#man still annoyed about my art program messing up some of it..

[cowardlychimera]

no background because canva is being mean to me.. anyways 11:11 PM au headspace Sunny!

"pansies are associated with free thinking and thoughtfulness or consideration...also linked to feelings of remembrance and nostalgia."

"The yellow pansy represents happiness, joy, and positivity."

[voyeuristicvixen]

Captains Log N. 34_That’s Amora!

Amor Productions is in full effect and we have extended our inspirations and ideas to include more. We changed our last name to Amora which is Wav’s original last name but our company will still be Amor Productions and our videography work is put out under [Studio19] .. Its been a blast, and we actually have been getting commissions and inquiries and thats super cool. I never would have imagined that I would have a thriving business with my partner in this way where everything just flows seamlessly and without too much conflict. We just work well together! One thing I have some fears about is having equal recognition. In the art world, women are not really heard or seen on that level especially in filmmaking. We are barely pushing to make a place. I remember in RL film school I had a cinematography class that was hands on, and my teacher was a black woman and I was so very proud to be learning about how to set up lighting and wrap cables by a woman that could be my aunty. Theres something super special about it. Sometimes it so happens that Wav gets praised more for the work we do together and that can sting because I feel I put a lot of energy and time in to set the foundations and build the sets and make things happen but I am not appreciated for it. Most of the time I just annoy him with my work ethic because im always pushing us to start the next project to do the next step lmao. But I guess thats how it go! The great men of the world have all had the woman pushing them that we have yet to learn about... I am still grateful to have an opportunity to create and enjoy the work I do anyhow!

We are working on the next episode of Meta Love Talks. I have been pushing to get this done for weeks now lmao ! I found the spot I got us all set up figured out the lighting and everything. Its just a matter of getting Wav to get in gear. The man just loves to sleep!I get that rest is important I am just in a cycle where I want to make so many big dreams happen and I been sleeping on myself and my talents for too long!! I am the Taurus one but somehow he gets all the rest lmao.

We had a talk about this today and chopped it up to programming. I have been programmed by women who have had to do everything themselves. From my great-grandma down to my big sister, every woman in my family is single and self-sufficient. They have no time to rest.

All my life I was told that rest is lazy, that I myself was just a lazy girl and that growing up in America made me that way. In Africa girls start to work and cook and clean in the household from the moment they can walk and talk and hold things. They are peeling onions first thing you learn is to peel onions... 4/5 years old and peeling onions lmao. I am at the age where I don’t want to feel like a disappointment and resting makes me feel guilty af!  Thats the programming in my DNA and family thats also got us all messed up but I digress thats for another blog..

We been getting into Beyou and all those Sims SL huds that turn you into a sim lol. They are something I have always seen on the grid but never got into. My old SL life was very much that of a free love hippie, I just stayed on the commune, was naked half the time and DJing all kinds of freaky events like orgies and shit. We just lived super free and at peace and it was like nothing else on the grid anywhere. I never had the lifestyle of having a home, and family etc. This is really like a reflection of my rl too because back in the day my rl was crazy reckless too and now im at the age where settling down is the vibes. SL has always been my manifestation tool. If you understand how this reality is made of frequency, energy, and vibration you will see how technology is just an extension of nature and can be used for magicks or alchemy which is a science.

Of all the huds Beyou seems to have the most options but Mystory is the newest and most updated and is reasonably priced! Xeolife was one we were using before because I was obsessed with the Mystory cooking components. That was all I knew and used for a while! Storii Darkheart recently made a new Mystory hud thats like xeolife and beyou ! I like mystory, it is something new and theres affiliate scripts available so creators have more free range to make objects that will work with that hud. That for me is a big W. I want to make something for it for sure. Right now I am using both mystory and beyou those are my tops. Xeolife I was only using because of mystory anyway so I don’t really have any other use for it anymore. We’ll see what happens! Get the new Mystory HUD : http://maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Fresh/210/70/23 (Its on the wall in the supermarket!)

Wav got frustrated as hell with the beyou system ngl lmaoooo XD sometimes its easier than others to get the food on your plate but I think its a pretty difficult thing to manage with scripts and the fact that you can rp like you are serving food is TOPS. I dont care that it messes up sometimes because when it works its impressive to me lmao. Plus they have African dishes and that for sure will win me over everytime. The only issue I had is that the peanut butter stew was vegan like WHYYY -_- It gotta be with beef or chicken at LEAST! Lmaoo

THIS WAS THE MEAL THAT GOT BAE OVER IT THE DAMN TURKEY NEVER SERVED FOR HIM LMAO! Thats when I showed him the mystory, I need to get his hud installed for him so that we can try that one together next. I hope that they eventually add skill levels, being able to share items and little details like the beyou hud has that make it more interactive like professions and being able to get marriage certificates and adoption papers etc. That all just adds to the sparkings of joyssss ^^ so far though its really impressive i gotta do another post on that!

Speaking of sparks joy, all my favs in one picture.... sleep in my office these two are always chillen in there with me haha. One thing this pic does not capture is the million cats that Bae has, he loves these little kittens and they always causing ruckus in my divination bowl lmao. Its the cutest thing tho. I love me some adorable chaos that ends in sweet snores. <3

I have been really enjoying the Beyou markets and exploring them and what they have to offer. This place had a great pharmacy that was giving goth vibes and when I went upstairs I found this woman in the loony bin. It was comfortably unsettling. Loved it.

Our first beyou fire, chillen in the living room... living by the beach during winter is super cozy because the air is crisp salt and the wood fireplace smell mixes real good with it. Its our version of winter frost. We always have pluto.tv on it is my favorite thing to watch when I just dont know what to watch and want to channel scroll. I always find something good that I never would have looked up by just scrolling pluto. On SL that site works really well because its live TV it syncs up for the most part with everyone so you all see the same thing at the same time. That is a big plus.

Now we been getting more consistent with Gridlife and just enjoying each other and ourselves. Its been nice. I really feel like somehow it helps me feel grounded with ttasks im trying to do when im just chillen in SL at the same time. Bae has been asked to be apart of a dope as Afrobeat festival I am very proud of him and happy for him. It will be dope asf! Im like lowkey a bit sad because I wasnt asked to join or be apart of it and I feel somehow entitled to be because im African because Ayra Starr follows me on IG and we’ve known each other before she blew up... because I grew up listening to and dancing to African music and being bullied for being African in school.... I felt like I should be apart of it... but alas, not everything is for me to join. The way I grew up, my background or knowledge does not matter if someone dont want you to join theres nothing you can do! *cries internally*

The face I am making here during this meeting with the dude on his plat says it all. I will just stay in my lane and do my lil thing. Whover sees my light sees it and whoever dont, dont. Ima support Wav regardless in everything he does and I am more than happy doing it because he deserves the recognition and the praise just as much! I build with him because I believe in him and his talents and his ideas. Thats how our love go. <3

A wild Foxey, bothered & black, but keeping it pushing anyway. XD

[radexchangeprogram]

This is a random one but can I request head cannons of the Brothers and Dateables reacting to an MC that’s actually a half demon but was really great at hiding her demon side since she grew up in the human world? They see a demon man just bounding towards MC before the boys could do anything MC’s like “DAD! 😃” before jumping in his arms like a child. Around her Dad she gains fangs and horns like him but she reverts back to normal when she wants to. The boys are like “Why didn’t you say anything?” And she’s like “I’m just used to my human side” or “You never asked 🤷🏾‍♀️”

Of course! I love this idea. I didn’t get a chance to proof read this so I apologize for any grammatical mistakes.

Author’s notes at the end (marked by *s)

Spoiler warning for up to chapter 17 to be safe. Especially with Belphie.

Half Demon GN!MC Headcanons

General

Everyone noticed that you never seemed too bothered by the fact that you were surrounded by demons, but figured you were just rather good at adapting.

This theory was proven wrong at a party Lord Diavolo hosted.

As you chatted with the brothers, a large demon with griffon wings, a lion’s mane, and horns similar to a gazelle began to head in the direction of your group.

The demon, who the others instantly recognized as Duke Vapula, walked up to them with a cheeky grin.

The brothers were instantly on guard, Mammon even growling slightly, as it was extremely uncommon for anyone to approach them so casually.

Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, Luke, and Solomon all took notice and were prepared to intervine should something happen.

You turned around to see what the issue was and let out a loud gasp.

“DAD!”

Lucifer

Absolutely dumbfounded. How did he not know about this? He read your files to the point of practically memorizing them before you came here and he swears there was nothing about you being a half demon.

He was honestly a bit embarrassed that he didn’t know about something this major.

When confronting you, all you did was say that it wasn’t that big of a deal and that you figured they already knew.

You really give him a migraine sometimes.

He feels a bit relieved that he doesn’t have to worry as much about you dying, though.

If you wish, he may start teaching you demonic etiquette, such as having you shift form at formal events.

If you prefer your human heritage, he won’t pressure you to conform to your demonic ancestory.

Mammon

WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN HIS HUMAN ISN’T ENTIRELY HUMAN?!?

The loudest about his displeasure about not knowing.

“I’m your first man! I’m supposed to know everything about you!”

When you explain to him that you’re more comfortable with your human half, he calms down a little.

Tries to call you ‘stupid half-demon’ but it doesn’t feel the same as ‘stupid human’ :(

You tell him he can just keep calling you ‘stupid human’ :D

Wonders if he can get your dad to pay him for ‘providing his child with such incredible protection’.

You immediately tell him no.

Leviathan

Holy shit this sounds like something straight out of an anime!!!

Very upset that you didn’t tell him, you’re his Henry! You’re supposed to tell him these kind of things!

When you shrug and simply say that no one asked, he gets even more pouty.

You make up with him quickly by offering to play games with him all night.

Extremely curious about your demonic form for the primary purpose of cosplay. Do you know how many more characters you can be if you have a tail or wings?!?

You might inspire some fanfiction. (half demon Henry x Lord of Shadows au slow burn 100k words, def not Leviathan projecting no not at all-)

Satan

He is extremely shocked. Not only did he have no idea, but half demons are extremely rare.

From what he’s read, most half-human half-demon offspring don’t survive past birth and all documented cases that have survived reside in the Devildom so that their powers can be better managed.

He asks you about this and you reply that you’re actually quite good at controlling your powers, but that you prefer living as a normal human.

He’s not upset that you didn’t tell him, but he has a billion questions.

How long is your lifespan? Do you take more after your demonic father or your human mother in terms of power?What are your weaknesses?

He really wants to learn more about human-demon hybrids and will ask you to help in his studies.

Also a bit excited as your father is well known for some for his knowledge and writing about the sciences. He wants to discuss some of it with you, assuming you’ve read what your father has written.*

Asmodeus

Oh he is so excited.

A bit relieved that his charm isn’t wearing off, it just doesn’t work because you’re the child of a demonic duke!

You know those boiling hot springs he talks about visiting? Well he’s happy to learn that you actually can join him without fear of your skin melting off!

He’s not upset that you didn’t tell him, getting mad over stuff like that can cause wrinkles.

He will absolutely want to help you groom your horns/wings/scales/tail.

He already has shown you a lot about demonic fashion trends, such as extra clothing that can be fitted around demonic extremities, but now he actually can actually have you try on some! Do you prefer gold tail bangles or jeweled horn cuffs?

Beelzebub

Relieved that Duke Vapula wasn’t looking for a fight.

He can’t help but smile a little when you hug your dad. It makes him happy that you love your family.

When you blush and tell him that it just slipped your mind to tell everyone about your heritage, he isn’t upset.

Happy that he doesn’t have to be so scared of accidentally hurting you with how strong he is.

If you’re able to safely eat some more demonic food, he will absolutely get you to try some of his favorite foods that normal humans would die upon eating.

Overall, you’re still the MC he has grown to love and doesn’t treat you too differently.

Belphegor

Is now more awake than he has been the entire evening.

Half demon? Nah this is just some dream.

Is understanding when you explain to him that you prefer being human and living as a human.

He’s happy he found out after making amends with you. He used to despise half-demons just as much as normal humans, seeing them as repulsive.

He still very much treats you the same, but is a bit annoyed with his brothers.

With knowledge of your demonic blood coming to light, they drag you out even more often and naps with you are becoming rarer.

If you get too overwhelmed with his brothers constantly wanting to try things they thought would previously kill you, he will be more than happy to lend you some of his hiding spots. He does charge the small fee of getting to take a nap with you though.

Diavolo

Similar to Lucifer, is shocked that he didn’t know before you came to the Devildom.

You aren’t the first half-demon he’s met, but he is surprised that a demon of Duke Vapula’s rank had a child with a human.

He’s actually very excited to learn that you’re a half-demon who is in more in touch with your human side. He feels a lot more relieved that you aren’t as defenseless as previously thought.

He does, however, make absolute sure that you have full control over your demonic powers. Every other half-demon lives in the Devildom for a reason and he can’t have someone who is technically one of his subjects accidentally cause mass destruction.

He invites you for tea more frequently, asking so many questions about how being raised in the human world as a half-demon was.

He likes to exchange stories with you about your younger years and the power fluxes you both struggled with as you grew.

Tells you that should you ever wish to live in the Devildom that he would be more than happy to make the needed arrangements.

Barbatos

He knew the whole time. When Diavolo asked him to look into the success of the program, he made note of your heritage right away.

However, he decided that keeping this information hidden when he saw that you were raised human and preferred to be seen as human.

When he explains this to everyone, you can’t help but feel thankful.

While some of the others make no effort to hide how annoyed this makes them, he doesn’t mind. He knows he made the right choice keeping this from everyone and doesn’t regret it at all.

Barbatos is actually a pretty good friend of your father’s and grew up with him. He actually met you when you were a baby because of this.*

Solomon

He has seen a lot in his years in the world of magic, but nothing like this.

Usually, half-demons were very easy to spot as they struggled to control their powers, but you practically had it down to an art!

You explain to him that you’re actually pretty good at keeping your powers under control. He’s rather impressed by this and will ask to see your spell work.

Thinks it’s a little funny that he has a pact with your dad.*

Like Satan, he wants to know all about you. Unlike Satan, he is going to actually conduct experiments instead of stick to interviews.

He has a new potion that he wants you to try almost every day now.

Can half-demons make pacts? If so, you have now been added to the list of demonic beings he wants to make a pact with.

Simeon

Very surprised considering he’s blessed you before.

Blessings aren’t supposed to work on anything of demonic nature so he’s baffled.

When you explain to him that you were raised human and prefer to live as human, he smiles.

He comes to the conclusion that you being a good person must be greater than the demonic blood in your veins.

He treats you the same overall, knowing that you’re still you no matter your heritage.

Luke

Absolute denial.

There is no way someone as nice as you is part demon! He refuses to believe it!

Gets upset and accuses you of trying to manipulate him, which you quickly deny.

When you explain to him that you prefer being human, he huffs.

Simeon gives him a bit of a talking to, about how you’re still the same MC who he sees as a big sibling.

He bakes you some apology cupcakes for being rude to you.

You sometimes shift form to mess around with him, it never fails to make him let out a shocked yelp before he snaps at you for picking on him.

Everyone (except Luke) thinks it’s funny tbh.

Author’s Notes:

*Duke Vapula is described as being able to bestow knowledge about all science contained in books.

*Barbatos is also a duke in The Goetia. I thought a fun nod to this would be to have them as friends.

*The Goetia talks about the 72 demons that King Solomon evoked. Vapula is one of the demons that he evoked. The game actually references this by talking about his 72 pacts. Asmodeus and Barbatos are both included in the 72 demons which is why he has pacts with both of them in the game :)

[shtern-and-art]

"Skeppy will probably cry" "Bad will probably cry". Bish, screw, that I am crying!!!

This whole thing was bloody gorgeous and I wasn't expecting that ending. I had no clue what ending to expect but that was definitely better than any I could have hoped for. Forest spirit to soulmate your honour!

I was terrified that you were gonna leave it at the point where he loses the spirit and becomes mortal again. If you had I would be actively sobbing!!!! And oh my god, the art!!! I still can't get over how wonderful your style is.

Imma ask fun things because if I don't I'll sit in a puddle of emotion all night:

What's the first tech thing Bad will buy and how annoying will he be about it? Poor Skeppy trying to answer 101 questions about something he doesn't really use XD.

Is no one concerned that the odd couple from a town they never name has a pet wolf??

Do they immediately go over to a different town or do they wander for a while. Find hidden creeks and befriend bears?

Does Bad still have a connection to nature and animals, like are creatures naturally more trusting of him?

Do they ever visit the og town again?

Does Skeppy still cause absolute chaos in other towns or has he learnt his lesson and only causes minor trouble now?

Does Bad ever try and study again? If he did what would he study and would Skeppy try to study as well?

Does Skeppy steal? I dunno, he just give off the vibe of a naughty lil trickster who'll pocket something if the owner refuses to sell it him.

Immediately after leaving the forest what the first 'argument' they have (not including the car one)?

Would they ever ride horse? If yes, how terrified would Skeppy be?

Skeppy falls outta tree. I don't know why but my mind keeps telling me that this man has great balance until he climbs trees. They are his mortal enemy and Bad finds this both hilarious and terrifying because he is going to hurt himself.

I had waaaaay more questions than I intended to have. My bad '^_^ but this story was way too much fun to read and you are entirely to blame for making it so engaging!

Make sure to take care of yourself and do stretches after and during drawing. You don't wanna hurt yourself <3

AaaaI’m so glad you liked it! :D And, dang, man, I cried while writing that part too :D

And I promised a nice ending for the main story, I did, and this one also makes the most sense narratively! For the story I wanted to tell, at least. Bad can’t really become human again, he’s changed to much. He can only move on, and do something with what he is, and has. And he did! :D That’s really nice and inspiring, this story will always have a place in my heart, heheh <3

Being a guardian spirit connected to a person and all, Bad may be not as strong as before, but he can’t die unless Skeppy dies first. And Skeppy can do that, but he’s pretty sturdy, and his lifespan operates on a whole other scale than human ones. And Bad knowing Skeppy’s real name balances it all out, makes them equal in the power and influence they have over each other.

