

“There’s tons of those.” At this point, I had valiantly refused to be impressed by even her cutest squirrel pictures.

“Ugh.” She pouted. “Are you kidding? I spent all morning looking for this.”

“They're right by the surf. I could find you five bigger ones than this before sunset.”

“Alright, hot-shot.” She jut her chin out and jabbed my shoulder. “Prove it.”

I said yes to that one. I left right after my shift ended with the sun setting in the waters like a stabbed orange bleeding out. I met Park by the parking lot with drooping palms trees lining the sides and lost flipflops everywhere.

“This is where you went wrong.” I announced. I couldn’t help it. “This is the tourist beach. You have to go somewhere real.”

“Alright, alright. You’ve already established you’re the hot-shot here. Lead the way.”

She followed me. I ignored how she lingered by my side. I ignored how her hand wrapped around my arm as she stopped us to look at a tiny horseshoe crab. Her hand was soft, like velvet, soft enough to smother something in my chest.

I found two seashells with streaks of silver and rainbow through them, both bigger than my palm. The sun was a flat line on the horizon before I could find a third and Park hooted.

“You said before sunset! It’s sunset, baby, pay up.” She called. “And you were so sure you were a better seashell hunter than me.” She tsked.

I scanned the ground more quickly. “It’s barely nighttime.” I pointed to the sky. “And I can keep looking. I have the built-in equipment for it.”

“Oh I know.” She planted herself on the soggy crusted sand and sat down in a heap. “But can you find why kids love the taste of not doing that? Take it easy. Take a seat.”

“So pushy.”

“You know me.” It was fond. It had only been a few months, but there was something fond there.

I ran a hand through my short choppy curls. “Fine.” I sat next to her, not too close. “It’s your loss.” We both looked out at the gently lapping waves, foaming and anemic. She let a long breath of air and for a moment I considered brushing her hair back. It was always in her face.

It was a quiet moment, bottled, and pitching toward something. Like the the moment where you miss a step on the stairs and the certainty of the fall was right there.

I was the one that scooted a little closer.

“I’m considering getting a storm cloud,” she commented off-handedly. “Can you do storm clouds?”

I made a sound of consideration. “Sure.” I glanced toward the opposite corner of the night sky. “I think I’ve seen one of those before. Big puffy wet things?”

“Kinda fluffy? You’re getting there.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” I’m smiling, which is alright since there’s no way she could see it. She’s silent for another moment longer.

“Or would you make fun of me if I got something like a butterfly? Like your other one.”

“A storm cloud butterfly?”

“No. The cloud would it’s own thing.” She chewed on her bottom lip, ragged and chapped. “I mean, I’ve been doodling some ideas. And tattoos should be personal, right? So I thought a storm cloud might be fitting. Kids used to pay me a couple dollars to predict the weather. It could be a memorial to childhood entrepreneurial spirit.”

I watched her speak and something beat inside my chest like a second animal. I wanted to be closer. I wanted to feel velvet again.

“Why?” I rasped after a moment.

“Uh, why did they pay me? It’s just something I can do. Whenever it's going to rain or storm or be sunny out. I dunno, I don’t know why the rest of you can’t sense it.”

“And you didn’t become a meteorologist?” I smiled a bit bitterly.

She made an indignant noise. “And you didn’t become a professional lighthouse?”

I choked on a laugh. “Not yet.” A quiet consumed us from both sides, I made sure my light didn’t crash into her. I made sure to look at anything but her. She’d have to squint if I did and cover her eyes and I’d be there, ready to run her over.

“Kids in my class paid me too.” I barely realized I started speaking. “They slipped me a couple bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face.”

“You got money for that?”

“There wasn’t always much to do. Teachers were quitting all the time and sometimes it was just the TV. I dunno, they paid me. Then they’d giggle and run away afterward.” My voice sounded automated like the announcer at an airport, informing travelers their flight was canceled. “They always said I had a pig nose or a unibrow or looked like the lead singer of that Minx girl band-- super hot, but you know, it didn’t matter.” The laugh that escaped was high, girlish in a grotesque way. “Since, you know, no one would ever see it.”

“Kids are fucked up.” Park contributed simply.

“Adults are too.” I sniffed. “Everyone wants a light show.”

“Oh.” She said slowly. “Is it . . . is it bad I wanted to meet you then? I mean, I wanted to see the art first, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a factor.”

“No.” I said quickly. I lit up my own lap and empty hands. “Does it matter?”

“I never went to those schools,” she said hesitantly. “My parents fought them, said the schools were unfit. They shouldn’t be able to force us there. And that I wasn’t even dangerous since,” she gestured helplessly upward, “I just have these. So then, well, I never really met anyone else like me.”

“I mean, everyone’s different. It’s not . . . a big deal.”

“You’d think so,” she commented sardonically.

I folded up into myself like a complex origami piece. “Yeah, well, sometimes I wish I was dangerous. Actually dangerous.”

She giggled. “Didn’t you just say everyone’s different? I’d say everyone’s dangerous too. Just gotta find the niche.”

“Oh yeah,” I dared to turn toward her. “What’s yours then?”

“My danger niche? Hmm.” She was leaning now, pitching forward like a wave come to drown me. “I do have a few tricks up my sleeve I’ll admit.”

“You have a pair of wings hidden away?” I stopped breathing as her hand lifted up, strange and all at once. I wasn’t ready.

“Here.” Her skin was against mine. She cupped my cheek with one velvet-hand. It was heated cashmere, tiny feather-light hairs on her palm. “Feelers.” She whispered with a hesitancy there.

“Ah,” I was indulgent. I closed my eyes. I leaned in. “And you want to put a needle over these?” I put my hand over hers, loosely, so she could pull away if she wanted to. Tiny hairs pulsed there with some kind of life all their own. 

“I wanted . . .” She paused and I peaked open my eyes. I could see every detail of her face, illuminated. “I dunno.” She finished. “I guess I just wanted whatever I saw there, before.”

