#yeah both of those should be new years goals or something

[emma-d-klutz]

I posted 10,808 times in 2022

That's 5,931 more posts than 2021!

752 posts created (7%)

10,056 posts reblogged (93%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@a-smart-dumbass

@sapphire-wine

@rose---child

@laughter-is-universal

@galahadwilder

I tagged 2,037 of my posts in 2022

#batman - 56 posts

#bruce wayne - 40 posts

#battinson - 32 posts

#the batman 2022 - 23 posts

#harry osborn - 20 posts

#the batman - 18 posts

#dick grayson - 18 posts

#duke thomas - 17 posts

#peter parker - 16 posts

#scarecrow - 15 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#me: -sees a set-up happen repeatedly in a genre- me: ah i see this must be this commentary on how the genre views identity and sense of self

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Someone: And then the punchline is a cute little mouse pun!

Absolutely deranged terf about to elevate this post to meme status at light speed: OH so you wanna FUCK THE MOUSE GIRL, you pervert?! This could have been cute if it weren’t so blatantly horny!! Obviously if the first thing I pictured was a hentai boobblob, that was rotten OP’s intent and has nothing to do with me. 

Like I can’t believe this is a subgenre of post now. For how long will it go on?

2,278 notes - Posted June 14, 2022

#4

the batman fandom is actually like 16 different fandoms for the same guy. some of these states actively hate each other. most of them are unaware of the existence of others. you probably know, at most, 5 of these independent states. realistically you’ll know 1-3. I’m right.

2,679 notes - Posted February 2, 2022

#3

I think there should be a funny Wayne dinner table story about the time Tim broke Jason out of jail, got home, and heard from Dick how sad he was he had to put Jason in jail. 

3,693 notes - Posted September 1, 2022

#2

Post-movie, some of the Riddler’s followers decide they gotta tie up his one loose thread and take out Bruce Wayne live on stream. They are thwarted because:

Bruce Wayne never leaves his house

The Wayne residence is no longer accepting physical mail

One time they caught him, and a swarm of bats and smoke obscured the camera, and then he was gone, presumably rescued by the Batman live on camera. 

Similarly, one time they were staking out Wayne Tower to watch for when he leaves again, and they made direct eye contact with Batman. Who then smacked them around, tied them up, and left. The police show up in half an hour.

One of them climbed in through the window and was promptly shot by the butler. In the background, you hear him and Bruce Wayne arguing about it and the butler assuring him he only used rubber bullets and Wayne will never find all of his guns. 

They successfully kidnap him. He looks sad and bored the whole time. They try to torment him for the viewing audience, but he just mumbles, “You guys are so embarrassing,” and slips out of his bindings as if they were loose all along.

They are so embarrassing. 

The next time, Bruce Wayne tells them to just go home. Their numbers are dwindling. Bruce is wearing a ratty tee-shirt and boxer shorts and is entirely unarmed. They go home. 

8,461 notes - Posted April 4, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

I’ve seen at least three Stacy’s Mom parodies about Stacy’s Dad. I have seen one about her brother. This poor girl. I am going to write a parody from the point of view of her one aroace friend who is trying her best to reassure a wary and distrustful Stacy that she’s really just here to hang with Stacy and just her and has no ulterior motives. 

17,102 notes - Posted July 2, 2022

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[defmaybe]

Mistake

NewJeans' Kim Minji (Angst) & NMIXX's Oh Haewon (Smut) x Male Reader

15.4k words

Some discussions of suicide

A/N: A few things before going in:

This is essentially an unedited, raw first draft. Expect an insane amount of errors and self-indulgent metaphors.

It's also unfinished in parts.

Still, I do genuinely hope that you enjoy this!

Thanks to Tyler and and Summer for putting me on the right track of being a writer!

Big inspirations from Caps' Departure, Nichu's Where Our Blue Is, Ddeun's Our Love Language is Sex, and Challengers

—

Prologue

—

Mistake all the time, You’re my mistake all the time, yeah

Mistake all the time, I’m your mistake all the time, yeah

—

You realized that you’ve never possessed the creative calibre as much as a writer should’ve had. Perhaps it’s appropriate that you’ve never pursued it as your major career. You read all these stories, and you knew that you just can’t come up with these plots. You don’t know how to do character developments, hell, you can barely write dialogues. The way people talk in real life remains a mystery to you. So, it’s probably for the best that you’re in engineering.

Though, it just takes a mistake to change it all. Many stories start with a catastrophe, a turning point, or something that puts the protagonist on their journey. So, here you are, you have a story right in front of you, so should it be transformed into something commendable? award-worthy? a selfish portrayal of what’s supposed to be just a passage of life? The goal of it doesn’t really matter much (though some recognition would be nice); you just had to write it out.

—

You don’t know how much time you have for this. Everyone has been telling you it should be long enough for the forgiveness to be ready, but you’ve also been wondering whether, if that day comes, it would be too long that the cadence won’t strike you as pristine as before.

Though, it hadn’t stopped you from fantasizing how this encounter would play out. You’d say something witty with a chuckle, and she’d smile back, or even better, a laugh. Both of you would see the separation as some childish actions of the past. The two of you would go back to where you were: grief-stricken, exhausted, scared high school students. 

The sunlight would force you to retreat to some cafe during the afternoon, letting you two trade stories between the gaps. And as the sun sets, you’d sit beside her in some park, laid back a bit, hands on the grass to offer some balance. She’d do the same. Then your hearts would slowly be reconnected with each other, hoping to reclaim solace missing in the separation, as if you are the only two people on earth.

Firstly though, those events would have to be triggered by your words. And despite thousands of days of you trying to perfect every syllable, they just conveniently stuck in your throat. This isn’t what you’ve been readying yourself for. Awestruck and powerless is an understatement, and no tests have ever made you feel so drowned in your gargantuan number of thoughts.

You cannot say a word to her, and there may not be any second chance for this.

You are her mistake, and you’ll always be.

–

One: About You

–

There was something ‘bout you that now I can’t remember

It’s the same damn thing that made my heart surrender

And I miss you on a train, I miss you in the morning

I never know what to think about

–

I like you

What

I like you! Like do you wanna go out on a date?

(Seen)

It isn’t the longest silence you’ll experience with her, let alone with someone else, fourteen years on earth won’t give much of an insight to you, but it’s enough for you to know what she’s going to say next.

I’m sorry

Regret in her words bled through the pixels. 

But I just see you as a friend

Being on text messages takes out the awkwardness a bit, but that doesn’t help transform the dagger, really.

Kim Min-Ji, your entire relationship was based on this encounter, and that three-week phase of some bullet crush upon entering a new school preceding this. You were charmed by a girl’s look, and then no one can compete with that.

You had found her face appealing, then you fantasized your whole life with her. One thing led to another, and you were head over heels for her in just a week. 

Nowhere that you haven’t gone with her in your head: a date at an American diner—drinking milkshakes, a trip to the theater—watching some schlocky romance and cringing when the couple on the screen are kissing each other, and the most ambitious one: marriage, she’s smiling, everyone you’ve ever known is surrounding you, cheering as you are leaning in for a kiss.

Too bad you didn’t have a backup plan if it failed.

Consequences of the rejection had you decompressing every, single, thing you’ve been admiring about her to your friends, yeah, the same ones. You treated that as if it was the end of the world. 

It was quite a phase, and you inevitably got closer to those people. They were slowly fading away eventually, one by one, but at least, at that moment, you felt like there’s someone listening to you.

While the dagger stuck, you kept eluding her, avoiding eye contact as you were walking past each other. You had to let her know you were hurt. God, that shit looked so damn petty in retrospect.

It was a month later when the heartbreak dissipated, and both of you decided that the next three years cannot be spent evading each other. (To be honest, it’s mostly just for you to stop being weird.) A nod was all it took, and that probably was a lot better than having her as a girlfriend.

–

She wants you to live on your life, separately

Being on text messages (and having it delivered through a friend) takes out the cruelty a bit, but that doesn’t help transform the dagger, really.

It started with just some petty acts, a crude joke. Then, just over a month later, you deleted every single picture of her, almost five years of them. It wasn’t a hard thing to do when you were so deep in melancholy, just a few minutes after a friend brought the breakup message to you. 

You thought you had to block her everywhere. But with every step taken to create some distance from her, those actions just, somehow, create unending echoes tormenting you.

Why

You really wanted to fix this; you really fucking did. You’ve never wanted it to end, even when you sent some faux, response-seeking farewell messages after days of waiting for her confirmation of how she felt, just to have her come and reply about the exam she was having just a few minutes later.

Are you gonna send something to her again if you know?

But even with her crying emojis, you were relentless with your replies. I fucking hate you still echoes to this day. It shaped how you see yourself: a selfish, yet codependent, self-indulgent, unlovable person. Even with the apology texts you sent a few weeks later (which she never saw), those four words were tattooed on you.

I won’t

You wished you could, but this answer seemed to be the way to satisfy her.

Think about it

Like all those years

What have you done to her

It was supposed to end with your first apology text, when she called herself an asshole over it. Then, you became one yourself. It turned out that reading only the preview message doesn’t give you the full picture, so you paid the price just a month later. You replied to that, then you waited. And with how God made you so insecure, you thought she wanted it to end after a week you took to reply.

You had problems.

It’ll all be okay

Someday

Looking at your friend’s text, you sighed, knowing that you can only let fate and time lead you to it.

–

You were nothing more than a friend. She sure loved you, just not in the way one would perceive as romantic. There were kind words, there was thoughtful advice, there were chatting deep into a lot of nights. 

Any form of physical contact though, you brought it up in some conversations (which one eventually being the spark that burned it all), were always quickly suppressed by her. So, there you were, having her as a friend, and the bar for where your future girlfriends should be.

hey

need some advice rn

uh huh

there’s this guy

send me his pic

alright wait a sec

[photo]

my god

what

okay yeah I know why he’s a big deal

fuck auto caps on I again

fuck

just turn it off in the settings lol

thanks

[Replied to: okay yeah I know why he’s a big deal] ikr

[Replied to: thanks] no prob

so

how is it with him

As it was flourishing, there were times that you wished for it to be as easy as a kiss and a happily ever after, with how well-gelled you’ve always been together. But the distance between you is just too much. 

You can’t conveniently visit her on every other weekend, while she really didn’t want to close the distance from being a close friend (or as you would think to yourself later: “our love may not coincide at the same time”). So, there you were, you became each other’s advisor for those times you’ve had.

–

All of what you saw as confidential: all the vibrations of your heart, all the tears running down your cheeks when alone, all the ties you cut and formed, as any teenager would do, was at last, delivered to your parents, at the age you didn’t think it was possible for such change. 

You didn’t expect that your parents would take it well, with how you’ve withheld everything for the last half decade, reducing every answer to their questions into a binary set consisting of yes and no. But as they’ve always been, they didn’t leave you in the dark.

You pleaded guilty to all of it – how you were wretched inside. How she became so much to you, how you took everything she says as an oath, how her jokes lit up a smile on your face every time, and how they still haunt you, to this day, keeps you from initiating any new, proper relationship with someone. 

They kept coming back, even if you thought time would slowly fade them away. The minor details, yes, but the bigger ones are still having free shots on you every now and then.

The first few months were difficult. Bed seemed to be the best place you could’ve been, lying down, your fingers sliding reels after reels for god knows how long. Though, it hits you, years of being alone, walling people out was detrimental to you. It starts with some small repairs: story replies to disconnected peers, dates with your close friends, more exposure to your family. 

You seek connections, desperately, to fill up the hole she once occupied. You took too many side jobs aside from the grueling university classes, and to be honest, you did meet a lot of new people in the next semester, even more than you did in the last two or three years here.

The space though, five years of freestyle carving put it into this twisted, incomprehensible, harrowing state in which all the adjectives in the world aren’t enough to define the shape of its former owner. How every fibre of your existence was tied to her was, as seen from outside, sad. 

Sure, it’s not wrong to let someone into your life, but with this extent – thousands of words to pry out a response - it just reeks codependency in retrospect.

It took some time, and a bunch of people, to cover up the space. You never quite make it like it was; there’s always a hole somewhere, and you can still see the footprints she left on you through it.

How you tell people close to you, most of the time, is that there was a fight - one you started. Then you were being a bitch for too long, and by the time you returned, she put you out of the picture. You added some bits of how you were dependent on her for your heartaches, how you treated her like shit for years, how you sent waves of messages that she didn’t reply because she was busy, how you said you hated her, only to retract and regret it a few days later, then it all ended.

It could be some way of unearthing emotional vulnerability under that “cold” façade - as often pointed out by your friends, which you deflected as crippling social anxiety. You thought people would trust you more if you decided to tell them how you succumbed to those inner demons. It works most of the time.

You told them that you cried to some K-pop song that you can only understand like two lines. 

You told them how you tried to recover the photos with some external program not a week later. 

You told them, with an otherworldly consistency, that it’s your fault, never hers. 

You told them you’d send something a year later, as an apology, to return to where you once were.

You told them that you might crumble again if the response is anything but a warm embrace.

Your taped-up heart remained intact when the day came, having your friends around and such after a year of reconstruction, and you surrendered to the fact that you really can’t do much more than a guilt-ridden text. But it’s not easy at all to watch “Sent just now” become “yesterday”, then “last week”, then “last month” slowly unfold. Then you knew that your strength just cannot handle this; cadence can’t exist with a single note.

It took you back to that day, when the future was just this black, unbounded, silent yet serene space. Times where every knife suddenly became alluring, heights weren't what you were afraid of anymore, the next trip to a pharmacist might be a deathtrap.

This eternal apathy: it was tempting to give in to it – to just leave all of these behind. Yet, you weren’t so sure to give yourself such an ending. People won’t like it, or do they? A lot of stories saw their main characters to their ends, no matter which way it would be. And to be fair, a lot of them became cult classics. You weren’t so sure which would be the right ending for yours.

–

Two: Now That We Don’t Talk

–

You grew your hair long, you got new icons

And from the outside, it looks like you’re trying lives on

–

One advice you took from your therapist is to keep journaling your emotions, each day. And even with the poor self-discipline, whether in a book or a journal, you carved your grimaces, laughters, and tears into words. But perhaps that became too customary. And as time passes, you find the storyteller side of yours magnetized outwards. So, there you were, in front of your old laptop, nibbling on the dagger.

–

Your plane landed in Tokyo mere hours ago. It was a few days after your sophomore year finals. You were paying for your inability to sleep with the shaking cabin, and it was just nine (Tokyo Standard Time) in the morning. Your eyes went dry, and you can feel the irregular beats of your heart. The sleeping pills from your psychiatrist can’t handle the excitement of getting on a plane, especially if it’s to Tokyo.

It’s cold, spring cold. Snow is nowhere to be seen, but your tropical genes are already shaken with a small breeze. You excused yourself from your family for some minutes outside the airport, to get some air for alertness.

The train would depart in an hour, but with the risk-averse nature of your parents, you had only 20 minutes to snap a few photos around Narita. You quickly pace yourself against the crowd, to the outside. You strode through the arrivals terminal, before reaching the automated door, finally catching the air. And it’s cold, spring cold.

It was cloudy, yet the sun was bright enough to deflect your vision away from the matter of protecting it. You pick up your camera to snap a few photos, testing the recipes you had looked up from home. And god, wasn’t Japan so pretty?

But maybe it’s the wind, maybe it’s the temperature, maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, you’re drawn to her, again. It was just over a month ago since the incident. Yet miles away from your parents’ car, when Minji had her dagger delivered through your phone, and as the distance grew, you realized that it’s poisoned.

Should I check my block-list?

It echoes, even if you had no reason to do it. And you gave in, under that spring air: cold, dry, unrelenting, merciless.

You took a seat by a slanted cream walkway outside. A man was sitting across from you. He looked up, before going back onto his phone, nonchalant to your presence, and it’s like you could complain about it.

And immediately, you take out your phone, so eager to check your blocked accounts.

She changed her profile picture into something that you can’t even make sense of: her. Even under the face of the drawn character, you could feel her radiate through your screen. Locals and tourists are still marching towards their destination, either into the city, or a plane, unbeknownst to your internal collapse. It’s probably the way your face is always the same - concealing the tears so well - cheerful or devastated.

She moved on from you: her old persona shed, bio rewritten, era changed. Yet there you were, at least a sea away, crumbled into pieces.

Perhaps it was time for you to shed a new shell.

–

“Minji will be here too!” One of your friends said.

It was the first time you had a sleepover at your friends’ apartment. Alcohols were, of course, involved. A bit of drunk chatting with your friends and walking around helped with the university-induced depression, which you, then freshman, naively dismissed as a normal thing. Then, you heard she would come for some lunch before you go back to the mundane routine you got yourself into.

“Heyyyyy.” You shouted into the room as soon as the apartment’s door was closed. She was sitting on the sofa in the middle of your friends’ studio-sized room.

“Hey!” She seemed to look different from her high school days, crimson on her lips, longer eyelashes, paler cheeks. She wears makeup now, and you wouldn’t lie that it took you by surprise - how beautiful she was. It may have been contributed to the fact that you had just six hours of sleep the night before, but she was gorgeous that day, breathtaking even.

“God, I miss you so much.” You said, sitting down beside her on the couch, while looking over the screen of her ancient phone.

“Awww, thanks babe.” Minji blew you a kiss, irony, to which you happily caught. 

“Long trip?” You asked, knowing how far she is from the city.

“Hour and a half.” She murmured.

“Sorry about that.” You chuckled, laying your back on the couch. It’s a display of your insufferable narcissism as usual, a humble smugness.

Your friends were too busy on their phones, waiting for a member to finish his shower before taking a trip into the city.

“No need, I’m here to see you.” Minji beams.

“Thanks, Minji.”

Not that you haven’t seen love blooming in front of you before, it’s just that you can’t grow the petals to display your stern sentiment. It has been, to say the least, difficult for you to express any tinge of compassion.

–

“ROMEO TAKE ME SOMEWHERE WE CAN BE ALONE, I’LL BE WAITING ALL THERE’S LEFT TO DO IS RUN.”

It’s only the two of you screaming between the other guys in the karaoke room. Even if it’s Taylor fucking Swift, she still seems to be threaded just between you two.

“YOU’LL BE THE PRINCE AND I’LL BE THE PRINCESS, IT’S A LOVE STORY BABY JUST SAY YES.”

You were pointing to each other, with others baffled by how enthusiastic you were.

Both of you kept going like wannabe singers until the end.

“WE WERE BOTH YOUNG, WHEN I FIRST SAWWWWW YOU.”

And the song ends, leaving only you two sharing the only spotlights in the room.

“Minji, fuck, god, that was great,” you panted, trying to catch your breath after screaming Love Story.

“You should thank me for listening to only English songs,” she scoffs, smiling at you.

You attempted to make a cute face, sarcastically. “Thanks, Miss Kim.”

“It’s my job to listen to Taylor Swift for you.” She bowed and smiled.

It’s always the irony-infused conversations, but deep down, you know you could trust her, at least once you do. So many of your problems were solved by her. Just tell them directly, just do this, just do that. And if you didn’t even want to, she’d take your place to show how competent in the field she is, just for you.

As your friends continue with the songs you two can’t capture the lyrics, you slid yourself towards her. “So, how’s the med school?”

She finds the words to answer the completed question for a while. Your other friends are still screaming their lungs out. “It… fucking sucks, yeah, it beat my ass back to high school.” She’d frowned at her script.

“I guess so, I shouldn’t have asked, even. We should talk about light things instead, I’m sor—”

“Don’t be.” Minji cut you off. “It’s fine, I needed a place to vent, anyway.”