So hellyeah, soulmates for the win :DDD

I’ll answer all questions under the cut, and this close up from one of the pages!

1) What's the first tech thing Bad will buy and how annoying will he be about it?

Probably a pager! Because it’s a more feasible thing to get than a wholeass computer Bad actually wanted :D An it means Skeppy will have to get one too, and that Bad will be having the time of his life texting him and everyone he can get a number from, even if they’re still in the room with him.

Poor Skeppy indeed, he can learn to appreciate the pagers, and later phones, too, and computers, but he really has 0 idea on how it all works and why Bad is so fascinated by it all.

2) Rat and regular people

Oh, she can shapeshift, just like Bad! If they’re out with people around, she takes form of a puppy, and Bad can pass her off as a weird mix breed rescue doggo.

3) Do they immediately go over to a different town or do they wander for a while?

Oh, since they have no end destination in mind, they can ride around for a bit, go visit some cool places and roadside attractions. Sadly, Skeppy is probably not spiritually or morally ready to full on befriend wild bears yet, and they do need money for gas and snacks. So, at some point they will have to stop somewhere and find work – at least for a bit, to save up. Life’s gonna be a bit complicated with all that, until Skeppy figures out his treasure-finding abilities :DD

4) Bad and nature and animals

He is definitely still in tune with all wildlife! Even more – Bad could become a proper guardian spirit for Skeppy in part because, in a way, Skeppy himself is part of the nature.

So yeah, Bad can understand animals (and plants) and communicate with them; they’re just more free to not take his shit, and Bad’s emotions do not “possess” them unless he makes an effort to do so.

He doesn’t like doing it, tho.

5) Do they ever visit the og town again?

Hm, I think they will completely forget about it for a while, until, like, 30+ years later they will be going somewhere, and find themselves around those parts. And they try to not appear too often in the areas they’ve spent a lot of time in already (they can be pretty recognizable, and also barely show signs of aging). But it’s been a long time, and the town’s really different now… So they make a stop, and spend a day there. They walk the unfamiliar streets between the new buildings, check out the popular hiking trail, the advertisements for hot springs and winter activities. The old cinema is still there, and is hosting an all-night marathon of classic horror movies of the last century.

Bad and Skeppy leave the town after sunset – the day was nice, but they have nothing more to do there. They ride through the forest on a well paved road, with radio playing something barely above the whisper. And in the dark of hot summer night, Bad can see the white stag running between the trees alongside their car. Shadows dance over the shimmering light of it’s fur.

Somewhere after the towns border, the stag disappears back in the forest. But the air in the car stays light and fresh, saving the smell of old pines and dry leaves all though the night.

6) Skeppy and chaos

Well, after the whole mess in the main story, Skeppy definitely learned some lessons, especially about not being a dick :D

But the thing is – he can’t really help the fact that things tend to stir up around him a lot. He naturally brings in chaos into everything, because he is, in part, a personification, or an outlet for it in the world. And so, to feel, well and good, and himself Skeppy gotta do stuff that disrupts balance, and creates some mayhem. And in gave him a lot of trouble in early life, but in the course of the main story he learned that he can chose were he lets that chaos to take hold, learned what can come of that chaos, apart from utter misery.

Like, where it can help dismantle something destructive, and where – bring in the more positive change, that was already brewing, possible, but is stagnant for some reason.

Soooo, I can’t say Skeppy causes only minor chaos in his life, but he sure learns even more about not being a dick :DDDD

7) The studying

I think Bad will want to get a higher education at some point, because he wanted to, and because it’s already new millennia and all that. Bet he’ll go for something very technical and/or literature. Maybe he’ll start by piking up some classes in small time colleges, when they stop in one place for a while, and later get into an online program, because why not.

Skeppy is not a college guy at all. He’ll listen to Bad talk about it, read textbooks if he wants to, can research stuff, buuut going to classes and doing homework is definitely not his thing.

8) Stealing

Well, you’re right, Skeppy can and will steal stuff out of spite! And will be scolded by Bad for it, and will not feel (that) sorry about it. But real stealer between them will be Bad himself :D

It’s just… he has the corvid tendencies, and a hoard (a box) of sentimental mementos from different people and events, and the thrill of stealing something small and harmless is very exciting. Bad is very proud of his little collection. Skeppy finds it very adorable, a bit hypocritical, and kinda creepy. Like, that pretty box he gifted Bad at some point is now full of stuff like:

- pressed flower from the clearing they had a picnic at on their anniversary

- the button the waitress lost that one day the storm caused a black out in the whole town

- some small animal bones

- couple pretty rocks Bad stole from Skeppy’s pockets

- penny that was once glued to the ground

- a handful of teeth people (and not people) lost in fights with Bad

- pen from some fancy hotel

- rainbow dash keychain that belonged to a child

- the list goes on

9) Argument

Oh, that same day they’ll fight over whether they should stay at the really crappy and suspicious looking motel, or go sleep in a perfectly fine forest near the road. Ironically, Bad wanted to try out the motel (because, yay, first time spending the night back in civilization), and Skeppy was the one insisting on sleeping in nature (because the motel looks like it could give you 10 diseases if you even stand near it, and sleeping in the forest is kind of nice, and means they can cuddle).

10) Horses

The guys will probably ride them at some point. Well, Bad will ride, and Skeppy will sit on his horse and hope it knows what to do and where to go, because trying to make this giant thing do something seems dangerous. If they’ll have to actually go somewhere fast, Skeppy will not survive that day, his butt (and legs) will be dead for days to come.

And riding with Bad on one horse may sound romantic and nice, but all romance dies when the gallop starts.

F.

11) Skeppy and climbing

Skeppy is more down to earth kind of guy, more of a “rocks and caves” kind of creature, real-life lizard person or something. Up on the trees and in the air – not really his element, yeah. But it doesn’t mean that Skeppy will accept this fact easy. The embarrassment of never managing to safely make it down a tree is too strong, he just has to do it all over again, and again. And again. Because, clearly, he was distracted this time. And the time before that Bad was teasing him, and it “disrupted his flow”. And, really, maybe these trees here just do not like Skeppy much, and make him slip a lot. Yeah.

So, more often than not, if Skeppy climbs a tree, he will not stop climbing it until he falls, or the tree ends. Bad had to take him off high branches couple times, forcefully, because, of course, Skeppy was sitting there for 2 hours just to properly enjoy the sunset. He can climb down at any point, he just Choses not to. The view is amazing. The bark is literally part of his skin now, not because he holds on tight, no, he’s just Than Much one with the nature )<

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Don’t apologize for the questions! It’s always so fun to answer them, and it makes me think more about stuff I may have skipped, or didn’t think about before. It’s really nice :3c

Again, thank you for the ask, and for being here for this story! <3

(And I’ll try setting timers for rest breaks while I draw, mb that will help)

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In The Dark - masterpost

[staytiny-present]

The Boyz college au

because i’m the worst and have spurts of radio silence when i want to be writing my aus but in my defense it is my last week of school for the semester and i’ve been working on getting my associate’s degree :))))))

but anyway uhhh yeah this isn’t ateez i know but i’m still thinking about the be your own king video the boyz released out of literal NOWHERE and i felt inspired today in the middle of doing homework and wanted to provide you with something i hope no one’s done this so i can be original but i wouldn’t hold me breath

Hyunjae 

he’s on the swim team and really into animation, but his major is undeclared. he’s constantly being hounded about needing to decide on a major, but he really just doesn’t care enough. yes he cares about his education (as can be seen by his top notch grades), he just doesn’t know what he wants to do and doesn’t see a problem in that. but he’s into a lot of different clubs besides his swim team, like the art club he frequents with juyeon every week. hyunjae also played a cyborg in one of kevin’s short films, and because of that he’s known as ‘the arm guy’ to a lot of people around campus. everyone else knows him as the star swimmer who’s always at the pool

Juyeon 

he’s an art major, his favorite medium being paint. he’s also really interested in modeling, so he will help out some photography and other art students if they need someone. most people go to him first though because he’s just so beautiful and fits so many different aesthetics and is overall just such a natural at this stuff like wow. he loves making messes for his art projects because it shows that messy can be good sometimes, and it shows he has fun! his social media is mostly pictures of his artwork, but the pictures of him are the most popular and always get the most comments

Q/Changmin 

dance dance dance my guy, he’s a dance major on the dance team who competes in underground dance competitions. his major deals mostly with classical training like ballet and modern dance while the dance team does a lot of hiphop and theatrical dancing, and he mostly freestyles for his competitions. and in case you’re wondering, yes he always wins. honestly though he dances everywhere because it’s what he loves to do, and he loves theatrics and putting on a show. people will find him in really random places around campus practicing or recording covers or even just freestyling because he can

Haknyeon 

he’s a theater major. he likes musical theater and all but his favorites are classic plays. he especially loves shakespeare and has starred in nearly every production of his that the university has put on. he’s just really good at portraying romance and tragedy and even the comedies and it shows. it’s partly because he just loves romance dude what a dweeb so he really puts his whole heart in those performances. he’s always trying to get kevin to make a short film about a reimagined shakespeare story but he has yet to listen to him

Kevin 

he’s a film major with a minor in creative writing. really the guy just wants to write and direct his own movie because how much fun would that be! he stars in a lot of his student short films because a lot of his friends would rather die than do that, but it’s okay because kevin still has fun!! def the type to make iconic indie films by accident when he’s through with college. his favorite genre is fantasy because he loves being transported to far off places, and if he’s able to transport other’s to a place he created? that’s the dream

Sunwoo 

majors in music despite a bunch of people telling him it’s not realistic and a bunch of “you won’t be able to get a solid job if you major in something like that” bullshit, and because of this he has to put himself through college because no one’s really helping him out. it’s hard but sunwoo works part time at a car wash place and a roller rink guess which he likes more. but he knows how to vibe and is able to make his work fun, and it’s very apparent to those around him. people are always asking for the cute one that dances while he works

Sangyeon 

everyone expects him to be the most responsible with his schooling, getting a degree in something professional like business and joining a bunch of leadership and volunteer oriented clubs. while yes he’s done all of that, he’d much rather be at the arcade playing games :( in fact he’s joined a lot of gaming competitions through the arcade, and he’s won a lot of them too! as weird as it sounds, that’s his motivation - knowing that he can win these games and the glory that comes with it, though he’s not a sore loser about things because who does that help? not that he could ever let people on campus know about what he does after school, otherwise they’d just laugh at him. right?

New/Chanhee 

mans is a fashion major and fucking rules at it. he was the kid in high school who was always dressed to the nines while everyone looked at him either like “bro chill out” or “lmao what are you wearing?” it was annoying sure, but he likes clothes and how they make him feel. a lot of people stereotype him because of this though and act like they know everything about him. it’s infuriating and hard to just brush off, but at the end of the day he knows he’s happy with himself and what he is doing. and he knows that’s all that matters

Younghoon 

he’s a lit. major with a concentration in the classics. he and haknyeon honestly bond a lot in that aspect because they’re constantly reading and rereading classic novels and plays together. he thrives in history too, and he’s constantly seen in the library so that he can learn more things. he likes cultural programs and clubs too because it means he gets to learn more about his own and get to learn about others’ as well. his ultimate dream is to write a story that will become a classic one day, even if it takes hundreds of years for it to happen. he’s patient

Jacob 

he’s another music major, but the main difference between him and sunwoo is that he’s not alone in putting himself through school. his family is supportive and helps him out with money, but they also give him a lot of freedom. he’s honestly pretty close with sunwoo despite all of this, and they’re constantly working on music together. jacob knows he can’t just rely on his family though so he works too. works part time at the local fair/amusement park which sunwoo just cannot fathom because “why would you do that to yourself? being around all those rotten kids sounds like a nightmare.” unlike sunwoo, jacob actually likes kids, and even more he likes to see people smile

Eric 

he’s actually on a sports scholarship for baseball. he doesn’t technically need the money for school, but he works in a garage fixing up cars in basically all of his spare time. it’s kinda obvious that he’s on the young side because he’s very “cars are cool :)” and there’s nothing wrong with that, it just means there’s a lot of people younghoon telling him he should join more clubs and become more involved in things going on around campus. but he takes pride in his skill at baseball and in his work with cars and the fact that he just got his driver’s license! take that younghoon

[cuinnamonbun]

I really love ur headcanon about Hijabi Mc with the brothers! I really love it cuz there is no one writing about us in any fandom =(

I was thinking would u do the (un)datebale characters with Hijabi Mc if u can ? =3

If u don’t want then u can ignore the ask 🖤

Hello there, angel! I assume you meant the chaotic Hijabi MC headcanon that I wrote, so I hope you enjoyed these xx

she/her pronouns!!

The (Un)Dateable Characters' + Luke’s Reactions to a Hijabi MC That Looks Extremely Pious and Quiet but is Actually a Chaotic Mess

Diavolo

As future king of the Devildom that wishes to strengthen the relations between the three realms, prejudice and discrimination against the human exchange students’ choice of religion is a HUGE no-no

Diavolo would not mind the fact that she is wearing a symbol of her devotion to God on her head, but he would be so intrigued by this human at first meeting

Not about her religion, of course, he is well aware of all the religions in the world; Abrahamic religion being the one he is most familiar with (obvi)

What excited him was the fact that this human was so. friggin. hilarious.

He’s not even sure if this human is doing it on purpose because something would happen that would catch her off guard and she would just say?? the most random shit???

Like say, she got jumped by Mammon and her response to that would be a monotone scream and a “sTOP i could’ve dropped my croissant!” but she was actually genuinely startled

He’d be so fascinated like wow! Go girl, give us nothing!!

He would invite her over for tea so many times just so she could explain slang to him

Diavolo: Tell me MC, what is the meaning of DILF?

Due to personal reasons, MC will now be passing away

He would abuse the usage of slang everywhere and he would be so excited to finally understand what Leviathan is talking about

Lucifer: Diavolo, we must talk about the student council budget

Diavolo: That wasn’t very cash money of you

Lucifer: ....excuse me?

Diavolo: Periodt okurrr slay queen

MC has to go hide to avoid being slaughtered like a sacrificial lamb by Lucifer

Diavolo would be also be curious and impressed at the intricate planning of each and every one of her pranks

Like sure, it may be annoying to be the one at the receiving end of it, but understanding the details behind it?? All the logic, physics and patience put into it just to ensure a flawless delivery??? Absolutely stunning

MC has him mesmerised

He would absolutely want to learn the art of pranking from her

Honestly, at this point it’s no longer the human exchange student and the Devil King, it’s now the mentor and the mentee

Lucifer has to demand MC to stop teaching him these things for the sake of his sanity because it’s taking him away from his royal duties that’s keeping the Devildom from falling apart

They still meet up in secret though screw you, Lucifer

Barbatos

This is another demon whom would not mind the fact that their chosen exchange student is a Muslim

Lord Diavolo’s reputation hangs on this exchange program going extremely well, he would not let simple prejudices put a smear on that

He has prepared himself well to receive people from different walks of life just so he can provide all students a comfortable stay during their term in the Devildom

But wait...what is that human doing?

Oh...this poor man

Not only does he have to keep that ginormous labyrinth of a castle spotless and immaculate at all times and ensure that every event being hosted by the castle is going perfectly without a hitch, but he also has to take care of an overgrown man-child that is also known as the future king of the Devildom

Now, he has to make sure this...mess of a human doesn’t go stir up trouble anywhere?

Barbatos is a calm and collected man, but he’s still a demon; virtues aren’t exactly something they practice 

He would need to down three cups of melancholy coffee and squeeze a stress ball whenever he catches MC in her antics whether it is alone or with someone in tow

Somehow he’s the only one whom MC would find almost impossible to prank

Like she managed to catch Lucifer off guard once (that was her proudest achievement) but BARBATOS???? yeah, it’s like he has a pair of eyes on the back of his head or something

MC: *tries to sneak up on him*

Barbatos, not even turning back: Enough of that now, MC, come enjoy this tea I’ve made

Pranking Barbatos will become her number one mission during her entire term in the Devildom

Barbatos would be really amused and impressed at the lengths she would go through just to see that shocked look on his face

Why, it might even be—dare he say—endearing

Though MC will cause this man stress and grey hairs, Barbatos couldn’t help but appreciate her company every time she came around

When she’s not up to her daily shenanigans, she would simply opt to help Barbatos out with some of the chores or preparing the treats for a tea party with the student council members and the exchange program, even though he’s mentioned that she should do no such thing

But knowing that this girl is constantly energetic and restless, Barbs agreed to let her help since he would not want to deal with her breaking some priceless antiques or getting herself in trouble with Devildom law again

She helps to remind him that it’s okay to be laidback once in a while and that he doesn’t need to be so uptight all the time

These two have an unusual friendship but it’s only good vibes all around ^^

Before she leaves the Devildom though, he would pretend that she actually managed to startle him with her last grand prank and the look on her face was worth his reputation taking a slight hit

He totally has a soft spot for her

Solomon

OOOOH THESE TWO

THESE TWO ARE THE EMBODIMENT OF CHAOS ITSELF

Solomon and MC would be the best of friends man

The minute this shady sorcerer laid his eyes on her, he KNEW...this would be his new BFF

They would wreak so much havoc together that they give Lucifer a migraine the size of Lord Diavolo’s castle because they’re rUiNiNG tHe iNtEgRiTy oF tHE eXcHanGe pRoGrAm

Psh, as if that’d stop them

Honestly, it was like they each have one braincell that cancels each other out every time they get together

Lucifer: You two better have an explanation for this

MC: We have three actually. 

Solomon: Pick your favourite

Lucifer hates it whenever they get together and he would always try to prevent them from meeting up 

But his wits are no match for the power of their friendship!!

Solomon would defff try to persuade MC to get more pacts with other demons

Solomon: C’monnnn MC, we could be powerful! :c

MC: Bold of you to assume we’re not powerful now, bestie

So we have established that MC loves to pull pranks right?