“In the butterfly?”

“In the butterfly.” I turned toward the ocean, but my hand remained over hers. “I’m not sure how good it will be a second time. It’s not like I’m really an artist. . .”

“What did you want to be?” Soft.

“Who knows. I mean, I’m glad my parents didn’t try to fight the schools. Being there during the day was better than being home, listening to my mom crying all the time and my father exploding . . . They wouldn’t have wanted me home.”

Before the sunset, when I was walking over, I thought maybe we’d kiss that night. I thought I’d feel that first electric pulse and maybe we’d climb into the ocean and swim in circles, laugh until the moon rose. I thought maybe I’d get something out of my system and there wouldn’t be anything left to say or do.

I’d kiss Park, once, and she’d be satisfied. She’d understand. She’d go on her college path and I’d go on on mine.

But the words spilled out, unbidden. Park stayed in place, steady and unflinching. That made it worse, so much worse.

“My parents weren’t like yours.” There was an accusatory edge to it. Don’t you know? I wanted to shout. Don’t you know? Even without the eyes or the school bills or the bus.

“Hey,” she cradled my cheeks with both hands now and smeared the tears away from one eye. “Hey, listen, I know. Alright? I know.”

I scowled back at her feathered little feelers.

“It’s not about the damn antenna or head beams or anything else.” I tried to pull away. “Even the kid with the antler’s kissed me and I didn’t stop him. I ran away from home and my mom never came looking. It didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter! You wouldn’t even get it. You wouldn’t get it!” I squeeze my eyes closed. “You were wanted.”

Slowly, like an awkward animal burrowing into soft earth, she pressed her forehead to the crook of my neck. I could feel us both breathing in, strong and steady. She was lean and silky, and I swore I can feel her heartbeat hammering through my throat.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. I inhaled her sunscreen scent. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know. But I could.”

“Why are you here?” It was miserable and wet, I hated that my eyes were so different and yet still the same. Could still spill over like theirs. She took a long breath but didn’t move away.

“My last girlfriend broke up with me for being . . . sensitive and I thought maybe if I got a tattoo, I’d stop feeling so much. I’d prove something. I’d feel everything less, you know? It would hurt and then it wouldn’t.”

I took that in a parsec at time. “Are you,” I sniffed. “Are you alright?” Her legs and arms were plastered over mine. “You’re so soft, but, but I don’t want to,” I wipe at my face like it didn’t matter. “Hurt you.”

“I know.” Her face was still pressed to my neck and her lips fluttered across the hallow of my skin. “I didn’t want to hurt you either.”

A stillness settled into my bones. I glanced toward the moon, and it was like looking at like, a terrible moon to another moon. I gathered myself. I took a deep breath. I flattened.

“I shouldn’t have said all that.” My voice had dried up. “We led different lives.” It wasn’t her fault if she was wanted.

“No.”

“I wasn’t thinking . . .”

Her hand wrapped around my wrist. “I talk to Annie sometimes when you aren’t there.”

“Okay?”

“And Davies. And that front desk guy.”

“Daft Jeff. Yes.”

“They all say the same thing . . .” I blinked a couple times. “That I really should wait for you to give me the tattoo. You have a steady hand and an eye for detail.”

“Alright . . .”

“That someone taught you tattooing the right way. They wanted to show you the right way to do it.”

I snorted despite myself. “It’s not that hard. Mags was batty. Who knows why she showed me how to pick up a needle.”

“Don’t you see? They say they wouldn’t know what to do without you.” She was still there. She wasn’t moving, almost in my lap now. “You were wanted.”

“Park?” My voice cracked like a question.

“And you come with me to restaurants and help me buy bottle openers. You find shells for me and help me fix tires.” Her breath was hot and dragged across my cheek. “You are wanted.”

I blocked out her face, her voice, I turned on the sharp white sun inside and for a moment I imagine never opening my eyes back up again. Maybe I could make it night forever inside myself as well. Wouldn’t you rather have something quiet inside?

She wrapped herself around me, fully, one long arm at a time until it was cocoon. Soft. “Listen, sometimes the first people aren’t the right people. Sometimes your first relationship isn’t the right relationship. Sometimes you’re sure the world is one way, and like, always one way . . . and then it rains and the whole world is different again. You know? People pass.”

“My parents aren’t the weather.”

“But they’ll pass.” I should have pushed her off. But even against that, even those words— I liked being held, indulgent as chocolate and twice as guilty. “People sometimes feel forever, especially those kinds of people.” I was off again. “But it rains. And hey, I always know when it’s going to rain.”

I hiccupped; a smile found its way uninvited onto my face, unsure and just wobbly on its feet as Davies. I glanced down after a deep breath. Park grinned back at me and it reached the highest shelves of me all over again.

“So what happens when it rains again? Do you people like you pass?”

“Nah, not me. I don’t know how.” She winked. I didn’t notice that we’re lying flat now, stars and carpet of black above. “You can’t get rid of me. You haven’t given me that tattoo yet.”

The sound of shushing waves filled the midnight air and the moon looked down like that very first bus arriving to get me all those years ago. I wrapped my arms right back around her. She didn’t seem to mind that I was sticky or strange or sometimes kept tearing up all over again even after we’d stop saying anything worth tearing up over. ------------------

It happened. I felt like I should have been more prepared, brought flowers or poetry or earned it through honored warfare. But it happened. I was wearing ripped jeans, a spotty t-shirt and my breath smelled like coffee. We were looking for Park’s lost earring along an overgrown hill she usually biked along.

I found it, one shiny red dewdrop in all that green. Park pointed at some clouds that looked like my last “abstract” tattoo. We lay back in the grass and let the sky pass overhead. She giggled and touched my wrist, side by side. I let her.

“Summer’s almost over.” I mumbled it first.

“Yeah?”

“You find your next step then, college girl?” I tried to keep my tone light. She turned to be on her side.

