#srry haven’t posted in a while school is killing

[gvnuzi]

Lil gift

Give her her glasses she deserves them

This took 7 hours oh my lawd

[linoscence]

lovegame.

pairing. lee minho x reader

genre. playboy! minho, college student! au, angst, fluff, with lots of tension, comedy ig, somehow enemies to lovers to enemies to lovers?

sypnosis. trapping the presumptuous-made-from-pits-of-hell boy into your hands was the only plan. why? simply because you're bored. playing with feelings has gotta be the most hideous thing you can do in your life, and you chose to play with someone who reciprocates one's doing. however, he seems to explode at the sight of you and your friend. now, you gotta face the consequences of your actions.

words. 1.4k, istg i just hurriedly wrote this for minho’s day. haven’t proof-read yet. have a blast, love! 

warnings. foul words, countless trying to kill your best friend jokes, maybe kinda off to other if u are soft w ur friends ig?

a/n.  might just post this part for now just to greet this precious human being. will get vaccinated tomorrow srry. anyways, to lee know whom we love so much, thank you for being the most endearing person i’ve ever known. you are caring in your own way and you are the kindest. you are so passionate of what you love, you deserve the whole universe. i love you more than love. 

                “hey, be accountable of your actions. now take care of me, babe. “ minho flashed his infamous smirk with a wink, after planting a kiss on your cheek.

               If your friend didn’t just shit the hell out of you and tried to place on a bet just for an album, then you wouldn’t even be facing this guy’s constant glaring and smirking for life. 

      “Han, please just shut your mouth, I swear to God.” Feeling exasperated by your friend’s nonstop story-telling of how he can get free signed albums because of his new work as an intern in a production company, a passionate one. 

     “Okay, but there’s a hot guy in the dance group though, I thought he was a ghost last time I see him dancing in the dark in the practice room.” Continuing his babbling, you closed your book and stood up from your seat. “Hey, I’m not done you grouchy bitch!” immediately following your pace. 

    “I heard he is studying here! let’s be friends with him to get free pass on the dance room lmao!” Jisung joked, you swear he’ll be all shy once he actually gets a sight of this ghost he’s talking about. It took you 10 times of borrowing a pen from him, the pen he admitted he was always biting in class during boring classes which is; everyday. You’ve always wondered why the hell does the pen’s cap keep getting bent. Once you knew him, he apologized and bought you a new one for a compensation of getting your hands touched by his saliva. He said you were lucky to adopt his germs.                                              

     “He doesn’t own the dance room ji, he probably have a schedule to use it. Dream on and stop using people for convenience,” you hissed. “And stop blabbering about the free albums if you won’t get me a signed one from seventeen for my birthday, okay? “ you advised, looking up to him to see his reaction. 

       “You really are the biggest bitch I’ve known! dream on and stop using people for convenience !!” he groused with his middle finger up, running away from you after getting back at you to taste your own medicine. Sure, he does this but he’ll always have ways to give what you want.   

         A week after your dreading hell week, you stared at the surroundings of your field. You questioned how does Jisung managed to train while studying. Maybe because you have a shitload of work being in the political science field and him being in the music department. Yet, you two are the same thriving for your own dreams. 

         “I do think I now deserve that signed album of seventeen, please my sweetest friend, my best best friend, the only one who I can’t live without, my savior.” you expressed wholeheartedly to Jisung. He laughed at your outstanding pleading, but you did not get a reply from him. “Let’s go get a drink, you plastic bitch.” It is your tradition to have some fun after school agony.       

          “Are you really gonna do this to me!? Han Jisung!” You asked with a disheartenedly tone. After that, he laughed audibly into your face, he couldn’t even breath that’s why you put a meat with a big ass lettuce wrap in his mouth for him to choke.                                                                                                                “Okay, okay, calm down. I’ll give it to you if.. “ He prolonged his words making you speculate his mind, he has another trouble for you just to harass you, you know him too well.    

          “befriendthehotguyfromthedanceclubiwassayinglasttime.” he blurted out faster than your heartbeat when it comes to visiting him in the faculty room because of his fights with that llama guy. You asked him to repeat what he is saying in a slow manner. 

           “What!? why? are you nuts!?” you complained, you want to kill him right in front of you actually. deez nuts, he wanted to blurt that out but nevermind. he didn’t want to add fuel to the fire. Instead, he said “Look, just befriend him, I heard he has a lot of girls crushing on him but he just entertains them for fun, he still looks cool to me though. He seems friendly.” he encouraged, “besides, you might even have a boyfriend after as a freebie for friendship.” he added as he grinned at you while winking.  

            “And why do you think I need to get associated with him? give me an acceptable reason and I’ll choke you, acceptable or not.” He looked at you with teasingly eyes, “Well, he looks confident of himself and you are too, considering you two are pleasing to the eyes. You have dumped so much boys in your life, you could make a dump yard with it. Test your limits bro. “ explaining his awesome, marvelous, unbelievable, prodigious, shocking, wonderful, and stunning idea. 

             All you could do is chuckle and think of ways-to-kill-your-own-best-friend. “C’mon, seventeen would be disappointed with you, I’ll even get you to see them. Your life is at stake.” aggravating you more. 

            “Okay, I’ll just do this for seventeen, and because I am bored. I don’t have a thrill in my life now. Just that, you better shut up if I stole him from you.” you announced, earning an evil laugh from him. 

           In this game, he might be the game master for playing the cupid’s role.

            The sky has always been your favorite part to look out. Many would say that you look heavenly when you look up into the sky. Your delicate features are being seen and you look as bright as the sky. But today, you didn’t want to look at it. You wanted to keep your head down and go home.  You even remembered that damned bet you had with your very best friend. Great timing to execute your ways to kill him. 

             Clearly it wasn’t your fault you had kiss another man, out of frustration. Maybe you can blame it on the 7th sense. 

             There’s this new guy who have been annoying you on your debate club for three weeks now. You remembered his name is Mark? Mason? Matthew? Michael? Mint? or whatever the hell he is because he suits the name Lucifer. He has been crushing you ever since. With words and his flirty remarks.

                Emergency alert for the most humiliating thing you’ve done in your whole life. 

                “Well, you should have known these kind of things, honey. Aren’t you a political science major, huh?” There goes the satanic smile he always flash onto you. To clarify, you don’t even talk a lot but when you do, he always gets on your nerves, shuttering your whole nervous system, only allowing your anger to lead the way. 

