#I extended the time the doodles are made because sometimes I take longer to finish the initial doodle (doodle before clean up)

[shin-city]

Attentive Detention [Denki Kaminari x Reader]

a/n: kaminari is aged up to 18! (see end for more notes!)

genre: smut

word count: 3.8k

tags: sexual content, pwp, a sprinkle of dubcon, a pinch of humiliation, degrading, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, squirting, quirk play, overstimulation, Denki is a sadist lol

~

“This is all your fault,” you grumbled, glaring at the back of the blonde head of hair sitting in front of you. He instantly turned around, returning a glare just as icy.

“My fault? You’re the one who can’t take a joke,” he whispered angrily.

You rolled your eyes, dropping your pen that had stilled in the middle of writing, “I will not fight with Denki Kaminari,” for the 59th time out of 100.

“Okay, for the thousandth time- shocking me in the middle of class is not a joke.”

Yes, your classmate had an annoying habit of using his quirk on you at the most inappropriate of times, despite how many times you’d told him to stop doing it. He would always get a kick out of how flustered you’d get before halfheartedly smacking him and telling him off.

You both turned your attention to the front of the classroom once you heard a throat clear, being met with the hard stare of your teacher.

“Surely the two of you haven’t finished your sentences already,” Mr. Aizawa declared, raising a brow at the both of you.

“S-sorry, Mr. Aizawa. I’m almost done,” Kaminari smiled at him, although looking over his shoulder you could see that he’d only written, “I will not fight with y/l/n y/n,” 20 times before beginning to doodle random images all over his paper.

Following your outburst in class earlier that day after Denki had shocked you one time too many, Mr. Aizawa was fed up with the two of you bickering and gave you both detention. He’d lectured you on how it was important for you to get along seeing as you were teammates, and made the two of you promise to stop fighting with each other. He’d also assigned the two of you to write it 100 times each.

Aizawa stood up, eyeing both of you momentarily before shuffling lazily toward the door. “I’m going to the teachers lounge for a bit. I trust that the two of you will behave, because if you don’t,” he mumbled, pausing to glare at both of you over his shoulder. “You’ll be writing those sentences 1,000 times each.” He pulled open the door, adjusting his scarf before making his exit.

Kaminari waited until Aizawa’s footsteps could no longer be heard before spinning around entirely in his desk to face you. He had that signature smirk of his on his face, which could only mean he was up to no good.

“Turn around,” you said firmly. “We’re never gonna hear the end of it if he comes back and we’re arguing.”

He chuckled at that, snatching your pen from your hand and tucking it in his pocket. “Why do we have to argue? Can’t we just talk?”

You clenched your teeth, your hands balling up into fists as you glared at him. You knew you shouldn’t give him the satisfaction of getting you so riled up, but he was so annoying sometimes that it was hard not to.

“Maybe if you didn’t do stupid shit like that, we could just talk,” you spat, holding your hand out in front of him. “Now give it back.”

He looked down at your palm, a sinister smirk on his lips. You should’ve known what was coming next, but you didn’t register it quickly enough and before you knew it he was pressing his index finger against your palm, a small shock diffusing throughout your hand.

“D-Denki!” you whined, immediately pulling your hand away and dramatically clutching it to your chest as if it hurt that badly. It didn’t; in fact, it almost felt... good, but you would never tell him that.

He threw his head back in laughter, but returned his gaze to you in time to see your cheeks flush. That was his favorite part about teasing you.

“It’s not funny,” you mumbled through a bitten lip, grateful for the desk that covered your thighs, which had involuntarily clenched together the moment he touched you.

As Kaminari’s laughter died down, you noticed him staring at you intently, his smirk fading along with his laughter. His eyelids lowered ever so slightly, and this new expression he’d taken on had you blushing even more. His eyes glinted with mischief as usual, but...there was something else...

“Hey, why’re you looking at me like that....,” you seethed, turning to look away from him as you cheeks grew hotter. You tensed up when his hands extended toward you, but you relaxed a little when they grabbed the edges of your desk.

“You know,” he began, leaning over your desk until your faces were just a couple of inches away from each other. “I think you might like when I do that to you.”

Your eyes widened as you gawked at him, sitting back in your seat in an attempt to close the distance between you, but he only leaned in closer.

“What are you talking about? What’s gotten into you?”

It was like a switch flipped in him or something. He’d tease you all the time, yes, but never like this. But Denki had realized something. He’d noticed how your brows furrowed when he touched you...how you tensed up; how you’d whimper his name, practically moaning it. How had he not noticed it before?

You liked when he electrocuted you.

“What’s gotten into me? What’s gotten into you?”

He smirked as he tightened his grip on your desk, the legs scraping against the floor as he slid it away from you. You didn’t even try to stop him. All you could do was stare pathetically as he moved it until it was no longer between you. The only thing separating you two was the back of his chair, which he slouched over seductively. Slowly, he reached a hand toward you, and you watched in anticipation, frozen in your seat. He gave you ample time to stop him, but you never even attempted to. Before you knew it, his fingertips were brushing against your bare knee, just below your uniform skirt. You could see the electricity buzz around his fingers as he gave you a light shock.

You bit your lip in a failed attempt to hold back a whimper, your thighs pressing together which Denki could now fully see.

“It’s just as I thought,” he chuckled, pulling his hand away and turning back around. You thought he was done messing with you until he spun his whole chair around, now facing you with nothing in between you. He scooted closer and closer, until your knees were almost touching. “You’re so naughty, y/n,” he mused.