“Maybe.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Oh, you know. This and that.”

“That does not sound like a college-girl plan.”

“Maybe I’ve got other plans. Maybe I’ve got other priorities, huh?”

“Ridiculous.” A playfully push her shoulder. “A lousy seaside town really isn’t priority material. There’s only one bookshop you know.”

“Two thank you very much. And that’s not my priority either.” Her voice wavered.

“Are you going to share with the class?”

“Is the class ready?” She whispered and I turned toward her as well now, taking in her perfect round face and question-mark mouth.

“I have been.” I matched her whisper. I tremor from my center outward and hopes she can’t tell.

“Do you know what they say about moths?”

“What?” I gave a breathy laugh. It wasn’t what I was expecting. “I’ve heard of them.”

“They tell your fortune.” She was grinning in that way that put out a stool and reached up. “I used to cry a lot growing up, because some kids said that moths are just evil butterflies. I was sensitive and ran all the way home. I threw myself at my mom’s feet and threw a fit about how moths were just evil butterflies. They were just ugly, wicked versions of a good thing.”

“Evil? Well, I suppose you are rather sinister when you haven’t eaten.”

“Shut up. I’m telling you something.” She put a hand on my shoulder. I inhaled deeply and turned over in place to face her. Only the shallow breeze kept us apart.

“I’m all ears . . . though maybe not as many as you.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“What can I say? The sun is adorable. I take after him.”

A finger ghosted over my cheek, tracing the arc of my cheekbone. “Well, you’re not so bad behind those headlights too. Some of us have good day vision you know. And good taste.”

I wished those words didn’t make my chest do funny things. “Thanks.”

“Do you want to hear what my mom said or not?”

“That you shouldn’t worry about evil butterflies?” I wiggled closer. “Because you’ll be really hot and funny and smart one day. So who cares if you’re evil?”

“Yeah, those were her exact words.”

“So?”

“So,” a firm hand took my chin. “Look at me.” I looked at her. I was glad she couldn’t see the flush in my cheeks in any way. “Moths show good fortunes she said.”

“Right. Lots and lots of good fortune.” I breathed, dumbly, of course. She was close and sweet and there was hair in her face. The fronds of her antennae tickle right past my ear.

“They can help you find good fortune. They’re good omens. You know why?” Park’s lips were barely moving as she spoke, hypnotic and unhurried.

“Why?”

“Because they follow the light.”

It happened all at once. Like every cheesy love poem or bad lyrics I wrote in my journals at night. It was every cracked-spine of a book using words like “rosebud lips” and every overdone song about people who find their way to each other.

I kissed her, leaning in with no life vest on or readied crash-landing position. She kissed me and my chest filled with her, breathless, drowning, soft as dreams and stranger than hope. I cradled her and she dragged me closer and closer until it was nothing but floods and brimming.

I’d been nothing before I think, I’d been an island that waits, a bus that leaves, a shadow that hides. And then I had been hers. ----------------- I was strolling home from work along the main road. The thin strip of sidewalk was streaked with bleached sunlight and the salt air was thick enough to burn throats. It was the long way home, but I was in the habit of going back to this corner.

The bus pulled up with little ceremony. It was an interstate one that crisscrossed over empty bellies of land. I stopped in place to watch, just in case, as I had many times before.

A silver head bobbed down the steps and planted herself on the concrete, unbelieving. She took an enormous noisy sniff of the air. “Not so bad!” She bellowed.

“Are you?” That wasn’t meant to be my first word. She was more stooped now and wearing shiny things on her wrist that clanked. She’d lost another tooth. “Mags.”

“Eh!” She yelled and waved frantically as if I hadn’t shot up another inch since I last saw her and started wearing clothes without holes in them. Her eyes sparkled as she tottered over. “So how’d you do, kid?”

“See for yourself.” I smiled. It was nice when the tides came back in. Mags gave me a thorough appraising. “Like this I guess.” I held up my hand. I wiggled my ring finger at her, heavy with a silver band and glittering opal.

“That’s my girl! Always knew you’d find your feet.” She cackled. “Am I too late to give you away, kid?”

I shook my head. She waddled over to me so I could take her hand. I took her home to show her my art and new tattoos, I showed her our terrible one-eyed kitten, Basket (Wicker’s son), and the little house we styled ourselves. I showed her our shoe closet and our queen bed, our messy kitchen and busted screen door. I showed her the moth tattoo over my heart, and Park showed her the matching lighthouse one over hers.

I tried to thank her, of course, I tried to say I owed her more than she knew for picking up an angry, dirty kid and seeing something in her. I owed her everything. But she just patted my hand and said that it’s not about our debts in life, kid. It’s about the becoming.

-----------

If you enjoyed the story please consider donating to my ko-fi or supporting me on patreon (even a dollar helps!), check out my Sapphic fantasy book as well!

[luvdsc]

doing the bf tag with my bf.

hey, siri, does bf stand for best friend or boyfriend? (or both?)

pairing :: na jaemin x reader genre :: fluff / best friend + youtuber au word count :: 4,691 words warnings :: none playlist :: mean it (lauv & lany) ⋆ always, i’ll care (jeremy zucker) ⋆ fearless (taylor swift) ⋆ fingers crossed (coin) ⋆ cardiac arrest (bad suns) author’s note :: this fic is a tiny bit different than my usual writing because i emphasize more on dialogue than description in order to mimic a youtube video. happy birthday to this absolute darling angel! you have the biggest heart in the universe, and thank you for sharing so much of it with the world ♡ ↳ part of the not clickbait series.

Your subscribers have always wondered if you would do this type of video countless of times, and you never thought you’d ever actually record one due to the state of your love life (or lack thereof), yet here you are.

Unfortunately, the romantic department of your life still remains very much empty though. But lucky for you, so is your best friend’s. And that pretty much works out perfectly because he could stand in for your nonexistent boyfriend in order to complete the popular GF/BF tag (along with a hidden challenge that was popular by demand and personally requested by a certain friend with a flair for baking. Now if only the frantic butterflies in your stomach would settle down just enough for you to do it).