                “Honey, we don’t need to fucking know everything, okay? Last time I checked, we study to learn; not to know everything, Mr. computer science.” Emphasizing your comeback, you mimicked his actions earlier.

                “Oh? Well you should start learning more right now.” He gibed at you. You opened your mouth to retort not until  ━

                “Oh, now you wanna kiss me so bad, don’t you? “ He said playfully, wiggling his eyebrows at you, smirking after. 

                “Are you challenging me? You know I don’t squirm.” You challenged him. 

                The hands on your waist is now caressing your hair going down to your back, tasting your lips ravishingly, repeatedly in a motion you’ll get lost of. No words needed to describe your make out session. All you know is this Mr. computer science in a black shirt with a flannel on could make you shut your mouth up in a matter of 2-3 minutes or maybe even 5-10, if you wanted more. Once he broke the collision of your lips together, he looked down to you with his hands still on your waist and bantered, 

                “And what if I do?” Oh how bad you wanna wipe that smirk off his face, “ Oh hell, you do, Mr. computer science.” With one last rolling of the eyes, you smashed your lips onto his. Getting a taste of him, getting the butterflies, they’ve been circling promptly as he put his hand on your waist. You only pulled this shit as a joke but now he’s kissing you back, even harder. You immediately break away from his lips not until he pulled you closer to himself. 

               “It’s Lee Minho to you, baby.” oh you can never wipe that smirk off. 

[quackspot]

i started thinking about that gay bastard oc of yours. platano. can u tell me about him

omg u wer thinkgin about platano..... mr banana man... mr 4011. i am obsessed with the banana code srry i just got back from work (it was good :-D)

any way. um. im going below the cut. he kidnaps people and he murders people and i hate him because he’s also a massive weeb so. hm

HISTORY OF PLATANO... yea his name is spanish for banana

his father, pablo, will probably get a name change someday but i literally never think of his father since the only thing he did in platano’s backstory was disappear 

since platano’s world has characters based off like. fruits and vegetables (there aren’t really any limit to what the characters are based off of. it was in my lazy google translate name phase so we have like... a gay character named arcenciel who becomes dadlike through my powerful canon-changing touch. also arcenciel wears the colors of the rainbow as often as he can i haven’t figured out a good design for him since i’m not used to using more than 5 colors. he also owns a hat factory)

i think arcenciel and platano are friends they met when platano was like. 17 probably and arcenciel would be around uhhhhh ummmmmmm 21??? idk man but in canon he’s probably around 30 . yes i m saying “in canon” because i wrote a really dumb and horrible story back in 2018 arcenciel used to have HUGE internalized homophobia and i turned that into a running joke and i dislike that so that’s a reason why i’m not sharing the fun little story i wrote for my friends

(the best part of that story is when arcenciel threw his light-up rainbow heelies at platano, thus starting the boss fight which the main cast LOST.)

ok back to the topic at hand. platano.

i have a whole doc named platano where i just wrote drabbles about him so i’m going to summarize them

the first one was his friend, percisi (my only cishet oc he’s very short and very aggressive while also dressing in a soft-colored turtleneck since he’s based off of peaches) using a misunderstood form of satanism to summon satan. guess what percisi and platano summoned satan for. it was a manga update! wow

i won’t say the mangas name it was an inside joke

so platano was like “hey satan can i have this manga now please please” and satan went “sure just kill people for me” 

that determined platanos job for the next 7 or so years <3 wonderful. 

(it was basically me writing a backstory for a scene to happen in the main writing i wrote for my friends. he killed someone because someone else in the building was trying to summon satan. very confusing but okay i guess.)

i think right after that i wrote about platano meeting his boyfriend, sage, for the first time. i have horribly mixed feelings about their relationship since it’s very. Hm.

so platano kidnaps people to watch anime with him because all his friends left him and his best friend, mangue, is too busy being a dictator over the Land of the Fruits. i shit you not fruits oppressed the vegetables. i wrote that dynamic between the two because i was learning about the revolutionary war in US History. something like that at least

(the Land of the Fruits is not the official name)

on the topic of kidnapping people. guess who his favorite person was. sage. it was sage. so he tried to take sage often but they probably discussed Proper boundaries since everyone else tried to run away. hmm i am now going to write a bit right now 

“Platano,” Sage started. “Why do you keep kidnapping me? It’s rude and I hate it.”

“What else am I supposed to do?” The yellow-haired fool leaned on his sword, digging the tip deeper into the ground. 

“ASK ME IF I WANT TO HANG OUT??” 

“I can do that?”

“You keep making my dads worried.” Sage looked around the area, fidgeting with his hands. 

“Oh. Okay. Want to hang out? Watch some anime?” Platano paused for a moment, but managed to say “Maybe kiss?” before Sage got to answer.

“I- KISS??? We can watch anime together. We can go now.” 

Sage ushered Platano through a portal as fast as he could. 

His dads were never worried.

hmmm maybe that’s alright idk i’m a little tired so it’s probably a little out of character. sage probably isn’t that loud but i think it was trying to be the dynamic of “oh, we’re not dating” when they kiss every sunday at 5 pm by a romantic river scene 

he’s a character who is, at his very core, horrible and bad. he is portrayed in a way i DESPISE but i’m too lazy to correct it. his interest in sage actually started with me going “hmm i think platano would draw sage like this” then sauce giving me fun facts about his oc, sage, yea sage is sauce’s oc <3 epic win . so sauce gave me fun facts about sage and i was like “time to doodle these in platanos ‘art style’” when in reality it’s just the mockery of people just getting into an anime art style, with the chin so pointy it could cut a cake 

i might reread my old writing from 2018. i gotta agree with the judges for that year i did not write very well

it mightve actually been made in 2017 which would be FUCKIN CRAZY im gonna check rn 

yea it was started in 2018. february 14th... huh . finished it completely in june of that year it was 41 pages total and it’s not even double spaced how did i write something without double spacing it

OH MY GOD BOB IS GOING TO HIJACK THIS RANT JUST FOR A LITTLE

so bob is a fluffy little anthro cloud with a grey top hat and bowtie. he is amazing. i love bob. bob is another one of sauce’s character and mangue (mentioned earlier) was made by my friend jamie 