The mood, again, swung into glee along with the background. “Oh, so what, Miss Kim, you’re going to use me as your personal venting tool now?”

As if you predicted your future.

“I might, if it doesn’t get better.” She’d snickered at her own comment.

Your expression softens to sympathy. “Well, I’m here. Miss Kim, Go ahead.”

“Really? We can chat about this later, to be fair” She negotiated your offer, not wanting to ruin the mood.

You pondered for a moment, as the song came to an end. “I suppose so, wanna pick the song?”

Minji smiled. “Sure.”

It was these small moments that you kept digging up, even if it is surrounded by smiles and laughs. I wasn’t kind enough to her. I said the wrong things. I was selfish. And it slowly grew into something far more sinister. I am a bad person.

–

“Okay, I’ll post this and tag you all.”

After the group selfie, it was time for you to go back to your regular depression-inducing activities at university.

“I have to get going now. I have class tomorrow morning.” Slightly annoyed by the time restraint, it’s evening now.

“Don’t forget to tag me~” Minji would speak out, playfully, a façade for the fear of being excluded.

“What if I do?” You pointed a finger to your chin.

“I’ll block you, that’s what I’d do”

“Aww, I’d be so sad.” You sarcastically pouted, before giving a farewell, “Bye, babe. Bye, everyone.”, waving.

“See ya.”

That was the last time you’d see her face.

Upon reelings, you can only recall the words as a vague, half-hearted goodbye. Oh how you felt so secure with her back then you just gave some shitty farewell, unbeknownst to how it would stick with you as her final image of you – the fact that has been gripping you tightly ever since.

–

Maybe, in a way, it is to broadcast the insides of your heart to the world. It’s always been what you do best. You found yourself sitting down in front of your laptop, pondering on the word choices. You were walking on a minefield of words, avoiding repetitions that would make your readers groan at such occurrences.

It could’ve been easy - the one who left was the villain, and the one who found you is the typical manic pixie dream girl any man would want. You would boast it when you meet her again, saying something along the lines of “I won the breakup.”, or “Guess who’s crying now.”. It’s quippy, snarky, made-ready, and gives some sense of revenge to the readers, and to you.

It’s not hard to give in to the waning under the half-lit moon; the vengeance is too alluring. Still, perhaps it was that single, small spot in the dark sky - the one that keeps on flickering a signal. And it was decrypted into the ending you didn’t want, acceptance, even if the creeping clouds are slowly curtaining the sky. The star keeps on flickering, to guide you.

And you followed it. The piece didn’t get as much recognition as you’d like, as the grudges were, even if partly, let go, and only mentioned as your thorns. Yet, that day, those spikes were shed, for a new shell to form to protect you from your own hatred.

–

Three: Feels Like

–

Met you at the right time

This is what it feels like

–

You were told that it’s going to be some kind of joint committee between universities. And so, as one of the chosen, you are here, in such rare occasions of being in a suit. It’s tiring - you just got off from your senior project, internship is approaching in a week, right after the Christmas holidays. Yet, being given a few activity hours from your university isn’t a bad offer at the time.

Some classical music you’ve never bothered to look their names up were sent through speakers; they probably couldn’t afford a real band. The grandiose, dimly blue-tinted-lit hall was occupied by hundreds of representatives. Waiters were walking back and forth to corporate demands for the food and drinks. The sounds from all kinds of conversations are lighting this ball up. It’s, from a whim, lively for now.

As always, you felt out of place here. You’ve never been the type that would slot into a conversation with ease. Every word you say might be interpreted as an insult, a showboating of your dull wit. So, silence seemed to be the best choice here. You can’t have people see you as some lowly, dense, out-of-place ordinary guy.

You kept checking your watch, anxiously, it should have been eleven when you were to leave, and time gets slower on purpose. Words around you were slowly, but surely on its way to push you to your edge. There were a couple of people from your university too, just that they were nowhere to be seen. Maybe they are in the toilet? Maybe they can talk to strangers? Maybe they don’t want to be around you?

With every second ticked, an uneasy feeling crept up your body with confidence, eager to take control. Your eyes were stuck to your phone, with right thumb swiping short videos after another. Each one elicited a dopamine shot to keep the shadows at bay, but it could do just that. You know this stuff is going to shave off your attention span bit by bit, but not faltering in front of everyone now just matters more.

Until-

“Sorry.” A stark, yet tender voice shook you, despite its message. You expected someone to come take you into their company, but it’s still a long way to go to get rid of this shell.

You turned your head back until she’s in your vision. A short-haired woman stood before you, around your age; her lips formed a weak grin. Her left hand was holding an empty plate, though with a few hints of red velvet’s frosting on it. “Can I have some more cake?”

Her right hand was in her blazer pocket.

You realized you had been standing in front of the cake stand for the last fifteen minutes. Fuck, this is embarrassing. You immediately moved away from the front table. What if I was seen as some fucker guarding all those cakes?

“What’s with that face?” 

“Uh—uh—” Being heavy in your thoughts can sometimes send some erratic, unwanted instructions to your facial features. This Fuck, this is embarrassing ordered the classic eyebrow squints, and a slight mouth frown.

“Are you seriously getting mad because I told you to move a bit?”

Ok, ok, shit, what the fuck is happening now. You were lost, failed to come up with a response. Those doe eyes were sure to be flammable with how you can feel trickles of sweat on your forehead now. First, you were all by yourself in what’s supposed to be a networking opportunity, and then this. This is how you are going to be viewed by these people now, an entitled, selfish asshole. A real chance pulled away from a single mistimed expr—

She pulled you back with her contagious simper. “I’m sorry. I was j—” She broke into another chain of laughter; there’s no reservation in those, like at all. “I was just fucking with you.” She put her right hand to cover her gaping mouth, while swaying her upper half back and forth like it was the funniest shit she has ever pulled. 

You may have just felt the largest absolute emotional slope in your life - it doesn’t really matter in terms of good or bad, just closest to being a straight line. You let out a shaken sigh, then, without knowing, you can’t help but start laughing with her in unison.

“God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t expect you to be s–so anxious about that.” The hilarity subsided, as she was starting to regain her composure.

You replied with some remnants of the previous guffawing. “It’s fi—ha, ha, it’s fine.” Still taking in what’s just happened.

You finally got a proper look at her. And on that exact night you first met, she wore a gray blazer, perfectly compatible with her decent height, just a few inches shorter than you – did she get it tailored? The navy wide-leg pants she had on her really gave her this “young and rising executive” look. Her short hair was a bit messy, probably from all the walking and talking she had while finishing that poor red velvet cake. 

Her nose was supposed to be the part that had you gawked, with how its bridge was flawlessly sculpted while still fitting with every other part on her face. And with the crimson lipstick on her plump lips, those features alone, perhaps, had Aphrodite working overtime. 

Then, just a bit above those, her hazel eyes, the ones that will have you gladly trapped in it for hours. The sunsets you will be sharing is going to be reflected in her eyes, as you bring your face closer to hers, to realize that she’ll be the person you can, and want to spend the rest of your life with.

(We still need to come back to the first night though. You haven’t gotten much more of her personality than that joke.)

“So, aren’t you going out and talking to someone?” She asked, her right hand using the cake server to pick up the lone chocolate one in the center of the table.

“Well, uh, it’s kinda hard to explain” You gestured your hands into an “I don’t know” pose, moving them up and down a little to imitate a weighing scale, as if you know what’s on both sides.

She puts on her curious face, staring straight into your eyes, trying to pry out an answer. “Try me”

You tried to hit back with your straight face, ready to not give in to her request, but to no avail. Her stare was getting even more intimidating. God, that gaze is strong.

“Fine.” You replied, as she giggled with her victory.

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t?” She furrowed her eyebrows. She really looks like a confused bear with that face.

“Never have the courage to do it.”

“Well, you look like you have enough to talk to me.” She cuts the chocolate cake with her fork, before putting the piece into her mouth.

“That’s because you’re the one initiating.”

“Oka—“ She tried to reply with a stuffed mouth, but the content was still too big. She chewed it a bit more with her right hand covering her mouth, the other putting a stop sign on you. “Okay? And am I wrong for doing that?”

“No! I—“ Her right hand moved to her waist; she was burning you with her eyes, cheeks still moving. It is important that you don’t say the wrong words here. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome~” She twisted the last syllable into a melody, before letting out a cute giggle. “I’m Haewon by the way. And sorry for fucking with you a little too much.” She offered a handshake, which you reluctantly accepted. 

You suspected that there’s something weird with her then, with how chatty she was with you. Who would be going around, talking like this to other people?

It turned out a few years later that you’re the weird one.

“Aren’t you supposed to have some friends with you?” Haewon continues her pressing on you.

Shrugged, “Yeah, but I lost them like an hour ago, so—", as you fanned your eyes around for the umpteenth time of the night. The crowd rumbled, but still no sight of your peers. “I really have nowhere to go.”

Haewon kept switching her gaze between you and the crowd, as if to make more topics and banters out of it.

“You wanna join?” Haewon finally locked you within her sight; her thumb pointed away, into the uncertainty of the crowd.

“Uh—" 

It’s one of the few times you picked the right choice, even if it was clear as day.

“Let’s go then”

Joy gleamed her face, “Great, follow me”

Along with Haewon, you walked with her into the crowd. You bumped into some people who are apathetic to your action, and some even give you an understanding look, unbothered by your mistakes. The classical music blaring around seems to calm everyone down.

You’d finally reached a group of similarly-dressed students. “Welcome back Haewon, what took you so long?” One of them muttered out.

“Him.” Haewon replied, while looking at you and beams a smile.

–

Four: Cutie

–

Woke up in your orbit

Now where do I start?

–

Eighth wonder of the world: how the fuck can you secure a date with the royalty, Oh Hae-Won. You were aware – made known by her friends teasing you during a few group dates, knowing how Haewon has been spending a lot of time on her phone lately, too often with a grin on her face. 

“Hey” Haewon appears behind you in a sudden, voices in your head are now scattered.

A little shocked, “Hey”.

White tee, brown, modern crossbody bag on her shoulder, light navy jeans, hair a little shorter from that day, topped wi—

“Haiyah!” Haewon calls out, snapping you out of your trance. “You’re doing that again, aren’t you.”

“Doing what?” You replied, hoping she didn’t notice your pondering, borderline ogling on her choice of garments.

“Thinking.” She taps her head lightly. “Like you were being hypnotized or something.”

Rebuttal, “No, I wasn’t?”, and your eyebrows are marred.

“Yes, you were. And the first time I met you was also like this; you were lost in your head, and staring at me like you were trying to gauge something out of me.” She retorts with an arrogant chuckle.

“Alright, alright, fine, I’m a daydreamer, and what’s the problem with that?” You deflect the guilt. Shit, what the fuck did I say?

“Well—" Haewon nibbles her chin while finding the word. “People don’t really like being stared at, you know.”

“Yeah, that’s a fair point, my bad.” The people pleaser inside you got the better of the debater.

“Hey, look, let me give you some advice.” Determination sparks in her eyes, her hands holding on to the string. “Don’t think, just—do it, or feel it, you know.” You aren’t quite sure how to play along with her words. “The reason I’m here today is because I see something in you, and I’m sure you see something under this pretty face.”

And it’s true, Haewon sparks a sense of an adventurer inside you, even if they’re through internet lines. She brings up quite a number of places in the city you’ve never even heard the name of, and thinking of the list is, to say the least, nauseating. But under the boulder, your determination to match her venturesome nature isn’t crushed after all.

“You’re speaking like one of those life coaches, you know.” You sarcastically reply with a chuckle.

“It’s called encouragement, get used to it.” She nicks your shoulder softly. “Shall we start the walk?”

“Sure.”

–

You two stride along the road, catching the sight of other sightseers, both local and foreign. Graffitis are etched into the walls by your sides, interspersed with numerous coffee shops aimed to lure gen z customers with their furnishings. And one seems to work on you guys, because you now have an iced thai tea, while Haewon has a matcha latte, also iced.

“So.” You cut the silence, taking a sip of your content. “Are you here often?” It’s one of the more “talky” questions you can think of right now. Your head slightly turns towards her; your eyes during the rest (more than half actually) of the work to catch her in the bullseye of your vision.

“This is just my second time, to be honest.” She replies, drinking her matcha. “And I love how these buildings look; they probably look gorgeous on your camera, don't they?”

“It’s a good substitute for my Tokyo needs.” You scoff, scanning over the old houses around you.

“Oh yeah, those photos did look breathtaking, I can see why.” She brings up the photos from over a year ago, letting out a tiny smile in the process. “I’ve been to Osaka once actually.”

Surprised, “Osaka? How come you haven’t told me this already?”, she has never brought it up during the six months you’ve known each other.

“I can’t describe it as well as you, really.” Haewon looks down, still strolling at the same pace as before. “Plus, it was just for a project. We didn’t have much time for sightseeing.” She mutters out, eyes fixated on the ground.

“I think it would be fun, please?” A chortle escapes you, thinking it would let her know your enthusiasm.

It’s quite a clear day for a rainy season - hints of white clouds here and there, but never enough to rage against your first date. You two remain at a distance, still, leaving a gap between your shadows.

“No, no, you even laughed at the idea of it, I won’t tell you that.” She calls you out, whimpering as the sentence ends.

The next thirty seconds go by in silence, the two of you keep glancing at each other, evading contact at any signals. People pass you by as you walk, widening the distance between the tip of your fingers. Guilt, fear, uncerta–

“I won’t laugh again, I promise.” You give her an assurance, and that’s the best you can do.

“Really?” She looks up at you, catching your honest compassion.

“If it’s funny, I might.” You chuckle. “But I’m sure it was a good experience for you.”

“Thanks.” You lit up a grin on her face, as she’s getting all excited to tell you about her adventure.

“So, this was like three years ago, back when I had just finished my freshman year, it was a subway surveying thing.” Haewon starts her tale, with you two turning left, now walking to the river. “I went with a group of people, and it was mostly lecturing around the tracks, really.” She chuckles. “So we had just the evening for ourselves for like, a week.”

“We went to a firework festival on the first day. God, it was so fucking crowded, but the sparking lights looked spectacular. They did the color work well.” As she tells the story, you can’t help but get immersed in the words. There’s clarity in the way she recounts it, greatly assisted with how often she says “flickering”, “cold”, “bright”, “exhausting”, “overwhelming”, and much, much more.

“The wagyu just melted in my mouth.”

“The system was confusing, to be honest, like a spider’s web, but they helped me with that a lot.”

“Yeah, it was fucking cold, and I brought so many shorts because I underestimated late spring Osaka.”

You two walk past some more old buildings and a few more cafes, with her story as the melody. It sweeps your leg like a damn good movie. How vivid the atmosphere she’s enamoring you in, how she’s so enthusiastic in her reminiscence, and how she grins and narrows her eyes upon any mention of food.

After a while, the river is finally in your view, as she’s getting through her final day at Marble Beach.

“I pulled a friend I made there to see the beach with me, and he said that it changed his life.” She laughs. “It was beautiful, you really should see it.”

A soft smile escapes you. “Well, I kinda get him, really.” You two finally reach the cement barrier, heighting just on your hips. It’s not too short that Haewon would have to throw a life ring to you, yet not too tall to obstruct your river view, enough for you to rest your arms on it as if you’re posing.

“Yeah, the Odaiba Beach, right? I saw the photos, once you mentioned that.”

[More dialogue]

–

“How far is your stop?”

“Four stations.”

“Wow, I’m on six, then interchange to another four.” She sighs at the daunting route, knowing she’d be alone.

The carriage slightly shakes as it takes a small turn. Sight of people are only a few; both of you are holding onto a pole in the middle. You’re gathering all the willpower to keep your weak hand from falling onto hers.

Haewon is looking out the window in the same direction as you, eyes examining the view outside - nocturne. “Have you ever gotten bored of this?” She asks, turning her sight to face you still looking out along.

You ponder for a moment. “It looks pretty at night.”

“That’s true, but it’s not the question.” She replies. “And the way you talk is strange, you know that? Especially with how you answer questions”

“Probably from watching a lot of movies, I guess.” You deflect.

“See? You did it again!” She points at you, unbeknownst to the inadvertently closing distance between your hands on the pole. “It’s not a peeve or anything, really, but I see that you always answer yes-no questions with a reason, not directly yes or no.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve got this complaint a bit often. I have to say the same thing twice, or even thrice to a lot of people.” You reply.

“They probably expect a yes or no, perhaps?” Haewon ends the playful nudge with a chuckle. “I don’t mind though; I can catch your words.”

You can only smile in response. “Yeah, you’re gonna have to do that for a while.” You laugh, in a volume that wouldn’t make it echo inside the whole train.

“Woah, getting daring just being with me for a day? I’m having a good influence on you~” Haewon playfully takes a jab.

“You’ll have a lot of influ–” You pause. “That’s the same joke, yeah, that’s the same joke, I’m not saying it.”

She laughs, not quite as contained as yours, attracting a few looks onto you. “Yeah, I’ll see my schedule first.” Her laughter would dissolve into a smile. “I think I can sort out a few things for us.”

Us. You can melt right here and now. The way she says it so easily is just too attractive. What does she think of me? Are we a thing now? Should I kiss her?

“U—Us?” You stutter out, mind flayed.

Haewon is locked onto her calendar. “Yeah, I know I’m not that good at planning but—” She meets your eyes. “Oh.”

[You are blushing and there’s going to be a kiss at the end of this chapter.]

–

Five: Party Police

–

You don’t have to leave

You can just stay here with me

Forget all the party police

We can find comfort in debauchery

= = =

The sound of the air conditioner fills the room, emulsified with your anticipation, forming a perfect cadence. The air between you is a mixture of both minty breaths you insisted the two of you to take a spearmint candy, the gender-neutral-honey-scented body wash both of you used in separate shower sessions, and the summer breeze air purifier Haewon bought from your first trip to the convenience store together.

You two are inside her room, sitting on the queen-sized bed, hands clutched between the hole your tangled legs make.

Haewon’s lips are slightly parted, as if their owner is about to make out a sound, yet the whirring fan blows any of her half-thought intentions away. And instinctually, to which you realized a few blinks later, yours are also making their own gap, and the whirring fan blows any of your half-thought intentions away.

“I—" Haewon would be the first to stabilize her frequency, ever so mildly fluctuated by your proximity. “I love you.” She can only confirm it in a whisper, barely vibrating the dormant air around you.

Yet, it seeps in, perhaps by the sincere nature in her voice. Haewon has never looked this fragile before, and your next move can actually ignite her neurons with blue flame this time.

“I—I love you t—too.” Flushed, presto heart rhythm, you muttered out these simple words. Resting air now shook with the expressions.

You’ve kissed her many times before, the end of the first date, the middle of the second date, the start of the third date, then a full on make out session during one of The Academy’s International Film nominees, with an unknowing crowd in the theater (it helps that the movie is quite a rare action triumph, so that the wet smooches of your lips are buried under clips after clips being unloaded, and the bullet cases clanking on the floor). Though, never once has it ended with her uncontrollably uttering fucks or shits, or even deity names neither above nor under you.

Haewon starts to lean closer to you, wholeheartedly knowing that this won’t be a normal kiss. Her head tilts so acutely, barely deviated from the axis. The small, deep hum from her throat is unexpected, with her eyelids closed and all. Yet, who are you to say no to her proclamation of love.

The expectations are high, yours, hers, on this kiss to capture much more than your lips. It’s both of your first times after all. And with the contact, you can’t help but match her tone in lovestruck. Hands are still stationed, too afraid to take this further, until they aren’t yours that touches a face first. Haewon fondles your cheeks with both of her hands as the kiss ensues, persuading you to reciprocate, and you do.