Your mouth fell open at his comment, not knowing how to respond. Usually you’d call him a name or two and hit him a couple of times, but that was when he was teasing you playfully. Now, he was teasing you lustfully and your body was responding to him better than your own mouth could.

“I...I...,” was all you could sputter, becoming very aware of the dampness between your legs. You desperately wanted him to touch you again, your worries about crossing that line with him settling in the back of your mind.

“You what?” he asked, sinister smirk playing on his lips. “C’mon, spit it out. You always have so much to say, don’t you?”

His fingertips graced your knee again as he shocked you, this time giving it a little bit more than he normally did. He was careful not to over do it; testing your limits to see how you’d react to different wattages.

“Denki,” you whined, becoming very aware of the growing dampness between your legs. “Please.”

“Please what?” he retorted. “Tell me what you want.”

You tried to find the words, but you couldn’t concentrate on anything except his hand on you. Even if you could manage to utter a comprehensible sentence, you weren’t even sure what you’d say. You weren’t sure if you were pleading him to go or stop. A part of you knew you shouldn’t be letting things get this far with him, especially in the classroom. But another part of you was eager for more; craving his touch. You were curious as to just how far this would go, as was he.

Following your silence, his hand spread out to firmly grip your thigh, fingertips digging into your flesh as he upped the wattage just a little bit more. That was all it took to break through what was left of your restraint, a moan emanating past your lips before you could stop it. Your thighs clenched once again, this time trapping a part of his hand between them as your body trembled.

A wicked grin spread across his face as he watched your body shudder under his touch. “Look at you...such a dirty girl.”

Your stomach did somersaults as he stood up, his hand never leaving your skin as he loomed over you. When you lifted your gaze to look at him, his face was only centimetres from yours, his hair tickling your check as he hovered his lips just over your ear. “I wonder...” he began, his free hand now gripping your other thigh. “Just how many times I made you wet from doing this...”

He activated his quirk through his other hand, both of them now shocking your thighs rhythmically. He snickered menacingly as you cried out his name, your hand reaching out to clutch his arm because you felt as though you’d fall over if you didn’t.

“That’s it, baby, let me hear you.” His warm breath fanned your ear as he whispered sinfully into it, and another series of shocks rattled your body. “Tell me how good it feels.”

“Denki...,” you mewled, clutching desperately at his sleeve. “We... someone might walk in.”

“And? What, are you worried someone might see what a little slut you’re being for me right now?”

Kaminari’s fingers inched higher up your thighs, his fingertips now underneath the hem of your uniform skirt. You wondered how far he’d go, because despite your feeble warning about getting caught, you knew you weren’t going to stop him. You both did.

“Do you want me to stop? All you have to do is say so,” he mumbled into your neck before placing a soft kiss on the delicate skin just below your ear. His hands crept further up until they disappeared underneath your skirt, though he no longer shocked you; waiting for you to tell him what he already knew- what you couldn’t deny any longer.

“N-no...,” you uttered, fidgeting as his tongue darted out to lick at your neck. “I don’t want you to stop.”

That was all the confirmation he needed to resume his ministrations on your thighs, buzzing at them more feverishly after your admission had caused his pants to grow tighter. He detached his lips from your neck, peppering kisses across your cheek until he was at the corner of your mouth. He pulled away from you slightly, gazing hungrily at your lips. He desperately wanted to feel them on his, but he wanted you to initiate it. He wanted you to show him just how much you wanted him.

“Kiss me,” he ordered, his tone playful, but demanding as well.

You didn’t hesitate, meeting him halfway and closing the gap between the two of you. You pressed your lips against his, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck, and another in his soft, blonde locks. He returned the kiss with fervor, immediately deepening it and sliding his tongue into your mouth. He swallowed your moans, returning them every so often when you’d roll your tongue slowly against his, or when you’d tug at his lip particularly hard. He’d removed his hands from underneath your skirt and placed them on your knees, gripping them needily. He broke the kiss shortly thereafter, attaching his lips to your throat instead.

“Open,” he commanded, tapping at your knees to signal you to open your legs for him. You complied, blushing as you shifted in your seat into the lewd position. You grew even more flustered when he knelt before you, his face right in front of your aching core. He drummed his buzzing fingers back up your thighs, gazing up at you as he gripped the hem up of your skirt and slowly hiked it up towards your hips- just enough to see a peak of your dampening underwear.

You averted your gaze from him when he began to snicker, licking a stripe on your inner thigh. “I can’t believe how wet you are already.”

The way he kept laughing at you had you soaking your panties even more. It was embarrassing yes, but something about his teasing tone sent shivers down your spine and straight to your dripping cunt.

You gasped when Denki pressed his thumb against your clothed clit, rubbing small circles through the wet patch on your panties. Small moans broke past your lips as he played with the speed and pressure, watching your face to gauge your reactions.

“I bet you want me to shock you here, don’t you?” He paused the movements of his thumb and looked up at you, indicating that the question wasn’t rhetorical, and that he was waiting on an answer.

“Y-Yes,” you whimpered, pathetically grinding yourself against his hand. “Please, Denki, I want it.”

He laughed against your thigh, his hands disappearing under your skirt to grip the waistband of your panties.

“Look at you- begging, and I didn’t even have to ask you to. You really are a slut, aren’t you y/n?” He dragged your panties down your thighs painfully slow, before letting them drop around your ankles. “Say it. Tell me what a little slut you are so that I can treat you like one.”

Kaminari’s hands gripped your thighs firmly as he spread them even further, your dripping heat glistening in front of him like a meal waiting to be devoured, and oh, was he going to devour you.

Your face went crimson at his vulgar words, but you still uttered what he wanted to hear. “I’m a slut, Kaminari. I’m such a s-slut. Your slut.”