(you can always ask for their tumblrs but i’d ask them if its okay to share their tumblrs. i might just look at them and reblog their stuff cuz i like their art!!! maybe jamie posted a drawing she made recently on her blog but tbh i don’t think she would she’s more of a twitter user)

ok so im skimming thru UMG which is the story it stands for “Universe of Magic Gardens” and it was originally made for a prank on ponytown so people would go “what’s UMG” and my friends and i would be like “ur mom gay xDDDDDD” or something like that . horrible but i’m glad i’ve changed from . that.

here’s a bit i actually like AKLJFISJFIO

“What the actual FUCK, Ilkie?!” Arcenciel cringed in fear. “Put it back- it’s too ugly.” He pointed at Platano, whose arms were crossed. 

why is it bolded. anyway.

i just saw a part where eau used y’all... water cowboy moments <333 i really need to make refs for all of those old characters. all of my umg-related characters have to be my oldest-living ocs. 

i cant believe this is making me genuinely reread my old writing just to go “WJHFSIDAJKSFIOJ WTF????” 

some of the lines on it sound like something you would hear on like. a school bus or somethin 

looking at umg like “wtf how did i add so much Meat to this writing” bc most of my writing now is mostly quotations to progress the story (like the quickie i wrote earlier. i could add meat to it but im  tired lol)

OK THIS IS MORE GENERAL BUT MY FAVORITE THING ABOUT THIS WAS WRITING HAIKUS FOR PORTALS. after you visit a place enough times it’s kind of just an instinct to open a portal there so you don’t have to recite a haiku 

uhh ok here’s another bit becuase im feeling like living la vida loca.  ur biggest regret should be “can you tell me about him” by this point bc i’ve written too much to go back now

He landed on his face once he was outside of the hat. Meko quickly walked over to the guest room, opened the Portals for Dummies book, and flipped to a page. It looked devious.

“Banana, mango,

Each tasting amazingly.

A taste of evil.” 

Meko did the dance on the page, it consisted of something that looks like it’s from an anime. A portal opened, the familiar scent of bananas and mangoes coming from it. With some hesitation, Meko stepped in. He quickly made it so only his head peeked in.

it wasnt bolded this time but i like it bolded. ok i understand how i added meat it was just shitty expired meat ALKFSJSHDAIUJKFEIODSJAK . it wasnt even that much meat DAMN. it just looked like more.

actually that’s all i will write. i could  do more w platano but yea at his base he is a blonde twink who kills people because he wanted a manga but now he’s friends with a dictator. woo! wow. amazing character writing. i cant wait to get motivation to rewrite everything and make platano a good villain (he will still be very interested in anime sadly. idk why around that time i liked making characters who were obsessed with anime i didn’t even watch it much myself. i think it was because i wanted to put capes on them)

[inkyardpress]

THE GATEKEEPERS EXCERPT

Mallory

7:55 AM

where r u?

 8:11 AM

r u coming??

 8:17 AM

seriously wtf, when will u be here?

 Liam

10:34 AM

Srry

 1

MALLORYGOODMAN

 Seventy-one, seventy-two, seventy-three.

Harder.

Faster.

You can do it, I tell myself. You have to do it.

Seventy-four, seventy-five.

Stop being the kind of lard-ass who let her boyfriend pressure her into scarfing down onion rings.

“They’re so good,” he’d insisted. “Extra salty, really crispy. They’re the perfect balance of light batter and onion, like tempura. The chef brought his A-game to the deep fryer. You’ll be sorry if you don’t at least try one.”

Whenever our squad wants to meet for dinner, I suggest a place with a salad bar. I always eat the same thing—a blend of arugula and romaine, shredded carrots, red cabbage, diced peppers, and celery sticks, tossed in lemon juice, with a side of fat-free ranch dressing. If I’ve been good, I grab a grapefruit or an apple for dessert at home.

Obviously, I wasn’t good last night.

Liam wouldn’t let it go, though. He leaned across the table, doing that baby-feeding, airplane-in-the-hangar move with the onion ring, complete with sound effects. Everyone in the whole restaurant started looking at us. Sure, they’re always looking at us, because Liam’s kind of our school’s Golden Boy, but last night they were seriously staring. The easiest thing was to open up and just eat the stupid, greasy thing. So I chewed and smiled when all I wanted to do was to spit it into my napkin—but I’d never hear the end of it if I did that.

I swear Jasper Gates was ready to search inside my mouth afterward to make sure I’d actually swallowed, like on those cheesy survival game shows where the host verifies contestants downed the whole worm. Jasper was the one who demanded I eat another, because the first one was “too small.” Sitting there, all kicked back and smarmy in his obnoxious plaid shorts and Ray-Bans, I wanted to smack him. Who wears sunglasses inside at night? We’re in Illinois, not LA. And my diet is Jasper’s business how exactly? Do I get on him for the stupid loafers he insists on wearing without socks, even when it’s snowing?

Can you believe he actually wonders why I call him the JasHole?

Ugh, I hate Liam’s friends.

Seventy-six, seventy-seven.

I dig in my heels and try to spring up even more quickly as I run the stadium steps for the third time. My pulse quickens inside my chest.

Okay.

That’s more like it.

My brother Theo and his best friend, Braden, turned me on to running the stairs, something their football coach makes them do first thing in the morning during the season. That way they can spend the afternoon drilling on the field or weight training for their two-a-days. Kids at other schools can’t believe how much our teams practice. They always say this after we’ve beaten them, so you tell me who’s got it right.

One twenty-one. One twenty-two.

Well, most of us believe in all the practice.

Ahem, Liam.

First, he makes me ingest a fatty carb bomb and then he doesn’t even show to run the stairs with me this morning? He claimed he hurt his knee playing ultimate Frisbee after soccer practice yesterday. Last night, the JasHole was all, “You should give it a rest, brah. Don’t want to be a gimp when the season starts. Take it easy.”

Well, guess what, Liam?

Winners walk it off.

Winners play through the pain, brah.

Winners make time to run the stairs, each day, every day, even those days when they know they’ll be up until 2:00 a.m. writing their final AP Italian theme on Il pendolo di Foucault.

I keep going.

I mean, my calves feel like they’re on fire right now, like they’re being poked with burning hot knives, but the discomfort’s just spurring me on.

Go. Run faster.

I make it to the top and sprint back down the steps double-time. I don’t count the stairs on the way down; that’s considered rest.

Rest is for the weak.

Three hundred. Three hundred and one. Three hundred and two.

Move it, Calorie Mallory. Get your fat ass up those steps. Knees up. Knees up to the chest. More. Do more.