Fervor rises along the ticks of all the clocks, Haewon pierces the gap you opened with her tongue, invading your mouth. You gasp in shock, signaling her to break off from the session.

“Shit, are you okay?” Haewon’s eyes enlarged, her breathing still out of rhythm.

Giggling, “No, no, no, just a little shocked, let’s continue”, as you initiate the action this time, hands holding her cheeks, tongue sweeping the insides of her mouth.

Again, fervor rises along the ticks of all the clocks, the sound of the kiss becomes the only thing you can hear now. It’s wet, a little salty, albeit ardent, and rapturous. 

And with an unknown source of bravery, your hand traverses down from her cheeks, grazing her neck. Haewon hums a minim into your throat as your fingers hit the ridge of her chest. And through the fabric, you give her left mound a squeeze, eliciting another two-beat note from her. Tender, addictive are the first few words as your fingers sink into the cloth, and the desire arises.

Your voice, muffled through the kiss, and raspy in hunger, asks such a bold question. “Fuck, God, Haewon, may I suck on them?”

Haewon would hum another note into your mouth, before unlatching from the torrid endeavor. “Make me moan, and don’t use your teeth.” She commands.

It’s all instinctual now, don’t think, just feel echoes. You playfully push Haewon onto the bed, eyes focus on your targets. The rhythm of her ragged breaths now takes over the room.

You run your hands down her luscious curves, feeling every hill and hollow on the fabric, before hitting an edge. ”May I?” As you grab the hem of her shirt, so eager to expose her.

”Of course, babe”

Permission granted, you swiftly pull the edge of her garment up, with her putting her arms up for easy exposure. The stream of the sight of her somewhat toned midriff, perky chest, and collarbones runs through your eyes, and it’s almost too heavy to take it in. “Fuck.” And you can only give a profanity for it.

“I know, right?” She responds, chuckling.

Magnetized, and sudden, your lips latch onto her left, brown peak, coating her breast with your saliva. She complies with your action under you, letting out a symphony whenever your mouth is right at the top of her areola, right before leaving, then swallowing it again. 

The buds, excited, erect under your touch. This seems to go on for minutes. You keep switching between her left and right mounds, one hand kneading the mound that isn’t currently savored, with the other traversing her upper body, marking every square inch as yours. You won’t get bored of this easily, especially with her moaning this loud.

“More, baby, more” Haewon pleads. Her hands start to push your head onto her erect nipples now.

If you’re going to be honest, it tastes just like any other part of a human body: skin, with some honey aroma after the shower. Perhaps it’s desire, perhaps it’s ardor, or perhaps it’s love, maybe all of them together, you were drawn to them. Her writhing cries only fuel the attraction further, and the force you use with your lips.

Until–

“Fuck, fuck–, yeah.” She whines. “That–That’s good, but I want more now, baby.” Haewon mutters in the same pitch as her moans, unable to retain her usual deep tone. “You seem to– love my tits– a lot, don’t you.” Her talking is constantly cut short to make ways for the ragged breaths.

“Twenty-one years of drought, babe” You chuckle, turning your head to face hers, chin hovering above her hard nubs.

“You wanna use your mouth or your dick, huh?” Slightly annoyed, yet excited, and perhaps too lecherous that she comes off as a horny cutie joke bear. “I gotta cum first, or at the same time with you, isn’t it” She seems to be aware of how your body works, and she’s right. You don’t wanna risk being unable to get yourself up again within five minutes, while she waits, unattended.

”Damn, babe, you’ve come prepared.”

”No?, I’m gonna come with you here!” She lets out another laughter, breaking the lustful mood a bit. God, she just can’t go a minute without making a joke. Her pursuit in digging any giggles out just kills you every time, even if that means the problems were hardly addressed, tingling a small part of you on the occurrences.

You sink into the glee with her. “Oh fu— fuck off babe.” But this lustful tryst just drives you into a whirlpool right now. You quickly dispose of your shorts (why the fuck would you guys even wear clothes if you’re just going to fuck after???), freeing your delirious digit.

“God.” Haewon stares at your erect cock in awe, twitching, a glint of concern in her eyes. You wouldn’t say that it’s exactly big, but it’s enough to make her gulp. “Do I have to take all of this?”

“I’ll push slowly.” You replied, panting from the brimming anticipation.

Without a word, Haewon yanks her shorts away. Another stream of her eden, thighs, and the full lower body strikes you. And Haewon is now bare in front of you, glowing, despite her cheap light hanging above. You want to cherish this moment forever, freeze it in time, or at least just slow down a bit. Oh Hae-Won trusts you enough to expose herself, fully, in front of you. And you aren’t sure which gesture can compare to this as her proclamation of love (maybe a marriage proposal, but let’s not get into that yet).

“I thought you’d do it slower”

“All that foreplay got me so fucking turned on, babe, plus, I’m not on the shy side.”

“The nipple sucking?”

“Yeah, that meal you just had. Also, take off that shirt, I wanna feel all of you.”

Ordered, you hastily get rid of the last piece of garment, tossing it into the void, following your shorts. Both of you are now fully naked, only the cold, compressed air is your barrier now.

“Good, now come here” She says with a wink, provocative, commanding, yet so greedy. Haewon is resting on her back, with her elbows lifting her abdomen just a little from the bedsheet, enough to face you without much eye movement, smiling with desire. She bends her left leg a little, and it drives you crazy. 

Fuck, she’s the most beautiful woman in the world, perhaps ranked among the gods: Hera, Artemis, Athena, Hestia, and Haewon’s victory is a certainty. She can even go bar for bar against Aphrodite, her own creator, under this cheap room lamp. And you can’t just wait to be tied to this lady with her deity-defying charm with such an intimate act.

“You want my cock that bad, Miss Oh?” You slowly, to make it a tease, slide your knees against the bedsheet towards Haewon, getting closer to her, inch by inch. Haewon opens her leg, giving you permission and space to be in her proximity. Her eden is now in view, glistened with arousal. 

“There’s just this thing, ma’am, that I wanna take a sample of first.” Playfulness is attached in your message. She’s still on her elbows, heads slightly tilted at your defiance, as if you also have a god-challenging act in your pocket as well. And with some more inspection, it’s apparent that Haewon isn’t a firm believer in having cleanly-shaved hair, and somehow, this kind of nature just drives you into a frenzy.

“And what is it, mister?” Haewon asks, still with seduction, eyes locking on yours.

“You.” And without another word, you dive face first onto her wet, needy sex. Your nose is pressed against her mound, pubic hair brushes against it, but the “distraction” never succeeds in repelling you away. Further, it feeds the ferocity inside you to take in her scent, with a deep breath. With the sight alone, you thought you reached your limit, yet, spellbound under her musk, a hint of sweat, the honey-scented body wash, and her mildly tart aroma from the inside sends you into a literal mind break, like a morning coffee. Haewon is fucking addictive, and you can’t go a single day without her smell.

“She s–smells good, doesn’t s–she?” Her voice starts to quiver again, as your nose tickles her hair.

Meanwhile, your tongue, with a mind of its own, is lapping up her nectar, savoring the salty, tangy taste of her canal. Her sensitive nub, the one you’re sure it’s clitoris, is now stuck in your philtrum. Every swipe just grazes it, eliciting squeals from her.

“F–fuck.” Haewon cries out, starting to get lost in her immediate pleasure, “Ah.”, and your enthusiasm. “Just f-five minutes babe.”

Mouth busy in a sinful act, you hum an affirmative note out. Her vagina is now coated with your saliva, mixed with her lubricant. And with each time you pull yourself out, there’s sometimes a string of the cocktail connecting your lips to her sex - a thread between you and her.

At first, it’s a savoring session of her taste, for you, but as her wailing grows louder, you can only be curious about the limit. And without hesitation, you give her clitoris a brush - the same way you suck her nipple. As your lips contact, delicate, her moans would reach such a forte to the point you’re quite sure that everyone in the dorm would be able to hear.

Conspiring her frustration, “Want a few more, babe?”, you retreat your ministrations to her pale thighs, making a few marks here and there, robbing the pleasure that was once hers.

“Fuck you.” Haewon groans out. “Please, keep eating my pussy, please.”

You bring your fingers into play, caressing her inner trunks. And, with instinct, you slip yourself under her ass. Your eyes are still locking on her wet hole, and she seems to gush out streams of honey now. “Y–You are f–fucking insuf–” She moans out as you relentlessly withholding the release she deserves.

“Can’t hear with my hands under your ass, babe” It’s as if something possessed you into a womanizer, a shot of complacency.

Haewon would be able to muster up her remaining inhibition to define you with an adjective. “I–Insufferable.”

“That’s a little mean.” Your hands give her firm butt a squeeze, feeling the soft flesh. This is probably how Indiana Jones felt when he got his hand on the golden idol: like an ascendant. “Considering how soft your ass is.” You lick just beside the spot, motioning parallel to the pink labia.

Haewon groans in frustration, climax stolen by a thief. “Sh–shut the fuck up and put that tongue to use!” In forte, all the pent up energy can crush you into bits and pieces in minutes, while you are still drawing circles around your supposed target, pushing her to the edge of wrath, right before it turns into destruction. “FUCK!”

You are actually scared of her now, and perhaps the complaints of her neighbors about some tenant bossing a guest around in the nocturne. So, complying, you put your tongue to use, taking another sample of the mixture, tasting her and yourself again.

“Good boy, yeah, like that.” She whimpered out, being put back en route to paradise.

Constant pace, don’t go too fast. You tell yourself an advice you’ve read somewhere years ago, and you do as it says. You try to keep the speed the same, but it’s starting to get harder as Haewon decides that she needs something to hold on to, which is, unfortunately, your head. I once had a guy go too fast when I told him I’m gonna cum, and that was the ride down, my mood died completely. A comment you’ve seen somewhere pops up.

Your jaw can never get tired, if it is to devour her into ecstasy. But the force pressed upon your head is starting to be a double-edged sword to her, a place to hold on to, and the act that might close the golden gate.

The five minutes she gave earlier might come into use.

“B—babe.” You cry out between licks, voice muffled. “I wanna use my cock now.”

Haewon lets go of the grip she has in your hair locks, as she looks down from her lying position. “Really?” Expectations running high, she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” She thwarts her arm along the bed for a little while, a little lost, until she catches her colorful spot-covered pillow. And without any word, you help Haewon lift her hips up to insert the fluffy object below, bringing her puckered hole into your focus.

Tranced, “Can I taste it?” the words fell out without any restrictions.

“Don’t fucking kiss me again if you do; I don’t wanna taste my asshole.” Haewon commands, trying to regain her composure. “Maybe another day.”

You whine out. “Ugh, fine.” Before getting on your knees for the main event.

You use her spread thighs as a handle while aiming with your eyes. You line up your twitching digit on the center, resting it on her now-swollen clit. And a small whimper from Haewon would reach your ear, fueling your fire.

“You want this inside you, huh?” You tease, sliding your shaft against her core from the outside, glazing yourself with her honey resting on the nub.

“Fuck… yeah, I—I want it inside.” Haewon chokes out at your heavenly connection; her attempt at putting any façade is crumbling.

Slowly, your rod still above her center, you traverse your hands up her immaculate legs, onto her stomach. Her breaths are now short, out of any earlier rhythm, as your touch starts to overwhelm her senses. “F—fuck.” You’d only move upwards, creeping up her beautiful chest, until they are up for your hands to conquer. She’s yours now.

Now, you have her tits as a grip, ever so carefully fondling them while slowly juggling the movements: your hands squeezing, your hip thrusting, and your upper body leaning in to see her giving in closer and closer. It’s all there, eyes fluttering, lips shaking, loud moaning, and her whole firm frame writhing under you.

You aren’t going in for a kiss, really, but she forces you nonetheless. Hands gripping the sides of your head, Haewon would scream from the overstimulation, all restricted in your mouths, into you, letting out any control she has left.

“Babe.” You mutter out. And even slightly distorted by fervor, she’d break off from the locks under your voice.

Mouth agape, she looks into your eyes, using the final bit of her inhibition to predict your next words. “You can put it in, baby.” And you can only smile.

You guide your rod down to her engine, but neither of you has ever been more ready to ignite the moans. Your left hand has her thigh on the same side as a handle.

Wet, indeed, she welcomes you. The excessive preparation gives easy access, and you become the same groaning lump as she was, swallowed by rapture. In the wake of bliss, you tilt your head down until the sight of your disappearing cock is in the frame, inch by inch. 

The insides of her tighten when you reach halfway, and you can feel your tip grazing a rough patch. “Fuck!” Haewon’s body tenses up, and she lets out a higher note than usual. You also pitch a sound lower than hers, but also noticeably higher than your regular octave.

You slowly bury yourself up to the hilt, now able to let go of your flesh. Haewon stutters a moan out when your patch makes contact with her. 

“S–Seems like you can handle all of me, babe.” Your voice is quivering, without any movement to your body. You keep yourself whole with her.

Haewon can only whimper in response. 

“I-I’ll start fucking you now.” You say as you start to grind your hips back. Haewon nods, giving you the right to control the pace.

Your cock, at an agonizing speed, comes back into view. You can feel the muscles inside gripping you and how the rough patch grazes the top of your digit, evoking staccatos from her. God, anyone would kill to be in your position right now.

And at the halfway point, it’s where you push back in again, still carefully. Haewon surrenders any power she has now, with her g-spot being pleasured by another person for the first time. The suffocating squeeze she has on you persists, sending waves of pleasure around your dick.

It becomes a loop: retreat and thrust, retreat and thrust, and you finally find your rhythm. It’s ecstatic - the way her flesh embraces you. You repay her accommodation with a little angling, aiming for the sensitive patch in the second step. Both of you are lost now, blinded by the passionate endeavor you’re engaging in.

Haewon’s brain can only register euphoria, howling as your tip brushes against the g-spot. And you are no better, bucking hips back and forth, chasing your release while huffing out such notes you could hit before the existence of your Adam’s apple. The only concern now is that your roller coaster would reach its peak before hers.

“Hey, I t–think I’m gonna c–cum now.” Haewon’s words came out tattered, divided by exaltations in her groans. It's a heaven’s message, as you can also feel your climax close by.

Keep your pace; don’t go faster.

You make no attempt to go rougher with your drilling; she’s already a blushing, wailing mess under Allegro Vivace. You can also feel a knot starting to form inside of you, begging to be untangled. “M–Me too, babe.”

Haewon’s moans become even louder than the oral session minutes ago; her orgasm is close by. You can feel the way her vagina contracts around your movements, and you aren’t far from it, either.

Two lost souls search for intimacy, and they eventually find each other. And the mistakes they’ve made don't matter anymore. The people they’ve passed through, either able to find solace or dissonance, have become nothing more than a plot device to drive them forward, for them to meet. And even if the future remains clouded, it’s just them at this exact moment, becoming each other’s sanctuary.

“FUCK!” Haewon cries out. As her hip convulses, bending your digit slightly. She pulls her legs back, feet touching her pale ass before they go up in the air. Haewon cums, violent, ferocious, cathartic. Her whole body tenses up; her tits are shaking. Her walls tighten around you, begging to milk every upcoming drop of you until dry. 

You take in the view but can only register a few words to describe how you feel right now: fuck, and god. She screams from the top of her lungs to accommodate such pleasure. And isn’t it a symphony that’s so pleasing to hear, knowing that they are products of your doings?

Haewon’s breathing starts to slow down, but seeing how she becomes undone beneath, you quicken your thrusts to chase the high you’re anticipating. “Fuck!” Under sensitivity, Haewon squeals.

“Do you want me to slow down, babe? I can still cum no matter the pace.” With care, you ask.

“I–I wanna t–try.” Her syllables come out in stutters, “Keep going.”,  as your length rams into her cunt even faster than before her high.

You keep your fast, lively tempo, and that seems to be the right choice. You can play the melody faster, yet you already fail to register all the fucks and shits, Haewon mutters out while being pounded. You’re guided by your intuition at this point. It builds up inside your stomach, calling to be broken free. You feel your legs wobbling like jello, and your awareness of whether there’s any left, opposite Haewon’s, has left your body already.

And with a single, final thrust, “FUCK!” you bend yourself down to capture her lips, screeching all the satisfaction from your high into her mouth. Spurts of cum released into her welcoming cunt, while you basically buried yourself inside her, twitching under orgasm. Haewon moans into your mouth at each of your vibrations. Lustful, your tongues are swirling inside each other’s mouth, tasting each other as much as you can.

Thick cum is still discharged into her, painting her insides with white. And slowly, you start to slide down from the precipice. Your cock still twitches inside her cunt; the remaining cum only dribbles out from the hardness now. The kiss remains magnetic; you two are too hungry for each other. You can only taste the mint candy from earlier.

Finally, it breaks, a string of saliva connects your lips together, as both of you are bathed in the afterglow. Haewon’s face is drenched from her own sweat, panting, and smiling. “I love you.” She mouths, trying to make sense of her heart rhythm, soft breaths touching your face.

You’re still panting, attempting to take in her words. Even if they’re the same as from the beginning, when the clothes are still barriers between you, it sears you this time. A lock has been solved, yet you are still questioning the contents inside the box.

Then, you realize that it’s your heart, “I love you too, babe.”, and it can explode right here. Love floods, lust flows, binding you two together, in the vast sea of possibilities.

Haewon smiles before pulling you into another kiss. This one is much less passionate than the ones preceding, but it’s, nonetheless, affectionate. The way she captures your lips is too confident for you to be unsure about the attachment she gives you, and that might be the first time in your life that you’re so certain of someone else’s love, and her name is Oh Hae-Won.

Exhausted and spent, you let yourself fall onto her side, looking up. Your left arm is resting on her collarbones. “Fuck.” Your vocabulary seems to shrink under ecstasy as the cadence rings too loud for you to think properly.

“That was fun.” Haewon scoffs, before turning her bare frame towards you, head resting on her hand. “We should do this more often.”

“Should? I’m fucking you everywhere, babe.” You reaffirm with a simper.

“Shit.” Haewon chuckles before seeming to remember something. She quickly gets up from the bed. “I’ll go pissing first. It’s this–”

“UTI. Yeah, I’ve read about it.” You cut her off to show off your knowledge of sex education. “Can we cuddle after?” You plead, attempting to make a cute face.

“Sure.” She laughs, pointing at you. “If you don’t mind having your back getting a bit wet.”, and you can only smile back at her. Haewon would saunter out to her bathroom with a slight limp, managing to sway her reddened cheeks. Fuck. 

And despite the low light, you can see drops of your cum, dribbling a shine down her legs. “Are you going to clean th–”

“No.” She winks before disappearing into the bathroom, leaving a trail of nectar in her path.

You bite your lip in another rise of your arousal.

–

You hear the sound of tap water running from inside the bathroom before the lock clicks. Haewon appears in front of your eyes again, still naked.

“I kept the promise.” She says.

Immediately, still on her bed, you press your vision down her body. Her pussy remains glistened with your white cum, mixed with her tangy lubricant. Perhaps your saliva is also blended into the liquid.

“God, Haewon.” Again, your mind goes blank. “It has been just five minutes. I really can’t do that.”

Haewon chuckles, swaying her alluring hips closer to you. “I know.” Before she pounces you on the bed, staining the sheets with your fluids. Haewon prints a few kisses here and there, usually in the proximity of your lips and neck. And, in disbelief, you watch over her body to see that the five-minute gap is enough for your cock to be ready again.

“Fuck.”

Haewon’s glance follows yours to your erection.

“Another round, babe?”