“Yeah, that’s right you are,” he mused from between your legs before leaning in to lick along your folds. Your body trembled immediately. He hadn’t even used his quirk there yet, but still you felt like every one of your nerve endings were live wires. He continued to lap at your cunt, relishing in the taste of your essence that had accumulated there. He mumbled something about how sweet you were, but you couldn’t quite hear him over your own moans.

He began to softly flick his tongue against your clit, shocking you both figuratively and literally as he channeled his quirk through his tongue.

“Ohhh my f-, Denki~” you cried out, bucking your hips against his face. He grunted and groaned into your pussy, lapping at you faster and harder and zapping at you just the same. There was no way you were going to last much longer like this, and he could tell you were nearing your climax, prompting him to wrap his lips around your clit and suck- hard, buzzing at the nub with his tongue.

Your hands flew to his mop of blonde hair, tugging at his roots as you ground your pussy against his mouth. “Denki- ahh~, I’m g-gonna c-”

“I know, baby,” he murmured into your cunt. “ Cum for me, my naughty girl. Let me taste you.”

Your mouth fell open and your moans caught in your throat as you teetered on the edge of your climax. The lewd sounds of Denki sucking and licking at your pussy filled the classroom. He shocked you for a particularly long period of time, and that was all it took to push you over the edge. You cried out his name as you came on his mouth and chin, Denki lapping it up diligently.

“So good,” he groaned into your cunt, not letting up even a little bit. “So sweet.”

You tugged at his hair in an attempt to pull him away, your clit feeling over sensitive and over stimulated, but he didn’t budge. In fact, he only devoured you more feverishly.

“W-Wait I... c-can’t, it’s too much Denki,” you mewled, trying to close your legs but he wouldn’t allow it.

“Oh, baby,” he smiled into your pussy, kissing your swollen clit. “Yes you can. Because you’re my little slut, aren’t you? That’s what you said, right?”

He spared you no time to respond, sinking two fingers whirring with electricity into your dripping heat. He pressed them against that soft, spongy spot inside you, rubbing at it as he shocked you rhythmically.

The combination of electricity on both your clit and your g-spot had you seeing stars and grabbing fistfuls of his hair as you moaned out for him.

You felt him snicker into your core. “Don’t you think you’re being a little loud? Someone might hear you.”

You weren’t even paying attention as he dragged his free hand down your leg, his fingers hooking around your panties that now hung around one of your ankles. He pulled it off, detaching his mouth from your clit as he did so. You opened your mouth to protest, and he used the opportunity to reach up and stuff your balled up panties into your mouth.

He stood up, slouching so that he was eye level with you, never once ceasing the driving of his fingers into your cunt.

“So cute~” he mused, pushing a third finger into you like it was nothing. “I bet you can taste your sweet little pussy now, too. I’d ask how it tastes...but I guess you can’t answer me, huh...”

You whimpered and whined pathetically around the makeshift gag, saliva dribbling out of the corner of your mouth as your body shook with pleasure. You were so embarrassed, and yet so aroused all at once. It didn’t help that Kaminari darted his tongue out to lewdly lick up the small stream of saliva that escaped your mouth, before pressing his lips to your ear.

“Let’s make you cum one more time, yeah? Before Mr. Aizawa comes back and sees you like this. Though, you’d probably like that, wouldn’t you?”

You blushed as you shook your head feverishly and mumbled around your panties, denying the accusation.

“No? Is that why your tight, little pussy clenched around my fingers when I said that?” he snickered, nibbling on your earlobe before growling how dirty you were into your ear.

The blend of his fingers and sinful words had you peaking again, so close to coming, and he could sense it too. He upped the wattage of his fingers just a little bit more, smirking into your skin as you writhed beneath him.

“Cum for me, baby,” he moaned sensually into your ear, stopping to kiss your jaw. “Cum on my fingers like the good slut you are.”

The room filled with the squelching of his fingers pounding relentlessly into you. You reached a hand out to grip his bicep, digging your nails into his arm. He used his free hand to rub furiously at your clit, pushing you over the edge. Before you even knew what was going on, a clear fluid was streaming from your fluttering cunt, soaking your thighs.

He didn’t stop until the squirting did, watching in awe as you spurted out so much.

If you weren’t so dazed by your mind-numbing orgasm, you would’ve been embarrassed. There was no point in being shameful anyway. Denki proudly licked up every last drop from your cunt and thighs.

He suckled on your neck as he waited for you to calm down, your convulsing body settling into a light tremor as you came down from the euphoric feeling.

He pulled the damp panties out of your mouth, and replaced them with his cum-covered fingers, discreetly tucking your underwear in his pocket as you sucked your flavor off of him.

“Who knew you were so naughty,” he smirked at you, his cock growing harder as he took in your drained expression. “Imagine all the fun we could’ve been having.”

He desperately wanted to fuck you; to feel your tight pussy wrap around his cock like it did his fingers. But it’d have to wait for another time, for your teacher would probably be back any minute now.

“Denki...,” you whimpered around his fingers before he pulled them out of your mouth. “That was so-”

Your eyes widened as you heard heavy footsteps trudging down the hallway, a telltale sign that your teacher was returning. Denki found amusement in your horrified expression, grinning wickedly at you.

“I’d keep those legs closed if I were you. Wouldn’t want to give Mr. Aizawa a free show, now would you?” he chuckled, returning your desk to its place in front of you before sitting in his own seat.

He turned around to look at you once more, a smirk playing on his lips. “Oh, and you’d better hope he doesn’t see what a mess you’ve made, either.”