I ask myself, Do you think the New Trier Trevians ate onion rings last night? Hell, no. Did the Lake Forest Scouts wolf down fro-yo last week? Doubtful.

Hustle. Now.

I glance at my iWatch. All right, I’m in the zone. I’m at 95 percent of my target heart rate. I’m a finely tuned machine, burning off serious blubber. Keep it up.

Five hundred forty-nine. Five hundred fifty. Five fifty-one.

I’m sweating now, but that’s good because sweat is fat crying for mercy.

I mean, why would Liam slam on the brakes now? Why would he look for an excuse to slack? Our senior year starts Monday.

This is the time to go balls-out.

We haven’t reached the summit. There’s no time to coast. We’re coming up on the hardest part of our twelve-year academic climb—applying to college.

Now is when we show the world what we’re made of.

Now is when we prove we have the right stuff for Princeton’s early decision.

Now is when we lay the groundwork for our senior year.

Liam and I spent the past couple of months honing our skills at our camps, getting in our volunteer hours, and doing our extra coursework so that we’ll to be ready to kill our exams and nab our respective state championships when classes start. Winning those matching Homecoming King and Queen crowns come October wouldn’t hurt, either, because that would show that we’re social as well as athletic and academic.

We’re the full package. We’re hashtag BarbieandKen.

Which is why we have to push ourselves harder right now.

I don’t want to give up. Quitting? Not an option. I remember what happened over the summer with Paulie and Macey, and I feel like I’ve swallowed glass, like I’m all slashed up inside. They had everything...until they decided they didn’t, so they gave up. Stopped fighting. Braden speculates that maybe they both burned so brightly, flaming out was inevitable.

I refuse to accept that.

So I need to be strong. I need to be hard. That’s why I’m not even allowing myself a drink of water until I hit my first one thousand steps.

I give myself a gut-check. Are you tired, Mallory? Do you want to surrender? Yeah? That’s because you’re not reaching your full potential. You’re at a B-minus of effort right now, and that’s an unweighted grade, non-honors track. Your performance doesn’t even merit a state school, let alone Ivy League early decision. What are you going to do, end up somewhere mortifying like the University of Iowa, with all the slackers? NO. You’ve sacrificed for this. You’ve earned this. Claim what’s yours.

I step it up.

I push and pump my arms.

Explode. Off. Each. Step.

I won’t give up.

I can’t flame out.

I harness the energy inside of me.

I go harder and higher.

Senior year starts in three days.

And I will be ready.

 Stephen

12:30 PM

can we walk by again @ 1:00 PM?

Kent

12:31 PM

Stalker 😊  

 2

STEPHENCHO

“So this is your homerun swing?”

I don’t reply.

Kent persists. “Walking back and forth in front of the new girl’s house in the broiling sun ’til she notices you?”

The beads of sweat dotting his upper lip give him the illusion of having a mustache.

Yeah, he wishes.

“Trust in the process,” I assure him. As we approach her house, I slow my pace so drastically, it’s like we’re suddenly a couple of senior citizens mincing along behind our walkers.

“I trusted in the process an hour ago, back before my Chucks were melting into the asphalt.” He points at his black Converse. “Now I just want to strip down to my underwear and lie on an air conditioning vent. I wanna mainline a pony keg of Gatorade.”

I attempt to explain my rationale again. “She’s gonna notice us out here. She’s gonna notice us and then she’s gonna invite us in, at which point we’re gonna be charming and shit and it’ll all happen from there,” I say. “My plan is foolproof.”

Kent tugs at his vintage Run-D.M.C. Adidas T-shirt, which is now drenched in perspiration and clinging to his narrow frame like a second skin.

“Please. Your ‘plan’ is the opposite of foolproof.” Kent makes air quotes with his fingertips when he says the word plan. “This is the worst ‘plan’ in the history of ‘plans.’ If this ‘plan’ were in World War II, this would be your Stalingrad. PS, you’re the Germans losing 330,000 men in this scenario, not the Soviet resistance. Pretty sure MENSA’s revoking your membership over said ‘plan.’”

Kent’s probably right, but I refuse to admit it. See, I’m so desperate to meet this girl that I don’t even care. While it sounds premature, I have a good feeling about her and I can already tell she’s different in all the right ways. (I’m not psychic. My mom had the 411 long before the first moving truck arrived. She’s not only on the Homeowners’ Association but she’s also the Realtor who listed the house.)

I’ve been thinking about this girl ever since I heard she existed. Scoop is, the family’s here from London and the mom’s writing some book about the suburbs. Maybe one of those coffee-table books, wide and thick, with as many pictures as words? North Shore makes total sense because nowhere is more suburban than here.

I’m serious—we should be listed in Wikipedia under “suburbs” because this town elevates the suburbs game to a whole new level. Peace and quiet? Check. Amazing school system? Check. Lots of natural beauty and green space? Check. Nonexistent crime stats? Check.

Beyond that, North Shore sets rules on how things should look. Image is everything up here. For example, like every other suburban town, we have a McDonald’s. However, there are no golden arches out front of ours, ’cause someone decided that would be tacky. Instead, there’s a small, tasteful wooden sign posted amid a bunch of wild roses. Also, the restaurant’s housed in a big green Shaker-style barn, with columns and white-paned windows.

It’s weird.

The town’s as strict with home standards as it is with businesses. Like, no one’s allowed to chop down trees on their own property without a permit, so every home is surrounded by lots of old-growth oaks. Most of the houses, especially those close to the lake like ours, sit on two or three acres. (Ask me how much this sucked when we used to trick or treat. We wanted candy, not cardio.)

Basically, North Shore’s nothing but big ol’ houses on huge green lawns, yogurt shops, and fancy, useless designer boutiques. I hate having go all the way up to Gurnee or Libertyville to buy comic books, yet there’s three places downtown to pick up a two-hundred-dollar sweater for your purse dog. I’d be all, Who wants that stuff?

Except I know at least ten people who would.

Anyway, the new family bought the Barat house, which is why I feel conflicted about being excited that they’re here. I hadn’t talked to Paulie much since junior high, or hung out with him since grade school, but it’s still really sad. My mom, who’s usually totally in the know, isn’t 100 percent sure where the Barats went. Their attorneys handled the sale because the family hauled ass out of North Shore ASAFP.

I can’t blame them.