–

Six: Just Another Girl

–

Now why can’t I sleep at night?

And why don’t the moon look right?

–

Sunlight peeks through the gap in your curtains, casting on the blanket that’s covering any visual hints of last night’s debauchery. Her arms retain their restrictive nature, an environment you’d enthusiastically enlist for. Her fingers barely interlocking on your heart, feeling the thrumming lullaby she holds on to like the greatest hits.

Her chest is pressed against your back, and the fact that you notice this (and how you savored their peaks last night with such unbeatable hunger) only entices your morning wood to last longer than it should’ve. You snuggle into her embrace further, establishing yourself as hers and pressing yourself into her perky breasts even harder, wanting to feel every inch of them.

“Hmm?” Haewon finally wakes up, fading her tightness wrapped around you.

Slightly panicked, you grab her escaping hand onto your warm skin. “Hey.” And you greeted her.

Haewon chuckles. “Oh, this boy needs a hug, huh?”

You close your eyes and hum in agreement, since her embrace becomes another gesture you’ve grown to love now, even if it was discovered just a few minutes ago.

“How was last night, my baby boy?” She questioned you with a tiny simper.

You can only chuckle along. “Cathartic, babe, but I’m not doing the whole mommy thing right now.”

Haewon laughs. “Okay, fine, I’ll ask you properly later, though.”

The cuddle went on for minutes. You are unwilling to let her go after such intimacy you had. After a while, you notice the scar on your chest. This may be the time you show her, but you need bravery. And you’re not sure if love could muster it up.

[A paragraph demonstrating Haewon’s good influence on you and how you’ve influenced her]

“I wanna tell you something, with us being this bare and such.” You gathered a little courage to speak up, adamantly attempting to show her your so-called scar. 

Haewon would let out a tiny chuckle at your cheap joke. “Unload them to me, babe.” She lets out another tiny chuckle, resting her head on a makeshift stand of her fist. You can’t help but join along with her.

“Oh my god, fuck you.” You said, along with a laugh.

“You just did.” 

“Okay, okay, I’ll start now, don't distract me this ti—" You let out a small giggle, as she’s still soaked in her own hilarity. “It’s like seven years of story; trust me, it’s more fun than you’d think.”

“Seven years? Is it like, a long-term heartbreak or something, and what’s with you making everything into a story, catastrophic or not.” Haewon asks.

“Well—” You contemplate - whether to spoil the ending for her or not, but she can probably guess by the way you purposefully hold out the information in lieu of instantly answering. “Seven years ago, in late April, I just started high school.”

You can see the late morning sunlight reflected in her eyes, single-minded on your tale.

“You want me to close the curtains first?” You direct your thumb toward the gap.

“No need, plus, you look better with the light.” She smiles, sincerity can be felt from it, maybe it’s the way the light drapes on your right half of her face.

“Thanks, babe, okay, where was I— Yeah, seven years ago, late April, high school.”

–

“And then I met you.”

“You know that you’re the asshole in this one, right?” Haewon hits you with such a question.

Certainty of a weeping eluded, “Fuck, not even a single tear?”

“Wow, this lack of self-awareness is concerning, babe, and this is out of love.” She scoffs. “You’re the bad guy here.”

“Look, I’ve been telling myself about the same statement since that day, so yeah, Haewon, I’m aware that I’m the asshole in this story.”

“Were you hurt by it or something?” Haewon asks with genuine curiosity, she caught the sadness in your tone, yet unable to make sense of it. Her head remains resting on her fist, albeit making a ninety degrees apart from you.

“I— yeah, I know it was my fault, but—“ You avert her gaze, staring at the blanket covering her midriff. “It was five years, almost. And it still hurts sometimes whenever I see something that reminds me of her.”

Haewon would give you a blank expression; her next words are unpredictable.

“I kinda— get the idea? You can’t deal with college life, so she becomes a–no, the source for you to vent shit. And one day, it became too much, with that fight making it wor–no, apparent.” It’s nothing short of incredible that she gets all of it within the first iteration and gives you the much-needed feedback (even if you’ve already considered this possibility). 

“And she wants you to get better. She didn’t think she could be the person you could rely on anymore. This is how I see it.” With ease, Haewon recounts the most plausible explanation, the one you’ve been avoiding accepting.

“Yeah, it’s…” You resist the urge to argue with her point, realizing that such emotional manipulation cannot work. Perhaps the amount of self-awareness poured in just doesn’t work anymore. “You’re right.”

“There’re some points that I… kinda understand you? Like the whole being insecure stuff, but all of this is just a shitshow, babe. You even write a fic about it.” A tiny simper leaves her mouth.

“Spielberg made a film about his parent’s divorce; Taylor Swift has, well…”

“Steven’s was like… sixty years? And I think Taylor can be an asshole, to be honest, aside from All Too Well.” Haewon replied without a delay.

“Agree to disagree.” You can only sigh afterward, and maybe it’s the way your breath taps on her chest more heavily than it should or the way you avert the eye contact you’ve been maintaining.

“Hey, are you okay?” Her doe eyes hints concern, while the fingers lightly caress your cheek.

Destined, your tears well up just a little, but enough for you to detect and hold back. “Kinda.”

Haewon lets out a sigh, the back of her free fingers still fondling your cheek. “I’m sure you’ve changed.”

“It's been more than two years now.” Your lips quiver. “B–But telling you here, it’s just…”

Like the first time with your therapist, like the first time you tell your colleagues, your tears are always on the hinge as the story ends.

“I know I can’t fix it - this whole weird love-hate relationship of yours.” She finally sits up. “But I know you aren’t the person you were.” Your cheeks are suddenly cupped by both of her hands. “And as long as you… try to be better, I’ll be with you.” Haewon ends her speech with a caring look.

Nothing in her deliverance is poetry-worthy; they’re basic quotes you’d find in the self-help books. Though, the words not coming from some self-centered guy melts the cynic inside you, and that’s when tears start to fall.

“I also know that it hurts, even if you’re the one who’s wrong.” She softly cheers up.

Through the sobs, “Y–You’re quite di–direct, babe.” You try to wipe the tears off your watering eyes.

She lets out a sympathetic titter. “I’m not the best at this, sorry.”

“I-It’s fine. Thanks for being here.” You succumb to the lamentation, crying your heart out, as Haewon embraces you. Maybe it’s the way you’re naked on someone else’s bed, maybe it’s the way her chest presses up against your chin, or perhaps it’s the way she puts her leg over yours as if she’s using a side pillow, but you’ve never felt more vulnerable in your life. And you’re probably being engulfed by it under the right person.

–

Epilogue: Keeping Tabs

–

I wish I never met you.

You are the worst thing that I’m still

Keeping tabs on for some stupid reason.

–

“It’s quite a lot of stations, babe. Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah–”

It was your birthday two days ago. How old are you now, twenty-five? Three years after graduation, you rejected a job offer from Japan because you didn't want to leave your girlfriend. Not that it was a wrong choice, since the number of fights, sex, and after-fight, angry, heated sex between you and Haewon sits on the average rate. 

Further, not having to buy a plane ticket every time you want to see your parents, or your friends is definitely a plus. Just a few hours after the plane landed in Narita, you want to break Japan’s immigration law. God, those streets are miles better than what you have at home.

It seems that trying to reach Odaiba Beach from Meguro Sky Garden takes an hour, plus walking. Sure, it’s ninety minutes to sunset, but you can feel doubts in her voice and your own. It’s the few final days, and all of your words hyping this exact place up only make her feral.

“Maybe we can make it if we start walking now, instead of like– arguing over this.”

Haewon shoots you a glare. “This trip would go to waste if we can’t make it before sunset.” And she takes a step towards you, pointing at your chest. The sun still casts a long shadow of her on the ground.

“Waste?” You arch your eyebrows. “Says the one who spent a whole fucking day at Shinjuku to sweep Uniqlo’s stocks.”

The wind blows over the metal fence, assorted colors of leaves swirling around you.

Her eyes remain fixated on you, before giving an apologetic expression. “Yeah that’s fair. It’s a bit of a quickfire for me on that.” 

You snap a photo of her before replying. “Those cardigans are cheaper here anyway, don’t worry.”

She reaches for your camera, X-E4, examining the image of her, and smiles. “Let’s go.” Before leading you, handheld, to the elevator down from the garden.

–

“God.”

“It seems like we’re here at the right time” You speak, before taking another photo of Haewon, showered under the orange of the setting sun.

Haewon is left speechless at the sight in front of her: Rainbow Bridge, salmon sky from the sunset, tinged with clouds, some purple, red, orange. You think it’s probably from some kind of refraction. People aren’t scarce, but to say that there’s a crowd is an overstatement. It’s pretty much the same as in your memory from five years ago. How are the people in my photos doing now?

Similar to the last time, when the breakup was just over a month, you take in the view. It’s just that you aren’t basked in melancholy anymore. Sure, you’re still keeping tabs on her every few months, but it’s nothing more than a blocklist check. You aren’t ready to face Minji, really, and not seeing each other again would be a kind gesture by the gods. However, the hate etched into your wrists isn’t quite as visible anymore.

Still, you can’t play down her impact on your life. In spite of the indirect nature of the teachings, you learned how to love and what to do with one.

“I’ll be back, babe. I’ll see if I can swim to the bridge from here.” Haewon speaks out, like the first encounter, snapping you out of your trance.

Shook, “I’ll wait here; make sure not to get swept into the sea.”, and you joke, smiling.

“See ya.” Haewon grins back, gesturing a goodbye, before stepping out towards the water.

–

[A few paragraphs leading up to the encounter with Minji again; yeah, it’s a little anticlimactic for you to see this in your first read, sorry]

You failed to say a word to her, and there may not be any second chance for this.

It’s funny, miles away from where you’ve feared most. No soul in the world would’ve expected this. 

The sun continues on its path, too busy rushing to make its predetermined setting time, ergo apathetic to the colors it casts onto the sky and the way Minji is elegantly bathed by it. Her features are frozen, you alike, mouth slightly ajar. Waves crashing onto the sand keep filling in the silence between you, each encouraging your heart to push out a syllable you’re choking. There’s no battle on who would give in to snapping back into reality first since the argument on the encounter being a dream is too plausible.

Though less often as time goes on, Minji has been your recurring nocturnal figure. Occasionally, she appears as the one who has disregarded your cries during those final days – unresponsive, cold, unaware of your collapse. If not, it’s you and her enamored in what you’ve always wanted her to see, conversing like high school students again. Either way, you usually classify the world surrounding you as nightmares after the alarms are off, almost always with tears welling and ragged breaths, as if her presence alone is enough to give vitality to your nights.

But if this is a lucid dream, both of you would’ve laughed by now, under the Odaiba Beach sunset. Memories are washed away into the sea, making way for you to run along the shoreline, free from any grievances. You wouldn’t go as far as saying that it could’ve been her on the flight here with you, even if the potential of it touches you in more than one way.

The bewilderment of meeting her in where’s supposed to be your sanctuary hasn’t faded one bit. It clouds the fact that she has preserved her high ponytail. She grips her denim jacket ever so tightly while slightly parting aside from the center, revealing a pitch-black turtleneck shirt beneath. The brown string crossing her body is holding her likely expensive handbag resting on the side of her hips. All of these are topped with beige, all-creased pants, undercut with sneakers of the same color, or not, you don’t seem to care anymore.

Voice notes and texts are woven into a tapestry, the one you and she cut as your paths diverged. Yet, your threads, somehow, have been remaining set to interlock with each other again after all this time. The track was divided into a parallel, just with a sea of hatred, sometimes reflecting a spark of care.

It’s still clear as day, the way she left you blind, likely without remorse, any glimmer of hope was eradicated with blocks on social media. The way you tell the version of your story enough times for you to find the median and average spot where people would start to cry. And not that you were left unshaken with each iteration; you just stop before giving in to the sorrow hanging off the edge of your tear ducts. And at one point, it became another tale, a cult classic to you.

Still, this is no place and time to assert your wounds anymore. It’s Tokyo, and five years have passed. Getting one over her shouldn’t matter anymore, you know that. What’s left to achieve in triumph is just plunging the dagger into yourself once more, revisiting how shaken you have been without her for all these years. And three, you’re the one on the wrong side.

Plus, it’s not so awful that she left, even if it casts you in a state of bereft in the first few months. You deleted her photos, and both of you blocked each other. You learned to collect yourself up again, shredding what was once shared while coming to terms with the ones rooted in the essence of you, learning to let them be shared with others. The cadence doesn’t entirely sound like it was, yet it’s what you’ve accepted as days pass.

You still hate her; it’s a known fact. I fucking hate you rings true to this day - a half-thought during a fire burned into your wrists, calling out to be crossed off. Guilt, shame, and self-loathing have been rooting off it, yet you can’t bleed the source out.

In the shadows that the sun cast, you feel a twitch in the corner of your mouth - the determination to conceal any hints of glee at her presence is trying to keep itself afloat. Another gulp in your throat only delays the inevitable; your cheek is trembling from an unknown feeling. It’s teasing the brim. It’s tasting the uncertainty. It’s towering over your hatred. And it brings the nocturnal summer wind that embraced you on the first day at high school, the day she picked up her name tag when everything was in the right place.

“Kim Min-Ji.” Your teacher called as she stood up to pick up her name tag.

“I like you.”

And it flows through you–

“Him? Not really.”

“God, you suck at badminton.” You did “outscore” her by quite a margin (twenty-one to six).

–all the words you’ve said–

“I’ll probably be a doctor. You haven’t chosen yours yet?”

–all the words she has said–

“I think she’s the one.” (She wasn’t.)

“These early mornings are killing me.” Her high school project was killing her.

“Yeah, I can’t be bothered with all this studying. I’ll probably make some nice portfolio and pray.”

–all the dreams drawn together–

“If someone wants to enter here, they can just look at these pics and follow the instructions. It might not be for everyone, I guess. I still wish I could help them, though.”

“I really fucked up a lot during quarantine, like my mental state was dwindling.”

“Now I’m going to be a tired doctor all my life.” She scoffs, downplaying her success.

“This place is filled with rich people.”

–all the struggles vented–

“God, I look so pretty in this.” The red lipstick looks good on her; you wish you knew the exact shade.

“We need to recreate this photo; you stand here.”

“See ya.” She said, not knowing it would be the last time you would see each other face to face.

“Really fucking drunk right nowww, just wanna say you’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had, like definitely top five, haha.” It was a drunk text in a bar under the blaring music.

–all the love proclaimed–

“I’ll probably have to study another year. You’re still invited to my graduation, though. We’d be like twenty-six by then, right?” 

“I’m sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have done that, too.”

“I fucking hate you.” The line that became a part of you ever since.

–and the ending.

“Don’t message me anymore; just go live your life separately. Have a pleasant life.”

Are you sure to delete 525 photos permanently?

This action cannot be undone.

Delete Permanently

It’s as if someone made a supercut of you two.

It's excruciating, the way it seeps through your brain, the same one that hung you to be ravaged by the abyss. A wave of serotonin washes over your face, sheathed within the Tokyo Bay’s serenity. And a smile forms, over five years of her name being a crucifixion. It’s you breaking the cadence, and you can only beg her to accept it.

Alas, you have never been in the position to ask for anything. You’ve always been the convict in the sad songs supposed to bury you under their alphabets, robbing the sorrow you meant to drown into. You are her mistake, one that she’s likely so enthusiastic to cross off in her diary.

Yet, under the setting sun, in such a foreign place, and after years of it, maybe she forgets, maybe she forgives, or perhaps she doesn’t care about it. But if even it is written in the sand of Odaiba Beach, it would also be etched on the same wound you see on your pulse, that Kim Min-Ji reciprocates your smile, with a chuckle even, back bent forward the same way you remember to accommodate such elation.

And free from conviction, you are. It’s not the late-night, thumbs-on-keyboard kind of relationship anymore, neither being two free spirits against the world; it’s two people, unshackled from grudges. It’s the closure in the same veins of La La Land, a tapestry of love remains, despite the zeroes and ones translated as blocks, plus the frontal lobe chemicals interpreted as detestations. There has always been a part of you that cares - under the miles of self-loathing from guilt and the despise entrenched in you.

As cued, the setting sun is refracted in the drop of tear grazing your left cheek. She seems fine, even if she’s drowned in her droplets, thirty, forty, or fifty—you aren’t sure anymore—meters away from the idyllic waves. It won’t be the same, and it can never be. Years of walling each other out only dims any remaining glimmer. But here you are, under the Tokyo sun, laughing and crying on such an unfortunate encounter.

You aren’t fourteen again. It doesn’t feel like the first day or the first words of you two. It’s two grief-stricken adults with a shared past. Both cannot hold on to their grudges, though, just you being an asshole for having them.

You aren’t her mistake after all, and she’s not your mistake anymore.

And it’s not witty, but it would suffice.

“Hey.”

—

“That was her, right?”

“Yeah.”

“How was it? I see that you guys were kinda smiling.”

You ponder for a moment, a little too long before Haewon would ask again.

“It ends well, right?”

“I suppose so.”

—

I need to get over you.

—

[fruitjoos]

I choose you

art donaldson x reader, patrick zweig x reader

part two

summary: you and art had a baby right after college, but you were both so young and had different goals, so you split. despite the separation, you co-parented well and moved on. then you met patrick, who brought a new light into your life and made you feel like yourself again. time moved quickly, and patrick wants to meet your daughter. When art and patrick finally come face to face, it stirs up old feelings and challenges. now, you’re left questioning whether you’re as strong as you believed.

It was one of those warm summer nights that should have felt serene, yet the air thrummed with a tension you couldn't shake. You stood at the edge of the driveway, arms crossed, watching as Art pulled up, your daughter in the backseat. Your pulse faltered the moment he stepped out of the car. He looked exactly the same as he always had. Composed, familiar, and infuriatingly steady.

This wasn’t where you thought you’d be at 25. Pregnant before you were ready, tied to a man you still loved but couldn’t seem to build a future with. You and Art had tried. When your daughter was born, you both clung to the dream of a family, thinking love would somehow mend the cracks. But love wasn’t enough. The breakup wasn’t explosive; it was the kind that left loose ends—unanswered questions and words left unsaid.

A year after the split, you met Patrick. He was different, uncomplicated. He brought laughter back into your life when you’d forgotten how to even smile. With him, life felt lighter, easier. After a year of dating, it seemed to be getting serious. He asked to meet your daughter, and for once, it didn’t feel overwhelming. It felt like the natural next step.

But Art lingered, a shadow over everything.

As you walked the pavement, Patrick trailing behind you, you hadn’t expected the world to tilt. Art was helping your daughter out of the car when he turned toward the house, his eyes instantly locking onto Patrick. For a moment, time stalled.

Patrick froze, his easygoing smile flickering into something softer, uncertain. His lips parted in surprise, a flicker of relief crossing his face, as if seeing Art was a dreaded confrontation he was somehow relieved to face. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and in that brief exchange, a faint echo of the friendship they once shared surfaced, a time before everything went wrong.

"Art?" Patrick’s voice was low, tentative, as if he were testing the weight of the name in the air. No anger, just surprise, perhaps even a hint of warmth.

Art’s reaction, though, was colder. His expression hardened, eyes narrowing as he glanced between you and Patrick. The sight of Patrick standing there, next to you, stirred something deep and bitter inside him. The last time they’d seen each other, their friendship had crumbled, leaving only unresolved tension in its wake. And now Patrick was here, comfortable, a part of the life Art had once imagined for himself.