She would have so many ideas on the top of her head that she would never use because 1) they either defy the laws of physics or 2) she would need magic to pull it off perfectly

So imagine her excitement when she found out Solomon is the greatest human sorcerer

She would 100% reel him in her plans and schemes and NO ONE (except the angels, they have immunity bc they’re babies :] ) would be safe from them

Despite all the fun they would have though, Solomon definitely treasures her as his greatest friend

I imagine life for Solomon would be quite lonely and he appreciates the constant joy and company that MC would provide him

He would definitely fuck a bitch up if someone dares to mess with his bestie 🙄

These two adore each other so much but they would be caught DEAD before they would admit that to each other 🤭

Simeon

When they first met, Simeon was so happy to find a person so devoted to God such as MC

He takes it upon himself to become MC’s guardian angel around the Devildom

He would helicopter them for a while and would (reluctantly) back off if MC finds it a bit suffocating 

(don’t be mean MC, he just cares about u alot that’s all :( )

This man is capital P patient

I mean, that’s a given with him being an angel and all

But seriously,,, one has to be in awe at how calm and collected he is even when MC would pull pranks that would cause a normal person to wanna punch the living daylights out of her

Eventually she would feel bad and stop pulling these pranks on him though, he’s just too sweet and she can’t take advantage of that </3

They would be really close though (along with Luke) because he would frequently invite her to pray the 5 essential prayers together with Luke or read the Qur’an together and it’s just wholesome vibes all around man 🥺

As angels, him and Luke would have such beautiful recitations of the Qur’an and I can picture MC frequently dropping by Purgatory Hall just to listen to him recite the kalimahs with the perfect tajweed (Non-Muslims if you’d like to hear an example, check out Sheikh Mishary reciting Surah al-Kahf, it’s beautiful man 🥺)

He would frequently invite MC and Luke out for walks too and these three would look so domestic together people often mistake them as a little family (much to the brothers’ chagrin and Simeon’s amusement)

Simeon has such a calming presence that he could even tame a chaotic MC down and have her sit still enough, it will be as if she turned into a completely different person

Lucifer, in his demon form: MC STOP RUNNING AROUND YOU’RE GOING TO FALL AND HURT URSELF

MC, violently shaking like a hamster on crack: U CANT STOP ME LUCI, URE NOT THE BOSS OF-

Simeon: Hello, MC! Would you like to come and have a pleasant chat with me? ^^ 

MC, as if in a trance: ...anything for you, Beyonce

MC is such a simp for Simeon and honestly, who can blame her?

Luke

Luke was extremely happy when the two of them met

This cutie is a proud servant of God and he loves humans who loves Him as much as he does

So it comes as to no one’s surprise when he attaches himself to MC

This would heighten when MC stepped between him, Beel and Lucifer during that,,,,incident

His favourite time of the day is praying in congregation with MC and Simeon and baking with MC

MC would steer clear from involving Luke in her pranks and/or outright pranking him

He’s just a precious little child okay, MC has a soft spot for this angel

She would definitely try to tone down her chaotic energy around him, but she would NOT hesitate to verbal + cyber bully any demons that dare to bully her child

Rando demon: haha shortstack

MC: So you have chosen death

Seriously, Luke would gawk at the obscenities coming from MC’s mouth

He would have to physically drag her away before the demons could devour them both

He would be absolutely SHOOKETH at the language she used because she has been nothing but sweet and polite to him. It was like she switched into a whole different person right in front of his eyes

Luke: MC! I knew living with those horrid demons is a bad idea! They’ve corrupted you now!! *crying Luke noises*

MC: Lil buddy, I was born this way

He would definitely feel really touched that MC is so protective of him though, but he would have to tell her to never say those words again, even if she’s trying to protect him

She would (hesitantly) tell him she would try her best but that would literally only last for half a day because another demon has foolishly decided to mess with him with her present

MC is Luke’s mother point blank period.

[tae-cup]

Gouache on Calculators by Kim Taehyung | Calcu-LATER (1)

Pairing: Art Major!Kim Taehyung x Math Major!Reader, Jimin x reader-ish

Summary:  Math never fails you. The numbers might not always make sense, but you know there must be a solution. Everything fits together like a perfect puzzle, like your tidy life and solitary living…until Kim Taehyung spills paint all over your notebook. He, quite literally, trips into your life.

Genre: College AU, Fluff, Angst, Angst with happy ending, Light Topics, humor

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Uh, it’s not this dark i swear,  slight Internalized homophobia, Drinking, Cheating, uh uh uh it’s going to be a ride.

Word Count: 2.7k Words

A/N: Ah! I’m so excited to present this absolute mess of a story! Let me know your thoughts and if you’d like to be added to the taglist! Also also also, this chapter is short, but I promise the next one is a little over twice this length!

Other: 

Series List

Masterlist

Previous (teaser) | Next 

       Mr. Erich was a slow talker. You could almost understand why Jimin was falling asleep next to you. Almost. Jimin wasn’t someone you really considered a close friend, but then again, you didn’t have many close friends. 

      The teacher continued droning on about number theory. You placed your head down on the desk, but your hand continued writing your notes. Staying up late last night wasn’t the best idea, but you needed to write an essay on Anaxagoras, a greek philosopher. 

     You hated philosophy. But you loved your mother and your mother had urged you to take a class that didn’t only involve numbers. 

     Jimin was snoring peacefully and you glanced over at him. It wasn’t exactly your issue so you looked away and went back to following the lesson. A few minutes later, he jerked awake and groaned audibly.

      A few people in the seats around looked at him quizzically. You shrunk lower in your seat. You didn’t want to attend class, too many people and it made your heart race, but you needed to pass this class and so you, sadly, must attend.

        Many knew Jimin as the son and heir to BigHit, the large business conglomerate that had wealth that made even the 1% drool, but to you he was just that guy who fell asleep in Calculus and cheated off your notes. Objectively, this was annoying. Subjectively…

     You felt him staring out of the corner of your eye. He was looking pointedly at your notes. Subjectively, you didn’t care enough. If he didn’t pay attention in class, that was his problem and you didn’t feel one way or another. At the bottom of your notes, you wrote, Pay attention. 

He wrote that down too without a second thought. 

   You were busy. You were always busy. In fact, you had an extremely important Algebra assignment to do and you knew you could get it done as long as no one bothered you-

“Oh my god.” 

    A man with blonde hair and a light blue beret stood in front of you. In his hands was a tray of spilled over paints; paints that were now on you. You tilted your head. 

“Can you move?” You spoke up after a while. 

“I’m so sorry!” He seemed unfrozen and hurried after you as you brushed by. 

“Uh, can you go away?” 

“I know you’re probably really mad! Do you want money or something? I can buy you new clothes or-wait that sounds weird.” 

“Clothes?” You glanced down and then realized the state of your wardrobe. 

    You were splattered with red, green, and yellow paint. You then glanced at your notebooks, also, helpfully, coated in a thin layer of paint. More importantly, your beautiful TI-84 calculator was ruined. 

     You opened your mouth, furiously holding up your calculator, but the man continued rambling on. Annoying. But somewhat entertaining, you supposed. 

“You got paint on my-” 

“Let me take you out! Somewhere nice? I’ll buy you a coffee!” He tore off some notebook paper and scribbled some numbers down. You paused. What was he doing? 

“Besides, it’s not paint, it’s Gouache.” He announced proudly, shoving the paper into your already full arms. 

“But that- you still got-”

“Taehyung!” Jimin called from behind you. You turned and the man winced. “Oh, Taehyungie has never been too neat, sorry about him. Anyway, we gotta go, Tae. Yoongi just called and Jungkook set fire to the carpet again.” 

“He really needs to change his major to something a little less dangerous.” 

“What is this, the third time?”

“I don’t know, but we need to go, Tae-”

“What’s his major?” You questioned.

“Philosophy.” They both said in unison. 

“Anyway gotta go!” Taehyung grabbed Jimin’s hand and started speed walking away. 

“You got paint on my calcu-”

“Later!” Jimin shouted over his shoulder, his eyes lingered on you for a moment.

    Did you have something on your face? You swiped at your cheek and he grinned, turning back around and following Taehyung.

    Once they were out of sight, you juggled your notebooks around until you could successfully pick up the paper. 278-367-5433 ;). You scoffed at the numbers, something you did often, and crumpled it up. 

“Art majors. What a waste of trees” You muttered and trudged back to your dorm. 

 “I’m so stuck on this problem, Y/N, you’ve gotta help me.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you’re my friend?”

“I’m not your friend, Jimin.” You moved the phone to your other shoulder and continued working. 

“But-”

“Bye.” 

      You hung up and groaned, massaging your temple. Your room could be seen as lonely. Plain white paint sat on dull gray walls. There wasn’t a speck of trash or clothing littered on the floor. You lived an orderly life. Tidy. Your eyes strayed to your hamper. 

      Your clothes from earlier were spilling out of the top. A splash of color on a black and white canvas. You scrunched your nose and looked away in disgust. You had never understood the point of art. What did anyone ever see in it? It was meaningless. You looked back to your notes. 

      These numbers meant something. They meant the height of a ladder leaning against a building, the measurements of a bridge, and where Mary Jane would end up in 400 minutes if she’s going five miles an hour on a circular road. It was pretty deep. 

      You looked at your watch. Then you moved your attention to the window. Your dorm overlooked the sprawling center of campus. The place was a concrete playground, but with the extensive arts program, it was always covered in colorful murals and art pieces. 

       You didn’t have a roommate and you liked it that way. You had always preferred to be alone. Others called you anti-social, but, to put it another way, if there was an apocalypse and it was just you and another person alive in the entire world, you would probably leave them for dead. Life was simpler alone. 

       Besides, you wouldn’t have to deal with people chastising you about not picking up on “social cues” or whatever the hell those were. How were you supposed to know that when someone leans in real close, they want to kiss you? It seemed quite arbitrary in your mind. 

      Your phone was buzzing again. 

“What do you want?” 

“Please Y/N! This. Is. Really. Hard.” 

“Jimin, figure it out. How are you going to pass midterms if you can’t understand algebra?” 

“Ouch.”

“I mean that in the most sincere way.” You relented. 

“You’re so mean, Y/N.”

   Your eyebrows rose. That certainly wasn’t the first time you’d heard those words. 

“I’m honest. You could go ask the teacher or something.”

“He told me to ask you.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

You heard him let out a dry laugh on the other side and rustling of sheets. 

“You’re really good at math, Y/N.”

“I hate number theory.” You objected. 

“But that doesn’t mean you’re not good at it!” 

“Shut up. I’m going to hang up now.” 

“Wait no-”

Beep. 

     People were annoying. That’s what you had decided. You weren’t trying to stick out like a sore thumb, but getting in the flow of other people and understanding all the shit they wanted you to understand was hard. 

     You put your pencil back down onto the page and continued writing. You reached for your calculator, groaning when you realized the paint had covered the display. 

“Great. Just great.” 

      You set the calculator aside, feeling a little sentimental. After all, you’d had that thing since seventh grade. Your phone buzzed again. Jimin jesus chr-

“Yes?” You picked up. 

“What is this So ka toe ah everyone is telling me about.”

“How did you pass trig without sohcahtoa?” 

“Tell me!” 

“Ask Taehyung.”

“Taehyung is an art major and hasn’t had to be proficient in math since the fifth grade!” 

“Sin, cosine, tan. Bye.” 

Beep. 

     You massaged the crease between your eyebrows and your attention got caught by the darkened campus. The gross fluorescent campus lights lit up the concrete. Freshmen were running wild, happy with their newfound freedom, and seniors were leaving for clubs or parties. The lights in the dorm buildings across campus began turning on one by one. 

     You searched your pockets for the crumpled paper. When you didn’t find any, you made your way to your hamper and dug around the pockets of your paint smothered clothing. 

“Aha.” You unfolded the paper and dialed the number. You didn’t feel like talking, but Jimin was driving you up the wall. 

“Taehyung, right?” You said as he picked up. 

“Yeah? Changed your mind?”

“No. I’m going to make this short and sweet, tell Jimin to stop calling me for math help. Thanks.” You hung up and went back to your work. 

     So, technically, you were done with work, but being done with work meant that you were free and if you were free, that meant you had no excuse not to go out. And you needed an excuse to avoid people. You opened up your textbook and frowned at the various graphs and equations. You had already done all of them for fun this summer. 

“Hey, Y/N, a bunch of us in the dorm are going out, wanna come?” The hall monitor knocked on your door. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing your job?” You looked back with a confused expression. 

“Charming as ever I see.” She chuckled. 

“Come on, Jasmine, Y/N never wants to go out anyway.” Another girl shouted. 

“I know! I just wanted to be nice!” Jasmine shouted out, as if you weren’t right there. 

“What would be nice is if you left.” You said, your voice monotone and matter of fact. 

“Alright then. If you need anything, just text or call.”

“You won’t pick up anyway.” You whispered under your breath, but Jasmine was already gone. 

 “You forgot that this has to be positive, Jimin.” You leaned over him like an overbearing mother. 

“But that doesn’t make sense!”

“You’re dividing two negatives. They cancel out.” You explained, a frown twisting onto your face. 

       There was a long silence as you watched him scribble down the new numbers. The library was relatively quiet. The giggles of a group in the corner would pierce the peaceful ambience every now and then, but the librarian would always shush them and they’d die down. 

     Jimin cleared his throat, pulling your attention back to this study session. You moved across the table and sat at your seat again. You just sat and stared at him. He was intriguing. He made silly mistakes that he should honestly understand for being a junior in college. His eyes flicked up to you three times and back to his paper. 

“Well, this is awkward.” He said after a while. 

“Is it?” You shrugged and continued staring him in the eye. He shifted awkwardly and looked away. 

“Why are you staring at me?” He whispered. 

“Oh, do you want me to stop?” 

His mouth opened and closed then he looked back at his paper, his ears turning red. 

“Are you coming on to me?” He murmured. 

“What? No, why would I do that?” You said, disgusted, and returned to your work. 

       To be clear, you weren’t disgusted with him, but you were disgusted at the idea that you would come onto him. After all, you were just here for math and Jimin was just here because he needed help studying, obviously. He looked like you had just slapped him. You honestly didn’t see an issue. 

“You know, my parents are pretty traditional and they want me to bring a girl home this holiday season. You’re the only girl I’m really close friends with.” He began. You felt his eyes on you and you looked up. 

“Uh, alright? That sounds like a problem. Who are you going to take then?”

“You’re really dense, aren’t you?”

“I’m not dense.” You defended. “You need to expand your friend group.” 

“I was wondering if you could come along?”

“What?” Your furrowed your eyebrows. “Absolutely not.”

“It wouldn’t be anything romantic, just-” 

    A man with mint green hair and a slim build walked past and Jimin’s eyes followed him. You followed his line of sight. 

“....We can just go as friends, you know?” 

You nodded solemnly. “Just friends, Jimin.”

“You’ll go?”

“Only if you promise me it’s just friends because I really don’t want to have to deal with romance.” You huffed, picking up your pencil and jotting down numbers. “You already have my number, just send me the details.”

“Thank you!” 

      The librarian shot him a glare and he lowered his voice. 

“You’re a real lifesaver.” He whispered. 

“I know.” You narrowed your eyes and then began to pack up your things. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to do. Bye.” 

“What, but we just-” 

“Yeah I know, but I’m sort of sick of talking to people and I helped you with your work so I’ve got to go work on Philosophy.” 

“Philosophy? I didn’t take you as a philosophy person.”

“Me neither.”

     Aha! You knew you recognized Taehyung from somewhere. You ran your finger over the screen. The list of student names in your philosophy class was displayed. 

“Kim Taehyung. KTaehyung24@WillowsUniversity.edu.” You murmured 

“Whatcha doing?” Jasmine leaned against your doorway. 

“Just...research.” You explained lamely. 

“I see.” The hall monitor came inside and sat on your bed. “You never go out, Y/N. I’m worried about you.” 

“Okay, and?” You glanced at her as she sat cross legged on the bed. Great. She’s wrinkling the sheets. 

“Well, as a friend-”

“We’re not friends.”

“-and hall monitor, I command that you go out this weekend. Do something with your college life. I think you might regret not doing anything fun later on.” She prodded softly. 

“This is fun.” You gestured to the scattered math homework pages across the desk. 

“Right… well, just keep it in mind.” She stood and moved to your door. 

“Jasmine?”

“Yeah?” She paused, turning to look at you. You read over your philosophy work and then your essay.

“You ever think that there are so many people in your life, but no one is really a part of it?”

“You’ve got to stop with the philosophy, Y/N. It feels weird coming from you.” She laughed.

       You didn’t find anything funny in that. She looked awkwardly from you to the door, expecting you to chuckle along, but you remained silent, blinking at her. She shivered and left without another word. 

      The second she was gone, you stood abruptly and smoothed out the bed sheets, but as you did that, more wrinkles appeared on the other side. You felt the anxiety pouring out of you and you rushed to smooth down the other side, but more and more wrinkles kept appearing like disgusting bugs that wouldn’t die. You let out a frustrated sigh and tore all the sheets off your bed. 

       You took the ruler off your desk and measured out the width and height, then calculated how much extra cloth is needed on both sides for it to be perfectly centered. Then you marked it off and remade the bed. You felt yourself calming as order was restored. 

    You thought back to Jasmine’s words. Go out? Absolutely not. Then you looked at the crumpled paper on your desk. 

“Fine, Jasmine.” You pursed your lips and dialed the number once more. 

“Y-ello?” Taehyung’s voice rumbled through the speaker. 

“I want a coffee, but I’d prefer to go somewhere quiet.”

“Straight to the point I see.”

“Polite niceties take up too much time. When are you available?” “Whenever you are, love.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Alright. Uh…” There was a long pause and you heard rustling in the background. “Sorry just grabbing a piece of paper.”

“Why are you apologizing? There’s nothing to apologize for.” You said quickly, eager to get this conversation over with. 

“I’m free this Saturday?” 

“Works for me.” You said. You didn’t need to check your calendar to know you had nothing to do. 

“Great see you then.” He said stiffly.

“Yup.”

“Uh...bye?”

“Alright.” 

Beep. 

      Now it was time to overthink the arrangement until Saturday.

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[winterrose527]

but I've never felt this way for no one

for @simple-aphorisms who gave me this delicious prompt. apologies, I went full feral.