After all, BF could stand for either boyfriend or best friend, right?

It’s also no secret that yours and Jaemin’s subscribers shipped you two together either. Heck, you may be a little delusional as well because you ship yourself with your best friend, too. Blame the massive crush you’ve been secretly harboring. But two best friends sharing an apartment and frequently appearing in videos on each of your respective channels? In the eyes of your fans, that’s basically the perfect setup for a modern day love story.

It would 100% be the greatest love story since Kat and Patrick in 10 Things I Hate About You, but at this point in your life, your story is going to be marked down as a tragedy. You feel even more hopeless and dramatic than Romeo was about his unrequited love for Rosaline. Also, that dude got over her way too quickly at the sight of another pretty girl. You wish that would happen for you, too, but your heart is much too stubborn over Jaemin.

When you had asked him if he would do the video with you, Jaemin immediately agreed much to your initial surprise. The publicity would be good though, you surmise later on, and both our fan bases would grow, so of course, he would agree. It’s not like your best friend liked you back. That would be absolutely absurd.

“Are you ready?” Jaemin speaks up, breaking your train of thought, and you’re slightly startled. He plops down in the plush pink rolling chair next to you, the chair moving back a few inches. He scooches it closer to your own chair, buzzing with excitement. You smile at your best friend, pushing down the butterflies erupting in your stomach. You nod before reaching forward and pressing the record button on the camera set up in front of you. You pull up the list of questions on your phone.

“Yeah, let's do this.”

How did we meet?

“Oh, this is an easy question,” Jaemin says, flashing his award winning smile at the camera before he throws his arm around you happily, hugging you affectionately. “It was freshman year. You ran into me. Literally. We were in the same class, and it just ended. You were trying to shove your textbook into your bag and didn’t notice where you were walking until you face-planted into my back.”

The memory is still fresh in your mind, and you remember how you had already resigned yourself to your fate of becoming good friends with the floor. But Lady Luck was on your side for once, and she sent an angel in the form of Na Jaemin to save you from embarrassment on your first day of university.

“Yeah, I almost fell flat on my butt, but luckily, Nana has great reflexes and when he turned around, he grabbed my arm before I hit the ground,” you add on, still squished into his side. He beams, eyes crinkling into half moon crescents before placing a kiss on your cheek and turning back to the camera.

Your heart skips a beat, but you ignore it. Jaemin has always been affectionate, and kisses were all in good fun. You continue on, plastering a nonchalant smile on your face. “And he said, ‘Looks like you just fell for me.’ And then he insisted that we get lunch together.”

“And the rest is history!” he exclaims happily, resting his cheek on the top of your head. You smile fondly before going onto the next question.

Where was our first date?

“The dining hall immediately after you ran into me.”

“That wasn’t a date,” you interject. “We can skip this question since we aren’t dating.”

Jaemin shrugs, waiting for you to read the next question. He murmurs faintly under his breath, “It was supposed to be one.”

We’re going out to eat, where are we going?

Jaemin answers immediately, leaning back in his chair. “The little pizza place down the block! They always make three different types of unique pizza everyday, and once they sell out, they close for the day.”

“We always go on Wednesday because they make both of our favorite pizzas then.” You chime in, and he nods enthusiastically, moving closer to the front and throwing his hands up in the air for emphasis. “They have corn and potato pizza that day!”

You wrinkle your nose slightly before leaning towards the camera. “To my subscribers, for the record, I assure you that I have better taste than that, and I love the artichoke pesto pizza with ricotta.”

What food do I dislike?

“... Corn and potato pizza,” he says reluctantly with a pout. “And kiwis. The outside is furry and creeps you out, and the fruit makes your tongue itch.”

You flash a thumbs up at the camera, and your best friend grins, puffing up his chest. Chuckling quietly, you shake your head before answering the question yourself. “And this dork absolutely hates anything strawberry flavored. And he’s lactose intolerant, so dairy is his enemy.”

“I love cheese, but cheese hates me,” he says mournfully, hanging his head down low before he jumps back up and reads the following question listed on your phone’s screen aloud.

Who is my best friend?

“Me!” Jaemin shouts gleefully, throwing his hands up in the air, and you can’t help but laugh, grinning widely at your best friend, a fond expression on your face.

“You.”

Am I a morning person or a night person?

“We’re both night people,” you say, and Jaemin nods in agreement. “You won’t catch either of us waking up before noon if we can’t help it, and we each have to set up like five alarms just to wake up.”

“It works out because we can stay up together watching movies or editing our videos,” he adds in, turning to you and smiling fondly. “And I always have a partner when I want to go on a midnight snack run to the convenience store nearby.”

Do we have a song? What is it?

“Jeremy Zucker’s Always, I’ll Care.”

“That’s our song?” You’re surprised. You were going to mention one of the go-to karaoke songs the two of you liked to belt out on the top of your lungs after a movie and wine night. Jaemin makes a great Sharpay Evans when you both want to bop to the top.

“It’s the song that reminds me of you,” he says, voice growing softer as he reaches the end of the sentence. Curse your heart for melting into a puddle. His cheeks turn pink under your gaze, and he becomes uncharacteristically shy, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Anyway, what’s the next question?”

What’s my nickname?

“Nana!” You reach out to poke his cheek, and he puffs them up before pouting at you. He reaches out and pinches your cheek.

“I call you ‘angel’ sometimes. It’s why your channel is called peachyangel.”

What's my weirdest habit?

“Jaemin eats way too much cilantro,” you state, swinging around side to side in your rolling chair.

“I do not!” he protests loudly, and you give him a blank stare. The two of you sit there in silence, not breaking eye contact until he finally relents.

“Okay, maybe I do. But you pour cereal before milk!”