Kaminari looked down at the floor below you, and your eyes widened in horror as you followed his gaze to the small puddle under you, expanding as more of your essence dripped off of your chair.

He laughed as you brought a hand up to your mouth and gasped, your face flushing crimson. You felt your stomach drop as the classroom door slid open, a groggy looking Aizawa lumbering into the room.

“I take it the two of you behaved,” he grumbled, sitting down at his desk.

“Yes, Mr. Aizawa,” Denki responded confidently, before turning to look at you. “Didn’t we, y/n?”

Aizawa and Denki both looked at you expectantly, awaiting your answer.

“Y-yes. We behaved, Mr. Aizawa,” you lied.

Aizawa took notice of how flustered you looked, and how pink your cheeks were. His brows furrowed, head cocking to the side as he stared at you.

“Are you alright? You look a little rattled. He didn’t do anything to you, did he?” he inquired, throwing an accusatory glance at Kaminari.

“N-no, sir. I’m fine,” you assured him, offering him a small smile as you lied once again.

He looked at the both of you suspiciously before clearing his throat. “Well, you two are free to go. You can leave your papers on your desks. Enjoy your weekend,” he muttered, averting his attention to some assignments that needed grading.

You were very aware of the small droplets of liquid that dribbled down your legs as you stood up to gather your things. Denki noticed too, not even trying to not make it obvious. You were just grateful that Mr. Aizawa was too preoccupied to notice.

You left the classroom with unfinished papers and a puddle on the floor, both of which the two of you would probably have to answer to when you returned to class the following Monday. But you both were too excited about the new dynamic of your relationship to care in that moment. All either of you could think about were the inevitable escapades that were surely in your future.

~

a/n: that escalated quickly 👀 a sequel to this can definitely be expected to come in the near future!

[spinchip]

i mean. the prompt I've got in my head is like. a lil bit zangsty but, zane being rebuilt post s4 make me wonder if he can like. actually remember stuff about what happened early on. maybe the og four are reminiscing about some of their early days, and zane can't relate because zane can't remember? like. all those memories were p much lost for good after s3... makes me think

A/n: 1150 words. this was fun!

“Hey.” Kai says, knocking on Zanes door. It’d been open, the invitation extended to anyone who wished to see him, but Kai still lingers in the doorway.

Zane blinks up from where he's been sitting on top of his bed, bookmarking the page he’s been on and setting the book he’d been flipping through aside, “Hello, Kai.” He smiles, though faintly, as he registers the expression on his face, “Is something wrong?” he sits up a little straighter, swinging his legs over the side of his bed.

Kai hesitates, shaking his head, “No- well, it’s just… I’m really glad you’re back.” He admits, stepping into the rooms.

“Oh.” Zane says faintly, instantly forcing down the Overlord's memory before it can snap to the front of his mind, “I’m glad to be back as well.”

Kai sits heavily on the edge of the bed, close enough for their legs to touch, “I… had a lot of time to think about things, after…” He doesn’t finish that sentence, licking his lips.

“What were you thinking about?” Zane carefully avoids any mention of his death.

“About when the Monastery burned down.” He admits, “The things I said… I just kept thinking about how I never said sorry. I know you said I didn’t need to, but I think you deserve it. From me.” He takes a deep breath, straightens up and squares his shoulders, and speaks with the most conviction he can muster, “I’m really sorry about what I said, Zane… and I’m sorry about the way I treated you. You’re one of my best friends.” He says earnestly.

Zane nods, taking the weight of Kais words. He smiles gently, reaching out to squeeze Kais shoulder reassuringly, “I forgive you, my friend.”

With the apology passed on, Kai seems lighter, smiling brilliantly at his teammate before throwing his arm around him in a tight side-hug. “You’re the best, Zane!”

“I know.” Zane smiles, returning the embrace.

Kai sighs easy, and as the silence stretches he seems to grow a bit more awkward, “Well, I didn't mean to interrupt! I’ll leave you to your book.” he nods to the leather bound book Zane had been studying, standing up with a clap of his hands, “I’ll see you around lunch, yeah?”

“I’m making grilled cheese sandwiches.” Zane confirms, Kai fist pumps as he heads out the door.

Zane hums, sitting back on his bed once again. He picks up his fathers journal and scans the pages slowly, letting his fathers looping handwriting and intricately scribbled doodles fill in the gaps in his mind, memories contextualizing in his head, and tries not to let it bother him.

It was easy for Zane to forgive Kai for whatever rash words he’d thrown against him.

He... didn’t ever remember that happening, anyway.

_______________

He remembers most things, it’s not all been lost when he died. He remembers meeting Master Wu for the first time, he remembers dressing in all black and ambushing Kai that night, he remembers giving Pixal his heart. There’s a lot of little memories in between, smaller things, the day-to-day that still makes its home in his head. He barely remembers his father, those memories damaged long before the overlord, unable to survive past that trauma.

He finds, quite unexpectedly, that he has no memory of the first time he met Jay Walker.

He has the memory of before, Walking up those endless stair with Master Wu (who had been trying to hide how he was looking at Zane, impressed at how he didn’t even seem winded on their way up) and after, When Jay had led him over to the living room to introduce him to Cole. the time between was blank, a record-skip in his mind, the scene transitioning sharply past the moment he first laid eyes on his future friend.

Once he discovers it’s missing, he thinks about it a lot. He wonders what Jay had said to him, what he had said to Jay? Would the boy have commented on his lack of belongings? Would Zane have explained why?

Zane consults another memory. Jay didn’t know he was an orphan. Then what would he have said, when they first met? Jay was anything but unmemorable, how could Zane forget?