I got my driver’s license last week, just like we always talked about…

If he had to guess, he had heard the opening lines to that song roughly 40 bajillion times. Ever since it had come out over the winter, every party he went to devolved into a raucous, off-key chorus no less than three times as everyone stopped what they were doing to sing that song.

He wasn’t going to lie. It was, for lack of a better, less cringey word, a bop. The first weekend it had come out, he’d listened to it a fair bit. The first time he’d ever heard it at a party, was because he had been the one to put it on.

So he got it. Olivia Rodrigo was a talent. Possibly the next Taylor Swift, though that was a debate he never wanted to get into or hear again after the Great War between Sansa and Theon that had lasted for seven days and eight long nights.

That being said, nothing, and he meant nothing – not even the day her full album had come out and he’d come out into the living room to see Jon and Theon crying to Enough for You – had prepared him for this car ride.

He was sitting in the back seat of Myrcella Baratheon’s Range Rover, Grey Wind sprawled out on top of him. His sister Sansa and her best friend Myrcella were in the front seat, where they had been for the last three hours as Myrcella drove them all back to school from Winterfell, where they’d gone for the long weekend.

Of those last three hours… no less than 2 hours and 45 minutes of it had been dedicated to Olivia Rodrigo. The lion’s share of it to this song.

Now he considered himself a patient man. He was possibly alone in this opinion, but nevertheless he did. But on the thousandth rendition of red lights! Stop signs! He’d lost it.

Not his temper, his mind.

Because the thing was. Myrcella Baratheon was singing at the top of her lungs. Putting her little heart into it.

It wasn’t like she had a bad voice or anything. In fact, she had a beautiful voice. The first time he’d ever heard it he’d gotten actual chills.

The trouble was, this was a song about a break up. And he was fairly certain they were still very much together.

He had, after all, woken up in her bed that morning. And what they’d done after that had given him every indication that they were together.

The thing was though, that’s all he had.

An indication. A feeling.

Okay, a lot of feelings. A mess of them.

These were the facts as far as he understood them.

Early on this semester, around the same time this blasted song had come out, he and Myrcella had been at a party. She’d come with some girls from the Art History program, he’d been there with a few guys from his rugby team. Sansa was nowhere to be found, and neither was Jon or Theon.

He’d seen her from across the room, standing with a couple of girls, and crossed over to her.

Myrcella Baratheon was just the sort of girl you had to cross a party for.

“You’re here!” she exclaimed, as though she’d been waiting for him all night.

“Where else would I be?” he asked.

“On the dance floor maybe,” she grinned.

“Doesn’t sound like me,” he grinned back.

And then her hand was in his, pulling it gently, her eyebrow raised, “Not even if I asked reeeeally nicely?”

So they’d danced. Things had gotten pretty messy. There was a sloppy dance floor make out, followed by a rather aggressive one up against the side of whatever house they were at. A cold walk back to his. His bedroom. Clothes removed. And then just her.

And ever since then it had sort of just continued on like that. They were always together, since her friends were his, and there were always more dance floors to make out on.

He and Myrcella had been having sex with regularity for the past two months, and as far as he knew, Myrcella didn’t do casual sex. But she was also the only girl in the known universe who didn’t press the what are we? talk.

Not only did she not press it, she seemed unconcerned with it entirely.

It was unnerving.

And now, here she was, singing her pretty little heart out to one of the best break up songs of all time with conviction.

“Sing it, Robby!” Sansa turned around.

“No,” he grunted.

Myrcella’s eye flicked to his briefly in the rearview as she banged on the steering wheel.

Sansa turned back around and pointed to a sign for a rest stop, “Oh can we go in there? I want a coffee.”

The last bars of the song played as Myrcella pulled in, dropping Sansa off in front of the complex.

“I’m going to fill up with gas,” she told Sansa who promptly ran inside and then glanced at him, “Are you going in?”

“So you can leave me here?” he asked.

She bursted out laughing as she drove to the gas pumps, “Well you have been rather grumpy but not enough to justify abandoning you on the side of the road just yet.”

Myrcella parked and turned off the car and he got out and slammed his door shut, undoing the gas cap.

“What are you doing?” she asked him. Suddenly she was next to him.

“You hate pumping gas,” he reminded her.

She was such a priss about things like that. It was so annoying and hot.

“You have a unique ability to be a complete ass and a total gentleman all at the same time,” Myrcella informed him, “Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Not lately,” he growled. Watching the numbers go up. Ignoring her fresh face and her golden curls pooling out of the neck of her cream fleece. “Because I am not dating anyone else. Are you?”

“How would I be dating anyone else?” she asked him, “I mean just logistically in your brain how would that work? Do I have a time machine? Oh because if I did have a time machine I would definitely use it for sex reasons. Because I’m Theon. You incredible asshat.”

“What did you just call me?” he asked, angrily closing the gas cap.

“An asshat,” she repeated, “Meaning your head is so far up your ass you are literally wearing it as a hat!”

“Why are you singing the song like that?!” he growled at her.

She bit her lip, “Well, because it’s an incredible song.”

“Are you singing it about someone?” he asked. “You were near to tears on the last one!”

“Well maybe,” she brushed her fingers up his chest, “I was thinking how I’d feel if you ever decided you didn’t want to be with me. Though that was before this conversation.”

His hands went to her waist, pulling her towards him, slipping underneath her fleece and t shirt to her bare, warm skin.

“You called me an asshat,” he told her.

She grinned, her arms looping around his neck, “Well you’re acting like one.” She laughed, “And I must be one too, because even when you’re a total asshat, I’m pretty sure I love you anyway.”

“Baby,” he lifted her up, nuzzling his nose against hers, “I know I’m not perfect, but I’ve never felt this way for no one.”

She laughed. Cackled. Her head thrown back, exposing her creamy neck that he couldn’t help but kiss even at a gas station.

“You do realize you just quoted Olivia Rodrigo, don’t you?” she asked.

He hadn’t realized that. Apparently after 40 bajillion listens it had somehow just come out.

“Well,” he teased, “She is the next Taylor Swift.”

“Oh no!” she wrestled out of his arms.

“What’s wrong?” Sansa asked as she came to them holding a tray with three coffees in it.

“We’re leaving Robb here,” Myrcella told her, “Say your goodbyes.”

“Myrcella!” he laughed.

“Why don’t you call Theon for a ride you reductive asshat!” Myrcella argued.

With that she started walking around the car and he chased after her, picking her back up and carrying her to the passenger seat.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m driving,” he told her, “You’re too worked up. You’re being a little crazy.” And then he kissed her cheek, “But uh I love you anyway.”

He felt her grin even though she rolled her eyes as she buckled her seat. Sansa got in the back and he went around to the driver’s seat and got in. It took him a few minutes to adjust the seat because his girlfriend was teeny, and he used the time to plug his phone into the USB.

“Do you know what the best thing about being the driver is?” he asked them.

“What’s that?” Sansa asked from the back.

“You get to control the music,” he informed her.

And as he pulled away from the gas station, and the opening bars of Driver’s License came on through his phone, Myrcella Baratheon leaned over and kissed his cheek.

He’d forgotten how much he truly loved this song.

[everydayanth]

Academic Elitism: an institutional issue

Sorry for being so rant-y lately, but the elitism of university has been a problem for me from the exact moment I accepted my scholarship with a signature and a handshake in high school. (The scholarship was later revoked due to state up-fuckery, but that’s another story, and I was already in too deep by the time they told me).

My parent’s house was only an hour north, my younger sister had already claimed my room, but I was excited. I was in the furthest dorm building, because that’s where the scholarship kids went, it was like a poor kid diversity hall, every few doors was someone from a completely different background, but we were all poor except our Swedish RA, and there was an odd pride in that. We all had various scholarships: robotics, dance team, nerds like me, etc. (not the football or hockey athletes though, they had their own dorm next to the library for... reasons, lol).

But being the last hall, it wasn’t actually full, most of us had entire rooms to ourselves, often whole suites; our hall was co-ed, but rooms were only occupied at every-other, staggered down the corridor. Only the front two halls were used, the back two closed off for construction or codes or something. We had to hike up the hill for dining halls, which was fine until snowdays that shut the whole campus down (and I mean west Michigan ones, with 4+ feet of powder and ice underneath). I had an old computer my dad got me for graduation and I didn’t know it was old until my peers started calling it a dinosaur. I had to use the library computers to write and print papers, and most places I went, I ran into the other scholarship kids. We didn’t talk much, just a head bob here and there, awareness at our similarities and an annoyed spite at being thrown together this way. It was lonely for everyone.

I had a purple flip phone I’d gotten only that calendar year (2009) and was still learning to text with (abbreviations? instant messaging? what?). My roommate had come down from Alaska to live near her dad, we’d talked in the summer, but I never saw her. I moved my things in and her stuff was on her side, I texted her about going to turn in paperwork and when I came back, there was a note on my bed and all her things were gone, she couldn’t do it, had never been away from home for even a night. She left a few mismatched socks and a bag of junk pens that I resented for years. 

Social media was mostly a way to talk to people across campus and exchange homework and party times/locations. We posted over-edited photos of our food and still jogged with our mp3 players and ipods. But within two years, I had to trade in my computer three times and upgrade to a smartphone to keep up with the expectations of communication. Professors would cancel classes by emails an hour out, and if I was on campus, I simply didn’t get the message, running between classes with 19 credit hours and three jobs. Work would call in or cancel my appointments (tutoring) and I needed to be able to communicate at the rate of my peers, so though it wasn’t something we could easily afford, my parents let me get the smartphone and my dad helped me find computers that could keep up with writing papers and researching without having to go to the lab, which saved so much time. 

There was little understanding for my suffering. I didn’t have a car, I had to call my parents and organize a time to get home or take the train which was more expensive than waiting around on an empty campus. They were often things that even the wealthiest students had to deal with, but there were so much more of them for us, more stress, more problems, more solutions, more consequences, and in some ways, more determination.

I spent plenty of breaks holed up in my room, but when the swine flu/H1N1 outbreak happened, guess where they quarantined students?

In our hall. 

Not the back one that was closed. In the room attached to my suite. 

After half a semester alone, suddenly strangers shared my bathroom. I never saw them, I would just hear the formidable click of the bathroom lock followed by the shower. A week later I got a blue half-sheet note in my mailbox about quarantines. The other kids were as pissed off, as we watched kids escorted in with blue masks and were told to just get cleaning wipes from the front desk –they ran out in a week. 

We were the recyclable students, brought in to trade scholarships for university grade averages. Many of my friends were struggling with scholarship qualifications and gpas (which only encouraged my continual obsessive perfectionism and involvement). 

We were expendable. 

I didn’t understand the elitism then, or I did, but I’d twisted it in my head from years tossed between private and public schools. I was an invader, I wasn’t supposed to be there, but I wanted to be. I understood that I didn’t deserve it, that I had to work harder to stay. I completed Master’s coursework for my Bachelor’s degree, finishing two BA programs (anthropology and English: creative writing) and 2 minor programs in philosophy and world lit, lead several campus groups and volunteered with honor’s societies. I spent hours on campus every day, running home just to go to one job or the other. I slept about four hours a night and I still romanticize it because I loved it. And I was good at it. It was a closed system, easy to infiltrate, easy to watch and observe and follow, to feel protected from the world, but there were always ways that I came up short. 

I didn’t have leggings or Northface fleeces or Ugg boots or name brand anything (except a pair of converse I got in 8th grade from my Babcia). I had old high school sweats and soccer shirts, hand-me-down clothes from sisters and cousins that mix-matched a style I thought was unique but I now understand screamed I don’t really belong here. Example: I went to propose an independent study to a professor I really admired and I panicked about what to wear. I still cringe at the memory, gahhhhhh, but I pulled on what I thought was a decent dress because it had no rips or stains or tears and though I’d picked it up from a clearance rack, it was the newest thing and therefore the best. But in retrospect, it was definitely a “party” dress, I grabbed a sweater, hoop earrings that had always been beautiful in my neighborhood, and heels I never wore otherwise, and presented my idea. This old professor was just like “um...did you dress up for me?” Clearly spooked by red flags and I realized my mistake. Saved by quick thinking I clarified “no, I have a presentation later,” and being a familiar face in the social sciences department, I let him assume I was dressed up as something. I just went in my sweats and t-shirts after that, got a haircut that tamed the wavy frizz and learned the importance of muted tones, cardigans, and flats.

I made a lot of interesting friends in the process, people who also stuck out from the American Academic culture: exchange students, older (non-traditional) students, rebels, and other poor kids. But that also meant that we all evolved during our time there, so friendship was quick and fleeting as we adapted or dropped out or remained oblivious, lost in our studies and dreams of changing the world or our lives. 

I had no idea how to approach the dining halls because I could only afford the bronze plan that was included with my room+board scholarship. I could enter the hall ten times per week, with four included passes to the after-hours carry-out (this was an upgrade from the free high school lunch I was coming from). I met other kids on this plan and their dorm rooms had fridges and microwaves and shelves of ramen and mac’n’cheese. Mine was sparse, my fridge had jugs of water from the filtered tap in the common room, and though it had a shared kitchenette, it always smelled bad or was being used and the nearest grocery store was Meijers which was a 15-20 minute drive from campus. I used so much energy dividing up my meals and figuring out how to sneak food from the hall for later or just learn to not eat, which is another story involving malnutrition, broken bones, and the American Healthcare System.

We like to summarize the college experience with fond struggles. I went back to my old high school to watch my younger sisters’ marching band competition that first year (it’s MI, and they were good). My old art teacher (not much older than we were but she felt so much older at the time, also her maiden name was Erickson and so was her fiance’s so she didn’t “change” her name and that blows my mind to this day), anyway, she stopped me to ask how school was going, and I was not prepared to be recognized in anyway and stammered out something like “oh, yeah, stressful. Fun, cool, yeah,” like the eloquent well-educated student I was. And she said, “oh, I loved it, don’t you love it? Everything’s so charming, and being poor? Oh man, it’s hard for a while, but it’s so good to go through.” 

I was dumbfounded at her reference to poverty as a thing to go through when you’re a student. I again had to remember that I was infiltrating places where people weren’t just marginally more well-off than I was, but far beyond, in a place where they couldn’t comprehend an alternative, couldn’t conceive of surviving poverty, of not having a reliable place to fall if you mess up, parents who couldn’t support you if things went wrong, who couldn’t save you from having to drop out if scholarships were canceled because the money just wasn’t there.

Talking with my parents never worked, and I recently found this video by The Financial Diet about Boomer shame in being poor, where many Millennials were united by it and it was #relatable. But all this is to say that there are so many layers and ways we develop in higher education that are often overlooked by the romantic nostalgia of the elite expectation. What we demand from education vs. what it offers us in return is rarely equal for students coming from poverty, and it starts with that first sacrifice of looking at money and deciding it has to be worth it to do something bigger, and that education is a necessary piece of that goal.

Now I live near Brown University, I’ve been to Harvard when we lived in Boston and recently took a trip to Yale with bold expectations. I am friends with several people who work at these places and I hear the same things: so many students are in a place where their obsessions are considered more important than the larger world, an argument that Shakespeare is a woman is more important to prove than the greater issues of sexism in society as a whole, while others are trained to look at data and the world as a pocketable fact-book, going to conferences and  week-long summits and then off to D.C. to make important decisions about places they’ve never been to, for people they’ve never met, about problems they’ve never experienced.  

It’s not new. It’s not romantic. It’s not nostalgic. It’s just sick. 

I was horrified at New Haven. I have read so many social science reports and papers and experiments and academic bullshit that has come from professors at Yale with a big badge of ivy-league validation. So much of this research was focused on homelessness and culture clash and socio-economics in America, as that was my “dissertation” that got me discounted master’s classes for my BA in Anthropology. Anyway, my point was that I thought this noble, proud university that put out so much research was going to be situated in something of a utopia, where their research is put into practice. Obviously, I was wrong, but I didn’t expect how wrong. (I had also started reading Leigh Bardugo’s Ninth House, so... there’s another thing).

My observations were validated by employees of ivy-league schools, who have watched over the past 2 decades as they grow more and more reclusive, hiding away from the public except through a few, probably well-intentioned, outstretched hands that do little to contribute to the world outside the university itself. These ivory towers are built by poaching: environments, observations, resources, research, and yeah, even students.

I love academia. I will sit in a library for hours just pulling down tomes (and putting them back in their proper locations like a dork) and drawing connections just for fun. But right now, I’m a bit bitter and spiteful and angry. 

When something like Coronavirus sneaks up on us, we have a tendency to throw the most expendable people under the bus as quickly as we can, and all I can think about is my shadow of a suite-mate sneezing and coughing with swine flu for two weeks, at how I refused to use my own bathroom and listened to my hall-mates’ advice about showering at the rec center a mile away as we all collectively locked our bathroom doors and were left there by the university to get sick without insurance to help with any foreseeable costs.

It’s not the same now, they’ve rebuilt the entire section of the campus, it’s odd to see it, I wonder where they put the expendable kids. Or maybe they don’t accept them anymore. I’ve worked in college admissions since then, and it is a scary industry of politics and preference and hidden quotas and image-agendas. Not all schools are industry monsters, but when you’re expendable, they sure do feel like it, whether you graduate summa cum laude with two degrees, six awards, and five tasseled ropes around your neck or not. 

I wish I had a positive message. I wish I was in a place to help people who feel expendable or like they can’t keep up with communications because of technology or language or network or environment. But I don’t have much right now. For all its posturing and linear progression, academia needs to create profit. All I can do is yell about this existing.

If you are feeling expandable in university, I can tell you you’re not alone. I can let you rant about all the small ways your peers don’t get it, whether its an accent they shit on or ceremonies you don’t have the right clothes for or textbooks you share with a friend to cut costs but then they hoard them. I can relate to you about guilt and that sneaking panic that fills you with anxiety at night as you question yourself and wonder if it’s worth it at all, if it’s necessary, if it’s okay to be expendable to follow something that feels bigger. I can validate your doubt and tell you that you’re not actually expendable, you’re a bridge. 