“That’s not a weird habit!” You defend yourself. You are appalled at your best friend. Neither of you have ever woken up early enough for breakfast, so this has never come up before. If you would’ve known this in the past, maybe you wouldn’t be so ridiculously in love with him in the present.

“Yes, it is! Your cereal gets all soggy that way!”

“Only idiots pour their milk first!”

He clutches his heart dramatically. “Are you calling me an idiot?!”

“... So moving onto the next question—”

What do you think I’m talented at?

“Making people fall in love with you,” Jaemin blurts out, and your eyes widen at his answer as your grip on your phone loosens considerably.

“I—I mean, you’re just so approachable, and you’re kind to everyone. You care so much about everyone and everything. People feel comfortable around you, they always gravitate towards you, and you just— I don’t know, you make people feel loved,” he explains, unable to meet your eyes, and his cheeks darken. He fiddles around with the loose strand on his sweater sleeve.

Your heart swells ten times bigger and beats faster than ever. You wonder if Jaemin knows he has the same effect on everyone, too. You hope he does.

You wonder if he knows you’re in love with him and if he would love you back. You hope he does.

When was the first time you said “I love you”  to me?

“Uh, we can skip this one, too,” you say awkwardly, but he throws his arm around your shoulder again, hugging you tightly. “Nope, not skipping! I have the answer to this one!”

He grins toothily at the camera before pinching your cheek for a second time affectionately. “I said ‘I love you’ when you showed up at my dorm and brought me pop tarts at three in the morning after I accidentally drunk texted you, instead of Jeno. That’s when I knew you were a keeper.”

“I did that because I felt bad about throwing up on your shoes at the party we went to the weekend before that,” you mumble, face growing warm when you remember your best friend’s drunken confession a few years back. “Besides, you were drunk. It doesn’t count.”

“Okay, fine, but we say it to each other all the time. The second time I said it was when you brought me chicken nuggets, and I was hungover, but sober.” He says, spinning in his chair.

“I can see the pattern now. You say it when I bring you food,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest with a fake pout. “You love food, not me.”

“That’s not true!” he exclaims, halting mid spin and facing you. He turns your chair towards him, moving forward to clutch both of your hands in his, and stares directly into your eyes seriously. “I love you.”

You inaudibly gulp, helplessly gazing back at him as you feel your face begin to burn, your heart speeding up in your chest. Jaemin grins, leaning back and letting go of your hand. “See? I love you!”

“Y-yeah.” You swallow hard, fumbling over your words. “You love me.”

What is your favorite thing about me?

“Your laugh,” Jaemin replies honestly, reaching out and absentmindedly drawing circles on the back of your hand as he looks at you. “Hyuck told me the other day that whenever I try to do something funny or make a joke, I have a habit of turning towards you for your reaction. It makes me kinda proud that I can make you laugh.”

You know that you’re stupidly grinning like an absolute idiot at this point, but you don’t care. You even almost forget about the camera.

“Your smile,” you answer, maintaining eye contact with him. Your smile widens when you see one appear on his face, his eyes shining brightly. “You have the prettiest smile, and I’m grateful that I’m able to see it everyday or be the cause of it sometimes.”

What film always makes me cry?

“Oh, The Lion King.” Jaemin responds automatically. “We both cry our eyes out at the stampede moment and when Simba tells his dad to wake up.”

“When we saw the live action version together, we brought along a ton of tissues with us, and he used almost all of them.”

What drink do I always order?

“Jaemin is crazy and always gets a venti iced americano with no water and eight espresso shots. He used to drink it six times a day until I yelled at him about it,” you say, shaking your head at the camera before glancing over at your best friend. “It’s seriously bad for your health.”

His lips jut out into a pout as he whines, “You wouldn't let me cuddle with you until I changed it!”

“It was for your own good! Plus, that drink tasted like battery acid!” You exclaim, and he sulks quietly before begrudgingly agreeing. You pat his head in consolation, and he grabs your hand, naturally interlocking your fingers with his.

“I drink it less now and with only two and half shots.”

If I could, what candy could I eat all day long?

“Chocolate,” you blurt out immediately. “Jaemin is a chocolate fanatic. But he’ll take anything with sugar. He has such a sweet tooth. He eats brown sugar when he’s bored. Even his boba drink has 100% sugar.”

“It’s as sweet as you.” Jaemin winks at you exaggeratingly, and you roll your eyes, turning your face away slightly to hide the smile that begins to spread across your face.

“Y/N likes matcha green tea Kit Kats.” He leans closer to the camera, peering into the lens in a serious manner. “If any chocolate companies are watching this, we are both open to sponsorships.”

If I could live anywhere in the world, where would I live?

“Here,” Jaemin says confidently, beaming at you, “You’d want to live here with me. And I want to live here, too. Because this is the bestest place in the world.” He hesitates, faltering for a moment before searching your eyes. “Right?”

Who are you to say no to that?

You smile at him. “Right.”

What am I deathly afraid of?

“You’re afraid of spiders,” he announces, “You make me take care of all the spiders in the apartment.”

“Yeah, it’s the only reason I keep you around,” you say casually, and he gasps, insulted. You give him a cheeky smile. “I’m just kidding.”

He scowls at you, lips pulled into a frown. “You better be.”

What is the first thing that I do in the morning?

“Jaemin is never awake before I am,” you inform the camera, crossing your legs. “I have to wake him up first if we go anywhere.”

“Even if you don’t have to go to an event, you still wake up early to make sure I’m awake, so I won’t be late. So that’s what you do first thing in the morning: wake me up.” Jaemin nudges your leg. “You always come into my room as a blanket burrito with your comforter wrapped around you.”

“That’s because I have to face the treacherous cold to make sure you aren’t late to your events. But you still end up late anyway because you drag me down onto your bed and refuse to let me go until we lay there for twenty minutes,” you grumble, pulling up your legs onto your chair and wrapping your arms around your knees.

“Cuddling is a good way to conserve body heat and start the morning,” Jaemin states, waving his arms around to emphasize his point.