“Patrick,” Art muttered, his voice as cool as his gaze. He couldn’t hide the jealousy that bubbled beneath the surface. His hand tightened slightly on your daughter’s shoulder as his eyes flicked over the scene before him. Patrick, beside you, looking like he belonged. Art’s jaw clenched. Patrick wasn’t supposed to be in the picture, but there he stood, like a ghost from the past Art hadn’t wanted to face.

You stood between them, feeling the tension thickening. You glanced between Patrick’s softened expression and Art’s tightened jaw, confusion swirling inside you.

"Oh, you two know each other?" Your voice broke the silence, a strained attempt to defuse the mounting tension.

Patrick gave a small, uneasy smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, you could say that."

Art’s eyes flicked to you, sharp, unreadable. "We used to." His tone was cool, laced with an unmistakable edge.

You walked toward him, your nerves fluttering. "Be nice," you whispered, locking eyes with him, the intensity between you a little too familiar. "Patrick’s a good guy. I really like him."

Art raised an eyebrow, smirking in that cynical way you knew too well. "I’m always nice."

You shot him a look, exasperated. "I’m serious. Please, don’t do this."

But there was something in his gaze that told you it was already too late.

Dinner began smoothly enough, or so you thought. Patrick was his usual charming self, effortlessly making your daughter giggle. But Art was watching, his eyes narrowing at every laugh, his mouth tightening when your daughter leaned into Patrick, laughing at his impressions.

Then it started—slowly, almost imperceptibly at first. Art casually questioned Patrick’s job, poking at his easygoing attitude. The comments grew sharper, until finally, Art set his fork down and said, "You don’t seem like the marrying type. Too... temporary."

Patrick tried to brush it off with a chuckle, but you noticed the tension in his jaw, the way his grip on his wine glass tightened.

Art didn’t stop. "Let’s be real. This isn’t going anywhere long-term. We have a child together, that’s forever. You and me? We’re family. Things always come full circle."

Your stomach dropped. The room fell into an awkward silence as Patrick’s smile disappeared. You glared at Art, but he just leaned back, clearly satisfied with himself.

The rest of the evening dragged on, the atmosphere thick with silent resentment. By the time Art left, your daughter tucked away in bed, Patrick had gone quiet. He stood in the kitchen doorway, his hands shoved into his pockets, staring at the floor.

"Are you okay?" you asked gently, placing a hand on his arm.

"Do you want to marry me?" His voice was tight, catching you off guard. His eyes searched yours, filled with a doubt you hadn’t seen before. "You talked about marriage with Art... but you’ve never even mentioned it with me."

You opened your mouth to respond, but he continued.

"And kids... Do you want more? With me? Or is that off the table because Art’s already in the picture?"

"Patrick, no..." You sighed, running a hand over your hair. "It’s not like that."

"Then what is it?" His voice cracked, the frustration spilling over. "Because right now, it feels like I’m competing with him. Like no matter what I do, he’ll always be part of your life. Your real life."

Your heart clenched at his words, guilt gnawing at you. "This isn’t about you," you said softly. "It’s not about choosing him over you, or whatever contest you think he’s trying to win. I just... I can’t pretend Art doesn’t exist. He’s my daughter’s father, and that’s never going to change."

Patrick’s face softened, but the hurt lingered in his eyes. "I just don’t know if I can keep feeling like the second choice."

Your chest tightened. "Patrick, you’re not the second choice. You’ve brought light back into my life. Something I didn’t even realize I needed." You took his hand, but he hesitated. "I’m still figuring this out, and I can’t rush into anything. Not after everything that’s happened. Not when I’m still trying to be the best mother I can be."

Patrick exhaled slowly, his shoulders loosening as he pulled you into his arms. "Okay," he whispered, his voice warm against your hair. "No rush. Just us."

But the unease lingered in the days that followed. It seemed as though the tension had lifted, but beneath Patrick’s lighthearted demeanor, something deeper simmered.

One evening, as you sat on the couch after your daughter had gone to nap, Patrick’s voice broke the quiet.

"I know you need time," he said softly, his eyes serious, "but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m still competing with him." He looked down at his hands. "Hearing Art talk about how you two are a family... it got to me. Maybe I shouldn’t let it bother me, but it does. I see the way he looks at you, and I just—" He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I don’t know if I’ll ever be enough."

Your heart twisted at his words. "Patrick, you are enough," you insisted, your voice strong. "What Art said…that was him trying to get to you. He knows how to push buttons, but it doesn’t mean anything. What matters is us."

Patrick sighed, his voice small. "But what if he’s right? What if, in the end, you and Art end up back together? You have a child with him. That’s a bond I’ll never have."

You reached out, cupping his face in your hands. "Art and I are over. Yes, we have a child together, and that will always connect us. But that’s all it is. I’m with you now. I chose you."

Patrick’s eyes softened as he exhaled shakily. "I just needed to hear that."

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him softly. "Let’s move on together. No more worrying about Art. No more doubts. Just us."

And for the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope. Despite the history with Art, you were choosing a future with Patrick. And for now, that was enough.

It was well past midnight when your phone lit up beside your bed, casting a soft glow over the room. You squinted at the screen, heart sinking slightly when you saw the name: Art.

You hesitated, thumb hovering over the message. Patrick was fast asleep beside you, his breath steady and calm and oblivious.

Are you up? Can we talk?

Your pulse quickened. It wasn’t like him to text this late. You thought about ignoring it, but something in the pit of your stomach told you that if you didn’t respond, he’d show up at your door. And besides, you were already awake, thoughts of Patrick’s earlier words still gnawing at you.

Yeah, I’m up. What’s going on?

The reply was instant.

I need to see you.

Slipping out of bed quietly, you tiptoed into the living room, sitting down on the edge of the couch. You didn’t know what to expect, but there was an uneasy feeling in your chest. After a few minutes, your phone buzzed again.

I’m outside.

You stood and crossed the room, pulling the curtain aside just enough to see his car parked out front. A sigh escaped your lips as you opened the door, stepping into the cool night air. Art was leaning against his car, hands shoved deep into his jeans pockets. His eyes found yours immediately, a mixture of desperation and some other odd, unreadable emotion flickering in their depths.

“What’s going on?” you asked softly, wrapping your arms around yourself to ward off the chill, though you knew the cold had nothing to do with the sudden shiver running through you.

He exhaled heavily, pushing off the car and stepping closer. “I just... I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About us. About our daughter.” His voice was low, rough, like he hadn’t slept in days. “This isn’t how things are supposed to be.”

You swallowed, unsure of where he was going with this, but the unease in your chest only grew. “Art, it’s late. If this is about something with our daughter—”

“It’s not just about her,” he interrupted, running a hand through his hair, his movements agitated. “It’s about us. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. How we were. What we had.”

A pit formed in your stomach. “Art...”

He took a step closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made you feel like the ground beneath you was shifting. “We’re supposed to be together. A family. I don’t care what happened between us in the past. I still love you. I never stopped.”

Your heart stuttered, confusion swirling in your mind. “You can’t just say things like that. We’ve both moved on. You know that.”

“Have we?” he shot back, voice sharp. “You can sit there and tell me you don’t feel anything when you see me? When we’re around each other?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words got caught in your throat because the truth was more complicated than you wanted to admit. There was always a pull with Art, always a part of you that couldn’t forget what you had shared. What you had lost.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” you whispered, shaking your head.

“Well, I do,” he said, stepping closer still, his voice urgent. “You and I have a daughter together. We are bound for life, whether we like it or not. And that means something. We’re a family. We should be together. Not... not split up. Not dragging other people into our mess.”

You froze, your mind immediately jumping to Patrick. “What are you trying to say, Art?”

He sighed, frustration coloring his features. “Patrick isn’t part of this. He’s an outsider. I don’t care how much fun he is or how good he makes you feel. He doesn’t belong in this, with our family.”

Anger flared inside you, but you bit it back, refusing to raise your voice in the middle of the night. “Art, you don’t get to make that call. Patrick has been there for me in ways you haven’t.”

His jaw clenched. “Because you never gave me the chance. You shut me out. We broke up, and suddenly, you’re with him. What about us? What about trying to make this work for the sake of our daughter?”

“We tried,” you reminded him, your voice wavering. “We tried to make it work, and it didn’t. We hurt each other, Art. You know that.”

His hand reached out, gently brushing your arm, the touch so familiar it sent a shiver down your spine. “But we can try again. We should try again. For her. Don’t you see? A family is supposed to be together. Not fractured. Not pulled in different directions.” His eyes searched yours, the desperation there making your heart twist. “We owe it to her to give this another shot. To be a real family.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, the weight of his words pressing down on you. A part of you wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that it could be as simple as that. Trying again, picking up the pieces, and finding a way back to each other. But the other part of you, the part that had spent months rebuilding your life, knew it wasn’t that simple.

“And what about Patrick?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. “He’s been good to me. To her. I can’t just throw him away because you suddenly decide you want us back.”

Art’s expression darkened slightly, his voice dropping. “He’s not part of this equation. You and I are the only ones who matter here. We have history. A family. He’ll never understand that the way I do. He’ll always be on the outside looking in. Can you really see a future with him, knowing that I’m always going to be there? Always going to be a part of your life?”

You bit your lip, your mind spinning. He was right about one thing. Art would always be there. He wasn’t someone you could just forget, or leave in the past. And that had always been the hardest part of trying to move on.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” you whispered.

“And I don’t want to hurt you,” Art said softly, stepping even closer, his voice low and persuasive. “I just want us to be a family. A real family, without anyone else getting in the way.”

His hand cupped your cheek, his touch warm, and for a moment, you felt yourself falter. You thought of your daughter, of the life you had once imagined with Art, the life that had slipped through your fingers. Could you really just let that go? Could you really keep pretending that Patrick was enough when this was the man you had once built your world around?

“We can do this,” Art murmured, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “We can make this work, I know we can. Just give me another chance. Give us another chance.”

Your heart ached, torn between the weight of your past and the uncertainty of your future. And in that moment, standing in the stillness of the night with Art’s hand on your cheek, you didn’t know what to believe anymore.

[genericpuff]

This plot point annoyed me so much! I thought she was finally going to open up to Persephone about the reasons why she hated Hades so much, about what he did to her, but no! They just introduced a new yet unnecessary character to the story 🤦🏼‍♀️

What are your thoughts about it?

oh yeah it annoyed the piss out of me too and for one very big reason that is CHRONIC in LO:

It's a solution to a problem Demeter didn't have.

This happens to a lot of characters throughout the comic. They'll have some kind of plot-driven conflict or character-driven flaw, and then it will be solved by something else entirely that had nothing to do with their original problem or doesn't line up with the theme of their storytelling. Minthe had insecurity issues and a toxic relationship with Hades? Just give her a classroom full of children to babysit! Hades had infertility issues? That's fine, Persephone somehow fixes those issues because at the end of the comic they have babies and Hades has his happy ending so it's fine! Hera was in an unhappy relationship with Zeus and had trauma from her past as a victim of Kronos? No problem, just make her an all powerful fertility goddess! Persephone accidentally causes winter which kills possibly thousands of people? Gaia is here to save the day, and also she's the one who makes Persephone return to the Mortal Realm for a couple months with full visitation rights. Apollo is a serial rapist who's attempted murder on several occasions, even against his own father in an attempt to take the throne? Community service, that'll solve it.

Demeter is one of the biggest examples of Rachel's inability of writing an actual cohesive plotline. She writes like the only goal is to come up with new twists to keep people reading each week without ever considering what themes or questions she should be answering throughout. So when she does pose questions, the answers often wind up being severely disconnected because she can't be bothered to actually plan out a plotline with narrative structure, she just needs 'things' to happen. To put it bluntly and simply, she writes like how a 13 year old on Wattpad would write, no actual thinking about the material she's presenting, no consideration for the curtains and what color they are, just "make the things happen so that people will keep reading because that's what writing is!"

Demeter's problem wasn't her failing to understand Persephone. It was people failing to understand her when she had reasonable cause to both be wary of Persephone moving to Olympus as well as Hades and his intentions with her daughter. But because Rachel needs to have the perfect happy ending for her self-insert power fantasy couple, she resorts to gaslighting both Demeter as well as the audience by extension into believing that the solution to Demeter's character arc... is understanding Persephone more.

Like first of all, the moral "people just want to be understood" is way, WAY too "baby's first storyline" at this point in the story especially when we've tried to tackle much bigger topics like sexual assault, and when we know how complex Demeter's backstory is. There's no way she needs to be told by Hebe that people just want to be "understood". She absolutely knows this already, and has been fighting to be understood by her siblings and peers and family for centuries, but of course, everyone sees her as just "the contrarian".

But then the final solution is... the sudden appearance of Demophoon as her long-lost child, and Hades giving her the volcanoes. That's it. She doesn't get to actually become Queen of the Mortal Realm, she never really gets closure over the past 2000 years of abuse from everyone around her, Hades just - like with everyone - buys her affection and she gets a new baby to pour her attention into instead of Persephone and we're all just forced to go along with it for the sake of Rachel's fantasy.

Rachel can't write (￢_￢;)

[ladykailitha]

The Hellfire Exotic Club Part 9

Hey guys! Last week was a bit rough on all the chapters. So I'm hoping things pick up this week.

In his we have Nancy being nosy and Steve and Robin accidentally stumble on a part of the mystery.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

~

Robin and Steve were coming out of their appointment at the district attorney’s office when they spotted an unusual couple seating in the cafe across the street.

“Say, Robin,” Steve said tilting his head forward, “what say we try out that cafe today?”

At first Robin was confused then she spotted the duo, too. “You know, when you’re right, you’re right. I wonder if they pain au chocolats.”

“Oohh,” Steve said, rubbing his hands together. He loved those chocolate croissants as much as she did. “I wonder if they serve hot chocolate, too!” He liked coffee, but the mark of a good cafe in his opinion was their hot chocolate. The richer and darker the better.

They walked into the cafe. It was brightly lit and everything was in warm browns and bright yellows. Steve loved it immediately.

Turned out that not only did they have Robin’s pain au chocolats, they also had cheesecake by the slice. So Robin got her latte with her pain au chocolat and Steve got his hot chocolate with a slice a white chocolate raspberry cheesecake.

Then Steve and Robin sat down at table near their interesting couple and Robin turned on the record function on her phone with a wink, and then pulled a book out her purse and Steve pulled out his phone to scroll through social media.

They didn’t have to wait long before the couple said something stupid.

“What do you mean you’re not doing it anymore?” Billy hissed. “The goal was to get the new guy out.”

“Yeah,” Stella growled back. “To get your job back, but if I continue and that nosy bitch gets wind of it, we’ll both be out of job. Hell the whole club will be out of fucking job!”

“Tell me about it again,” Billy said with a heavy sigh.

So Stella went over the whole thing with Nancy and Jason again. “She rocketed to the top of journalism world in two short years, Billy. If she starts sniffing around and finds out about the attacks on Steve, she’ll blow up the whole joint without batting a single eyelash!”

“I thought you said they were exes or some shit,” Billy huffed. “Why the fuck does she still care for the guy? Like he’s not even that great of a dancer. He’s new and shiny, once the novelty wears off, people will slack off and Eddie will be begging me to come back.”

“Who knows,” Stella said, waving her hand dismissively. “But does that mean we can stop, at least until she writes her little article?”

“Yeah, baby,” he purred. “You can stop until the nosy little reporter get her rocks off and nothing happens, same as usual.”

Steve and Robin rolled their eyes as sounds of making out reached their eyes. Robin turned off her recording after making sure to get video of the two them kissing and giggling with each other.

Shortly after Billy and Stella left, probably to avoid getting kicked out for public indecency.

“So what do you think, Robs?” Steve said with a grin, “You think we should come back here more often?”

“Hell, yeah!”

~

“What do you mean you’re not going to do anything about it?” Steve protested. “I have evidence right there!”

“Steve...” Eddie said softly. “I get it. I do. But I want to catch them in the act, too. And if they’re gone to ground, then we wait them out. It’s hard. I know. You want justice and I do too, for you. But we have to play this smart. I’ll make copies of the recording and keep it safe. But let’s focus on keeping the club open so everyone still has jobs, yeah?”

Steve deflated and sat down hard in the chair. He put his hands between his legs. “I know the club is more important but to have that just fall in me and Robin’s lap. It just seemed like a sign you know?”

Eddie got up and walked around his desk. He knelt in front Steve and took his hand. “It is. It is exactly what we needed. We know who it is now. We can monitor them closely. Catch them in the act. But we have to tread carefully. Especially with Jason Carver and Nancy Wheeler teaming up to shut us down.”

Steve let out a shuddering breath and nodded. Eddie gently raised his head head by putting his fingers under the and gently raised it.

“Well get them good,” he promised. “But first tell me everything about Nancy Wheeler. I take you two were partners?”

Steve scoffed. “I was the only danseur who would put up with her diva attitude.” He shrugged. “Mainly because I could out bitch her. She was a talented ballerina, completely wasted on Indiana, but she didn’t want to leave her younger siblings when things were getting rough between their parents. It was a whole fucking mess.”

“You said that an understudy performed a leap wrong and that you got hurt?” Eddie murmured, squeezing Steve’s hand. “That must have been heartbreaking.”

“She lurched to the side,” Steve said, “and I pulled a muscle. And frankly I wasn’t heartbroken, I was relieved. I didn’t have to live up to other people’s expectations anymore.” He shrugged. “Did a couple of odd jobs like the ice cream shop where I met Robin. I stripped for a couple of years and made a decent amount of money, but the boss was a sleaze and would pay you based how willing you were to sleep with him. And since he was straight, you can imagine how that went.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh. “Oh, I know. Almost everyone of those people out there dancing for me have similar horror stories.”

“When we got the job at the rec center,” Steve continued, “we figured that it would be where we’d finally settle at. There were instructors there that had been there for ten years or more. We could finally make enough money for Robin to go to school and get her degree.”

“And then it fell apart.” Eddie was angry on their behalf. They shouldn’t have had the life they led. They were good people. “I’m really hoping that you and Robin will stay for as long as you need to.”

Steve smiled up at him. “For as long as these legs work, you’ve got me.” His breath caught when he realized how close they had gotten. Their breath mingled together. All he had to do was lean just a little more...

Then there was a sudden knock on the door. Eddie didn’t spring away, which Steve was grateful for, but he gave his hand a squeeze and stood up.

“Come in!” Eddie called, moving to lean against the desk as if he had been there the whole time.

Chrissy came in with a struggling Nancy Wheeler in tow. She pushed the journalist toward the second chair and closed the door tightly behind her. Chrissy sneered. “Look at who I found sniffing around the garbage bins.”

“Did you give her to Benny?” Eddie asked with a grin. “I’m mean if she’s dumpster diving for food, I’m sure we could persuade our cook to make up her something so she doesn’t starve.”

Nancy gave a disgruntled gasp at the very thought of her dumpster diving. “I beg your pardon!”

“Kinky,” Chrissy said wagging her eyebrows suggestively. “Who would have thought the princess was into BDSM?”

“I would never sink to the depths of depravity,” Nancy snapped, crossing her arms in front of her chest, “that you lot seem to sink to here.”

Steve shook his head. “I just don’t get it, Nance. You weren’t this militant about sex before. You weren’t a hippie by any means, but Jesus H. Christ, this is extreme.”

“If you would just walk away from this place,” she huffed, “maybe I wouldn’t have to push so hard. I’ve been hearing around that you’ve done pole dancing of some form since you left us, pretty much. You could have done anything with your craft but you chose to demean yourself by taking off your clothes for strangers!”

“Have you seen him strip?” Chrissy asked her honestly. “Because he’s good. I never got to see him do ballet, but he is sooo good at this.”