He thinks about asking sometimes, or prodding and picking delicately until Jay volunteers the information himself, or even waiting for it to come up in conversation naturally. It never does, really, not in a way that would satisfy the burning itch.

He doesn’t tell him because it would hurt his feelings to know Zane had forgotten him, probably.

He doesn’t really know Jay all that well. Or maybe he did. Was supposed to?

(how many memories is he missing?)

_______________

He’d accepted on Chen's island he wasn’t the white ninja, he’s conquered that fear. He was the titanium ninja, and that was fine, really. He was still Zane, probably, just a different version. He doesn’t want to drag on this existential crisis any longer, so he shuts the door on it and washes his hands of it. He is who he is, Pixal helped him figure that out.

And Cole, too, but Zane would never tell him that.

It’s just that, when he’d been all alone down there in that dungeon, and Pixal had coaxed the shattered and splintered pieces of himself back together, his memory had been… it had been damaged beyond repair long before then, really, he could accept this now. Things had been lost for good. He knew lots of stuff abstractly, that he was a ninja, that he lived in Birchwood Forest at some point, that he had lots of friends and lots of enemies- but there was a disconnect he couldn’t describe, a distance he never told Pixal about.

A chasm made all the more apparent when Cole peeked through those bars and Zane... didn’t recognize him.

But the thing that settles the spiraling, unsettling identity crisis in his chest is that Cole recognizes him.

“You’re alive!” Cole says so confidently that Zane instantly believes it’s true, that there’s no way he couldn’t be the man Cole recognizes, “And you’re silver?”

He can match the face and the voice, he can understand that it’s Cole and commit that to memory, but he didn’t understand who he was looking at the moment he saw him based on the hole riddled, damaged program he’d been working off of now.

“Titanium.” He corrects, and there’s a dissonance with the face in his files and the one before him, “Cole, you look white.” He comments, and Cole just smiles and laughs and says a lot of things about getting Zane home.

The distance in his head closes when Cole calls him lug nut, and the memories are suddenly his again, within his grasp, Cole the one piece of the puzzle he needed to kick-start his code back into working order. His life snapping back into reality instead of a nebulous, intangible thing shaped around him.

This is his secret, not even Pixal had realized what happened, and she’d been in his head. He doesn’t want anyone to know.

It’s fine now, anyway. He can always make more memories.

_______________

“Hey, Zane, do you remember when-”

Probably not.

[cooperjones2020]

Nobodies Nobody Knows, chp. 6

Summary: She is the lamp in Hero’s tower, the scissors in Delilah’s hand, the blood in Guinevere’s bed. She is a million and one metaphors and all of them are his undoing. (Some of the scenes from Second City but from Jughead’s perspective. More a character exercise than a story.)

A/N: Guys, it’s real intimidating to update on the same day as @lessoleilscouchants and @sylwrites, but, despite being not all the way happy with this chapter, I’m determined to turn this day around.

ao3–>http://archiveofourown.org/works/11434950/chapters/25623927

Nobodies Nobody Knows one / two / three / four / five (ao3)

Second City one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine (ao3)

“Any idea why Mary left this on the sink in the bathroom?” He hands Betty a cellophane-wrapped gift basket and an envelope, her name in Mary’s handwriting across the front.

She takes the card out and her face slips into a gentle smile. “A thank you gift for looking after the house.”

The basket is filled with little toiletries, the kind you’d find in a fancy hotel. Betty opens a plastic bottle and squeezes out some lotion. “It smells like a person I used to be.”

He shuffles closer to her so he can smell her hands over the lingering aromas of garlic, tomato sauce, melted cheese. “It smells like Friday nights in the cab of FP’s truck, driving you home.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Then, the scent of the lotion hits him with a wave of memory so strong, for a moment he can taste one of Pop’s cheeseburgers. He can taste the menthol in the lip gloss she used to wear. He can taste—

“Maybe you could stay for a while. We could…watch a movie.”

He doesn’t realize he’s leaning toward her until she speaks and his head jerks back in surprise. “I’d like that.”

She gets so excited when she sees Before Sunrise is on TV that she immediately launches into a viva on why it’s amazing and why he needs to see it and why Julie Delpy is her forever girl crush. And so, he capitulates. He gives up on his campaign for Django Unchained, a modern classic that, unbelievably, Betty has never seen.

He has seen Before Sunrise. Has seen the whole trilogy, actually. He went through a Richard Linklater phase a few years ago, after he discovered Boyhood. But he also saw them in college. A girl he hooked up with had made him watch them, saying they were so romantic. His lack of reaction exasperated her. Now, he wants to give Betty exactly the reaction she is looking for. She assumes he hasn’t seen Before Sunrise, and so he doesn’t have the heart to disappoint her.

Nothing about this day has gone how Jughead expected. He’s normally a creature of routine. He likes the regular pattern of his days, the small undulations of activity. Now, as he sits on the opposite end of the couch from Betty Cooper, and as her bare feet sometimes brush his thigh, he’s thankful for unmet expectations. It’s the cherry on top of what has turned into a surprisingly happy day. He scoots down so he can rest his head against the back of the couch and stretches his legs so one is braced on the coffee table in front of them and the other is extended out toward Betty. If that brings her feet closer to his leg, so be it. It’s a comfortable position, damnit.

His familiarity with Linklater’s canon means his mind wanders in and out over the course of the movie.

When Jesse tells Celine, “You know what's the worst thing about somebody breaking up with you? It's when you remember how little you thought about the people you broke up with and you realize that is how little they're thinking of you,” he remembers Betty, so nervous and so brave, interrupting him in the basement this afternoon. He’d chosen Leonard Cohen to accompany his work, the low tones just enough to cover the sound of her feet pattering overhead. It did such a good job that he hadn’t noticed her until she was close enough to pitch his heart into a staccato rhythm that momentarily alarmed him.