I’m sorry it still works like this. I wish we figured out how to change it by now, I wish I had secret shortcuts to tell you about, that there was more accountability or hope, but I’m not seeing it lately. I hope you do. <3

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Punchable Face That I Want to Kiss, Ch. 8

<- Chapter 7 | Chapter 9 ->

Summary: Snapshots of life with a fussy brat over the three-year time jump. Including: a few holiday specials. 

3,949 words

With the lease up on your apartment, Frederick invited you to move in with him. It seemed like the next logical step in your relationship, especially considering how frequently you slept there anyway—though he had to justify the choice by saying he “could not stand seeing you live in squalor.” The house was certainly big enough for two people (or several less-wealthy families).

It was nice living with him, because you lived very different lives. Rather than finding it stifling to be trapped in the same house, it was freeing that you could spend so much of the day apart—or weeks, as it often was, traveling for cases or book promotion tours—and yet always be connected by the home you would return to at the end of it all.

You were planets of the solar system orbiting the same sun. 

The stability of that was comforting. So much had changed—Will Graham left and cut ties with the FBI, Hannibal Lecter was imprisoned at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane where Alana Bloom now held Chilton’s old job, and you were considering following Will’s lead and pursuing new career options. It made you glad to have someone familiar to keep you company, and always be there when you needed him. 

For all the good, living with Frederick Chilton was not always easy. He was a shameless snob who did not believe in laundry chairs, and panicked when his state-of-the-art kitchen was filled with sugary cereals with cartoon characters on the box. There were many clashes of egos early on, some of which never fully disappeared. Now that his star was rising, he insisted you dress a certain way when you were to be seen in public together—particularly at any sort of publicity event or psychiatric conference, but anywhere really that he might be recognized. He was yours, and that meant you reflected upon him. He updated your entire wardrobe like you were starring in an episode of Queer Eye, and had your hair professionally styled.

You couldn’t even be annoyed at the controlling implications of it—you were never great at dressing professionally, and it was exciting to see yourself looking so sharp in the mirror. You could surrender that to him. He enjoyed sophisticated things, like the opera and restaurants where celebrities eat, and now you didn’t feel so out of place when you joined him.

“You actually look quite elegant,” he nodded in surprised approval at your new attire.

You stuck out your tongue.

“Do not tempt me with that,” he said with a feline wiggle of his shoulders. “We have engagements to get to, and I do not want to re-do my face.” He wrapped the hand not gripping a cane around your hip and kissed you, coaxing your naughty tongue into his mouth with a lustful growl.

Any time he was too fussy and judgmental to the point of being unkind, you were quite practiced at flicking him back down to earth. He rarely apologized, of course, but would look up and purse his lips in thought before admitting, “You may be right.”

He was a sassy bitch, but you knew that. It’s why you loved him.

You loved him.

You did. It was strange to realize how much you loved someone you used to hate, whose traits you would normally find incompatible with your own. He was a miserable little rich boy with a self-satisfied sneer, a flare for drama, and perpetually questionable ethics, yet you would do anything to keep him safe. You wanted to stay by his side forever.

And there was something to be said about his difficult personality when you were not on the receiving end of it. 

Being on his side was fun—his hand at your back as he verbally destroyed someone with a catty insinuation that left their eyes glowering with indignation. That used to be me, you thought. Now you were up on his throne with him, and the view was much better.

You wanted to stay through all the medications, physical therapy, and regular hospital visits to tweak his prosthetics and make sure his remaining organs were all still functioning properly. You wanted to stay even as you questioned how much of your affection for him was pity in disguise, as he had suggested the first time you slept with him in a fit of explosive passion—that you liked wounded birds.

If it was pity, and being pity meant you would have to leave, then you resolved to stuff your fingers in your ears and ignore it. No psychoanalysis would make you give him up. You wanted to keep orbiting the sun together.

  *****

Calliope music paraded through the air with aggressively cheerful pneumatic whistles that grabbed your eardrums and pulled them screaming into the 1920s. Shrieks, laughter, bells, and shouts rushed by.

Frederick Chilton stuck close beside you and mistrustfully held a greasy paper plate like it was a venomous snake.

It seemed only fair that in return for dressing up, you made him dress down and do normal-person things, like go to the county fair and eat deliciously greasy fried foods. It was like a cultural exchange program.

“Every moment I am not writing my next book is another moment the world goes without a groundbreaking revelation on the human psyche,” he had snipped when you first suggested the outing. He barely looked up from his computer, where he sat typing in a suave leather office chair.

“Oh come on, you owe me,” you persisted. “I am sick and tired of fancy museums and fancy restaurants and fancy psychiatric conventions. Next time we’re in a hotel, there should be Star Trek costumes involved!” He straightened like you’d shoved a rod up his spine, and you chuckled inwardly at his petty aversion to being seen at that type of convention. “Come on, it’s just the fair,” you rubbed his shoulders and he groaned with annoyance. “Nobody important will be there. You’ll be totally incognito. Be a commoner with me.”

“I suppose it is the least I can do,” he caved in at last, leaning his head back to rest on your chest, glancing up at you through his eyebrows. “Since it is so important to you, I shall partake of your proletariat festivities.”

“Don’t say proletariat when we’re at the fair, you bougie dork.”

He wore a plain black t-shirt, and his hair wasn’t quite as primly styled as usual, letting a few strands fly free. The less he stood out from the crowd, the less likely a professional acquaintance or fan would recognize him.

Even living with Chilton, it was rare to see him dressed so casually, and you had expected it to be disconcerting. Instead, you found yourself drooling. He was sexy in a suit, but so was everybody with the correct fit. The unstructured t-shirt hugged his broad chest and revealed those alarmingly muscular arms that were usually a secret hidden under sleeves.

It was odd seeing your private Chilton—reserved for nights and mornings—out in the world, and a reminder of how lucky you were.

He managed to look dapper even with powdered sugar on his shirt.

“Funnel cake?” he cringed, as if the word itself was in poor taste. “Are we certain this is food?”

“You are ridiculously hoity-toity.”

“I do enjoy the finer things in life,” he boasted in a smooth, self-congratulatory hum.

You were about to sass him when you realized his admiring eyes were fixed on you, and he wore an expectant smirk on his lips. Your scowl cracked open into a tender laugh, and you linked your arm with his, giving him a playful hip bump.

His eyes widened at you in mock horror. “You would attack a man with a cane?” He awaited your answer with that same peevish smirk, but you didn’t have anything clever on your tongue, so you pulled him into a kiss instead. He melted against your lips, having gotten what he wanted.

Frederick refused to go on any rides, citing safety concerns and his delicate viscera, but you perused a hundred breeds of chickens, pet the World’s Tallest Clydesdale, watched pigs racing, browsed local artwork, and sampled craft beers which he had to admit were pretty good. You paid far too much money to shoot water guns at a spinning target faster than other carnival-goers so you could win an oversize plush of a corgi, which turned out to be filled with disappointing foam stuffing.

After finally placing a piece of sugary fried dough in his mouth, his eyes closed, and when they opened again, he declared it “not terrible.” Then inhaled it and spent the rest of the fair surreptitiously looking for another funnel cake stand.

When you got home, he confessed, with his most stern and dignified demeanor, that he may have, perhaps had fun, juvenile as it was. Then he quietly suggested that he would make an excellent Spock.

  *****

“I am never going to be perfect enough for you, am I?” you cried after another petty argument over another petty thing like stacking the cups in the cupboard in precisely the correct order. “How do you live with me? It must drive you crazy.”

Months of feeling inadequate bubbled to the surface all at once. Everything he did was so controlled, so exact, you really did wonder why he would ever be with someone like you.

“No,” he frowned, and as he gently took your shoulders his heart was crumbling in his eyes. There was a sorry on the tip of his tongue, but this was not the lottery-winning occasion he would say the word itself. He didn’t need to. He would say it in other ways.

His warm lips pressed your forehead as he rubbed loving circles on your arms with his thumbs. “Do you know who was perfect? Hannibal. I would rather live with a hot mess than a cold-blooded monster. One of us should be warm, anyway,” he gave a self-deprecating smile. “I must do better to remember the beauty of imperfection, because you are perfect to me.”

  *****

The front door opened well after the sun had disappeared and the stars had begun to come out. Frederick came home drained and exhausted from being on his feet all day trying to dominate professional rivals who were all, in turn, out to get him.

Conferences were invigorating, an exciting place to strut one’s superiority, make connections, and scope out the competition… until they were not, and they became whichever circle of Hell it is that makes one have to continually defend oneself to people for whom one will never be good enough.

You looked up from the book you were reading. You didn’t get up from the couch cushion’s gravitational embrace, but smiled with stars in your eyes, and called, “Frederick!”

Home.

He crawled onto the couch next to you, and laid his head in your lap. You set the book aside and ran your fingers through his hair, listening to the sweet, sleepy noises of pleasure the action evoked. Fantasies of this moment had kept him alive all day. You caressed his neck and the prickly stubble along the side of his jaw, and he turned his face into your palm and kissed it. He adored the way you touched him with your gentle, caring hands. Yawning, you reclined into the deep, plush cushions, and he shifted so you were both laying next to each other, content in each other’s embrace. He cuddled into your chest, face buried in your shirt.

“You smell like tacos.”

It was unclear how peevishly he intended the observation, so you simply replied, “I made tacos for dinner.”

“The cheap American kind that are nothing but ground beef, shredded cheese, and an insult to Mexican culture,” he said, voice muffled by the fabric.

“Mm-hmm,” you said.

“They are not real food.”

“Do you want some?”

“God, yes.”

  *****

With physical therapy, Chilton was finally able to walk comfortably without assistance again.

Technically, he had been able to for a long time. The cane was a crutch—in the figurative, not the literal, sense. In the literal sense it was very much not a crutch, or even a cane. At best, it was an expensive, silver-topped walking stick. He clung to it like a security blanket, or as a prop to garner pity, or simply because it was a dramatic accessory. The threat of physical therapy simply convinced him to let go of the pretense.

Like the spiral staircases of his home, some things about Dr. Chilton were fussy and theatrical for no reason.

It was almost a shame, you thought. That thing was the epitome of his dapper style (he might as well put on tap shoes, a top hat, and put on the Ritz with Fred Astaire), and it brought to mind such kinky images.

It was not one of those lightweight BDSM canes, and therefore was far too heavy to do any spanking with, assuming you wanted to be able to sit down any time in the next month. However, you recalled with some excitement his tapping it on the inside of your heels to get you to spread your legs open, using the pommel to gently tip your chin up to him, or running it slowly along the inside of your thighs.

You would miss that cane.

You still argued sometimes—but not as often. You were accustomed to his haughtiness and felt less need to try and change it, and he knew you well enough to relax when the two of you were alone. He took your advice that life was not a competition... but only when it came to you, not to his career and public reputation.

He was still obsessed with proving his superiority to the world. Still obsessed with seeing Hannibal Lecter grow old and feeble inside a cell. Those edges were so integrally a part of him you could never smooth them out.

  *****

You were good for his book tour.

Though he never raised his voice or threw insults around, Chilton still had the journalist sitting in your living room on edge. She gripped the recording device harder, nails turning white. Flanked by imposing towers of leather-bound books, he stared her down like a shark, bragging about his psychiatric achievements and describing grizzly details of the Lecter case with a heartless detachment—he smirked when the more graphic parts made her squeamish.

Dr. Chilton was (contrary to his own opinion) not the best mind in the psychiatric field, but there was one thing he was the preeminent expert in, and that was leaving people with the impression that he was a callous douchebag who thought he was better than everyone else. Which was more or less accurate.

When you entered the room, his whole demeanor softened.

“Hey honey,” you poked your head in with a plate of cookies. “Sorry, I didn’t know you had that interview today. Should I come back later?”

“Nonsense, darling, come in.”

The haughty stare he’d been giving the journalist broke and turned to a warm gaze and a kind smile as he crossed the room to escort you in, his hand on the small of your back. You sat down on the sofa next to him, and set the plate of good-will-bribery cookies down on the coffee table between you and the journalist. She politely refused, at least until the recording was over, but instantly seemed more relaxed, loosing her death-vice on the recorder. You quietly leaned your head on Frederick’s shoulder and discreetly clasped his hand on the cushion between you through the rest of the interview, which he spent blushing and unable to maintain the coldness of his stare.

You brought out a side of him few were able to see. Whenever you made an appearance during his book promotions, the article published was always just a bit more favorable.

  *****

“Gotta go!” you called across the house, slinging a pack over your shoulders. Dawn was barely cresting the purple sky, and Frederick was barely awake. He didn’t even have his prosthetic maxilla in yet; he was only up to say goodbye. “I’m going to be in the field for ten hours straight today!” You thought about that for a moment, and groaned with anticipated exhaustion. 

“You have water?” 

“Yes, mom.”

“You cannot blame me for worrying,” he smiled with some pride at his gallant adventurer. You were wild in ways he would never understand, and it terrified as much as thrilled him. He smoothed a few wrinkles out of your shirt—a rugged garment for outdoor wear—and said you looked presentable enough for what you were doing. You kissed him, and wished him luck with the book signing he was attending that day. 

He wandered into the kitchen to search for breakfast, when an idea occurred to him.

“Take some of my meal-replacement bars,” he offered, opening the pantry. He had the organic superfood detox variety that he was able to digest. 

“I already did, thanks!”

He sighed with annoyance. “I noticed. It looks like an animal went through the packaging.”

“You love me,” you grinned cheekily in the doorway.

He prowled up to you, eyes narrow, trapping you against the door. He growled. He wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing you and sucking a small bruise just under your collar. Yeah, he loved you. You purred, arching your back so you were pressed more firmly against him, and breathed in his scent. If only you didn’t have to leave.

“Come home safe.”

  *****

Halloween was your favorite holiday. Perhaps it was gauche for one involved in investigating real murders, and real dead people, but then, that might have been what made it so appealing—on Halloween, all the blood was corn syrup, the skeletons danced to 80’s rock, and the serial killers wore their identities on their sleeves and carried plastic weapons. It had been your favorite holiday as a kid, and it still was.

“No.”

“Please?” you begged, drawing out the E. “It would be so awesome!”

“No.”

“But—”

“I am a bestselling author. An esteemed expert in my field. I will not be subjected to such an undignified, childish display.”

“But you would have the best costume and nobody would know!”

He wasn’t sure how you talked him into it. It must have those adorable pleading eyes he could never resist, or the enticing appeal to his ego that it would be an extraordinary costume, certain to leave everyone guessing how the effect was done. Somehow, he was walking into a Halloween party as a zombie. Without his contact lens or prosthetic jaw.

He frowned. It was humiliating.

You were dressed as an apocalypse survivor with an infected bite, and were hamming it up, telling the other guests you were fine, totally fine, with a shaky panic-edged voice and a tremor in your limbs. You had done an impressive job on the makeup, too, giving your complexion a sallow haze and reddened eyes. The bite itself was a gory masterpiece constructed from latex and tissue paper, with dark veins spider-webbing up your arm.

He didn’t have to ham it up. He only needed to walk in the room and Shrek and Fiona, Pennywise the clown, and a sexy velociraptor all gasped in horror at his face. How was that meant to make him feel?

“So cool!” someone said before he could turn on his heel and walk out of there. Words like, “There isn’t a contest, is there? I should have put in more effort,” and “did you hire a movie SFX artist? No fair,” started to get tossed around—including toward costume elements that you had designed and had nothing to do with his natural grotesqueness. Then they offered him a drink and moved on to the next impressive costumes and regular party chatter.

You were right. Nobody knew it was real, and while it stung to be stared at and called grisly—you would later apologize profusely for being too gung-ho and not thinking through what would happen—he had never imaged being able to have a normal conversation in public with his real face exposed. There was something daringly vulnerable about it. He had never imagined not being ashamed, but at least in this niche context, his old injury made him the leading man of the evening.

By the end of the night he got so into it, he was chasing you around snarling for your brains, and getting a kick out of scaring trick-or-treaters.

  *****

He took you to Paris for Valentine’s day. Last time it was Italy, and you strangely suspected he was touring the shadow of Hannibal Lecter as much as he was trying to impress you. You had suspected, that is, until you asked, and he rather bluntly admitted to it. He hadn’t expected you not to notice by the time you got to Florence, although Venice had been purely about romance (he loved all those touristy gondola rides that he swore he hated and were just for your benefit).

Now that he finally had the chance to lavish his considerable means upon someone, he was throwing himself heart and soul into the holiday, and would not stop until he had spoiled you senseless. When he was single and accustomed to spending the day alone, he used to loathe February 14th—Valentine’s had seemed a cruel joke directed specifically at him. He couldn’t even spitefully ignore it by staying late at work, because the more perceptive inmates always took notice.

“You do not know hell,” he told you, “until a man convicted of raping his mother’s severed head taunts you about your lack of sex life.”

This year, he treated you to everything Paris had to offer: the Louvre, Notre Dame, an opera at Palais Garnier, a morning stroll through the gardens of Versailles, delicious bakeries, cafes, chocolate, and macrons. You insisted upon seeing the Catacombs, of course.

When you went to the Eiffel Tower and he showed up with roses and dinner reservations for sunset in its refined first-floor restaurant, your gut clenched. You were terrified he was going to propose. Of course he would make a grand gesture! You carefully inspected every champagne glass for hidden engagement rings, but found only bubbles. After dinner, when you ascended to the top of the tower to watch Paris light up at night, you knew that was when the proposal was coming.

But it didn’t. And you found yourself disappointed.

You had never talked about it, so there was no reason to assume it was something he wanted. It seemed far too soon to you, too, until it was snatched away and you realized that after three years together, you still couldn’t imagine wanting a life without him in it.

Arriving home at last, you breathed a sigh of relief into the still air. Paris was exciting and rich with history, but you were glad to be home in the peaceful familiarity of that snobbishly oversized house with its ridiculously spiraling staircases and its somewhat-less-fastidiously-pristine rooms, which now accommodated both of your things. All of the picture frames that once held impersonal stock photos displayed real snapshots of your lives together.