Nancy glared at her. “Of course I have,” she huffed. “Jason brought me here one night to show me what the depths this place sunk to. Everything was gaudy and over the top. Gold everywhere.”

Chrissy and Eddie shared a glance and then burst out laughing. Steve licked his lips as he tried to suppress a smile. He didn’t think he succeeded.

Nancy was looking at all of them in confusion. “What’s so funny?”

“You think Steve is a backup dancer?” Eddie asked wiping away a tear and holding his ribs with one hand. “Honey, he’s a headliner.”

Nancy glance back and forth between Steve and Eddie. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh Saturdays and Sundays,” Chrissy explained, “Steve is either part of the trio of co-headliners that include Eddie and me or his the main solo act. He’s Envy. And a damn fine one, too.”

“But why would you hire an outsider to fulfill a major spot like that?” Nancy huffed. “And why Steve? He was only the lead danseur because I insisted on it.”

“Fuck you too, Nance,” Steve spat. “I earned my place same as you. And if the director didn’t have a crush on you, you wouldn’t have been the lead in anything, your attitude notwithstanding.”

“Gross!” Nancy hissed, jumping to her feet. “You take that back! Murray Bauman did not have a crush on me. That’s disgusting.”

Steve rolled his eyes and crossed his legs. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.”

“If you’re out to get us closed down,” Eddie said, steering the conversation back around to the important part, his club, “you’ve got nothing. You’ve got worse than nothing. You’ve got hurt feelings and stubbornness that rivals God.”

“What about Steve falling off the stage?” she asked haughtily, looking down her nose at them. “It’s not safe, clearly!”

Steve snorted. “Like you actually care. Accidents happen.”

“Plus,” Chrissy said, tossing her hair over her shoulder, “one accident in God knows how long. I don’t remember a dancer having one in all the years I’ve been here. There’s always going to be accidents with patrons or wait and cooking staff. That’s inevitable.”

“You’re forgetting when Amy broke her leg,” Eddie said seriously. “That was about three years ago, though.”

Nancy eyes lit up at the idea of a morsel she could sink her teeth into. “Oh, yeah? What happened to her?”

Eddie and Chrissy shared a glance.

“Right,” Chrissy said, pushing Nancy toward the door. “I think that’s about enough of you. If you aren’t out of the parking lot in five minutes I’m having Eddie call the cops and hand them the recording of you snooping through our trash which is private property. Shoo!”

Nancy saw herself out and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

“Fuck.”

~

Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

Tag List: CLOSED

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @dreamercec @sadisticaltarts @too-much-tma-stuff @dolphincliffs @chameleonhair

10- @themoonagainstmers @gloomysoup @novelnovella @micheledawn1975 @garden-of-gay

[pinkyjulien]

I did not expect hostility over my Flat Chest mod, so I'll half acknowledge it and kill some of the assumption before they take roots in other people's minds

No, I did not make this mod *because* I refuse to support Na's flat chest mod

Initial Mod idea was a working "binder" for Fem, something you'd equip to flatten the chest- like a real life binder, basically. It's part of my To-Do list of June, for Pride

The mod evolved as I got more ideas, I also started working on a body replacer, it's basically ready to ship as well, but I decided against it; not to step on toes and causing confusion with two "flat chest" body mods, knowing there is also another one in the work from a fellow modder

(the binders themselves will come much later, and will be available for both fem and masc body frames!)

Again, the mod started as a "binder"- I mentioned it multiple times, either in servers where I started sharing the idea, and in the tags of my mod post

"Binders" are not costumes. They are gender affirming aid, something a lot of person use; I've made a couple of "wearable" / "switchable" body parts mods in the past already, including a trans masc vagina, I really hope you don't see this as a costume as well?

In the universe of Cyberpunks, implants and synth skin are used by everyone, for all kind of purpose; GNC people, trans people and gender-fluid people would probably use implants and cyberware to sculpt themselves, feel comfortable in their body

Who's to say some rich citizen wouldn't have some fancy switchable body pieces- hell it's even canon in game, Mr.Stud and Mrs.Midnight? Switchable boobs are already a thing, I don't see what's wrong with switching up for a flatter chest

The survey's results aren't out yet, so I couldn't know. But that's beside the point, as my mod isn't a "bandaid" for any issue this fandom may have

If the name is causing trouble, I'm open to changing it; but the main goal, again, was to flatten the vanilla fem V chest, and I think "flat chest" is pretty straight forward for nexus users

Mmmh. Sorry but, no

Everyone is different and handle their own space differently, and I do not want to support people who did me, or my friends, any serious mental health damage. Be it from harassement, witch hunt and whatnot

I won't be dragging in there old drama from 2 years ago, but I simply won't support someone who tried to get a friend of mine fired from their work place, threatening to send a 30+ pages google doc to their leads and boss, and dragging all of their personal beefs to the public on multiple social medias. They ruined my friend's mental health, and I simply won't forgive nor forget.

That is my right. And I wish people would accept and respect that.

I won't tell anyone who to support or what mod to use/not use, NOBODY should tell you what to do, what to support, who to like or dislike; and nobody can control who I must support and what I must do. Simple as that

And I'm glad the flat chest body mod exist for people who wish to use it! I'm offering another option that I'm sure some people will find useful

Thank you :)

People already gave me trouble in the past for "doing work that already exist"

Those past few weeks has been eventful when it comes to "drama" especially involving Zwei, who's notorious for having a modding monopol and gatekeeping ideas in general

Let's not bring that same mindset here, yeah?

Everyone is free to mod what they want, whatever body they want, to refit what they want!

Again, just to point it out, mod isn't there to fix a problem, that's just a mod I wanted to make

It's a brand new mod, meaning it needs refiting; I did not test the flat chest bodymod, nor tried the already existing vanilla refit. And I won't, for the reasons I cited aboved a few lines before.

I'm glad you agree! Nobody has to do things they don't want to

You call it disingenuous, and I call it having principles/self respect; again, crazy how different people are from one another, and how we just can't assume everyone work and react the same as we do

I see, I see, the name is a big issue; I'm open to suggestion, feel free to leave a reply and I'll see what catches my eyes

Cause It's still my mod, so I get to decide

Anyway, hope this cleared up a few things, and sorry this made people upset!

For everyone else, thank you for the support 🧡

[dissociation-station123]

Consumed

Choso One Shot: Choso X Reader

He is a tiny bit obsessive in this one. Mature content. Smut ⚠️

Warnings: rough; oral; voyerism; jealousy

There is a beat in everything around us. The varying tempos fill your mind at all times. An angry couple argues across from you. Soft tap of the rain against the cafe window. The steady hissing of the espresso machine. You tap your finger against the marble table as you messily write 2 then 4 across your chaotic staff paper.

Unable to stop as a whirlwind of inspiration fills you. You nearly jump out of your chair when you look up and see dark purple eyes staring at you with adoration. “Choso…” you mumble, taking a breath.

“Hey…” his soft voice greets you warmly, a soft grin. “I didn’t want to interrupt. Is this for the next gig?” You nod trying to stay focused on him. You felt bad when you got distracted by the sounds around you.

“You amaze me.” His expression was both comforting and overwhelming. You could feel how much he truly cared for you. In the past it was terrifying. You had no idea why he was so captivated by you. Now hearing things like this were common. Which was strange in itself.

“The groupie is here!” A loud playful shout invades the space between you. Satoru Gojo pulls up a chair to sit beside Choso, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

Choso blushes as he stutters to respond. “I’m not…” he looks to you for help but you shrug. “Ugh…” You see him bury his face in his hands and you giggle. He could be pretty adorable. At the sound of your laughter Choso looks up in awe.

“Anyways!” Satoru rolls his eyes. “Is our genius drummer going to be ready?” He turns to you and grabs your papers, frowning at your dischord.

You snatch them from his hand. “You know I will be.” Satoru leans over and ruffles your hair with that signature wide grin. You knew him well. Your band started up in high school and you started receiving small gigs right after graduation.

“I’m so excited I can barely sleep.” He says, you see that he is unable to sit still. “Already sold out! This is our dream.” You don’t correct him, this was the rest of the group's goal. You just wanted to be able to create in peace. Your dream was already fulfilled a while ago. “All of those people are coming to see us! In the stadium we fantasized about playing all those years ago.”

“Yeah…” you mumble, suddenly worried. You know you should be fine. You have played large crowds countless times now. Anytime you are presenting something new, your anxiety flares to life. A nudge of a foot under the table makes you look up. Choso winks and you smirk.

Before you could thank him, people outside began screaming. Your eyes widen and you see Satoru sigh. “Sukuna must be outside.” The flashy lead singer of your band drew attention everywhere you traveled. Once he was recognized that’s when you become noticed as well. You were a private person so you were always careful. But with him around being anonymous became impossible.

Satoru also enjoyed the spotlight. Playing to the crowd but today you did notice he was wearing plain clothes with a mask. “Toji! Get Y/N back to the hotel.” Satoru orders the man who sat a few tables away.

The large man walks over as you grab your belongings. Just as you scooped your last item into your bag, his large arm wrapped around your waist. Those green eyes peer down for a second before scanning the best exit. Eyes full of a song, something about his expressions always made you want to pry.

You glance over your shoulder for Choso, and his gaze has darkened. “Stalker keep up.” Toji grumbles to Choso and you watch his Jaw twitch and fist clench.

“Cho…”you call out to him, in an instant he snaps out of his ruinous mood, glancing at you with a euphoric manner. You give him a thumbs up and he nods.

Toji quickly and expertly guides you through the crowd, unnoticed. The large gathering of people was enamored by Sukuna and now Satoru.

You make eye contact with Sukuna as you pass and he grins, which always looks mischievous. He reminds you of the Cheshire Cat from Alice and Wonderland. The pink hair adds to the imagery.

Toji goes to open the front door of the large Escalade but before you could enter you are tugged backwards into a hug. “Alright…” Toji mutters exasperated and he opens the back door. You look up and Choso is clinging to you glaring in the huge man’s direction.

Choso motions for you to get in and you do. You only manage to look around for a second before he is pulling you close. His hand caressing your back as the other holds you to his chest. His heart raced at a fast pace. You tap your finger on his thigh to the count, a feverish tempo.

Toji enters the driver’s side and starts the car. “You alright Miss?” He asks, there is concern in that deep octave.

“Mmhmm.” You manage to answer though Choso was suffocating you at the moment with his pectoral, his hold tight.

Hearing you speak Choso glances down and his finger traces your lower lip. Searching your face for any type of worry. “I’m fine.” You say to ease his anxiety.

His lips were on yours before you could mutter another sound. Swallowing you whole, aggressive and possessive.

It was rare to see Choso like this. He was always so gentle and sweet towards you. You respond to the kiss, moaning as his hand travels to squeeze your thigh. His tongue prodding into your mouth not giving you time to take a breath.

“Needy little guy…” You hear a raspy chuckle from Toji. “It’s kind of cute.” Choso growls in irritation, against your mouth. He must be more bothered by the bodyguard than you realized.

You make a startled squeak as he pulls your hoody above your head in one quick motion, tossing it onto the floorboard. Choso leans down caging you under him, those violet eyes wild and flushed cheeks.

Lowering his face near your shoulder and neck, he inhaled your scent. His hand slipping under your shirt, he takes hold of your breast. You let out a gasp as his thumb finds your nipple above your bra and caresses it.

“Cho…” You go to ask him what’s wrong but he sucks harshly on your neck and your head falls back. You gave into him so easily. He knew all your weak spots. He reaches under the lacy material to pinch your bud and you swallow a moan.

Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, your mind slowly slipping to the pleasure. Choso groans deeply as you begin to grind up against him, his hard cock pushing against your now tingling cunt.

His teeth scrape along your shoulder as he marks your flesh. He bites your lower lip tugging it down. “Open…” You listen and he tightly grips your chin. You whine as he spits into your mouth and then roughly his lips were on yours again, you knew they would bruise. The pain right now was intoxicating.

All you could sense was Choso, suffocating you with his presence, his touch. “You’re so perfect…. Perfect…” He whispers as he begins to remove your sweat pants, tossing them beside your hoody.

“Fuck he is crazy…” Toji’s amused voice, you can hear it but it is distorted. You were drowning in the feeling of Choso’s tongue now on your thigh, warm, wet, and the metallic ball, to many sensations. He spread your legs with no shame, with one goal in mind. Determination and madness visible on his face as he sucks your inner thigh.

He moves the lace panties to the side, licking his lower lip in anticipation. “Y/N you're so wet…” His long finger slides up and down your folds, slowly. The sound of your arousal is obscene but turning you on even more. You cry out and arch up to guide him. The door handle digging into your back, the pain is nothing compared to your need for him.

“It is because of me right…” a light swipe to your clit and you curse. “Not because a perv is watching through the rear view mirror?” Your sweet Choso sounded sadistic. You were now putty in his very capable hands.

“Of course…ahh.. because of you! Fuck please Choso.” You whimper loudly, begging him. He laughs coldly and a shiver runs up your spine. The usual gentle expression full of consideration is nowhere to be found. You cup his cheek affectionately and he leans into your grasp, eyes closing, humming contently.

“I would go insane without you…” He whispers then kisses your palm. You watch as he brings his fingers coated in your juices into his mouth, savoring your taste. Choso groans as he licks the finger clean.

He lowers his face between your legs. “To not be able to taste you…” He blows onto your pussy and a desperate cry escapes from your lips. “Fuck not to hear you…”

Your body jolts and you scream out his name when his tongue finally licks a few stripes down your folds. Your cunt convulsing from being edged. “To fucking feel you!”

He shoves his tongue as deep into you as possible. The tongue ring running along the ridges making your mind blank. Your body is on fire, sweat glistens on your brow. You could not catch a breath.

He shows you no mercy, his nose pushing on your clit. He prods in and out as if he was rabid. Your legs are now shaking uncontrollably. He mumbles something that remotely resembles “I love you” over and over again.

You crumble so easily under him. You scream as your whole body twitches. Your orgasm hitting you like a truck. White blinds your vision and you feel tears on your cheek. Drool pools in your mouth and your heaving for air.

“Shit!!” You hear Toji curse and a loud honk, the vehicle swerves a bit. This brings you back to reality. You try to organize your chaotic thoughts. “Sorry about that.” Toji reassures you both.

You look at Choso whose amethyst eyes were wide, in shock. The two buns that were neatly placed on the top of his head now a mess due to you grabbing onto them so tightly.

“Y/N…” He whispers so gently. He looks around as if coming to his senses. “Are you ok?” He picks up your sweats and rushes to cover you up.

“Cho…” He is apologizing repeatedly, “Choso look at me.” You take hold of his chin and he lets out a sigh. “It’s fine. Toji is a professional. Right?” You look up at the bulky man as he pulls into the hotel garage. Your voice stern causes him to smirk, your vision drawn to the scar on his lip.

“Yes miss. I signed a contract.” Toji says confidently. Though you see his gaze lower, you grab your hoodie and quickly put it on. “Trust me I’ve seen crazier things.” Those emerald orbs glance at Choso as if to challenge him.

Choso swallows heavily and his fist clenches. You roll your eyes and hear Toji chuckle. You open the door and yank Choso with you. You hear the window roll down. “Speaking of confidentiality, if you need an extra hand.”

You knew what he was insinuating. You groan as you grab Choso’s arm feeling him lunge. “Goodnight Toji.” You say gruffly pulling Choso with you towards the entrance.

“Night doll.” You glare at him and it only fuels his laughter as he drives away. Choso is shaking. You take his hand intertwining your fingers. His pupils wide, he looks down at you, biting his lip.

You don’t speak and he does not protest as you lead him inside. A heavy silence follows you all the way to your room. As you remove your work from your bag, a loud yawn escapes.

“You need rest.” Choso who had sat down on the bed beside you cooes. “No more working.” He was so beautiful. You reach up to undo his hair, the black locks falling to his shoulders.

“I’m not tired.” You respond as you lazily caress his hair. You see his eyes droop in comfort. He suddenly shakes himself out of it and stands. He paces around the room slowly.

“Are you mad?” He asks more to himself than to you. “You need to rest. Are you hungry?” He glances over and you shake your head. “You haven’t really eaten my love. Well I could run down to see about getting some whiskey for you. Ooo and run you a bath! I bought those bath bombs you like.”

“Choso…” He doesn’t hear you as he begins formulating his plans. “Cho!!” You shout and he freezes. “I want you. I just want you.” You hold out your arms and the worry on his face fades within seconds. He bounds into your arms.

“Just me?” He looks up at you gleefully and you nod. “Y/N you can’t say things like that…” You watch his ears and cheeks turn red. His glance fell to the floor shyly.

“But it’s the truth.” You whisper studying his features. “You're so pretty Cho.” You cup the back of his neck to force him to look at you again. He holds his breath overwhelmed by your compliment. “Can you be rough with me again?”

“I'll do anything. Whatever you want. Anything.” Choso says without breathing. Obsession written all over his features. “Just tell me and I will do it.”

[copperbadge]

Hi Mr Starbuck! Some friends and I are moving in a few months and we're eyeing various places all over the US. Chicago came up as a relatively affordable big city (compared to LA and NYC) and I have to ask the resident Tumblr Chicagoan his opinion. As a resident who lives and works in the windy city, what's your big pros and cons of residing there (especially things you might not encounter as a tourist)? (also, how accurate is your "guide to chicago" still, since its been a few years!)

Well, I definitely have opinions!

The guide to Chicago is no longer accurate -- too many places have closed or moved, and the pandemic altered a lot (for example the Money Museum still exists but I'm not sure if it has regular hours even now). I should do a new one but like, I really don't get out much anymore so I can't talk about restaurants outside of a VERY local area, and I never could talk much about hotels, which just leaves points of interest mostly already covered by Atlas Obscura. :D At this point it'd just be kind of moot, others are doing it better than I am.

Chicago is inexpensive compared to New York or Los Angeles, but like, that's everywhere in America. Chicago is still a quite pricey city to live in, mainly because the taxes are so high -- 10.25% sales tax, for example, and my property taxes are also pretty steep. People joke about Taxachusetts, but I'm pretty sure Chicago at least has it beat (and 2/3 of the state's population lives in Chicago or the outlying suburbs). Housing is not at a premium in the way it is in NY and LA but depending on where you want to live and how far you want to commute it can still be very expensive. My housing was never less than half of my monthly income until I bought this place, and then ONLY because the job I'm in now came with a $10K/yr raise from my last one.

Chicago does have great culture, great museums, great food, and it's a liberal island in a pretty conservative region. It is however quite segregated, so if you are any race other than white, living here can get a little more complicated than I've portrayed it as a white dude. There is significant crime and particularly gun crime, but it's generally confined to specific regions of the city. That said, even if you discount crime, the Chicago PD are corrupt as fuck and uninterested in being helpful, so if you are from a demographic the cops enjoy harassing, it will not be different here.

I do love the city, warts and all. I like the water, I like the people, I like the midwestern vibe. I'd find it very hard to leave, especially because I have a network of friends here, but also because I just plain like it and I know it really well. There is a very short list of cities I'd consider leaving Chicago for, and most of those would have to have a well-paying job waiting for me. But it did take me time to fall in love with it -- it took a few years before it felt like home.

It's a little difficult to get more specific without knowing more about your situation -- what you do for work, what your budget is like, what your goals are in leaving where you are. Do you prefer to drive most places? (Parking and traffic can both get dicey.) Can you tolerate taking public transit if driving is inconvenient? Is the industry in which you work something that has a lot of openings here? Do you want to live in an urban environment, and if so are you prepared to live in a likely somewhat shitty apartment to do so? If you prefer to live in a house, are you prepared for a long commute? What do you like to do for fun and is there a thriving culture for that here? What is it important to have access to -- museums, concerts, theater, sport? Where do you need to travel to regularly (ie, I go to Austin several times a year) and how do you prefer to travel there?