The new girl’s dad is this world-famous, super-eccentric British artist with a man-bun. I looked up a lot of his stuff online. He’s always doing these avant-garde art installations, often so bizarre they end up on the news. I read a listicle on BuzzFeed about him. The piece that stuck out most was his exhibit in Burundi, a country where something like 75 percent of all the residents are undernourished. The guy built a replica of McDonald’s golden arches out of bags of liposuctioned fat as a statement about global inequality.

What did that even smell like once the sun hit it?

(FYI, his piece was not shaped like a Shaker-style barn.)

My point is, no one’s like that here in North Shore; no one has that kind of social conscience.

No one’s super-eccentric.

No dads have man-buns, that’s for damn sure.

The girl’s name is Simone and she’s my age and on her Instagram, she’s smokin’ hot, but not in a fake, plastic-y way like everyone else in this town. Maybe that’s because her mom was a famous model. Simone’s got this long, coffee-colored wavy hair that’s shaved on one side and she kind of dresses like a vocalist from a ’70s rock group. The times I’ve spied her from the street, she’s been wearing lots of scarves and bangles and other cool stuff that definitely does not come from J. Crew.

Simone has a casual elegance, like a Disney princess who doesn’t know what she is because an evil queen gave her amnesia and forced her to live in the forest. She strikes me as worldly and wise and chill, deep and interesting in a way that all the brittle future sorority girls in my school are not. She definitely doesn’t seem like the type of girl who’d eviscerate you for the cardinal sin of asking her to a middle school mixer, leaving you shamefaced and speechless in the middle of the cafeteria, too terrified to ever try again.

Kent says no one could have possibly have drawn these opinions, nobody could have come up with all these positive character traits by simply walking past her house.

I maintain that he couldn’t because he has no imagination; he’s too linear in his thinking. That’s also why I always beat him at chess.

I wouldn’t expect him to understand my fascination with Simone. He’s been obsessed with this generic blonde goddess named Mallory since grade school. I bet Mallory wouldn’t even bother to spit on him if he were on fire, but I keep that to myself. Kent soldiers on in his relentless pursuit, hope springing eternal. He kind of reminds me of a dog chasing a car when it comes to Mallory—he’s never going to catch the vehicle and he’d have no clue what to do with it if he did, but damned if he ever stops running behind it.

While he might whine about stalking Simone, he’s helping me anyway.

“There’s no fluid left in me—I sweated it all out. I’m literally leeching salt at this point,” Kent complains. He swipes his forehead and rubs his fingers against his palm. I hear the grit when he scrapes his hand against itself but pretend I don’t.

He says, “Seriously, bro, there’s a crust on my brow. Come on, Stephen... It’s over. Give it up. Let’s head to the beach. I wanna go walk directly into the lake, like, shoes and all, I don’t even care.”

I need to admit defeat.

And yet...

“One more pass?” I want this to sound like a command, a marching order, but my words come out more plaintive than planned.

He narrows his eyes and stares me down for a solid thirty seconds. “You suck.”

I guess plaintive worked.

We turn at the corner for our final walk-by when we see her garage door opening in the distance. Like Botticelli’s Birth of Venus, Simone comes into focus from the darkness of the garage, her form slowly revealed as the door inches upward, only instead of being surrounded by angels while naked astride a clamshell (my preference), she’s standing in front of a mountain of cardboard, buttressed by recycling bins.

She is the embodiment of divine love, august gold, wreathed and beautiful, clad in the heavenly raiment of a baggy, tie-dyed overall dress.

Oh, yes. She will be mine.

“You said that out loud, dude,” Kent tells me. “You may want to work on keeping your internal monologue, you know, internal.”

Simone spots us and waves.

“Check it out, she’s waving!” Kent says, shielding his eyes with his hand as he squints down the long, curved, sun-drenched driveway. Every house in our ’hood is set back from the curb no less than one-tenth of a mile. (Again, this blew at Halloween. Batman shouldn’t have to wear gym shoes.)

Kent continues, “No, that’s not a wave. She’s gesturing for us to come up to her garage. Yes! Score! You know, I doubted you, Cho. I did. Thought we were wasting our time, but you proved me wrong. Get up there and claim your woman. ’Bout time something good happened around here.” He gives me a small push in her direction.

“Walk faster,” I hiss, my heart beginning to race like a hamster on a wheel. “Actually, run.”

Kent comes to a dead stop. “Aw, hell no. Not this again. I am not walking faster and I’m sure as shit not running. I did not just sweat out half my body weight going back and forth for you to wuss out when you finally get your chance to talk to her. You wanted her to see you? Mission accomplished. Get your ass up there and have a conversation. ’Cause I’m done here. We have less than a week left before school starts and the last thing I wanna do is stand in the blazing hot street for one more second. Now, I’m going for a swim and you’re gonna go work your magic. Text you later.”

He walks toward the wooded path that leads to the residents-only beach on Lake Michigan a couple of blocks away while I stand frozen by her mailbox.

I want to talk to her. I do.

I want to work my magic.

I want to so badly...but I just can’t.

Maybe Kent’s not the dog who’s caught the car. Maybe it’s me.

I open my mouth to try to explain but the words won’t come out.

Kent’s a whole house away when he glances over his shoulder. He sees that I haven’t moved. He looks at a bemused Simone—she’s still midwave—and then at me. With a small shake of his head, he jogs back over. He’s out of breath by the time he reaches me.

Grudgingly, Kent says, “I could probably be your wingman for a few more minutes.” Relief washes over me and I’m able to move again. We start walking up the drive together.

He asks, “How is it that you’re both the smartest and the dumbest guy in our school?”

I shrug.

If I knew, then I’d tell him.

 3

KENTMATHERS

“You are coming across as a fucking lunatic right now, you hear me?”

Stephen won’t look at me.

I tell him, “You don’t seem like someone walking up to introduce himself to a girl he’s been crushing on, oh, no. You look like someone who wants to make an ottoman out of her skin. Take a deep breath and chill.”

I’m trying to not sound as frustrated as I feel...and totally failing.

I don’t know how Stephen always ropes me into his schemes, but here we are. A-fucking-gain. All I want to do is go to the beach and catch some sun so that I don’t look like I spent the summer walking to and from the dorms at Physics Camp (which I did). I mean, I can live with being short and I’ve made peace with the fact that I’m still carded for PG-13 movies, but I draw the line at a farmer’s tan. One good afternoon on the sand; that’s all I need.