You weren’t even going to shower. You were so tired, you just wanted to rip all your clothes off and drop into bed. Frederick pulled his tie off. Hair frumpy from the long plane and taxi rides, his fingers worked to undo the top buttons of his shirt as he lumbered to the bath. He stopped at the door and turned back. You were taking a sip of water before leaving the cup on your nightstand.

“Marry me?” he said.

[akechicrimes]

Prompt 37? Futaba and Akechi platonic/Futago siblings?

37. “Follow me. It’s okay, just hold my hand.”

after akira leaves tokyo, futaba does just fine without her key item, except for when she doesnt.

(one of them AUs were goro survives the engine room and rejoins the phantom thieves. no i will not explain. persona 5 canon AND persona 5 royal do not interact. for reference in this universe futaba and akechi are half siblings but only akechi knows that)

*

“Next time you see me, I’ll be a whole new person,” Futaba tells Akira excitedly on his second-to-last day in Tokyo. “I’m going back to school, I’m out and about by myself—oh! Oh! Did I tell you I said yes to Kosei? I told Kosei I wanted to go to Shujin and they offered me scholarship! And I went to the subway station by myself yesterday!”

They’re crammed into Akira’s Leblanc attic, sitting around a cake that literally none of them were capable of baking themselves, so they’d bought the thing from a bakery and decorated it with little black and red hearts. Ryuji is passing around his gross soda, while Ann is recounting some story that doesn’t matter with incredible enthusiasm. Makoto looks like she’s determined to enjoy herself and will hear no argument.

The whole thing is incredibly morbid, if you ask Futaba. It feels less like they’re waiting for Akira to leave Tokyo and more like they’re attending Akira’s funeral. Akechi in particular looks like he’s regretting attending, which honestly tickles Futaba more than it should, that the most dishonest Phantom Thief seems to be the only one looking as honestly put-off by the entire affair as everyone else is determined not to be.

That’s everyone else’s problem. Futaba might not be happy Akira has to leave, but she’s proud. She’s sad that Akira has to leave, but also she promised Akira that by the time that he had to leave, she’d be able to get around on her own, without clinging to him for support. And she is able. She kept her promise.

Tomorrow might be the day that Akira has to go, but today is the day that Futaba is Officially Recovered.

Akira does that annoying thing he does where he puts his hand on her head and messes up all her hair, like he’s a human cat showing affection by pissing everyone off. Futaba yelps. “Look at you. You don’t need me at all.”

“I told you that I’d be ready to say goodbye by the time you had to go back to your hometown,” says Futaba. “I haven’t broken my promises yet, have I?”

There’s a burst of laughter from Haru over something Yusuke said, who looks rather surprised to discover that he said anything funny. Both Makoto and Akechi snicker at him, and then stop immediately to glare at each other the second they realize they’ve accidentally wound up sharing an opinion.

Akira ignores them. “Well, you can still text me if you need me. Or call.”

“I’m trying to tell you I’m getting better and I don’t need you,” Futaba grumbles. “Also, what kind of psychopath do you think I am to call someone on the phone?”

“That’s what phones are for.”

“Calling people is scary.”

“I thought you were getting better?” Akira teases.

“I am!” she says, pointing a finger at him. “I am! Just you watch, Akira. I’m getting better every day.”

*

Six months after joining Kosei, Futaba locks herself in her room and does not reemerge for seven days straight.

*

She tells Sojiro that she’s sick. Sojiro tells the school that Futaba told him that she’s sick. She definitely fakes a hell of a good cough, and the school lets Yusuke send her her all the homework that she was supposed to be doing in the first place, but Futaba already knows it’s only a matter of time before Sojiro rats on her, and she won’t even blame him because it’ll be for her own good.

In the meantime, she has stashes of crackers and peanut butter from back when she was a full-time hermit. She hates the taste of peanut butter within three days. Her bed is a relief, soft like a home she never left, up until it isn’t anymore. It’s too soft. No matter how she lies on it, no matter how soft it is, a mattress just isn’t comfortable when you’ve been lying on it for seventy-four hours. It’s hot. Smothering. She feels like she’s going to drown in the blankets and they’ll have to fish her moldy, sweaty corpse out of the bottomless quicksand pit of her too-soft mattress.

The thing about being a shut-in is that you don’t actually like your room very much. It’s not a relief, or an oasis, or even a place you enjoy. You’re just terrified of everywhere else more.

She plays a lot of video games that she doesn’t even like. She watches a lot of Twitch streamers she doesn’t even like. She doesn’t do her homework. She ignores Sojiro. She pretends she’s alright to everyone who texts. She wakes up and goes to sleep and thinks about going outside and goes to sleep and wakes up and wonders if the whole last year and her cautious baby steps back into the world outside was all just a hazy dream.

*

There aren’t a lot of Thieves left in Tokyo, weirdly. Haru and Makoto both graduated, off doing business and law junk that honestly makes Futaba’s brains want to crawl out her ears, but all the numbers check out and Haru’s not in the red yet, and Futaba’s looked at enough people’s dirty laundry to appreciate Haru’s clean ledger. Akira’s back in his dinky hicktown, where there’s barely anything electronic connected to Wifi worth breaking into for surveillance, which is really boring.

Ann’s been doing so many modeling gigs that she might as well not be attending Shujin anymore. She’s practically surrounded by electronics, and all of them are connected to the internet. On any given day, Futaba can snoop through the internet trail of electronic file cabinets full of images of her face, emails about her face, paychecks for her face. Futaba sends Ann more than one email about creepy old dudes making gross comments about her, along with a bunch of other illegal shit they’ve done, plus their offshore accounts full of cash if Ann wants Futaba to sic a lawyer on them.

Ann looks like she’s having fun. Ann looks different on the other side of the computer screen, like she’s less real. Like she’s not someone Futaba really knows. Like Ann’s not someone Futaba’s literally cried on at one point in her life.

Ryuji is definitely attending Shujin, but between physical therapy, catching up on a whole year of track, athletic scholarship hunting, and studying for college admissions tests, Ryuji seems to have been swallowed whole by Shujin, really. Out of boredom, one day, Futaba went down that rabbit hole of researching what it takes to get recruited for track in college, and holy shit–apparently Ryuji’s coach was supposed to be helping him with that whole process, but of course Ryuji barely has a proper coach ever since Kamoshida left Shujin’s track program in pieces. The amount of networking he’s doing is insane, especially for one teenaged boy who barely remembers his homework every night.

Sometimes, when Ryuji’s forgotten to check his email in a while and there’s a message from a coach sitting in his inbox, Futaba will send him a text to make him check it. And then it’s all, What were you doing looking at my emails, Futaba and Which of my other passwords do you know, Futaba, as if Ryuji doesn’t just use the same password over and over and has literally nobody but himself to blame.

So it’s really just Futaba, Yusuke, and–weirdly–Akechi, who’s off doing his gap year and said he was going to go abroad, but then he never did. Not to be a huge snoop, but Futaba went digging through his junk for about five seconds and then she never did it again, because she felt really weird about finding out that the guy that killed her mom is looking into social work, volunteerism, and reforming the justice system.

Like. The man who killed the Thieves’ leader is now literally out there saving orphans. It’s wild.

She might’ve been the one to tell Akechi that he can start over again and do better, but she reserves the right to at least feel weird about it.

She does not call Akira. She talks to Yusuke at school, but she refuses to ask him to accompany her on the subway. She should be recovered by now, shouldn’t she? She was supposed to have gotten over all that when Akira left Tokyo. She’s doing fine. She’s just looking out for her friends. Her, living vicariously through her friends, who’re growing up and growing away, flourishing into young adults? Never.

*

Everything is the same.

*

Didn’t she help kill a god last year?

Didn’t she work so hard to get out of her room, to make friends, to reconnect with Kana-chan?

Didn’t she work so hard to change herself?

Didn’t she help change the world?

*

Everything is the same.

*

Tuesday, 1:43 PM

YUSUKE: Futaba?

FUTABA: yo inari

FUTABA: u got more homework for me or what

YUSUKE: Ah, no.

YUSUKE: I think your teacher finds it suspicious that I’m sending you homework when I’m not in your grade, as it is.

FUTABA: oh no

FUTABA: what a shame that we didn’t have an entire year of experience with getting away with wildly illegal magic brain crimes without raising any suspicion

FUTABA: truly emailing me like four pieces of paper a day is far too difficult

YUSUKE: Well, I can’t get your homework from your teacher, but I can give you more homework if you’d like.

FUTABA: ok bucko that wasn’t a challenge

YUSUKE: There’s a math problem set that’s been incredibly dull to get through when I have more important pieces I could be working on…

FUTABA: inari im sorry to say but

FUTABA: me literally doing your homework for you is about a thousand times more illegal than you giving me my homework when ur not in my grade

YUSUKE: Oh, is it?

FUTABA: wh

FUTABA: are y

FUTABA: what do you mean OH IS IT

FUTABA: did you not KNOW ur not allowed to have other ppl do ur hw????

FUTABA: inari have u been making other people do ur hw for u so u can have more time to do art?????????

FUTABA: no shut up i dont want to know

FUTABA: i will not be ur accomplice

FUTABA: i see ur little speech bubble thingamajig yusuke i said stop typing forever and ever

YUSUKE: I can’t invite you to the art gallery tomorrow if I can’t type.

YUSUKE: It also seems impractical for you to outlaw me from texting forever.

FUTABA: i literally did not say that

YUSUKE: You said, and I quote,

YUSUKE: “Yusuke, I said stop typing forever and ever.”

FUTABA: ok i know it looks like i said that but please im begging u it’s literally just an exaggeration

YUSUKE: As Makoto would say, it’s hardly an enforceable law.

FUTABA: u literally texted my sick and crusty ass just to give me a hard time

YUSUKE: Are you about recovered from your cold?

FUTABA: and now u have the nerve to ask me to go to ur art show thing

YUSUKE: I didn’t say that.

FUTABA: oh really

FUTABA: what were u gonna ask me about then

YUSUKE: The art show, naturally.

YUSUKE: But you could have done me the courtesy of letting me ask.

FUTABA: all that on the day of my daughter’s wedding and now u want me to do u a solid

FUTABA: well i have news for u

FUTABA: the answer

FUTABA: is yeah

FUTABA: sure why not

YUSUKE: Oh, excellent.

YUSUKE: I thought that you might decline on account of your illness.

FUTABA: i’m not a punk bitch

FUTABA: i’m going

FUTABA: u were only working all those paintings for like two months i wanna see their oily faces in person

YUSUKE: Just because they were made with oil paints does not mean that they are oily.

FUTABA: cant wait to see my oily boys

YUSUKE: Unfortunately, I have to set up the event beforehand, so I will not be able to accompany you on the way here.

YUSUKE: Will you be alright by yourself?

FUTABA: uh

FUTABA: hmm

FUTABA: how oily are these boys in case i need to call a rain check

YUSUKE: Hmm.

YUSUKE: Perhaps someone else can go with you.

YUSUKE: Let me see if I can find someone.

FUTABA: what like one of ur art friends

FUTABA: i’m not going with anyone i dont know sry

YUSUKE: I’ll keep it in mind.

Tuesday, 1:59 PM

YUSUKE: Unfortunately, Ann and Ryuji were not available. Both of them will be coming late to the art show.

YUSUKE: Fortunately, Goro is.

FUTABA: whomst

YUSUKE: Goro Akechi?

YUSUKE: Crow, in case you know multiple Goro Akechis.

FUTABA: no like why u callin him goro

YUSUKE: I asked him if I could and he said yes.

YUSUKE: There’s not many people left in Tokyo who were part of the Thieves.

YUSUKE: I’m not exactly popular at school myself, so I thought it prudent to hold onto the connections I already had.

FUTABA: hhhhhhhhhhhhh

FUTABA: but why him……………………………………….

YUSUKE: Has he done something wrong?

YUSUKE: Well.

YUSUKE: Besides the obvious.

YUSUKE: Last I heard, you were quite vocally supportive of Goro making a change for the better,but have you prehaps reconsidered?

FUTABA: i mean he’s always been nice to me

FUTABA: like even before he was on the team as crow

FUTABA: and then later after he like lost his shit and tried to kill us

FUTABA: he was also like weirdly nice

FUTABA: even if he was dressed as a tokusatsu villain

FUTABA: but

FUTABA: i

FUTABA: ok this is gonna sound really weird but like

FUTABA: you know how i said that the person to take me to the art show has to be someone that i know

YUSUKE: Yes.

FUTABA: even though akechi was one of the thieves at the end

FUTABA: i feel like i dont really know him

FUTABA: he like had that whole breakdown where he spilled all his kylo ren sadstuck junk and then he peeled his dumb ass up off the floor and then we beat up his dad in a dark alley

FUTABA: and then i guess akira likes him a bunch and hangs out with him and i guess probably talked to him about all that stuff that happened

FUTABA: and also i think ann talks to him

FUTABA: and also haru i think for some reason……………………..

FUTABA: but like i feel like. we as a group. never really uhhhhhhh

FUTABA: got to know him very well i guess

FUTABA: because he spent like the whole year being a fake ass bitch

FUTABA: and then by the time he wasnt, the thieves were busy literally fighting god, and it was all business business business

FUTABA: ughghfhg i guess this is just a really long way of saying that like yeah ok i guess i do know him but i dont think i really do

FUTABA: even when he was off the shits in the engine room it was like

FUTABA: somehow that was not……………………………….. really him

FUTABA: idk maybe this is just my Thoughts but like

FUTABA: idk some people are like “your true self is who you are at your worst” and

FUTABA: yeah maybe you are some PART of urself when youre at your worst but like

FUTABA: also not???

FUTABA: that can’t be it

FUTABA: that’s not ALL of you

FUTABA: so all i ever saw was him when he was being a fake ass barbie prince and then when he was like actively losing his shit

FUTABA: and both of those were like. two types of fake ass barbie prince

FUTABA: except obviously the one where he started screamin about murder and trying to kill joker was like, fake ass serial killer barbie prince

FUTABA: anyway i dont buy it for a second that seeing akechi at his worst means that i know the first thing about his “”“”“”“”“true self”“”“”“”“”“”“

FUTABA: like i know that i technically met him but also at the same time i dont think ive ever really actually met this dude

FUTABA: uh tldr what’s the truth crowboy

FUTABA: second tldr do you got anyone else i can go to the art show with because im not unpackin all that junk in the trunk while also trying to fend off a panic attack in the subway

YUSUKE: Well, to speak to "what’s the truth, crowboy,” I’d say he’s actually really funny.

FUTABA: WHAT

YUSUKE: Yes, actually.

FUTABA: YOU TRYNA TELL ME YOU SHARE A SENSE OF HUMOR W AKECHI

YUSUKE: As everyone knows, I don’t have a sense of humor.

YUSUKE: But if I did, that might not be inaccurate to say.

YUSUKE: Either way, we could ask Boss if he’ll take you to school.

FUTABA: no

FUTABA: im not makin him shut down leblanc for the day just cause i cant get my shit together

FUTABA: and i go to school by myself all the time now i dont need to be walked there by my dad like a four yr old

FUTABA: r u sure u dont have anyone else who can take me

YUSUKE: You said it had to be someone you know.

YUSUKE: I can take you.

YUSUKE: But I’ll be getting to Kosei early to prepare.

FUTABA: how early is early

YUSUKE: Four in the morning.

FUTABA: PLEASE INARI

YUSUKE: The people you know is a quite limited pool, Futaba.

FUTABA: shut the hell ur face i dont need u tellin me to make kosei friends too

FUTABA: i get my butt to school every day i’m already a hero

FUTABA: ok alright

FUTABA: crow-san it is

FUTABA: hhh

FUTABA: no shut up stop typing i’m fine

FUTABA: i already saw his dumb ass get inflicted with Horny from Yaldy God Himself i ain’t afraid of no crows

FUTABA: actually now that i remember that that was pretty funny mwehehehehehehe

FUTABA: OKAY send me the who what when where why

YUSUKE: There’s a PDF flier. I’ll send it to you.

YUSUKE: But I will have to type the email to send it to you.

FUTABA: oh my GOD inari

FUTABA: i swear to god ur not actually this dense and youre just pretending u dont know what an exaggeration is just to drive me up the wall

YUSUKE: Oh, that is a possibility, isn’t it?

FUTABA: WH

YUSUKE: Ah, last period is starting. I’ll have to talk to you later.

FUTABA: WHAT

FUTABA: NO WAIT

FUTABA: HELLO????

FUTABA: YUSUKE NO COME BACK

Tuesday, 2:53 PM

FUTABA: YUSUKE HAVE YOU BEEN MAKING AKECHI DO UR HW FOR U SO YOU CAN DO MORE ART??

FUTABA: IS THAT WHY UR ON A FIRST NAME BASIS W HIM

FUTABA: ANSWER ME STRINGBEAN

*

In Futaba’s opinion, there’s an infinite amount of more embarrassing reasons to pull yourself out of your depression pit than “I needed to yell at my friend for being a snotty bastard,“ and there’s worse escorts to have than the weird guy who went from being a professional murderer to their weird awkward friend. Firstly, if there’s anything that can motivate Futaba Sakura, it’s the primal urge to dunk on her friends for spite and memes. Secondly, there’s no chance in hell Futaba’s going to have a breakdown in front of Akechi.

She can do this. She got herself out of this grave once; she can do it again. Even if Akira isn’t here. She’s getting better. She promised him.

On the eighth day of her almost-return to hermithood, Akechi texts her:

AKECHI: I’m here.

AKECHI: Are you ready to go?

Futaba is wearing only an old shirt, no bra, sweats, and vaguely greasy hair from all the showers she’s skipped.

FUTABA: i’m SO ready

FUTABA: the readiest

FUTABA: ultra mega super ready

FUTABA: featherman ranger code name Ready

AKECHI: Oh.

AKECHI: Alright.

Hell yes alright. Time for Futaba to save her own life from her gravesite of a room.

With… Goro Akechi. Wow, life is weird, huh?