Anyway, yeah -- like, I love it but I have few illusions about it. If you want to chat further feel free to hit me up by email, happy to answer more specific questions!

[staygoldfics]

They See Right Through Me

Summary: Darry's only sixteen when his parents die, and after two years in the foster care system he makes it his goal in life to bring both of his brother's home. But what happens when Sodapop has spent his time in the system on the west side? And what happens when Ponyboy spent his time in the system in New York?

Chapter Two: You're Lost and I'm Scared

Warnings: Food mention, lightly mentioned abuse. If I forgot anything please let me know.

You can also find this on AO3

Chapter One

Taglist

“Are we gonna go inside or?” Ponyboy asks, awkwardly nodding towards the door.

“Yeah- yeah sure.” Darry places a hand on Soda’s back, guiding him gently to the door, Soda swallows as the trash bag crinkles under Darry’s fist, he feels like every nerve in his body is on fire, like something is horribly horribly wrong.

They all step into the house, Ponyboy entering last, the door shuts quietly behind them. Soda watches as Pony’s eyes roam over their small living room, taking everything in as though the space is new to him, Soda wonders how much Pony remembers of their childhood home. Was it so different now? Without their parents, without their friends, the house feels empty. Soda had thought it would finally feel full with Ponyboy home. Soda watches as those stormy gray eyes land on a neatly hung picture of their family from years ago, their parents standing on either side of the three brothers, all of them laughing. When Ponyboy takes a deep breath and then quickly looks away Soda wonders if they should take the picture down, none of them can stomach to look at it these days. Pony’s eyes haven't become any softer, if anything he looks more upset, anger holds the place where sadness belongs, and Soda wishes he knew why. Soda wishes he could read his baby brother's mind the way he used to when they were little.

“Are you hungry?” Darry questions, having paused in the hallway between their bedrooms and the kitchen, he’s still holding that stupid trash bag, Soda hates it.

Ponyboy’s cold eyes turn to their oldest brother but he doesn't respond, he simply shrugs and makes his way further into the house. “Where am I sleepin?”

“Our old room” Soda says, trying his best to smile. “Darry is gonna move into mom and dad's room eventually. I'll take his room and then you can have our room. But until then we'll be fine bunking together like we used to, right?”

“I guess.” Ponyboy grumbles. “Can I?” He hesitates, moving closer to their bedroom.

“Yeah! Yeah of course honey! This is your home, you can-” Soda doesn't get to finish the sentence before Ponyboy is shutting their bedroom door in his face.

The door doesn’t slam but it’s enough to send Soda over the edge, it’s all so overwhelming, the quiet anger, the silence, the crushing disappointment, the way the trash bag crinkles as Darry sets it on the ground next to the door, the shut door. Soda tries to hold back his tears, really he does, but the second Darry pulls him into a too tight hug Soda can’t help but begin to cry.

“I know Pepsi-Cola. I know.” Darry whispers, keeping his arms wrapped around Soda as he gently guides his brother into the kitchen, nudging Soda into a seat at their small dining room table. Darry’s fingers slide over the old wood of the table, anxious and searching for something to hold onto. “Breathe Soda.”

“He’s- Darry he looks so- so” Soda hiccups softly, shoving his hands into his eyes in an attempt to stop his tears. “I thought- he didn’t even- lord, I couldn’t even hug him- those bruises-”

“He’s home, a few more weeks and he’ll be home for good. Let's focus on that for now, okay? I need you to stay strong little buddy.”

It’s not an option, not a request. Sodapop must stay strong, has to hold it together. They all do or they put everything, all of Darry’s hard work these past few years, at risk. So, despite the tornado of emotions tearing Sodapop apart he nods, and does what he has to in order to calm himself down while Darry gets started on dinner. Soda turns on the tv, unable to take anymore silence and then helps Darry cook. They don’t say anything, but Darry’s tense the entre time the weight of the world holding him down, Soda wishes he could do something to take some of the burden. When the food is ready Soda shuts off the tv and gently knocks on his bedroom door, flinching when the door swings open almost immediately. Ponyboy looks the same as he did an hour ago except for the red around his eyes, had he been crying? Soda's heart breaks at the thought of his baby brother hiding in their room to cry alone, as a kid he used to come running to Soda when he was upset.

“Darry made stew if you're hungry.” Soda steps back as Ponyboy silently steps out of the room and into the kitchen, he follows silently behind. The overbearing silence is back, he can't remember a time when the house was this quiet. Even after their parents died there hadn't been a quiet moment, there was always noise. Crying, screaming, apologies from people he knew and people he didn’t, promises of prayers for a family no one was willing to help. Whispered promises of a better future Soda wasn’t sure Darry would ever be able to fulfill.

In a way Sodapop can't explain it feels as though there's a complete stranger sitting at their dining room table. Of course, things change, people change, but Soda likes to think he hasn't changed that much in the last three years. Steve is still his best friend; he still hates school and loves going to drag races. He's still himself even if he's changed, even though he spent two years on the West side. He could say the same about Darry, despite how tired his big brother is these days he's still Darry. But Ponyboy… He's a complete stranger. Everything about him is new, his clothes, his hair. God even his voice is completely different. Ponyboy had been such a bright, kind, loving kid. He cried once when he accidentally stepped on a bug, Steve had teased the poor kid for weeks. Now though Pony looks angry, horribly angry, he looks like he couldn't care less that he's finally seeing his brothers again after three years of being separated. He looks a hell of a lot like the boys in the tougher gangs, deep on the East side. The anger, the silence, it’s all Soda can think about, it breaks his heart.

“I took the weekend off of work.” Darry says suddenly, Soda guesses he's gotten sick of the silence too, tired of watching Ponyboy push the same piece of broccoli around on his plate. “I thought we could all do something together.”

“The gang is itching to see you.” Soda chimes in, perking up at the idea of getting out of the house. “We could go to the drive-in with them, or maybe play football in the lot? Or if you're not up to seeing them we could go visit mom and dad's grave? You probably haven't-”

“No.” Ponyboy snaps and then he pauses, and slowly he takes a deep breath before speaking again. “We can go to the drive-in, or the lot. I don't care. I don't care what we do.” There's a moment's pause, everyone trying to process the sudden outburst. Soda wonders briefly if this is the same Ponyboy from all those years ago.

“Is there a reason you're so upset with us? I thought you'd be happy to be home.” Darry says, blunt as a baseball bat, Sodapop expects an explanation, or maybe even silence, what he doesn't expect is for Ponyboy to ask.

“Why aren't you in college?”

Darry's brows furrow, his hand curls into a fist around his fork, for a moment he looks just like their dad. Soda holds his breath, watching as Darry straightens in his seat, as his jaw clenches, “What?”

“You should've gone to college, that’s what you were suppose’ to do.” Ponyboy says and then he stands, chair scraping harshly against the floor. “I’m not hungry.” There’s a pause, a moment of hesitation and then Pony walks swiftly away into their room, grabbing his trash bag of things on the way, the door doesn't slam like Soda expected, instead it gently clicks closed.

“I'll talk to him” Soda says before Darry has a chance to speak. Soda abandons his plate and Darry at the table. Not bothering to knock, he walks into his and Pony’s room, shutting the door gently behind him. He watches as Ponyboy sits on their bed, back turned to Soda, the crinkling of the trash bag is the only indication that the kid is moving at all. Soda is silent for a moment, allowing them both a moment to gather their thoughts. Soda’s eyes scan over their bedroom, it’s changed a lot these past six months, two child sized beds turned into one large bed, cars themed curtains turned to simple black. The only thing that hasn’t changed is Boots. Ponyboy’s childhood stuffed bunny is proudly in the middle of their bed just as it always was, this morning Soda had left it sitting up against his pillow, now it lays face down in the middle of the bed. Soda wonders if Ponyboy had moved it before dinner, if he’d held it while he cried just like Soda has so many times over the last few years.

“You know Darry tried to get them to send you Boots, but they wouldn’t do it. Wouldn’t even tell us where you were so we could send him ourselves.” Soda says, slowly moving closer to their bed. “I know you’ll be home permanently soon but if you wanted to take him with you on Sunday-”

“Didn’t I say I ain’t a baby?” Pony says, there’s anger in his words but Soda can’t help but think that the words don’t just sound angry, they sound tired. “I don’t need a stuffed animal.”

“Well,” Soda sits on the opposite side of the bed, carefully picking boots up, running his fingers over the stuffies old blue and gray fur. “I do sometimes. When I have a nightmare, or when I think too much about mom and dad… I needed Boots a lot before, when I didn’t know if you were okay. I’d hug him and hope that somewhere you could feel me hugging you.”

There’s silence, for a long, long time, long enough that Soda considers leaving, maybe sleeping with Darry or on the couch, anything would be better than the silence, just as Soda begins to stand Ponyboy says, “You should keep it.”

“Okay” Soda whispers “Whatever you want, Pony.”

-------

It doesn’t take long for Soda to fall asleep after the excitement of the day. Ponyboy doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the night and Soda doesn’t push. He helps Darry clean the kitchen, shaking his head when Darry asks what happened. He sets out some clean clothes for Ponyboy to sleep in and slides under the covers. It’s become normal for Sodapop to wake up in the middle of the night, nightmares and anxiety brought on by his foster house make it difficult to get a good night's rest. So, when he wakes up at two in the morning he doesn’t think much of it, sleepily sitting up and stretching, popping the bones of his fingers and his neck with a soft sigh. It isn’t until he stands, deciding on grabbing a glass of water before crawling into bed with Darry to hide in the safety of his brother’s arms that he realizes what woke him up wasn't a nightmare at all, it was Ponyboy getting up.

Anxiety fills Soda’s heart; suddenly very awake Soda makes his way out of his room and down the hall. Was Ponyboy running away? Was his brother so upset at being home that he’d waited until everyone was asleep to take off into the night? What if he was hurt? What if he’d been afraid, or crying and hadn’t wanted Soda to know? Soda longs for the days that Ponyboy would crawl into bed with him after a bad dream, letting Soda take all of his worries away.

Soda breathes a sigh of relief when he rounds the corner to find Ponyboy standing in the living room. He’s still here, Pony is home, he’s safe, he’s on the phone- he’s on the phone? Soda backs up a bit, hiding as much as he can in the hallway, he knows eavesdropping and sneaking around aren’t good, his mama would surely yell at him for it, but he can’t help but to be curious. Who the hell would Ponyboy be calling at this hour? Soda watches as Pony finishes dialing and slowly puts the phone up to his ear. There's silence as the phone rings and rings and then Ponyboy is speaking, and Soda desperately wishes he could hear the other side of the phone call.

“It's me” Ponyboy says, his voice is so soft Soda can hardly hear it. “Nothin’ nothin’ sorry.” A pause followed by, “Yeah I'm-I'm in Tulsa”

Soda takes a deep breath, relieved at least that Ponyboy isn't on the phone with their social worker. “I'm with my brothers. I just-I hate this.”

Ponyboy's words make Soda's heart race. He hates it? Hates them? Soda can't imagine why, what had happened in the few hours they've known each other again. Was Ponyboy angry that Soda got to come home first? Did he hate them because they didn't find him sooner? Or was he angry because he had a good placement and felt like his brothers were ruining his life trying to get him back? But with the bruises… 

“I do trust them. It's not that-”

Soda slides down the hallway wall. Trust… He trusts them? But he seems so angry- it's all so much, so confusing. Soda has never felt so unsure in his entire life, even after his parents died, he knew what to do. Knew he had to fake nice on the West side until he could finally leave, knew he had to follow the rules with the hopes of seeing his friends and older brother at school and any moment he could find to escape. Now with Ponyboy… It's like he doesn't know anything at all, he used to know everything about his baby brother.

“I am trying-” Pony's voice raises and Soda finds himself watching Darry’s bedroom door, worried that the noise will wake their older brother. “I am trying! I am okay- I just hate this. There's no point in bein’ back home like this. Havin’ to be here- they wanted to go visit mom and dad-”

Soda flinches, was that what had upset Ponyboy? Of course they all missed their parents, being back in their home had been so difficult for the first few weeks. Soda had found himself sitting on the porch most days, too afraid to go in without his parents there, but too afraid to leave with the fear of not being able to come home. Soda figured Ponyboy would be overwhelmed, thought maybe he would cry, he hadn't been expecting anger but maybe he should’ve.

Soda remembers being angry that first year. Stuck on the West side, separated from his brothers, living with people who didn’t care about him, only taking care of him to show him off like some charity case, the pity of strangers he wished he never met. In the blink of an eye everything had changed. Where he lived, what he was allowed to eat, to say, to wear, even how he wore his hair. He hadn't fit in anywhere anymore, not with greasers and not with socs, for a while it felt as though he hadn't even fit in with his own friends. The only comfort he had was Darry. But it's been years since then, and over time he'd learned to deal with the grief. He's still angry, of course he is, but life goes on, in order to survive he'd had to set aside his anger. Soda finds himself wondering if Ponyboy had used anger to survive.

Soda finds that he can't listen anymore, that the anxiety and fear are eating him alive. The idea of Pony not wanting to be home- Soda quickly and quietly makes his way into Darry's room, shutting the door gently behind him. Darry hardly even wakes up as Soda slides under the covers, using his big brother’s arm as a pillow.

With no one there to listen Ponyboy's voice breaks as he continues speaking. “They're gonna get sick of me. They're gonna get sick of me and send me away and I don't wanna be here. I don't wanna get attached to bein’ home just to get sent away again.”

A tired gruff voice answers, “Pony come on man. They're your brothers. They ain't gonna send you away.”

“You don't know that. I'm trouble. That's what everyone keeps sayin. You know they won't keep me around if-”

“Knock it off, ain't you supposed to be smart? They aren’t gonna get rid of ya and if they do I'll deal with it okay? When do you get home?”

Ponyboy sighs. “Tuesday, I think.”

“Then I'll see you Tuesday. Just keep your nose clean until then kid. And try. I don't wanna be woken up again.”

“Dal-”

“Go to bed.” The line goes dead no sooner than Dallas has finished talking and it takes everything in Ponyboy to keep from crying. He simply sets the phone down and makes his way back to his and Soda’s room. When he opens the door to find Sodapop gone, boots left fallen over in his place Ponyboy can't help the way tears gather in his eyes, he’s never wished he was in New York so badly before.

[vaalthus]

End of Magic Part 2: Grand Finale of Book 3 (spoilers)

My My, what a magnificent conclusion

The rather terrifying realization that Aequilibria isn't just erupting to kill everyone on Lore to wipe its shell clean of "impurities" but that it is literally going to snuff out those lives to get the mana everyone has back into itself. Which was somewhat clear when it initially introduced itself to the Hero but it's becoming pretty easy to see why it sees no issue with what its doing since from the Elements' perspective they're only taking back what they loaned out in their new little playground.

The fact that this "aspect" refers to the Aequilibria as a separate entity or designation from itself only further cements my suspicion that Sk'aar, the god of nightmares, is indeed in some shape or form a part of Aequilibria. Another aspect, or sub-function if we consider potential ties to Mechquest, but something that is based on either thoughts or dreams but that is something I wish to put under a microscope another time.

It's a small thing but I just love that in short amount of time our little mage trio have learned to piggybacked onto each other's spells for cooperation. Ya love to see it and speaking of things I love to see...

Our dragon child entering a rebellious streak against their parents!!!

I'm totally going to choose to believe this image is nothing more than a quick background cutaway for the Aspect's ultimate attack. I'm definitely NOT going to bring up the fact that it used a rune coloration affiliated with the Infernals from the Exaltia Tower. I'm also definitely not going to bring up the fact that Notha mentioned that "Evil" was the "Will of the Infernals"

>:]

Ooof sure hope the Wastes have some answers on this because uh yeah...

Ya know it's fascinating that Alexander has become this sort of big brother/uncle figure at this point in the story though after all he's suffered and all he's been able to reconcile it makes a lot of sense that he has a few bits of wisdom to deliver and kindness to provide the innocent. His advice here about duty should not be ignored though. It's been brought up before, but the Hero's rather obsessive need to be THE hero in people's lives, to be that constant helping hand, is something that could destroy them if they aren't careful.

As it stands now, our primary goal is going to be keeping Aequilibria from killing everyone which is no easy task with this scenario, not to mention the new conflicts that will surely arise from this aftermath or those that have been lying in wait to be a problem later. Hopefully, when that time comes, the hero will not make the same mistakes as both his enemies and his allies have made when the challenges ahead prove to be too much to bear alone.

THE TRUTH JAANIA!!!: We woke up god, you realized you were wrong, and now we all need to work together before an uncaring deity swallows us whole with mana juice.

This saga tragically began with three and it ends with three, ends in acceptance and peace. Rest well gang, may you reawaken to a world where your efforts did not go to waste.

Ooof that's a lot more new fissures than I was expecting and there's no telling how many may have opened on the lands we can't see like Lhe'Shiyac.

Not sure how to feel about this news. On one hand, it makes sense to have someone from our side of the world to try and give the Shapeless Empire some much needed perspective on how it rebuilds in the coming years and it wouldn't do to have Alteon return and cause potential problems with his daughter's newfound authority. On the other hand, I can't imagine how pissed or hurt Victoria, Brittany, and Tara might be when they find out he just kind of bailed to be an adventurer. Additionally, I'm not sure how much assistance he'll be in changing the Magesterium but I guess that's a job for Ostromir and Vseslava perhaps?

As in you guys will be using more ethical approaches, right? RIGHT!?!?!?

Us and our dragon riding off into the sunset into an uncertain but hopeful future was honestly the best way to end this chapter. To the devs a very pleasant thank you for the effort you put into this game after all these yea-

YO WHAT THE CLUCK ARE YOU DOING WITH THAT BUTTON, CYSERO!?!?

[gaybd1]

thinking about sokka's issues and the absolute breakdown he would have after the war...

for as long as he can remember he's had one ultimate goal: to take down the Fire Nation. why? because they took his mother from him and his loved ones will never be safe until their threat is eliminated. he's always been busy working toward that goal: protecting his village so his dad could go off and fight them, traveling with the avatar to take down the fire lord... now he has no goal for the first time in a long time.

what would that do to him? what does he have to work toward now? will he find something new? yeah. but the Dangerous, Important thing here is that now he has time to rest. to breathe.

to think.

to process.

will his Repression Tactics hold up? or will he be sitting in the Fire Nation palace waiting for Zuko's coronation, leg broken so he can't even TRAIN, surrounded by All This Red, and suddenly think of the loss of his mother? will he finally have a private moment to mourn? will those feelings have festered for years until they come out like a tidal wave and suddenly everything catches up to him all at once: the moments of despair he felt over harsh winters in the South, the moments of terror he felt facing the Fire Nation traveling with Aang, the horrors and realities of war that no one, let alone a child, should ever have to see so up close and personal in their lifetime. has he killed anyone? will he wonder if he has?

will the thoughts and memories and feelings be able to stop when he goes to sleep that night?

why can't he be truly happy for his friends on Zuko's coronation day?

why isn't his leg getting better?

Katara notices. of course she does. she offers to talk about it but how can Sokka open up to her when he's so affected by things he always worked so hard to protect her from?

months pass.