Yet am I chillin’ on the shores of Lake Michigan gettin’ my bronze on?

No.

Instead, I’m on another one of Mr. Cho’s Wild Rides and I’m over it.

Stephen’s always all about this false bravado, Mr. I Have a Plan and Mr. I Will Make It So. He’s such a nerd that he actually draws what he envisions. I mean, he storyboards out the whole damn thing. Because he’s so good at picturing himself Making It So with the Plan He Has, we reach the point where everything clicks and he actually could achieve his goal but then he chickens out and blows everything.

He had one job today, which was to go up and say hey to the new girl, and he can’t even do that on his own.

I want to help him, I do, but being his keeper is getting old. We’ve been locked in this wingman dance since we met in preschool. This is his pattern. Today reminds me of when we used to go to the waterpark in the Wisconsin Dells as kids. The whole school year, he’d boast about jumping off the high dive and all the flips and somersaults he’d do, comparing himself to Sammy Lee, the first Asian American to win Olympic gold in platform diving. How he’d be a better diver than anyone else at the pool because he understood aerodynamics and would use that to his benefit. I have no doubt that’s true. Stephen’s getting early acceptance to MIT, count on that. Dude’s got a brain the size of Montana.

But then he’d climb up, tiptoe to the edge of the board, look at the water and freak the fuck out.

Everyone would have to scramble off the ladder so that he could climb down. He’d talk a huge game but couldn’t follow through, could never commit. He didn’t dive off the big board, not once. He had zero confidence in his execution, regardless of having it perfect on paper.

His problem is, he builds all this stuff up in his head. Thinking about whatever he wants to do ends up being so much scarier than the act itself that it cripples him. The only reason he ever made it down the giant slide at the park is that I went in tandem with him.

I can only say, “Just do it” so many times.

I mean, I’m not a goddamned Nike T-shirt.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s great at what he knows. He’s the strongest competitor on our Physics Olympics team. But the second there’s not a set answer to a question or he encounters an untrodden path, he falls apart.

The bitch of it is, I bet he has a chance with this girl. At a cursory glance—and given the full, rich backstory Stephen’s already assigned Simone, provided it’s true—she could be a match. I mean, I spend all day, every day with him, so I know he’s interesting. He has to be, for me to put up with all his bullshit. He can fascinate me and I’m not easily entertained. When he feels comfortable, he’ll talk at length about any subject, and he’s not like those boring-ass meatheads at school who are All Sports, 24/7.

At the very least, Stephen could be the first guy to ask her out here in North Shore. They don’t have to fall in love; maybe they could be great buds. Maybe no end zone, just friend zone? At least he’d have tried to score, you know? But if I weren’t here walking him down the long-ass driveway, telling him to not look like a goddamned serial killer, even that would have no chance of happening.

I don’t want to be all, He holds me back! because that’s a shitty thing to say about my best friend.

Although sometimes I think about where I’d be if we hadn’t met, if my parents had bought that smaller house in Kenilworth and not the one a few miles up the road in North Shore. Then he’d be my archrival at the Physics Olympics and not my closest companion.

Would that be so bad, I wonder?

Would we push each other toward greatness, his Tesla to my Edison?

Guess we’ll never know.

The closer we come to the garage, the more Stephen slows, and I feel like I’m dragging a reluctant mule to market.

Ridiculous. 

On second thought, I wonder if Stephen’s just freaked out about this being the Barats’ old house. Didn’t happen here, but there’s still kind of a bad vibe, you know? We hung out with Paulie all the time when we were little. But Stephen and I stopped running around with Paulie around the time that friendships solidify more because of shared interests and less due to geographical proximity.

Neither of us ever fought with Paulie, never had a falling-out or anything. We just went in different directions. It happens, you know? God, though, I felt so bad for everyone in his family, especially his little sister, Anna. How do you even deal when you’re twelve?

Stephen took it extrahard. He was fixated on the whole thing, to the point that I was secretly kinda glad about going to a different camp than him over the summer.

I thought he was moving on, but what if he’s not? Maybe that’s why he’s suddenly panicky about his plan working. Maybe he’s freaked out about seeing the inside of Paulie’s house again.

When we’re about ten feet away from Simone, I get my first good look at her. Beyond her mountain of dark hair, I notice her eyes, which are a warm amber color. Through Stephen’s extensive social media stalking, he found out that her grandfather’s from India. But for being part Indian, her skin’s surprisingly pale and she’s covered in freckles. She’s cute in a messy, hipster way, except she doesn’t give off a pretentious vibe. She strikes me as the kind of girl who’d forget she’d stuck a paintbrush behind her ear

While she may not be my type, I see what intrigues Stephen. She’s about the first girl up here who doesn’t come across as a miniature version of all our mothers, with sculpted triceps, blown-straight hair, and a splashy floral tank dress.

(Is it weird/kind of oedipal that I find that combination oddly erotic? Wait, don’t answer that.)

“Cheers!” she says. I don’t hear much of a British accent. Huh. Thought she was from England? “We have a right mess going here. Look at this rubbish—we’re practically drowning in it! Can you please tell me when and how they collect the wheelie bins?”

I can’t help it, I start laughing at her turn of phrase while Stephen shoots me a murderous look, I mean, really full of poison. I get a hold of myself, explaining, “Sorry. That sounded exactly like something Mary Poppins would say. By the way, hi, I’m Kent Mathers.”

She holds out her hand. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Mary P.”

Stephen bleats, “I thought you were Simone!”

I want to face-palm out of secondhand embarrassment but I quickly interject with a subject change to afford him some dignity. “So, the garbage cans and recycling bins are picked up on our street on Tuesdays and Fridays. Just leave them by your garage and a guy from Streets and Sanitation will pull up to the side of your house in a little golf cart.”

“That’s brilliant!” she exclaims.

“Nothing but the best for North Shore,” I say.

“A bit fancy here, isn’t it?” she replies, which is an understatement in the same way that saying that the ocean’s fairly sizable or a Maserati’s kind of a zippy ride. The average home around here has six bedrooms and just as many baths. And everyone renovates their kitchen every five years. God forbid we keep our almond milk in a fridge from 2010.

Simone tells us, “My friend Cordelia says my strategy for America should be finding the biggest bitch in school and immediately taking her down. Is she right?”

“Hmm,” I reply, pretending to muse. “That’s less ‘high school’ and more ‘prison.’ You should probably Netflix Glee and also Orange Is the New Black.”