She drags on her Kosei uniform like a skin discarded long ago. It feels stiff. Maybe because it feels wrong to wear school clothes like a functioning human; maybe because she just hasn’t washed it in a week. The very idea of explaining herself to Sojiro stresses her out, so she doesn’t do it. The idea of not explaining herself to Sojiro, when he deserves an explanation and also would probably have a heart attack if he realized that she’d disappeared from her room without his knowing, also stresses her out, so she still doesn’t explain herself to Sojiro.

I told Akira I’m better now. I can do this. I did this for more than six months. I was out of my room in the real world, I went to the school festival, I changed my own heart…

She creeps down the stairs like a thief in her own house and pokes her head out the door. Goro Akechi is fiddling with his phone in the sun outside her house, looking like he, too, has only just managed to pull on his Human Suit and look like a guy who didn’t make shadows beg for mercy for fun, so it looks like this whole expedition is going to be a lot of fun.

"Futaba-chan?” says Akechi, only just noticing her lurking in her own doorway. “It’s been a while since we last saw each other. How are you?”

Futaba opens her mouth. No noise comes out.

Akechi’s eyebrows slowly begin to knit together.

“I’m good,” she says squeakily. Clears her throat. Holy shit, she’s not afraid of Akechi after all that junk they went through in the Metaverse. She saw him as a rat. She saw him visibly want to break his father’s face when Shido tried to apologize to him on live TV. Once, Makoto and Akechi got into an unironic, passionate, hour-long argument about whether or not it’s beneficial to color code your notes.

“I’m alright!” Futaba announces louder, maybe a little loudly, considering the way he looks only more concerned. “L-Let’s hurry up and get this sidequest over with!”

She pulls her hoodie over her head and jams her hands into the pockets and makes herself as small as possible and inches out of the doorway. “If you… say so,” says Akechi, and eventually matches her incredibly slow pace as she shuffles her way towards the main street.

When the noise of Yongen-Jaya’s street hits her, her heart rate (already high as hell) spikes even higher like the first day she’d come out of her room, but the old coping mechanisms come back like second nature: Breathe slower, avoid eye contact, remember her mission, stick to the sides of the streets. Breathe slower. She’s still got it. It’s still hard, but she’s got a whole arsenal of ways to deal. She can do this. She will kick Yusuke’s ass for being a dick, if only out of sheer spite.

If Akira were here, I could hide behind him and…

No, shut up, shut up. All she has is her hoodie and Goro Akechi. Akira’s not here. She can do this by herself.

Akechi makes precisely two attempts at small talk (“How has Kosei been?” “Have you seen the pieces Yusuke submitted to the art show before?”) before he realizes that Futaba isn’t going to respond by virtue of barely holding onto her shit by her fingernails. He shuts up and sticks close by. Futaba makes her way down the streets towards the subway like walking on a tightrope. The subway station isn’t busy, but she puts every step in front of her like she’s going to fall. Getting on the subway might as well be a highwire. Futaba and Akechi wait for the train in mutual silence to the sound of other commuters murmuring amongst themselves, like a toothless echo of Mementos’s depths.

When they get on the train, people around her are quiet, thank god, but all of a sudden she’s convinced that she smells because she hasn’t taken a shower in literal days, and she tries to pack herself into her seat as tightly as possible. The guy in front of her is scrolling through something at a ferocious pace and his thumbnail keeps hitting the screen with this incessant clack, clack, clack noise. The subway voice announces their next station as the doors begin to close, and a girl suddenly sits bolt upright, having realized that this is her station after all, and bangs Futaba’s knees hard as she passes. Futaba wants to curl her legs to her chest, but she’s wearing Kosei’s uniform skirt and it’d just make everyone stare at her if she did that on the subway. She curls her fingers into the skirt hem. She stares down at her knees and lets her hair drape around her like a curtain. She can do this. She can do this. Breathe slower. Even slower. I did this for more than six months, I told Akira I’m better now, I changed my own heart…

Akechi pulls out his phone. Futaba’s phone buzzes.

AKECHI: Are you alright?

FUTABA: i said i was ready dude

Akechi types and retypes an answer, which technically Futaba could just look over his arm and read, but instead Futaba flips through apps on her phone and pulls up a shitty mobile dungeon crawler. She dies four times before Akechi puts his phone away without sending anything.

They pass multiple stations like that. Futaba sure as hell hopes that Akechi’s watching which station they’re on, because she isn’t. After the millionth time she dies, Futaba just closes the app altogether. Concentration’s shot. Can’t focus on anything. Heartbeat’s too loud. Breathing’s too loud. The guy next to her is breathing too loud. Everything is too loud.

New text:

AKECHI: Yusuke said you’d recovered from your cold, but you still look a little unwell.

Futaba doesn’t respond to that. She doesn’t need Negative Nancy over here telling her she’s gonna crack. Because she isn’t gonna. The subway starts to slow, and the voice announces the station for Yusuke’s school. She’s literally almost there, she’s right there, she might die in three seconds because her heart is going to pound of her chest but at least she’s going to make it, she promised Akira that she was alright—

The subway doors open. Passengers stand to get off. Akechi stands up. Futaba drops like a rock.

“I can’t,” Futaba’s voice says. She sounds like she’s crying. “I can’t, I can’t do it, I—”

“Futaba—”

“I’m can’t do it, I—”

She buries her face in her knees on the dirty subway floor. Oh, she really is crying. “I’m sorry,” she says, “I’m so sorry, I couldn’t…”

Around her, people’s feet stop moving. They’re staring at her. She’s crying on the subway and everyone is staring at her. “Shh,” says Akechi, like Futaba doesn’t know she’s being a loud and irritating pest, but then he takes off his winter coat and covers her with it. Suddenly everything goes dark. It’s a huge coat, too; it wraps around her whole torso with enough room to spare to cover her entire head. Inside, it’s like she’s back in her room, only listening to the sounds of real life somewhere on the other side of a computer monitor, where it can’t hurt her. It’s so surprising she hiccups to a stop. Two hands pull her up by the shoulders and guide her to stand. “Up. Let’s go.”

“Is she okay?” says a voice.

Futaba’s entire body seizes with fear. She ducks into her own knees, trying to disappear.

“Hey, little girl, are you alright?”

“She’ll be fine,” says Akechi’s friendly, super fake ass barbie prince voice. “My sister just had a hard day. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“A hard day?” Now the stranger’s voice is accusatory.

“For your information, our dog was recently brutally run over in front of her eyes.”

“Young man, are you serious right now?”

“Oh, yes. There was blood everywhere. Its intestines squelched horribly under the tires less than six feet away from her,” Akechi goes on. Futaba chokes, and then hiccups in what she realizes is almost a laugh. “Please excuse her. Thank you.” And before the literal complete stranger can follow up on that awful statement, Akechi takes her hand and pulls her up.

Futaba stumbles to her feet. If she has to take the coat off right now, she will actually die.

“It’s okay. Just hold my hand and follow me.”

Blindly, she lets him lead her out of the subway, weaving through people with only minimal contact with other people’s shoulders. There’s a whole awkward period where Akechi has to walk her up the stairs out of the subway station while she can’t see anything, but eventually the noise and bustle of other people around her seems to die away, and the air grows cooler in the way it does in the shadows between city buildings. Then they stop walking altogether. When Akechi lets go of her hand, she almost tries to grab it back before she catches herself.

“Okay. There’s nobody else around, now. It’s safe.”

Futaba doesn’t come out of the jacket. In the dark, her eyes dart back and forth, trying to see even as she blinds herself.

“Sorry for grabbing you so suddenly like that,” Akechi’s voice goes on after it becomes obvious she’s not going to come out.

Futaba wipes snottily at her own face. Oh, this is so gross, she’s got snot and tears on top of five days worth of grime and body juice because she hadn’t taken a shower. She’s disgusting. She really actually wants to die right now. She can’t show her face like this.

“Er,” says Akechi. “Do you want…. water, or…?”

Futaba folds up right there on the city pavement, probably dragging Akechi’s nice coat all over a dirty alleyway. She tucks her face into her knees, where she feels safest, and pulls the coat flaps even tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I’m sorry for not being okay,” she mumbles.

There’s a short silence. “You really don’t have to be.”

“I do,” Futaba says. She feels like she’s nine years old again, a petulant kid who needs to hold people’s hands and be escorted around Tokyo. “This is—it’s stupid, and I can’t believe I-I’m still doing this, a-and even a-after everything that h-happened last year, I’m still just a… I’m still…”

“It’s fine,” says Akechi. Even he sounds overwhelmed, and at the first sound of weakness, she pulls the coat off her head and glares at him furiously, red-faced and covered in tears and snot and gross depression juice crust and all.

“I’m not supposed to be this way anymore!” she says miserably. “I’m supposed to be better! Moved on! Doing literally a-anything else but crying over t-taking a subway! It’s stupid and nobody else is like this and I just want to be over this already and I just want to be better already and—!“

She covers her face with her hands again. God, even when she says that, it sounds pathetic.

After a moment or two, she hears Akechi moving again. She peeks at him. He’s crouching in almost the exact same pose as her, looking like he’s resigning himself to neither getting his coat back, nor moving from this spot any time soon, nor getting to Yusuke’s art show on time, but also looking archly and entirely unperturbed about it. Actually, it looks like he’s writing a work email on his phone.

Futaba was right about being in an alleyway, but it’s so cold because they’re shielded by a trio of vending machines selling canned coffee and wrapped sandwiches. "Our dog was recently run over?” she says.

“People can mind their own damn business,” says Akechi in his Pleasant Boy Voice, without looking up from his email.

“He was just trying to help.”

“Oh, yes, let’s help the crying girl by crowding her and suffocating her in a crush of public transit.”

Futaba snorts. “That was really mean of you.”

“Oh, absolutely,” says Akechi.

Futaba sucks a truly disgusting gob of snot into her nose. “Ugh. I wish I could’ve seen the guy’s face when you told him that.”

“It was like I’d spat on his shoes. I should’ve kept going. Or had a camera.”

“Futaba giggles wetly into her forearms. "Like one of those—those prank videos online… Get Yusuke to film it.”

“Yusuke, as the cameraman? I’m not trying to make a documentary.” Akechi flips to a different screen on his phone. “I already texted Yusuke about our poor dead dog, by the way, so don’t worry about it.”

Suddenly Futaba feels like literal garbage again. “Why are you always so nice to me?” she mumbles.

Akechi makes a weird face, like he’s trying to do his old Pleasant Boy shtick while having swallowed a lemon whole. “You say that like me being nice is somehow unusual.”

“Uh, yeah. Because it is. You literally were just being a huge asshole to a guy you’d never met over a fictional dog.”

Akechi has this increasingly disgruntled look on his face like he kind of wants to punt Futaba down some stairs, which, frankly, is the best sort of reward, in Futaba’s opinion. “I’m working on it,” he says grumpily.

“How’s that been?” says Futaba.

“Which part?”

Futaba has one whole moment of self reflection on this idea as maybe not a good course of action before she barrels on anyway: “The part where you’re turning your life around. Starting over. Trying again.”

“It sucks dick,” says Akechi.

“Oh, right on,” says Futaba, and then before she can stop herself: “Wait, I thought you liked dick?”

Akechi makes a noise like a strangled cat.

Futaba cackles. “Dude, incognito mode when you’re browsing for porn does not save you from people like me.”

“Have you been spying on me?”

“Uh, yes? Obviously?”

“You know you could get arrested for that sort of breach in privacy.”

“Oh, boo hoo, so sorry I know all about your weird orphan-saving night job and your smutty Featherman doujinshi collection. You’re not gonna narc on me.” Futaba stops. “Are you?”

“Stop looking at my internet history.”

“No. You better not narc on me.”

“Then stop looking at my internet history.”

“You had to google how to change a SIM card last week, crow-boy; you couldn’t stop me if you tried.”

“I will narc on you.”

“No you won’t. You’re the one trying to not be an asshole.”

Akechi makes a face like a cat being slowly submerged in cold water. Futaba laughs in his face.

“If you’re quite done,” says Akechi grouchily.

“No, never. You’re made for being made fun of,” says Futaba. “I’m gonna be making fun of you for years and years, crow-boy; you’re never going to get rid of me.”

“Great.”

“Gonna be creeping on your weird orphan-saving night job until the day you die.”

“Wonderful,” says Akechi without inflection whatsoever.

“Mwehehehehehehehehehe.”

“If you’re quite done.”

“I will take a well-deserved break from my endless duty to troll you both on and offline,” says Futaba. “Because I really really really wanna go to the art show.”

Akechi has the nerve to look relieved that he no longer has to squat in a dirty alleyway listening to a high school freshman bully him. “Then let’s go.”

Futaba hugs her knees tight. “But I wanna keep your coat.”

“Aren’t you wearing your own coat?” says Akechi, trying to look like he isn’t shivering. “Aren’t you getting hot?”

“I’m keeping it.”

“It’s my coat.”

“I’m keeping it.”

“Fine, then. Keep it. It’s dry clean only.”

“Oh, ew. No, take it back, gross, gross,” and Futaba peels the snotty, tear-stained, dirty winter coat off and dumps it back in Akechi’s arms, who looks at it with the expression of someone long-suffering and without hope of escape.

“And,” says Futaba, “I wanna see it if you tell anyone else that our dog got run over.”

Akechi smirks. “You’ll have to film it, then.”

“Oh my god, like I wouldn’t.”

Futaba scrubs her face one last time. She still feels like she’s covered in a grimy layer of slime, but maybe she can wash her face at Kosei. When she gets there. Because she’s gonna get there.

“Uh, one more thing,” says Futaba.

“Not like you’ve bullied me into doing literally everything else you’ve wanted,” says Akechi.

“You can’t laugh at me.”

“Good thing I don’t have a sense of humor,” says Akechi, which horrifyingly confirms to Futaba that Akechi and Yusuke, of all people, really do share a sense of humor.

Futaba hesitates. “Please, um… please don’t tell Akira about this.”

“Why would I tell Akira?“

"Nice. Good answer.” She smooths her hair down, trying to make herself presentable, or just have something to do with her hands. “I… told him I was gonna be okay without him and all that, so… I don’t wanna let him down, you know?”

Slowly, almost shyly, Akechi smiles. “Oh, yes. I know.”

“Our secret. Secret-keepers.”

“Secret-keepers. Are you ready?”

Futaba takes another deep breath. Pushes herself up, brushes herself off, and sighs. “Absolutely not. This is gonna suck so much dick,” says Futaba. “Let’s go anyway.”

[chilling-seavey]

Oooo blurb idea but what about Daniel and Florence meeting the girls' boyfriends?

I went with the girls’ endgames for this one and how they met can be found in each of their character profiles ;)

Clementine

Clementine was always a fiery spirit, a proud feminist too if you will, and she never let stupid boys get in the way of her aspirations. That being said, it was a bit of a surprise to Florence and Daniel when Clementine came home at age twenty-two giggling like a schoolgirl and absolutely gushing about this boy she met at her internship. Clementine rarely gushed about boys like that, if ever.

Clementine knew her father well and she knew he was going to be keeping a firm hand on her the day she would bring home any random boy for her family to meet so she pushed away the idea of dinner for a while. In fact, Winston didn’t meet Daniel and Florence until they had been dating nearly five months. Clementine finally caved and took her pleading and excited mother up on the idea of dinner, showing up at her family’s apartment at the end of September in black jeans and a dressy sweater with her well dressed boyfriend on her arm.

Clementine stopped right outside the apartment door and turned to him, “Dad might ambush you.”

“You’ve said that plenty.” Winston chuckled, his sweet British accent and small dimples already being enough to calm her nerves.

“Just…don’t be freaked out, okay? And be good. I want them to love you.” Clementine said.

“I’m always good.” Winston teased, dipping down to kiss her once before she was opening the door and leading him inside by his hand.

“Hey!” she called out as they took off their shoes and headed farther into the apartment.

Lucy was at the piano, already practicing her pieces for her university applications even she didn’t have schools or programs in mind yet, and her fingers slipped over the keys at her first glance at her sister’s handsome boyfriend. Her stumble made Daniel look up from setting the table, his eyes locking on the couple in the doorway and Clementine could see his eyes taking them in flatly.

“Guys, this is Winston, my boyfriend. Winston, this is my family; mum, dad, and littlest sister – Florence, Daniel, and Lucy.” Clementine rushed out quickly behind her nervous grin, her hand tightening on his arm.

“So good to finally meet you.” Winston smiled, offering his hand out to Daniel first.

“You too.” Daniel cracked a small smile to the young man who was just about his same height if not slightly taller, taking his handshake as he glanced over at Florence approaching from the kitchen.

“I’m so glad you could make it tonight. We’ve heard so much about you.” Florence said sweetly, sliding her hand around Daniel’s back.

“Only good things, I hope.” Winston chuckled. “Dinner smells divine, Mrs. Seavey.”

“Oh, thank you.” Florence bit back her smile at the formalities.

Clementine and Winston moved to the living room and Daniel followed Florence back into the kitchen, leaning over her shoulder to whisper a slightly mocking “Mrs. Seavey” into her ear in a little British accent.

“Be nice.” Florence smacked his chest with the tea towel in her hand.

“I am. That was just cute.” Daniel shrugged, his eyes falling across the apartment to where Lucy was showing off on the piano, messing up a few more times than normal due to the handsome stranger watching her from beside her sister. Florence let him stare for a while, offering him bits of the carrots that were cooking and a scoop of mashed potatoes as he kept his eyes on their guest.

“Do I need more salt?”

“Huh?” Daniel turned to look at his wife, eyes wide like a clueless puppy.

“God, I could have been being strangled over here and you wouldn’t have noticed.” Florence chuckled, pushing another spoon of mashed potatoes into his mouth. “Does it need more salt?”

“Mm, no.” Daniel said, taking a quick inhale. “But it’s freaking burning my mouth.”

When dinner was ready and they were all around the table, Lucy had gotten to the point where she was just talking their guest’s ear off about everything and anything. Winston didn’t mind – he was used to keeping up with Clementine’s own rambling anyway – and he politely answered all of her rushed questions.

When Lucy took a second to actually breath, Winston turned to Daniel, “Clementine tells me you own a music production studio in the city?”