“Really? Do studies show that it’s beneficial to cuddle in the morning?”

“I don’t know.” Jaemin shrugs, making a noncommittal noise. He smiles at you, causing your stomach to do flip flops and your heart to do cartwheels. “But it makes me happy every morning, so I’d say that’s enough proof.”

Who usually wins our arguments?

“Y/N does,” Jaemin sighs heavily, leaning back against his chair in resignation. “You always win.”

“It’s true.” You nod, patting Jaemin’s arm consolingly. “It’s tough always being right, but someone has to do it.”

“You always pout, too, and I just give in because you’re too cute,” he says casually, and you freeze in your seat. Never mind the fact that he’s implying you’re wrong, Na Jaemin just called you cute.

Good thing this is caught on camera because this means you can secretly watch this multiple times in private. And also cringe over your awkward reaction, but let’s not talk about that right now because once again, Jaemin just called you cute. You! Cute! Jaemin! Your mind is honestly short circuiting, and you can’t do anything, except nod and smile like a complete fool.

What do we usually argue about?

“Adopting,” Jaemin says solemnly. Eyes widening, you wait for a moment, but he offers no explanation. You lightly shove his chair, and he rolls a few inches away. “Nana, you can't just end it like that! You have to say more than that!”

Turning towards the camera, you hurriedly explain, “He’s talking about pets. He wants to adopt five dogs and name them after Jisung, Chenle, Jeno, Renjun, and Mark. And then he wants to adopt a snake and name it after Donghyuck.”

“She said we could only get one dog and the snake.” Jaemin scowls, slumping in his seat as he stares into the camera. “I can’t believe she isn’t letting me get five dogs. I love Jisung and all non-Jisung’s equally.”

What’s my favorite clothing item?

“It’s not even yours. You always steals my white hoodie. I haven’t been able to wear it for the past month,” Jaemin complains, and you have the decency to look a little guilty.

You play with the strings of said hoodie that’s currently engulfing your body, curling into yourself as you tuck your face into the sweater like a turtle. “Your clothes smell nice.”

“But we use the same laundry detergent.” Jaemin wrinkles his eyebrows, confusion evident in his eyes. “All our clothes smell like snuggles and cotton.”

“It’s not the same,” you insist, wrinkling your nose, and he shakes his head, lips curling into a smile. He reaches over and tugs the hood of the sweater over your head playfully.

“Okay, whatever you say, angel. You look better in them than me anyway.”

Where am I on a Friday night?

“You’re here with me, eating Chinese take out and watching Criminal Minds,” you answer, and he agrees, nodding.

“We just finished watching all twelve seasons on Netflix, so if anyone has any show recommendations, please send them in!”

What is my weirdest interest?

“Once again, my clothes,” Jaemin says, and you begin to protest but he wags his finger at you. “No, no, no, you don’t get to disagree! You hoarded like six of my sweaters in your closet. I bought you the exact same sweater for your birthday, but you still take mine!”

You silently decide that it is better to accept this defeat than correct him because you actually have seven of his sweaters and a few tee shirts as well.

Who’s my favorite YouTuber?

“Me!” Jaemin’s hand shoots up in the air. “I’m your favorite YouTuber. Next question.”

Your hands start to get clammy as you look down at the final question you have been saving for last. It’s been a good fifteen minutes, and the butterflies still haven’t subsided. If anything, they seem to have multiplied and transformed into a whole rampaging zoo complete with elephants and monkeys.

“Uh, are you sure about that, Nana? ShowMeTheMonet is really good. I also really like itsmebetch a lot.” You stall for time, staring at the last question until the words are stamped in your mind. “Dream Unsolved and Worth It are amazing, too.”

Suddenly, Jaemin is right in front of you as he spins your chair around to face him, frowning and complaining, “What do you mean I’m not your favorite? You’re my favorite! What kind of best friend are you? This is a betrayal! An insult! This is worse than Jisung not calling me his favorite! How could you do this to m—”

“Okay, okay, you’re my favorite! I’m sorry! It was a joke,” you interrupt, but he turns away from you, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No, go make a video with ShowMeTheMonet instead.” He sulks, shoulders hunched over. “If you like her so much, go be best friends with her.”

“I’m sorry! I’ll buy you all the chocolate you want after this,” you plead with him, placing your phone on the table next to you. “I’ll even buy you boba everyday for a week!”

Jaemin brightens up at that immediately. “Oh, yeah! I want some milk tea after this! Okay, what’s the last question?”

You swallow hard, nervously fiddling with the hoodie strings once more and shoving all the butterflies down to the pit of your stomach. Twisting in your seat, you move your chair and spin his around until you’re both facing each other, knees touching.

“‘Where and when was our first kiss?’”

At the immediate thought of kissing you, his cheeks explode in various shades of pink, the tips of his ears catching fire. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t thought about kissing you daily. Heck, he had to stop himself from doing so earlier when you were burying your face in his stolen hoodie. It’s so unfair that you’re always so cute and looking so… so… kissable.

“I, uh, I don’t think I can answer that,” your best friend stammers out as his eyes dart towards your lips before meeting yours.

“But you got all the other answers right.” Your voice comes out steadier than you thought it would, and you mentally pat yourself on the back. Gnawing on your bottom lip, you pause for a moment, balling your hands into fists before uncurling them and asking hesitantly, “Should I help you out?”

“Yes.” He wonders how exactly you can help him out. Oh god, did he kiss you before when he was drunk? But you would’ve told him if he did that. What if he had ki—

A soft pair of lips lands on his.

You’re kissing him. Oh my god, you’re kissing him! Jaemin wants to jump up and shout it from the rooftops. His heart leaps from his chest, and he’s wildly cheering in his mind as fireworks explode around him before he suddenly remembers that he has to kiss you back.

And so he does.