“I shall make a mental note. I already feel you’re both full of helpful advice, you possibly more than him,” she says with a grin in Stephen’s direction, “so I insist you come inside for something cold to drink before you melt on the spot.”

Even though she’s teasing, I can see Stephen blanch and yet again I feel like I’ve gotta rescue him.

“Okay, very important to discuss before we come in and definitely will determine if we’re gonna be friends,” I say, referencing the one subject that will absolutely, positively draw Stephen out of his shell and into the conversation. “Are you Biggie or are you Tupac?”

She tilts her head to the side. “As in...Smalls and Shakur?”

“Uh-huh. As in the most violent and hotly contested rap rivalry from the mid ’90s.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and looks thoughtful. “When my parents were our age, they said they could immediately identify kindred spirits by scanning their vinyl/cassette/CD collections, but now that music’s digital, it’s impossible to walk into someone’s home and assess their tastes. Kind of a shame, really.”

“You’re dodging the question,” I say.

“Not a dodge, just providing context. Honestly, my musical proclivities are profoundly eclectic. I listen to everything from opera to Swedish death metal depending on my mood.”

I raise an eyebrow. “There you go, dodging again. This gonna be a thing with you?”

She makes an X mark over her heart. “No, promise, won’t be a thing.”

“Then what’s your answer? Or did you need to step into your car first to collect your thoughts?” She seems confused as I peer around the four-car garage. I clarify, “You do drive a Dodge, right?”

Simone holds up her hands in the universal stop symbol and I notice she’s wearing dozens of funky bracelets. Do they get in the way in the bathroom?

(Is that a strange thing to wonder?)

“Okay, okay. Point taken. Hmm... Who do I prefer? Well, both artists had such an influence on modern hip-hop that to choose one over the other would be like deciding between peanut butter and chocolate. Both are perfect, for different reasons.”

My suddenly mute friend Stephen avoids eye contact and traces circles on the floor with the tip of his sneaker. Some days it’s like I want to take video of him so he can see how he comes across. Bro, give me something to work with here.

(I should storyboard that shit out for him.)

I persist, “Oh, you must be into baseball because clearly you root for the Dodgers. Listen, anyone who’s familiar with the genre has an opinion. Can you like them both? Absolutely. But you have to prefer one over the other. So who’s it gonna be—Biggie or Tupac?”

“I feel like there’s a lot of hidden weight in this question,” she says, tucking a wild strand of dark hair back into her scruffy topknot.

“There is,” I reply. In my peripheral vision, I see Stephen sizing up all the cardboard. Ten bucks says he’s mentally drawing himself inside a fort made of boxes.

Simone tucks her thumbs into her dress pockets and leans back on her heels. “You understand my reticence, what with being new and all.”

“I do.”

“I clearly run the risk of alienating one of you, potentially both.”

I nod. “Distinct possibility.”

“One that I fear.”

“Right now, your choice is the Schrödinger’s cat of opinions. At this moment, you say you prefer both Biggie and Tupac but that can’t be. It’s simply not the natural state. You have to be one or the other. We need to open this box and find out for sure.”

I like her.

I don’t like her like her but she seems fun, seems like she’d be a fine addition to our crew. Let’s be honest, it’s a fairly exclusive crew, as Stephen and I aren’t exactly the most popular kids in school. We’re not hated, we’re just not even...considered, you know? Adding an interesting person to our social circle could only make our senior year better. We used to be friends with everyone growing up, but people started to splinter four or five years ago, forming their own cliques, and now Stephen and I are way too insular. We’re a party of two, which is kind of depressing.

Maybe if we tried a little harder, we’d be invited to stuff. We’d be welcomed back into the fold, reintroduced into NSHS’s social scene. (People are always crying about all the drinking and the drug use among high school students up here, but I’ll be damned if I’ve ever even seen any.)

However, Simone’s not going to want to be around me and my fascinating friend Stephen if he can’t find a way to open his goddamned mouth and interact.

“Then, my answer is... Me Against the World,” she says, naming off a Tupac album.

Stephen breaks into a massive smile and fist bumps Simone, the thrill of this unexpected victory infusing him with a turbocharge of confidence. “I’m Stephen, Stephen Cho. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

I exhale.

He may just be okay after all.

 WANT MORE? ADD IT TO YOUR GOODREADS AND ORDER IT TODAY!

[oh-mother-of-darkness]

asks (22)

Anonymous said: Fake-Dick death angst headcanons? Sorry if you already did this tho

*finger guns*

There’s also some in here and a couple fics over here :)

Anonymous said: I want to start reading the comics where Damian first appeared. Do you know which comic that would be? Thank you!

Sure thing! That’d be Batman and Son (2006), Batman #655-658. After that it’s The Resurrection of Ra’s al Ghul.

@macko-99 said: Amy was it you who wrote Batman #16? It looks like something you would write. P.S. I hope you're having a great day. ☺

Lmao yeah it does kinda remind me of this one. I think most of us have written a restaurant fic or two in out time, but it was interesting to see it in canon. I wish I really could claim credit for it, mostly because that would mean I have a job (@DC please hire me. I don’t have a job. Catch me while you can)

And thank you, my day is going pretty well so far <3

Anonymous said: WHY ISNT DEXTER SOY THE ARTIST FOR RHATO REBIRTH ANYMORE?!?!???!?!??!!? HIS STYLE IS BEAUTIFULLLL!!!!!! WILL HE BE BACK??? (srry for the caps...)

Ah well artists move around a fair amount. I think a lot of times they get offered a specific number of issues, and then they’re out.I’m afraid I don’t know if he’ll ever be back

@therobin53 said: If the Batfamily attempted the Krispy Kreme Challenge, who would come out on top (without puking)?

Jeeeeez I had to look that challenge up, and kinda wish I hadn’t, because that sounds awful

Suppose I’d go with Tim or Dick tho

Anonymous said: I love all the Drake Protection Squad fics, but I was wondering how Harper Row would play into them. Would she help Damian and Jason with Tim, or would she be more like Tim (not taking care of herself)? Or do you think she would get involved at all? Anyway, I love all your headcanons, thank you so much for all of them!

Hmmmm she’s got a pretty strong protection instinct and very little regard for what Tim wants her to do, so I reckon she’d be more on Damian’s side of things. Problem is, she doesn’t know Damian, so I don’t think she’d ever be in a position to get involved. 