“Hi, um, are you busy? I wanted to talk to you.” He didn’t think she noticed, but her hands fluttered in perpetual motion—around each other, against the thighs of her jeans, into the hem of her shirt.

“No, not really. What’s up?” He removed his safety glasses and tossed them behind him, leaning against the table and running a hand through his hair.

“I just wanted to apologize to you. About before. You don’t owe me an explanation. You had every right to break up with me. We were in high school. That’s what people in high school do.” Her apology startled him into speechlessness, a rare occurrence in his life. But he knew she was expecting him to respond.

“Thanks, I guess, though you don’t have to apologize. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. I may have had a right to, but I definitely didn’t go about it in a very good way.” It’s not at all what he meant to say. But somehow, it’s what came out.

“Friends, then? I’d really like us to be friends.” Betty extended her hand. This time, he managed to shake it like a sane person.

“Friends. Definitely friends.”

“So…what are you doing?” Mercifully, she landed on a topic he could go on about for days. He showed her his progress and glowed like a lightning bug at her praise and her desire to help. Betty and power tools was not a combination his imagination needed. It was up there with Betty and mechanic tools, a fantasy he only let himself revisit at the lowest of times.

Now, the glory of the moment has passed and all he can do is berate himself for being a yellow-bellied coward. Some people may break up because ‘that’s what people in high school do,’ but they weren’t some people. And Betty knows it as well as he does. But the currency of any relationship is secrets, closely guarded, bartered, traded away.

Later, when Celine says, “If there's any kind of magic in this world, it must be in the attempt of understanding someone, sharing something. I know it's almost impossible to succeed, but who cares, really? The answer must be in the attempt,” he remembers Betty calling him out for playing with his hair and asking about the whereabouts of his old beanie. He hadn’t been able to help himself from spilling his guts then.

“It’s at home. I don’t wear it most of the time anymore. It’s basically my security blanket. For when I’m feeling off-kilter. I actually didn’t even have it in Chicago with me until recently. I saw it in my room in Riverdale and grabbed it more out of nostalgia than anything.” That wasn’t a thing he needed her to know. Oh well.

Sometimes, being around her is like peering through the looking-glass. She’s simultaneously a sixteen year old girl and the grown-up woman before him. It trips his tongue up. He knows her and he doesn’t. Once, he knew every freckle on her skin, every turn of expression. Every shade in her eyes. When she looks at him, he doesn’t know if he’s falling or floating. But he never wants to stop.

He knew he needed a reality check, so he said, “Can I ask about Hunter?”

“Oh, sure. There’s no big story. It just…wasn’t meant to be.”

His mouth was full of lasagna so he tried to gesture at her so she’d keep talking.

Betty leaned back in her chair and wrinkled her nose, drawing up one side of her upper lip.. “We met in college. For some reason, the editor of the paper wanted me to try my hand at the sports section. So I covered a lacrosse game where he got hit in the face.”

He’d known she was engaged, but had managed to avoid any information about the man in question. He sounded like Archie but with a trust fund. Jughead attempted to cover his reaction with humor.

“Stop it. Honestly, when I look back on it now — he definitely seems more like the kind of guy Veronica would go for, not me. Or Kevin. Kevin definitely had a crush on him for a while when we first started dating. But yeah. I loved him, I think. I just realized I didn’t love him enough to marry him.” It was a story he could have written for himself. No one was enough to fill the Betty-shaped hole in his amygdala.

“Any girls in your life?”

“No one worth mentioning. Not now, anyway.”

He glances over at Betty on the couch beside him. Her legs are curled up like a doodle bug’s. She’s somehow managed to wrap herself up in the throw blanket like a burrito and her head rests on her clasped hands, the pillow discarded near her waist. He remembers the words he’d used to describe her. She is the lamp in Hero’s tower, the scissors in Delilah’s hand, the blood in Guinevere’s bed. She is a million and one metaphors and all of them are his undoing.

Once, she was the cushion that let him be the most broken of his selves.

At some point in the past decade or so of his life, between JB moving home and starting high school, between finishing college and publishing his book, between losing Betty and regaining Archie, he made the decision to just take what he’d been given. Jughead had given up being a misanthrope for Betty Cooper once, he tells himself he isn’t willing to risk giving in to hope again.

When the movie ends, he turns off the TV. Betty rolls herself up to a sitting position, her hair disheveled and her eyes lidded.

“So what did you think? Did you like it? Do you think they come back in six months?” The wine has made her sleepy. Her lips slide off one another and Jughead can’t help himself from wondering, again, what they’d taste like – the oak of the wine or the tang he remembers as Betty. A tang he is no longer sure he hasn’t just made up. He shakes himself out of those thoughts.

“It was cute. My vote is he does, she doesn’t.”

“Interesting. Even though Celine is the more romantic of the two?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to watch the sequel to find out.”

“Guess so. I like that it ends on the ambiguity, that the audience gets to decide. They simultaneously do and don’t. Like Schrödinger’s date.” He pauses and turns to face her, pulling one leg up onto the couch. “But also, doesn’t the fact that there is a sequel indicate that they do come back?”

“No spoilers.”

“Have it your way.” He reaches forward and swipes his phone off the coffee table. “I’ll just look it up on IMDB.”

“Forsythe Jones!”