Sokka is still at the Fire Nation palace after everyone else has started to move on because where else is there to go? he still can't walk right. he still can't sleep right. Katara's started to leave him alone. she says there's not much she can do for the physical side of his recovery.

he starts, with great effort and his handy crutch, to wander the palace at nights and finds that he's not the only one who seems plagued by nightmares.

he finds Zuko in the kitchens one night, and neither of them dare talk about it, but Sokka can tell his issues and Zuko's are not entirely all that dissimilar.

they start spending more time together. at night. when it feels safest to open up. and they slowly do.

they start sharing things they haven't told anyone, about how they feel completely and utterly broken after the war and they just can't seem to find a way to put the pieces back together. Sokka shares about everything he's been feeling. how sometimes he sees a certain shade of red on a tapestry and feels like he's back on that airship at the end of the war. he wishes his dad were here. he wishes his mom were here. Zuko shares about how he is afraid of becoming just like his father. how he hasn't been eating. how he still cant visit an entire wing of the palace because it reminds him too much of his own mother.

the two of them end up telling each other all of their issues and secrets and start helping each other where they can. Sokka helps Zuko figure out his food situation. Zuko helps Sokka with his pain and learning to walk again.

they both start to slowly get better.

eventually they realize that what they've been missing since the end of the war... is each other.

Sokka decides to stay in the Fire Nation.

[octuscle]

CHAVTF - Dan and Dick

Richard was excited to see his son Daniel's new apartment. Daniel had moved out of his home in Mayfair a few weeks ago. For his work, the Eastend was better located. And Mayfair was indeed nothing for young people by now. Richard himself was considering moving away. He was now retired, and his wife had been dead for over a year. Perhaps a change of scenery would not be wrong.

The inspection of the new apartment did not take long. Small, functional. And still full of moving boxes. So Daniel suggested going to dinner at one of the nearby restaurants. Richard agreed. He was starting to get hungry. They had been walking for a few minutes when, completely unexpectedly, a heavy downpour came down. Although they quickly took cover under a tree, they were soaked to the bone. And then a huge amount of bird droppings slapped down on them. Their clothes were ruined.

Richard laughed. "It's all no drama. There's another store up ahead, we can get a dry and clean jacket there." Daniel hesitantly countered that this wasn't Savile Row, but Richard said they'd find something appropriate for dinner in the East End. They entered CHAVTF. A small store, crowded and not very clear. At the cash register at the entrance sat a young man with a shaved head, playing with his cell phone. When he saw Richard and Daniel, he began to grin. And a large wet spot formed in his crotch from the precum. "Oi mates, you looking for something dry? There are two changing rooms up ahead, strip down and I'll bring you something." Richard and Daniel found the approach a bit odd, but followed the request. The locker rooms smelled musty, the floor wasn't particularly clean, and strangest of all was the large hole in the partitions at belt height.

"You lads prefer boxers with those big dicks of yours, don't you?" " You bet your ass I do," Daniel replied. "Here you go. Aren't really Calvin Klein, but good quality." Richard pulled on the shorts. He massaged his cock. Felt really massive. "And here are socks. Size 12 should fit." The two put on the white athletic socks. They immediately got dirty on the greasy floor. "Tell me mates! Are you guys brothers? You look a bit alike." "Fuck, yeah," Daniel replied. "Here are some jeans. See if you like them. And who's the older of you?" Richard pulled up his pants. He'd never worn ripped jeans before. But they felt great. And they sat so low on his hips that you could still read the Calvin Klein lettering super. That's how he'd imagined it. "The older one is me, mate," Richard said. "But only three months. We're half-brothers. Dad screwed anything that couldn't run away fast enough." Dan replied that Richard's mother, however, had also been a whore who had let everyone have it. "You got it, bro! Your mom's not a whore, of course. And where did all your brothers and sisters come from?" replied Dick.

"Here's two cool pairs of shoes. Let's take a look, mates," the store attendant said, pulling the curtains aside. Dan and Dick grinned and posted for fun. "Wow, your training is paying off, Mates! You both box welterweight?" "Nah," Dick said. "I'm a lightweight. But I'm working on it. The goal is middleweight already." "You guys are probably going out clubbing today. T-shirts for clubbing?" Dan said they were going to get drinks at the gas station first. And then maybe to the pub. But T-shirt is fine." The store attendant tossed them two black T-shirts. Dan and Dick put them on and took out their chains. They were quiet for everyone to see. "Why aren't you both inked, anyway? Your tattoos are really coming along!" Dick stroked his neck and arm. Yes, he was really proud of them, but they had cost a lot of money. And Dan just had to save up a little bit of money, then he would surely get a tattoo.

Fortunately, they had collected a lot of money today. The two fine toffs Dan and Dick had stolen the coats from had been carrying a lot of cash. "Mates, the jackets really go with your outfit. Can't nobody tell they're not Moncler." The two put the jackets on. The pal was right. They looked awesome! "Mates, did you want to earn a £100 discount on the clothes. If one of you blows the other in the booth through the glory hole and I can use the video on Tiktok, everything together will only cost 50 pounds. Dick tossed a swiped credit card to the store attendant. "We'll pay by card, but we'll do it for 100 pounds cash."

Once the two were back outside, Dick had to light a fag. Dan still had the taste of Dick's cum in his mouth and declined, grinning. "Not until after the next beer. Your spunk tastes like shit." "And yours tastes like piss!"

[deadmomjokes]

Do you have any adventures of bean to share before you sign off for a bit? good luck with the move!

I wish I had more specific ones, but life is all blurring together at this point so I must settle for Tidbits: Moving Edition

She loves to pack stuff. I have no idea where it's coming from, but holy cow this kid. She's going to be the only reason we're completely packed and ready to go on time. Every morning, she hops in my bed and goes "Can we pack another box?" And any time we're not actively doing something, "Should we pack more boxes?" Her dad whispered to me earlier, understandably dumbfounded, "What is with the packing thing? Why is she so into this?" And she somehow heard it from the next room and merrily hopped in holding the roll of packing tape and said "I dunno, I just really like packing things." So... yeah. She's keeping us on task.

She has Plans for the drive. -First, we need to eat at Subway (she was very excited to learn she can, in fact, have Subway in moderation). -Second, we need to stay at one of the number hotels-- those being National 9, Super 8, and Motel 6. (She is bummed there's no 7 hotel.) -Third, if we successfully get a number hotel for one night, we also need to do a Red Roof Inn some other night. -Fourth, she wants to go inside a gas station and look at the maps. (She means the visitors guides and brochures that truck stops have when they're near-ish to state lines and/or tourist destinations.) -Finally, she wants to borrow my phone to take pictures. Unbeknownst to her, we are getting an old digital camera tuned up and outfitted with a child-proof case so she can have her own camera, because when she starts taking pictures it's an hours-long affair, and I kinda need my phone for GPS purposes. We're presenting her with said camera next weekend when we get the trailer, so hopefully she'll stay occupied while we do the part of packing she can't actually help with. But yeah, she knows how to set realistic, attainable goals, and I honestly think we can make these things happen for her.

She's been obsessively watching that Bluey special every day, and it Concerns me. See, she's generally quite media literate, and knows how to separate fiction from reality, and we had our big group cry about leaving our friends the first time we watched it. But. I am deeply worried that she's under the impression that we'll get all packed and ready to go and then do what Bluey's family did and decide to stay. I desperately hope not, but hoo boy, if that is the case, that's gonna be one heck of a 4-day drive. We've tried bringing it up and talking about it, but we still can't tell what's going on in that little noggin.

She is really, really sad about leaving her friends. I know that's not fun to hear, but honestly, I'm really impressed and proud of the way she's been handling it. She's come up with some great coping mechanisms all on her own: asking if we can get everyone's parents' Facebooks so we can do video calls, asking if we can do a party before she leaves so she can play with her school friends again (both yes, of course), and the one that truly floored me-- she asked if we can find "a new therapy place" when we get to where we're going. My four year old asked if she can go back to therapy, y'all. She's been 'graduated' since before Christmas, but she remembered that it helped when she was feeling anxious all the time and wants to do that again after we move. I just... Holy moly! I am so, SO proud of her for how she's so in tune with herself and her needs.

Her requests for our next housing situation have been few, but very specific. It has to let her get a pet, either a rabbit (maybe two so they can be friends), or a ball python, or both. It needs stairs so she can bumslide down them. It needs a pantry with a shelf she can reach for her snacks. And she'd really prefer if it had hard floors so we can get a fuzzy rug. We don't have it on lock yet (fingers crossed!), but the place that looks most likely meets all of these criteria.

That's all I've got for right now, because I need to go pre-plan what tomorrow morning's packing adventure is going to be so I don't have to think about it two minutes after opening my eyes.

[jlilycorbie]

I still have no idea why fandom culture, and especially fanfic, passed me by. I went to my first con when I was 12. I've run green rooms. I should be all over it, but I'm just...not.

I passionately love books and movies and shows, but no matter what, I end up writing my own little things instead. Sometimes there are bits and pieces and inspirations from things I love in my work, but I've never really tried to set up my own stories in other people's worlds.

The exception is when a story makes me mad. When I get spun up about how some worldbuilding doesn't work or how some idea seems wasted, then I'll get into what could have been fanfic, but always spins off far enough to end up being my own thing.

I've got a backburnered cyberpunk WIP. It takes place in a future US that's no longer a world power, outside and inside an arcology. Some things in the world have gotten better, some have gotten worse. People can attend virtual school, which was theoretically designed to erase class differences between students, but it's not like kids haven't found countless ways to draw those lines between themselves anyway. The MC lives outside the arcology, and her dearest goal in life is to become a teacher so she can get a coveted place living comfortably inside the arcology. She doesn't know how crap life can be if you work in maintenance and live in the cramped maintenance levels, and she and her BFF, who's an agoraphobic kid who won't leave her bedroom in the arcology, accidentally uncover a terrorist plot to plant a bomb in the arcology and frame the maintenance worker's union in an attempt to both destroy the union and push through new legislation that would allow the corporate owners of the arcology to essentially turn all of the maintenance workers into indentured servants.

That story started while I was complaining about Ready Player One.

The underpinning for Magic School Dropouts is probably immediately obvious. Around 17 years ago, the MC and her BFF managed to escape the creepy magic school they'd joined. The MC's family had moved without telling her while she was in the boarding school, so she had to figure out how to live her life while fleeing the magic police who would track her down for what she'd done at the school. She and her BFF separated, and now she's gotten a message from her BFF's sister: her BFF was pregnant when they escaped from the school, and she died shortly after she had her daughter, who her older sister raised. Her older sister knew nothing about what happened to them in the school, so she didn't see anything wrong with sending her niece to the school. Except now she's gotten cryptic messages from her niece indicating she needs help. The MC is the only person the sister knows who went to the school and can maybe help, and while trying to figure out what to do, the MC learns there's a whole thriving magical culture that has nothing to do with the isolated school that preys on children born into normal families who don't know better.

And yeah, that came from many, many discussions about Harry Potter. Most of them before Rowling let the mask drop.

The Tom Cruise Mummy remake had me on a path toward some kind of story, but there were problematic elements I never managed to iron out enough to get a good plot together.

I guess when it comes down to it, when I love something, I'm happy to love it and enjoy what I've gotten from the original makers, and when I get mad about something, I go spinning off too far into the ether to write fanfic.

[heavyknitter]

2 - Do you even knit bro

So here I am, with my little test piece and wool my aunt brought me from the store and new knitting needles and a bunch of wool I acquired myself on day 3 of my knitting journey.

So.. we hit September 29th - the day I just went for it.

I figured I had done plenty of practice for just doing something as basic as a scarf, I mean, basically I already made a little animal sized scarf already right so how hard can it be to do this on a larger scale?

Well. Lets start with the fact that while I knew the basic movement of knitting I had not yet learned how to cast on wool to start something new. Because remember, my aunt did that with the test piece and did the first two rows - so over to the auntie we go and we run back into the same issue as before - she can't explain and I can't follow. Hand manipulation became funky business because neither of us realized that when I tried to copy I held the threads wrong and tried to cast on loops with the thread connected to the wool not the other one. It was a bit of a funny back and forth because she looked over my hand movements, saw me pick up the thread and of course it did not work as intended and neither of us cottoned in on what was going wrong here. It might seem silly, but I was very pleased with myself once she retried on her own hand to figure out what I am doing wrong (remember we are both kinaesthetic creatures, she needed to replicate my movements to find out what is wrong but as opposed to me she held the threads - both of them - correctly for this step so she did not realize what went wrong on my end) that it dawned on me that I had thrice looped the threads wrong around my fingers and of course it could not work that way. So I took the thing back from her, wound the threads around my hand again and this time it worked. My first correctly cast on loop. Fuck yeah. The upside of fucking around so much on this basic step and then realizing what went wrong would ensure that this is now second nature ain't no way I am doing this wrong again ever. Good thing too because my aunt was starting to get mildly frustrated because this is easy basic stuff but somehow it is complicated and I get why it frustrated her a bit how clumsy my humble beginnings are but I reminded her gently, that she did this for years, she does not have to think or plan anything for her it is all muscle memory, just like riding a bike. But I have not learned how to ride this particular bike - would she expect me to know how to hold my balance without having it ever done before? Of course not. And any new task that involves your body and movement needs to be hardwired in your brain to make you perform it with the same ease she does it. The older we get, the more we forget how tricky it can be to pick up something new you have never done before and many people get frustrated and stop learning something because they wrongly assume being an adult means you should learn shit in a snap. Nah. Everything we learn kickstarts new neural pathways in our brain, those want to be engaged and nurtured by repetition you can't just go into something new and come out a pro in the same day. 's not how it works. But my aunt is in her late 50s so it's been a while since she got into any new craft. But she understood when I explained and reminded.

So here I am, happily casting on loop after loop and I have no concept on how much to get a good broad scarf so my aunt estimated for me to make like 40 (I am working on another scarf right now and she was absolutely right - 40 is the perfect amount for this particular bulky wool) and I said "I want it huge, really really big you feel me? So she said "make it 45 then". By the time I started counting how many I already had on there I was at 55 but instead of stopping there I figured, ehh extra bulky - and made it 70.

And let me tell you, with absolute no shadow of a doubt, this was both a mistake and overshooting the goal widely and also the best thing ever.

It is soft, it is bulky, it is wide enough that if I get it to the length I wish to achieve I could very likely roll myself up in it. And I mean completely. Like.. drape and wrap it nicely, use some safety pins and bäm. Could make it some sort of eccentric statement piece in the next ballroom. So yeah, Friday the 29th was go-time and I was knitting until like.. what.. 2am happy as a clam. Next morning, Saturday I woke up, grabbed the thing to knit a bit before getting up, count the loops and.. I lost one. No idea were it went, no idea when it went and no idea how to spot were it is. The good thing for me was, that on this very Saturday my mother would drop in to help me with something and if my auntie is an expert in knitting, then my Mother is the master. There was so much crafted stuff in my childhood home and my fondest memories of my mother are her crocheting, knitting, or crafting something. Mostly fancy Easter eggs with fabrics pearls and feathers and stuff. Really fancy shizzle. So of course when she dropped in I was like "Mama! I started to knit! Also I lost a loop and I do not know where it is or how to spot it in this bulky thing help meeeee!" And she gave me a look. You know the one. The one only an exasperated Mom can give you. But eh, she found it. Six or Seven rows below and so she unraveled all those rows, threw everything back on the needle, counted, and then redid the rows with speed I could not comprehend. She also muttered something about this wool being bad, it's too dark too bulky can't see shit with that why would you use that as starting project yadda yadda yadda. (I think she was pleased tho, she tried back then to get both of her children into crafting but my brother was more for gaming and bionicles and I was more art, writing and gaming the spark was not quite there yet)

She gave me a second look when I showed her the wool I had acquired already for future projects because she lowkey thinks I might not stick with it - well, let it be known I am in deep. I might eventually balance it out again with all my other hobbies but for now I just wanna progress and create stuff and I like to have a lil stash on hand. She promised me to show me how to knit with 5 needles to make some legwarmers I am very exited and down the line of talking she told me not to try a blanket because she wanted to do that and was discouraged because its expensive and takes too long. But she also told me that the bulky wool I have going for the scarf she would do away with in 1 hour so I'm like... damn woman if you're so fast and money is no longer an issue you could probably pull this off in record time.

It also gave me a lil kick because this bulky thing? 1 hour??

Now that it a goal to work up to >d

This is the state of the scarf currently by the way, pulled over both of the knitting needles so I can show you just how broad this thing is. The lighter is a normal sized lighter that fits in the palm of your hand. Like I said, 70 loops was both the worst and best decision I made with this. I already had to start a second roll of wool for this. It will take a bit to finish. In fact I already finished something else in the meantime while working on this because just one WIP is not a thing I can do (I have now 5 things I work on truth be told)

But yeahhhh it huge I love this thing I can wear this as fullbody piece eventually I am very pleased. And it is soft. It is so soft. I love it so much.

[w1f1n1ghtm4r3]

kyushumi and change

okay uh. not sure about the coherency of this post but i will try my best. this is just me being like "oops i picked butterfly imagery for my kyushumi age up redesigns to match their vs and to lean into the fae theme a bit more but it also fits their stories incredibly well"

but first i need to actually show those redesigns because i never did. because i was saving them until i did the rest of the units and then i never got there. oops. look at my butterflies now

the general idea was giving them a more cohesive theme with their outfits (a more elegant style plus butterflies) while having a distinct set of colors fitting to each of them. instead of their original outfits which have a more unified color scheme but mismatched themes. i think it makes sense for their story overall, since early on they kind of cling to each other because theres nowhere else for them to go but now they stick together because theyre genuinely close friends. does that make sense? i dont know.

ANYWAY

the butterfly imagery. and change (and fear) as a theme with kyushumi as a whole.

even though theres like a really obvious reasoning for a butterfly being extremely thematic for mizuki (transgender moment) thats actually NOT the important reason with kyushumi. because its kind of an open secret among them. no one pushes them about it but like when nene also goes to the same school its hard for her to not hear about it yknow. nene cares more about her friends than what people say about her friends.

really i think where its interesting is like. how each of them have a major change in approach to something during the story. something theyre afraid of but eventually overcome. does that make sense i hope that makes sense

nene and honami both are some sort of fear of perception by others. both are basically the same as canon (nene being afraid of failing in front of others so she stops trying and honami being afraid of being an outcast if she stops trying to please everyone) and the end outcomes are roughly the same. honami stands up for herself, stops being so afraid of what everyone else might think, etc. not that she doesnt care about her perception by others of course but she starts to be able to overcome the pressure to do what she wants to.

nene isnt as drastic as canon, tbh, but she does regain her confidence to sing again. i think kyushumi becomes an online vocaloid music group and nene, having had notable experience with singing before, ends up as the one mainly behind working with the vocaloids. but in that whole process she gradually starts singing again to first help get a feel for how the song should work and eventually because at heart she still loves doing it. she starts posting her singing online since its less committal (she could just delete the videos if things go badly) but it also helps break down the fear of how people perceive her skills again. maybe not enough to get her back on stage, but enough that she starts to believe in her potential again.

mizukis is mostly about being open........... running away and hiding whenever things go wrong but gradually getting less flighty and more honest about their feelings......... also the fear of connection getting broken because mizunene 👍 two years ago me was cooking with this

promising that theyll stick together because what theyve developed together is more important than what other people might threaten their bond with. yeah. i love kyushumi mizunene so much guys (i made their dynamic this way myself)

minoris is least about fear and most about change in the way of changing directions with her goals......... she never stops chasing that idol dream but also opens herself up to new paths. making music with kyushumi so she has more to show for what shes capable of and also having a new direction to pour her passion into when things dont go her way.

does any of this make any sense. who knows. it makes sense in my head. i love my butterflies regardless and i hope you guys all like them too