Jaemin tugs you closer until you’re pulled onto his lap, a muffled squeak of surprise coming from you, and he laughs as he presses his lips against yours more firmly, hands gripping your thighs as you straddle him. Your arms loop around his neck, and your heart ricochets in your chest as you kiss him back until your lungs are screaming for oxygen and you have to pull away.

Jaemin positively beams at you, eyes sparkling as he leans forward and nuzzles his nose against yours affectionately. He laughs breathlessly, resting his forehead against yours. “Yeah, that was really helpful. Our first kiss just happened right here a few seconds ago. And now, our second kiss is about to happen.”

Your best friend closes the distance, crashing his lips against yours once more, and you kiss him back just as fervently, smiling against his lips as he does the same. Never in either of your wildest dreams did you think this was going to happen, but you sure as heck aren’t complaining, and neither is he.

When the two of you finally break apart, you bury your face into the crook of his neck, flustered, and Jaemin laughs giddily, cheeks flushed and eyes twinkling. He hugs you tightly to his chest before nudging you to look up at him. “So did I get a 100% on the boyfriend tag?”

“Yes,” you say, sitting up straight on his lap and grabbing both of his hands in each of your own, intertwining your fingers with his. “You got twenty five out of twenty five. Congratulations on your perfect score.”

“Technically, you did do the boyfriend tag with your boyfriend then, right?” he says slyly, squeezing your fingers. “Shouldn’t I get some bonus points for helping you do the tag correctly?”

You chuckle, failing to contain your smile. “Okay, fine, you get bonus points, too. You did an A plus job, Nana.”

“I’ll take those bonus points in the form of kisses.” He puckers his lips at you, and you easily comply, wordlessly leaning forward to give him one, two, three kisses.

Jaemin grins at you, positively delighted before he attacks you with kisses, peppering soft kisses onto your cheeks, forehead, chin, the tip of your nose, and everywhere else in between until he finally kisses your lips gently.

If this was a cartoon, there would be hearts floating around his head and shooting from his eyes. He leans forward again to kiss you one more time for good measure. You smile mischievously, tilting your head to the side slightly as your hands curl around his shirt. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you want for your bonus points?”

His eyebrows furrow for a split second before his entire face lights up. Jaemin carefully cradles you, picking you up as his grip tightens under your thighs. You let out a quiet squeal, wrapping your arms around his neck, as he stands up enthusiastically.

“Cut the cameras!”

One new notification: peachyangel uploaded a new video!

nana ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ commented:

I LOVE YOU SO MUCH ANGEL 🥺💗💞💖💗🤩💝💕💜🤧💖💘😭💘🌼💐🥺💖🥺🥺🥺

peachyangel replied: ily too baby 🥺🤧💖💖

insert goofy’s chuckle commented:

is this allowed?? there are minors here 😫 jisung look away

peachyangel replied: get your mind out of the gutter, ya nasty 🙄 we turned off the cam because he wanted to go get milk tea

jisung pwark replied: I’m 18!!!!! Stop treating me like a child!!! 

ghosts are real so suck it hyuck replied: @ jisung pwark stop making me cut the crusts off of your sandwiches then

big head king replied: @ ghosts are real so suck it hyuck how come you don’t cut the crusts off of my sandwiches 😭😭

ghosts are real so suck it hyuck replied: @ big head king because you are a grown adult and jeno already does it for you

jenojam commented:

congrats jaemin!! :)

Starbucks Official commented:

we would love to sponsor you, Mr. Na!

FIGHTING HAEYADWAE commented:

OH YOU ARE NANA!!1!1!!! 🤯🤯

ShowMeTheMonet commented:

um hello i would love to do the gf tag with you! i accept!!! it would be an honor 🤩

peachyangel replied: omg yes!!!! 🥺🥺 let’s do it soon 💖

insert goofy’s chuckle replied: @ nana ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ did… did we just lose our gfs 🤧

mork lee rawr xD commented:

hahaha nice guys ! this was really cute haha

ty track commented:

the babies are all growing up too fast ):

jeno is my favorite commented:

.... i feel so single @.@

DonutKillMyVibe commented:

let it be known that I was the friend who challenged @ peachyangel to do the challenge and hence, I am the reason these two are together 👀👀

ghosts are real so suck it hyuck commented:

someone should make an updated version of that jaemin complaining video compilation with this

big head king commented:

ayyy you all are the GOAT 🐐🐐🐐

jenojam commented:

so are we just gonna let it slide when he called everyone except jisung “non jisungs” ?

jisung pwark replied: 😎😎

insert goofy’s chuckle commented:

is no one gonna comment on how he called me a snake?????

ghosts are real so suck it hyuck replied: @ insert goofy’s chuckle is no one gonna comment on how much of a clown hyuck is???

insert goofy’s chuckle replied: @ ghosts are real so suck it hyuck wtf? where did this even come from

ghosts are real so suck it hyuck replied: @ insert goofy’s chuckle sorry I thought we were stating the obvious here

big head king replied: LOLOLOL

apado gwenchana god commented:

nice 😎👍🏻

[eremiie]

Hello there how is everything I am a fan of AOT and I wanted to ask you if it okay you can do a headcanon of eren and zeke dating a black s/o

dating a black s/o;

❥ hiii, i hope you enjoy, ty for the request, i’m a poc so this is nice :)

eren jaeger

first of all he fucking loves you, like he’s infatuated with you because you’re so beautiful and just everything you do is like wow.

let’s start with your hair, he loves it so much and he’s always trying to touch it even when you tell him not to lmao

he’ll sit in the bathroom with you while you do your hair and just talk to you while reading the labels of the products you use

he spritz the spray bottle at your hair sometimes just for fun too 

one time you let him try to braid your hair and the braids weren’t terrible but he knotted a lot of your hair ngl😭

he gets so confused when you ask him to buy certain products and constantly comes home with the wrong stuff

“what do you mean this isn’t it? baby, it literally says deep condition creme!” “but it’s not the same, i wanted the coconut oil one!” “well this is the castor oil one, it’s basically the same thing.”

no eren. no, it is not the same thing.

he likes joining you in the shower for wash days sometimes, but he probably leaves halfway through the shower because you’re taking way too long

he hates that sticky feeling of lip gloss but just the way it makes your lips look he finds it so alluring, he’ll peck little kisses on your lips all the time and then wipe his mouth after 

he loves your cooking. he really enjoys it and is always open to try new things, he swears he’s getting the most exotic shit even though it’s literally just baked mac n cheese or something...