“Elizabeth Cooper!” Betty leans toward him, so he lifts the phone above her head. It’s childish, but she’s close enough that he can again smell the lotion. Then she gets him right in the ribs, right in the spot he’s most ticklish. He’s surprised for a moment when she plays dirty, but he shouldn’t be.

He repeats himself, “Have it your way then, spoilsport.”

“I am not the one being a spoilsport here. You were literally going to look up spoilers.” She’s so emphatic he can almost hear the italics, so he just laughs in response.

He’ll take what he’s been given. Today, he’s been given friendship. So he makes some noises about having to get home because it’s late. He gathers up his helmet and other accoutrements. Betty follows him to the back door, still wrapped in the throw blanket from the couch. Just before he slips out the door, he pulls her into a hug, cupping the back of her head and pressing his face into her hair.

Scratch that, this is the cherry on top of this weird but wonderful day.

[yamlog]

12 oct 2019 (i have decided that in my remaining time i might as well just be all Dear Diary-ish and the lack of date/time in the formatting is quite alsdkfj. anyway, so here goes:)

dear diary (?)

i calmly explained my thoughts and my decision to a friend who’s been through similar struggles and for the first time there was no pushback, no ‘why are you so stupid’ or ‘why are you so dramatic’ or ‘why can’t you see the bigger picture’ or ‘i’m going to call your housephone and speak to your parents’, all of which don’t really help. the only thing she tried to do was extend the deadline from the dec of my 28th birthday till my 29th birthday, which i acceded to. there was the ‘uhh but 2.5 years is really short arh it’ll go by like nothing’, but other than that remark there was no judgement and no protesting or disapproval. and it soothed me, i guess, to be heard and accepted and not told that i’m doing something wrong. and i felt less alone, and just a tiny bit more understood. 

i told her about the book i was reading, and the injustices of a school system that failed a child who sought help. i think it takes a certain bravery to seek help. i don’t have it in me. i want to do this on my own, not because i am brave but because i am afraid and tired. i’m tired of feeling anything at all, especially of having feelings for someone i really really really really wish i didn’t have feelings for anymore. i want to turn it off like a tap but i just can’t, and nothing i do or he does can change it. he could become a serial killer or a woman-hater and i would still find myself unable to stop loving him. i think there’s something lodged in my brain that makes me unable to reason and rationalise my way out of attachment and emotions. nothing. i. do. works. i am tired of feeling erased - like the story he removed from his highlight - and discarded. and i am tired of feeling like everything is out of my control. i don’t think talking about it to an adult (as if i weren’t one) is going to fix my feelings. i don’t want to take pills and rely on them. i don’t believe that i won’t be reliant on them long-term, no matter what MR says. i just don’t believe it. if a tree can’t bear fruit because something is wrong at the genetic level, no amount of high-grade fertiliser is going to make it. 

and since i set the deadline, things have started to sharpen into focus. i have a list of affairs to settle, and things i want to do/ get done before i expire. 

the first being, i want to use the camera more, the crazily expensive vintage camera MR saved up really long for to buy me, which he then put in a wooden box with a coating and locks that he installed himself. it was a testament to how crazy teenage love can be, and i have done similar things in my time. but this is the best instance of me being at the receiving end. i took out the camera today, dusted it off, and loaded in a fresh roll of ISO800 film. i took a few shots downstairs when i sent my friend off. it feels good to hear that crispy click. it’s reassurance that the photo will come out right, that the settings were correct, that i didn’t mess up. i’ll take more especially when i am overseas, visiting my cousin. because it might be the last time i see her, if i don’t get a chance to visit again by my 29th birthday. it’s going to be winter time, and i can already recall how painful my fingers felt as they’re out in the cold fumbling with the even colder metal gears and knobs. i have also decided that once i can, i will sit down in my room and post everything that i’ve taken so far. i want there to be a clear demarcation between then and now. the photos that i have taken in the past, when i was happy and content, they Cannot and Will Not be mixed with the ones i have started taking today. there must be a line between pre-decision and post-decision, pre-break and post-break. it feels wrong and messy and unacceptable otherwise. there must be a line. i’ll get to it.

aside from this, i haven’t decided what else to sort out. i thought that maybe i should write those stories ive been dreaming up, the wacky ones that take place in singapore. ghost stories too. but try as i might, i can’t figure out a resolution. i feel like i should have the whole storyline in my head before i even start writing, so i can work towards an end. but i’ve also read somewhere that sometimes it’s better to let the story write itself. just start writing it, and then go with the flow. my fear is that i won’t be able to reach an end, and i’ll just keep going and going and going as the story grows and expands beyond my control. i guess i really fear losing control now. it’s just too much risk that i’m no longer willing to take. i guess i’m damaged, irreversibly. 

i want to make small zines and give them to my friends. i made one during invigilation, as part of inktober for my drawing twt acc. it’s made of scrap materials and i manually snapped a rubberband in half so i could use it to bind the scrap paper i poked holes in with my only pen at the time. we can’t really bring stuff to invigilation so i had to make do with existing trash on the table. 