Anonymous said: Who's the scariest batboy? Like, who's the one that the others would at least low-key fear if they were villains? Who's the one no one wants to get on the bad side of?

Well on the one hand Jason totally kills people, and the rest of them don’t do that. On the other hand, Dick is scary as hell and I would never cross him ever

Anonymous said: *raises hand* Mother, do you know when Steph learned that Bruce Wayne was Batman?I've been trying to find it, but haven't had any luck so far.

Hm.... that one might be a little up in the air? I can tell you exactly when she found out who Tim was (Robin 87):

At this point, however, Tim’s birth dad was still alive, and he wasn’t living at Wayne Manor, so knowing about Tim doesn’t definitely mean she knew about Bruce. That impression gets reinforced over here

where “Who pays for all of this?” makes it pretty clear she doesn’t know. Worth noting that this panel occurred before the Tim reveal though.

I skimmed through Steph’s Robin run and the first bit of War Games, and I couldn’t find any time that she referred to Bruce by his name-- it’s always “Batman” even though she does use Tim’s first name in her mind. She didn’t know Catwoman’s secret identity, and she didn’t know that Matches Malone was one of Bruce’s aliases. Bruce always wears his cowl around her. I don’t think we ever get to see her find out?

She died/fake-died at the end of War Games, and she definitely knew by the time she came back. The cowl comes off in Robin 174, but you’ll notice she doesn't seem surprised.

After that, she refers to Bruce by name a lot. It’s possible that there is an explicit reveal that I’m missing? But I’ve never seen one

Anonymous said: Have you ever thought about the culture clash that would have happened when dick first showed up? Traveling Romanian “g***y” boy who grew up in a circus with a huge circle of people who counted as family, meets super rich emotionally closed off bachelor who’s literally only had Alfred. Batman probably got along with dick better than bruce did at that point.

Okay I’m.... guessing by the quotation marks that you know that word is a racial slur, but I’m gonna go ahead and star it out anyways.

Beyond that, yeah, I always figured Dick and Alfred got on immediately because of the performer angle. Alfred was a Shakespearean actor, and I reckon that would have felt familiar. I have a fic about it over here

@therobin53 said: Just listening to a playlist full of sneaking music for midnight snacking, and had an image of Alfred cleaning the manor like Christopher Walken in the Weapon of Choice music video. Do you think he does that when the manor is empty?

Pfffft that’s a great image, and I certainly hope he does

@quadpen said: Do you have any opinions on the rhato rebirth?

Hmm not strong ones, I guess. I definitely appreciate the move back to Jason’s post-crisis origin story, but I still don’t trust anything written by Scott Lobdell.

I’ll also say-- and RHATO isn’t the only book guilty of this one-- I don’t like it when Bruce’s attitude towards the Red Hood is “well maybe it’s good that there’s someone to do the things Batman won’t do.” I consider that kind of tacit endorsement very out of character for Bruce. The fact that Jason kills needs to be a huge problem for him. I can take it when he sort of ignores it and pretends like he doesn’t know what’s going on, but for him to explicitly say yes, this is going on, and I think it’s a good thing? Not a fan.

Anonymous said: Imagine Jason and Dick doing that acrobatic maneuver together??? Like??? I need a fanart gif of that

Pretty cool, right?

Anonymous said: I just thought about an au where Cass is a dancer because it's an awesome way to express herself without needing words and I'm :') idk i just felt like sharing I guess??? Sorry for bothering you

Cute!

Anonymous said: When you get this, please respond with five things that make you happy. Then send to the last ten people in your notifications anonymously. (✿╹◡╹)

Hm post offices, chocolate cake, anything that glows in the dark, spoons, straight lines

Anonymous said: Hi I'm here for the ace in the hole project how do I sign up

Greetings, new applicant! Due to the wide-scale success of our program, we have moved into a localized recruitment model. If you are still interested in joining our organization, please contact your local office with your completed application and schedule. Snacks are provided. Thank you for your interest!

Anonymous said: Hi! First off, I want to say that I love your blog and all your headcanons. They're seriously the best. Do you have any more songs for the different members of the batfamily/bat-affiliates, especially unusual characters like Harper Row or Maps? Thank you for your time!

Oh hm I always forget which songs I posted, so bear with me if there are any repeats here. I don’t actively search for this kind of thing, so all I can give you are the ones that I already associate with characters... which means nobody unusual. Sorry bout that

Laura Palmer (Bastille): Jason

21st Century Breakdown (Green Day): Tim as Robin

Great Big Storm (Nate Ruess): Dick

Wait For It (Hamilton Soundtrack): Tim

Gavi’s Song (Lindsey Stirling): Damian

Alone Together (Fallout Boy): Jason

Drown (Seafret): Tim

I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For (either the U2 version or Peter Hollens/Sabrina Carpenter): Stephanie

There’s a certain kind of music that always reminds me of Dick for some reason, and these are all it:

The Parting Glass (Peter Hollens)

Happiness (Needtobreathe)

Hallelujah (Pentatonix)

Also just because you specifically asked about Maps, the first song I think about is My Eyes from Doctor Horrible’s Singalong Blog. Don’t ask me why. Seems like something she would like singing I guess. For Harper it’s I Wanna Get Better (Bleachers)

Anonymous said: Sorry you didn't get that job :/ not that a strangers consolation on the internet will do you that much good but i'm sure the next thing you apply for will feel all the better when you get it as a result

Ah it sucked, but I’ll get over it. I suppose I’ll start applying to law schools now :/

What are things/concepts/aesthetics you associate with me?

Anonymous said: For things I associate with you? I often think about you in relation to family, because of the great things you say about yours, and the lovely stories you write about the batfam. Also the colors red, green, and yellow, because duh

Ohhhh that’s good that makes me very happy

@accidentallyhopeful said: I associate you with warm hot chocolate, the smell of old books, and pens that have spilled ink everywhere

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ thank you

Anonymous said: aesthetic- rain and freshly sharpened pencils

Oh I like that yes I do

@inkdropfox said: southern accents, sweet tea, cheeseburgers, surprise presents, history, damian wayne, batfamily, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and the (ง •̀_•́)ง emoji

GOOD

You never did get back to me on the sweet tea thing, did you? I’m guessing that means you didn't like it. Outrageous. Heretical. Unacceptable. 

Anonymous said: batfamily, angst, and jail.

How did you know I went to jail