“baby what is this? it is so good.” “eren it is literally fried okra.”

you put him onto so many songs and he can probably belt out the lyrics to some of your favorite artists because he’s heard their songs so many times

occasionally if you’re just dancing in the kitchen and getting down, he’ll join you for a few minutes even though he looks like a complete fool (i doubt he can dance, but he thinks he’s doing an amazing job💔)

sometimes he can ask a lot of questions when he’s bored to know more about your culture, heritage, etc because he thinks it is genuinely interesting

he def seems like the type to put #blm in his bio or something, or post a black screen to show his support 

he brags about you all the time to his friends, he just thinks you’re so cool and not in like a weird way, just genuine admiration for you, and he has a lot of pride that he even had a chance with you, it’s endearing

zeke yeager 

zeke automatically thinks you’re the baddest bitch he’s ever seen, i mean he’s all for you 

i mean this dude was like AWOOGA when he first saw you— pls😭

and it’s not that he brags about you, it’s just more of a “you see her? yeah, she’s mine.” but he doesn’t say it audibly, he just flaunts you in a more physical way

zeke actively tries to help with your hair but it’s more to pester you than anything, like he’ll comb the ends of your hair carelessly and you’ll slap his hands away 

not that he’s not trying or anything but he just doesn’t know what he’s doing LMAO

since i keep talking about the lipgloss thing since i find it funny, zeke out of these 3 doesn’t mind the lip gloss at all, he actually probably goes out of his way to kiss you, and ngl he probably licks the lipgloss you left on his mouth or something jokingly—

zeke lets you talk to him about anything, your culture, foods you want to try to make, issues that you have, and he’ll casually pitch in his own questions and stuff like that, he’s a good listener

if you’re at the store together looking for hair products and stuff he’ll just point to random stuff and tell you you should get it, even if he knows it won’t work for your hair

“what about this, sweetheart? i think this is pretty neat.” “zeke... that is tresemme... i need shea moisture shampoo.” “well i use this, it works just fine.” *cue a staring contest between zeke’s beard and you* “yeah... it’s working i guess.”

but in the end he probably understands why you use certain products and why you can’t use certain products, he just likes messing with you.

he really enjoys your cooking and probably tries to be in the kitchen with you and help you cook, he’s good company and he’s not to bad at cooking himself 

he’ll also give you recipes you should try that he’s seen as well, he just thinks that if you cook it, it automatically tastes better LMAO

he’s like a little sugar daddy, if you want him to buy you a $300 lace front he probably will, or if you want him to buy you some expensive ass shoes he probably will

he probably put on your bonnet or wig just to make you laugh or something, it was actually quite funny—

he treats you like a little princess too, like he’ll probably check the weather and be like “honey, we can’t go out today it’s too humid for your hair.” and he’s really just pretentious about little things like that, he goes out his way to make sure you’re okay, and good, especially when it comes to things that are important to you

he asks you if you can comb his hair and oil his scalp and stuff like that for fun, and lets you braid his hair and beard for practice, he just sits back and enjoys😭😭

levi ackerman

i feel like levi doesn’t show his admiration as much but deep down it’s definitely there, he finds you interesting, and an amazing individual

he has probably stuck around once or twice to watch your hair routine but he’s not always there to watch, the funny thing is though he probably remembers it; you’ve had him help you with the routine before and you were surprised when he wasn’t even really listening to what you were saying cause he kind of already knew what to do

“so then you’re gonna— yeah, yeah... how’d you know?” “i’m not stupid, i’ve seen you do it before.” “yeah— like once!”

we love our educated king <3

he’s surprisingly gentle when he’s doing it too, like his hands are so delicate and light and he’s lowkey afraid to hurt you so you have to tell him to be a little rougher when trying to untangle/comb through your hair

he will not kiss you when you have lip gloss on. i’m sorry but he doesn’t like the feeling, and if you kiss him he’ll wipe it off of his lips immediately, he doesn’t like it at all

he rarely brings home the wrong items if you ask him to run to the beauty supply or something. it’s just not hard to get the right thing, he looks at the photo of the product you sent him and scavengers the isles. he hates going for beauty supply runs though because he doesn’t like getting stared at, he’d rather go with you instead of by himself

he thinks your cooking is good but he’s not that surprised to be honest, maybe the first time you could see in his face that he was enjoying it but he never really exaggerates how good it is like eren would.

he does ask for another plate though, and if you tease him about that he rolls his eyes😭

he doesn’t take racism, any of that lightly, i can definitely see him getting immediately defensive over the slightest things that could even come off racist to you. it’s not that he’ll immediately say something but he does get sus of the person and a little more protective of you 

he probably secretly has so many pictures of you in his phone, and one of them is definitely his lock screen because he finds you so gorgeous 

he probably would put your bonnet on your head for you if you forgot it before going to sleep, or wake you up to put it on

he probably knows some hair care tips because he does his own research for your sake, he wants to know as much as you do so he can be a help; so even if you already knows what he’s telling you, act like its new information, you’ll see his eyes light up a little bit when you tell him you’ll try that next time :’))

he complains about your hair being left everywhere though, i also think he doesn’t like to participate in your wash days because he doesn’t like seeing your hair everywhere

but despite this he still is usually the one to clean it up if you’re taking too long to, thank you levi<33

another thing is, if you have beads in your hair, he really likes it because the sound they make is somewhat relaxing to him + it lets him know when you’re around, it’s almost comforting sob sob