--

hearing horror stories about teachers getting in trouble because of what they post on social media. ive been open about attending p*nkd*t and now i’m not sure if someone could dredge up a photo of me at the park from 4 years ago and use it to justify my unsuitability for the job. it really is a nightmare. and im not one to be paranoid, but i think i should be. 

long, long day tomorrow. my legs are battered and bruised all over and tomorrow it’s go time again. 

i tidied up some things i’ve collected in my bag - pieces of things from small gifts from friends that i had saved to stick into my journal. i arranged them on the page and stuck them down, it took about 3 minutes. as i worked, my friend said that she could never do that. do what? i asked. make things look nice so effortlessly, she said. she said she tried to bujo for six months but nothing she did turned out looking nice. it ties in with her drawing style. she said she wanted to participate in inktober, but she hates having to go over pencil with a pen, but at the same time she cannot bring herself to just draw with pen first. i’m not like that, i guess. i just draw with pen without hesitation, the same way i write or tape things down in my journal. it’s not bravery, it’s recklessness, i think. i recklessly commit all the time. i don’t think ‘what if i fuck up? what if i stick wrong and in the process of trying to remove it i end up tearing the paper?’ i don’t think, i just go. and if i make any mistakes i just work around it. draw over it, stick something over it, extend the line into a box or a part of a doodle. i’m meticulous when it  comes to some things, but completely not when it comes to creative expression. or with love either. i don’t backtrack, and i don’t think ‘what if i fuck up’ i just Go and give my 100% and love whatever’s there. i don’t think my approach is wrong. i think i need to look before i leap, but still leap. some things are fundamental to me.

my memory’s really bad today. my friend said it’s the shock and grief and crying, it affects your ability to retain information or remember things. even when im trying to remember what ia te for lunch just 10 hours ago, i have to struggle to remember. i ate downstairs. chicken rice, for the first time in ages. it was hard, taking that first bite, and i couldn’t finish half of my plate because i just felt so sick with grief my stomach protested when i tried to scrap up another spoon of rice. i made myself finish the soup. i think i’m still running a fever. it’s just the impact. i’ll be wobbly and insubstantial like a spirit for awhile. then i’ll come back, and solidify, i hope.

[ddrkirbyisq]

It's been a while... Quite a lot of things happened, I feel like.  I've been doing well in general, but the past few days haven't been very great -- just in terms of a general feeling.  Pretty sure it's just stress...I can feel it in my chest sometimes.  Annoying... I made an effort to get some additional sleep last night and almost succeeded but I think something ended up waking me up and it wasn't quite a success.  So I didn't end up waking super easily, but on the plus side at least I don't feel lackluster in terms of energy level, so that's definitely a start. I've been doing a pretty good job of bringing food to work almost every day (though I didn't yesterday).  It feels great knowing that I'm saving money by making my own food...initially the reason that I wanted to cook lunch for myself at least once a week was just because I like making my own food, but after a while every time I went out to buy something for lunch I kept thinking about how much more expensive it was and decided that I'd do something about it. JaSmix date still isn't solidified, but I'm really hoping that it ends up working out.  Last Friday I worked out a bunch of my current toolbox of figures that I'd potentially go over in a workshop, which was quite interesting because I discovered that my leads on a lot of them actually are very imprecise in terms of timing and followers' footwork.  That's actually more or less fine in terms of just getting them to work, but it surprised me just how much I was glossing over even for figures that I do on a regular basis.  So I learned a lot there, though not necessarily things that I'd actually go over in the workshop itself. Perhaps the most exciting thing happening right now in my life is OneShot, which has proven to be a real gem of a game.  Before I write anything about OneShot, though, I should take a moment to talk about Rakuen, which I played through and finished.  Rakuen was...honestly, kind of disappointing and overhyped.  Which is not to say that it wasn't enjoyable, and I think it had some nice moments, but I really don't feel like it was deserving of such high praise as I heard it lauded for.  I honestly felt like the game design as a whole wasn't as "clean" as it could have been and I think the storytelling in Kan Gao's games (To the Moon, Quintessence) was actually much better.  As a whole Rakuen was a lot more formulaic and played into many more RPG tropes (in a not so great way).  But I do think that it did some things right.  The way that you went around everywhere with Mom and could talk with her every so often was super nice and I think the relationship with Mom was actually really sweet and well-done.  The little stories that Sue shared with you too, I think that was another highlight of the game.  So I mean, it's not like Laura didn't put any heart into the game, or anything like that -- just that I feel like it definitely has its flaws too.  And I think that as artists we can try to hold ourselves to a better standard.  Ah, but of course, that's easier said than done.  Making games is difficult after all. Speaking of which, I'm slowly making more progress on Rhythm Quest again.  So far I've added two additional enemy types and even designed a whole second level/song, which is great progress.  My next to-do items are dealing with the issue where the expected timing of the sword slash notes doesn't quite match up with what players are expecting visually -- probably because the sword slash animation extends a bit longer than the hitbox.  So I might need to adjust enemy placement a bit.  Also maybe toning down the difficulty of the second level.  Definitely a challenge to adjust difficulty for these things, but hopefully I can manage to get it right.  If nothing else I'm making sure to put a lot of checkpoints in the early levels, so that should help. Anyways...OneShot.  I wasn't quite sure how much to expect out of it at first, but it's certainly managed to deliver in a big way.  It's reminiscent of Undertale in more ways than one, and so far I'm really appreciating almost everything about it, including both the storytelling and worldbuilding, as well as the narrative choices interwoven with player agency.  It's been quite tasteful and I'm really digging that.  I'd definitely recommend it.  It's something that has been something that I look forward to in my days, which is great.  The plot has been nothing short of gripping.  The emotional flow, too, has been really good. Trying to get back in the swing of drawing again...I think I realized the thing I'm really interested in is drawing characters and cute things, so even just doodling things I think would be fun. I released my "Sentience" album finally and it's been doing quite well so far!  I'm really happy with it and also pleased that other people seem to be enjoying it, even though it's not normal fare for me.  I'm also happy with how the CD prints turned out -- they look pretty cool!  Not really sure what is next for me in terms of music...to be completely honest I'm not in a great place to work on artistic things at the moment, though.  The anxiety that's in my chest is really not conducive for it. =(  Hopefully that can go away soon.