“I do, yeah.” Daniel said, a bit taken back by the fact that his daughter spoke about him when he wasn’t around…and to her boyfriend. “I started as an intern there in university and my friend and I worked our way up until the place was handed over to us a few years back.”

“That’s amazing. I dabbled a little in music as a boy but chose law as my career path instead.”

If it was possible, Daniel probably would have swooned right then and there and Florence giggled into her forkful of potatoes at Daniel’s little grin and excited shuffle,

“What kind of music?”

“Singing mostly. Just a hobby but I performed a few gigs at my local pub back home in secondary school. People said I was good.”

“You should come by the studio some time and we could jam a bit.” Daniel offered.

Clementine’s eyes went wide at the offer and she looked to her mother who seemed just as surprised. They shared small smiles and turned back to their plates.

“Yeah. That would be lovely.” Winston agreed. “Thank you.”

Dinner went well and Clementine was pleasantly surprised that her boyfriend wasn’t hounded with any ridiculous questions from any of her family members. After a good meal and a bit of tea in the living room catching up some more with Lucy’s gentle piano practicing in the background, it was time for the couple to head out as it was getting late. Daniel and Florence walked them to the door.

“We’ll have to have you over again when Penelope’s back from school.” Florence said.

“Yes, absolutely. I would like that very much.” Winston agreed. “Thank you again for supper.”

“You’re most welcome.” Florence beamed. Daniel draped an arm around her waist as Winston helped Clementine into her coat.

“Wait for me in the car?” Clementine asked him softly.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” Winston smiled, dipping down to kiss her again before saying his last goodbyes and headed out of the apartment.

Clementine turned her lovesick smile around to her parents, clasping her hands together and rested her chin on her interlaced fingers, “So?”

Daniel started, “He was…”

“Dad, if you spew out critiques at me, I will never ever talk to you again.” Clementine whined.

“Oh my gosh, angel.” Daniel laughed. “Glad to know you think that way of me. I was trying to say, that he was amazing. I might want to date him.”

Florence smacked him playfully.

Clementine’s mouth fell open, “Really?”

“Why are you so surprised that we liked him?” Florence asked.

“Normally you’re so…dad’s so…annoying and protective.”

“Of course, I’m protective; you’re my little girl.” Daniel said. “But my little girl is also twenty-two now, so I think I don’t really have a say anymore, huh?”

“But honestly, you liked him?” Clementine bit back her grin as if it was too good to be true.

“So much.” Florence nodded.

“And he seems to treat you so well.” Daniel added.

“And he looks at you the same way this one looked at me.” Florence finished, gesturing to her husband.

“Looked? Past tense?” Daniel gaped at her. “I always look at you like a lovesick doofus, what are you talking about?”

Clementine scoffed, rolling her eyes as she turned for the door, “God, you guys are gross. I’m leaving now. Love you! I’ll text you when I get home!”

Penelope

Daniel hummed softly to himself as he walked up the steps of the art gallery, an excited smile on his face as he was going to surprise Penelope with lunch on her break. It was an extra hot summer day so he was only in shorts and a tank top – not quite the attire one would wear to visit the gallery – but the employees at the front desk knew him well and they didn’t give his outfit much of a second glance.

“She’s in the studio on the third floor.” one of the ladies said before he could even ask and Daniel thanked her with a sweet smile before heading for the curving staircase in the interior courtyard. He didn’t notice the lingering glances of the young ladies on his exposed muscles and softly tanned skin lightly shining in sweat from the summer sun.

The studio classrooms were tucked away from the main gallery and they were where Penelope mostly spent her internship assisting the teachers and artists with their classes. Daniel let himself into her usual room, pushing open the cracked open door, calling out a lighthearted, “Hey, bug. I was wondering if you wanted to-”

He stopped in his tracks barely two steps into the room, eyes wide as Penelope pushed the strange boy away from her and wiped her lips with the back of her hand as she jumped off the table quickly.

“Dad! Oh my gosh-” Penelope tried to defend her actions behind terribly blushed cheeks but Daniel was already out the door and halfway to the stairs, nearly just as embarrassed as she was.

Penelope rushed after him, tugging off her paint stained apron on her way out the door.

“Dad!” she called, her voice echoing down the hallway.

“I’ll just see you at home, okay? I didn’t mean to interrupt or just barge in on your…work.” Daniel rushed out, stopping at the top of the stairs.

“Daddy.” Penelope sighed. “I’m sorry. I…gosh, I’m sorry. I…”

“It’s okay. I’ll go.”

“No. Don’t. Please stay. I want you to meet someone.” Penelope took his hand in hers.

“The guy who just had his tongue in your mouth?”

“Oh my gosh, Daddy, stop. I’m pretending you didn’t see anything.” Penelope cringed, pulling him down the hallway.

So he let his nineteen year old lead him back into the studio where the young man still stood quite nervously across the room, his hands in his pants pocket.

“I didn’t want you guys to meet like this but…Dad, this is Anthony. My boyfriend.”

“B-Boyfriend?” Daniel gaped, looking from the stranger to his daughter, her hand still in his. Penelope had never had a boyfriend – at least none that she went out of her way to be with – and Daniel was nearly stunned into silence.

“Yeah. I told you and Mum I was talking to someone.” Penelope mumbled.

“Yeah…talking to someone but it didn’t look like there was a lot of talking going on.”

“Dad!” Penelope squeaked.

“Despite what it looked like I’m quite polite.” Anthony chuckled nervously, his cheeks dusted in pink, he held his hand out to Daniel. “Nice to finally meet you.”

Daniel hesitated but shook his hand, his other tightening in Penelope’s, “You as well. Although I haven’t heard much of you.”

“We’re taking it slow.” Penelope said softly, shifting her hand out of Daniel’s to stand beside Anthony and leaned into him.

Daniel might have been a bit oblivious about women staring at him but he certainly wasn’t clueless when it came to Anthony’s slight stare towards his muscles and the protective father crossed his arms over his chest for emphasis. His height enough was slightly intimidating, standing 6’1” over the 5’10” young man and Anthony swallowed nervously.

“Anyway, I should let you two have lunch.” Anthony mumbled. He turned to Penelope and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Talk later, Penny.”

Penelope pulled a small smile and nodded, letting him leave the room without another word, Daniel’s narrowed eyes following him out. Penelope groaned in annoyance when they were alone.

“Dad, what the heck?” Penelope smacked his arm.

“What?” Daniel turned back to her.

“You were being so rude and possessive. Why can’t you be nice for once?”

“I was perfectly nice.”

“You didn’t say anything and just flexed your stupid muscles and glared at him like a weirdo!”

“Gotta make sure he’s up for the challenge.”

“Challenge of what? He’s not a wresting partner! He’s my boyfriend!” Penelope frowned. “And I’ve never had one before so just…freaking relax, okay?”

“Exactly. He’s your first boyfriend. So I gotta make sure he’s good enough for you.”

“Dad!” Penelope groaned through a pout. “You’re so obnoxious. I’m calling mom.”

Lucy

“It was so funny, Daniel, oh my gosh. So Lucy brought her boyfriend over for dinner last night and he was telling us-”

“What?”

“What?”

“She brought her what?”

“Her…boyfriend? Xavier?”

“What the fuck? Who the fuck is Xavier?”

“He was one of her dance instructors and they started dating like last month. You don’t…know?” Tyler’s voice was much softer now as if he was just caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to, the pixels over the FaceTime call buffering a moment through his worried frown.

“He was her teacher?” Daniel nearly shouted. “She brought him to my house for dinner to meet my family before I even knew he existed? Her teacher?” Daniel gaped into the phone.

“Daniel, relax, okay? It’s not a big deal.” Tyler said as gently as he could.

“So all of you met him?”

“Yeah. Christian and Anna came by home too.”

“What the fuck.” Daniel breathed, his eyebrows furrowing in annoyance.

“God, please don’t lash out.” Tyler groaned. “You always overact with this stuff, bro. It’s not like he’s 45. And he’s a nice guy, okay?”

“I gotta go.”

“Daniel-”

He hung up before his older brother could say anything else and he threw himself off the couch and stormed down the hallway towards the master bedroom.

“Florence!”

She had just gotten out of the shower – like barely had even pulled her underwear up her legs before he was barging into the ensuite. She knew he was angry when he used her full name and she pulled her shirt from the counter to keep herself someone decent under the emotional glare of her husband.

“What’s wrong?” Florence asked as gently as she could.

“Did you know Lucy has a boyfriend out in BC?” Daniel asked sharply, throwing his arm out like he was pointing to the other side of the country like that.

“A boyfriend? Yeah, I think I knew. She mentioned it in passing to me that she was talking to someone, why?” Florence said, walking past him to start to blow-dry her hair.

“You knew?!”

“She tells me a lot. I’m her mother. Did you not know?” Florence frowned, talking louder over the noise of the hairdryer.

“No! Did you know he went over for dinner with my family? And that he was her dance teacher?”

“She’s dating her professor?” Florence’s eyebrows raised as she stared at him through the bathroom mirror.

“According to Tyler! Tyler! Fucking Tyler knows before me.”

“Jesus, Daniel. Maybe because she knew you were going to blow a damn fuse like you are.” Florence laughed lightly, turning off the hairdryer and set it on the counter to give him her full attention. “Call her then, sweetheart. Take some deep breaths and grab a drink of something and call her.”

Daniel whipped out his phone and dialed their youngest daughter right away.

“Daniel, I said calm down first before you-”

“Hey, Dad.”

“Why the hell am I finding out from my brother that you have a boyfriend?”

Florence sighed tiredly and ran a hand over her face as Daniel took his conversation out into the bedroom.

Lucy’s face on the other side of the screen was answer enough, her wide eyes and shocked face as if she was a deer in headlights, “Uhh.”

“Yeah ‘uhh’.” Daniel scoffed. “And your professor of all people? That’s is hugely inappropriate. You’re just barely twenty-one, Lucy Elizabeth. I swear to God, if he’s closer to my age than he is to yours I’m flying out tonight to take you home.”

“Dad! Shit! Listen to yourself! You’ve gone freaking insane!” Lucy shouted to cut off his angry tangent. “I’m not an idiot, Dad! I know how to handle myself. Even still, do you think Uncle Christian and Uncle Tyler would let me bring around some old man? Or especially Grandpa? Yeah, he was my dance instructor last year but we didn’t talk seriously until after I was done his class. We didn’t break any rules so calm yourself.”

“How old is he?” Daniel asked, narrowing his eyes towards the screen.

“I’m twenty-six, sir.”

The voice coming from somewhere behind Lucy made Daniel’s face completely fall pale. He lowered his voice to a whisper, “Lucy, I swear, why couldn’t you have put headphones on-”

“Because you called me like a maniac to yell at me in the middle of dinner!” Lucy turned her phone to show her half-eaten place setting and he caught a glimpse of the young man across from her.

“Lucy’s a strong woman, Mr. Seavey. She knows when to put me in my place and it’s only been a month and things are going nicely. At least I think so. She decides what happens with us and when.” Xavier assured him as politely as he could.

Daniel sighed at Lucy’s prideful grin at her boyfriend sitting across from her and she turned back to their FaceTime call with a scowl.

“I know what I’m doing, Dad.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to make sure things were serious before getting you and Mom involved. The family out here is one thing but you two are my world and I gotta make sure I’m doing something good and something solid before telling you. So can you not scream at me like I’m six?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.” Daniel sighed, rubbing his hand over his face tiredly. “I was just worried about you. After what happened at prom I-”

“Oh my gosh, Dad. That was like four years ago. Nothing happened. I’m fine. I’ve grown up. Now can I eat dinner in peace?”

“Yeah, baby. I’m sorry.”

“If you’re good maybe I’ll bring him home to meet you guys.” Lucy chuckled.

“I would like that a lot!” Xavier spoke up.

“We’ll think about it.” Daniel said flatly.

“Love you, Daddy.” Lucy smiled, blowing him a kiss through the screen.

“Love you, princess.” Daniel sighed, watching the screen turn to black as she hung up. He flopped himself backwards onto the bed with a huff and ran both hands through his hair, staring up to the ceiling blankly.

“I know what Clementine would say if she was here.” Florence said from the bathroom.

“What?” Daniel mumbled.

“‘Someone needs to get laid.’”

“Was that an offer?” Daniel bit back his smirk.

“No way, pretty boy. I’m going to sleep. Move it.” Florence said, turning off the bathroom light and smacked his thigh to get him off her side of the bed. Daniel shuffled over and let her climb under the covers before laying down and resting his head on her stomach. “Tired yourself out, huh?”

“Shut up.”

[prongsisabadger]

TWP Chapter 28

Wolffe and I spoke casually as we made our way towards the bridge. Not a lot had happened since I’d been gone, the Pack had mostly been assigned extractions, rescue missions and patrols among other things. The clone commander didn’t show his feelings on the lack of battlefront action, but then again, I was still his superior and it might have looked like he was complaining to some. He was glad I was back, I could tell that much. Wolffe might have looked like an emotionless steel blast wall, but the man was still a sentient, and sentients interacted with the Force. It was a quiet, tame feeling he allowed himself in the confines of his mind, but he would never allow it to show. Clone Commander Wolffe was many things, emotional was not one of them, even if he did feel things deeply in the privacy of his soul.

Like Obi-Wan, he felt safe because he was strong and reliable and fiercely loyal. But my Master at least allowed himself to show feelings to those he cared for and trusted the most. Wolffe was the kind of person that didn’t open up easily even to his closest friends, regardless of how deeply he felt about things. It was the kind of self control and discipline only extensive training and programming in a Kaminoan facility could grant. I was pretty sure Master Plo and I were the only ones that had an idea of how Wolffe felt about certain things, and it both felt like privilege and like I was intruding on something deeply personal. Those were things the Force told us about him, not things he had volunteered himself, so Master Plo and I had come to the silent agreement that we would not speak about them until he volunteered the information himself. It was both heartwarming and sad to have such a close, intimate look into a person such as him and not be able to share them because at the end of the day it would have been very intrusive.

That is how I knew it hadn’t been the 104th who had gifted me the vibroblade, it had been him. That is how I knew he was annoyed at the celebration the 212th wanted to throw for me. That is how I knew he liked my older armour best, because it didn’t have a wide, loud orange stripe. That is how I knew Art hadn’t been completely dishonest when he told me Wolffe was a little too protective of me.

And now, walking side by side, finally having a moment to ourselves in what seemed like years, I could feel how at ease he was. The Force around him flowed naturally, almost visible in how bright it felt, and yet, to the naked eye, he looked no different. His back straight and his pace leisurely, face relaxed as he spoke of his brothers’ shenanigans. He was so at peace, and for a moment there I didn’t realize that very peace was being reflected within me.

I was so lost in the feeling of the Force around him that I missed the question he asked me.

“Huh? I’m sorry, what was that?”

Wolffe cleared his throat and repeated the question, never taking his eyes off the corridor ahead.

“I was wondering about the new robes, Commander. They suit you.”

I looked down at myself. Right, the new robes. Last time he’d seen me I had been wearing a style that resembled Tusken robes. They had soon proved to be quite inefficient when I’d accidentally caught fire twice.

“Oh, right. I thought that since my armour represents who I fight for, who I fight with; then my robes should tell a story too. Where I came from, where I am, where I’m headed.” I answered truthfully.

“But, Commander, you don’t have the insignia of the Republic on your-” said Wolffe, confused for a second until his mind clicked. I could see the realization in his eyes. “Oh- don’t let anyone know that.” he added seriously, taking me by the arm and guiding me towards the wall for privacy. He looked in every direction before looking me dead in the eyes and saying the next words. “Some could call that treason, Commander.”

I smiled at him and put a hand on his bicep.

“You are not anyone, Wolffe. I trust you. You know I fight in this war because I have to, but I am not a soldier. I fight so that the Dark Side doesn’t win, I fight so that innocents don’t suffer, I fight because I can’t bear to see the Jedi commissioning an army of slaves and do nothing about it. I’m not blind, Wolffe, clones aren’t free, the war has hit you the hardest and until you are free to do your own will, the least I can do is keep you alive. This war cannot last forever.”

Wolffe was not one to show emotion, but I knew stoic when I saw it, and I had the Force. He wanted to disagree with me, he wanted to tell me he was a free man and that he fought because it was the right thing to do, but he knew that was not true. He wanted to tell me he was not a slave, he wanted to tell me that his brothers and him did not need protecting, that they did not need pity or saving, but he knew it wasn’t true.

He wanted to be angry, to contradict me, to defend the system, the very people that had created them, he wanted to say that without the war they would not exist. But existing to fulfil somebody else's purpose, to die for that cause that wasn’t his own, to know his life had no meaning of its own, that was not living. His eyes were conflicted, his soul tormented, his conscience raging because he wanted to fight, but he didn’t know how much of that will was his own.

In the end, all he could do was take a deep breath in to try and calm the storm raging inside of him and say:

“We will not betray your trust, Commander. I will not betray your trust.”

…

I had an entire week off with the Pack before our next deployment, and I spent every single moment of it catching up with the boys. After a disastrous night bar hopping in Coruscant, I promptly decided the Jedi had the right idea when they said alcohol was no good. One hangover was enough to last me a lifetime, thank you very much. I spent the day after napping on a cot while Art worked on my left shoulder blade, and only got up to sip on my water bottle -which Boost, Force bless him, refilled every time I emptied it- and to go to the refresher. At some point during noon, Twitch brough Art and I lunch from the mess hall and stayed to chat before going off to do some reading of his own. It was a very lazy day, and so were the ones that followed. Except for the evenings when Headfirst came to drag my ass to the training facility and made me do my lightsaber drills while he did his own thing. We would wrap up the day with a spar which, to be completely honest, wasn’t always a fair fight. Since I had the advantage of Jedi training, Headfirst had gotten into the habit of playing dirty. We had to agree on a new set of rules when he decided trying to get me angry with misogynistic comments was a perfectly good idea. He had a black eye for the next two days.

Once our week was over, briefings and preparations for our next mission to Khorm started. It was the first mission I would be in command of, Master Plo was being held up in Coruscant my Council duties and would not be coming with us. So the mission was technically in my hands -even if I did have Wolffe and Vero Zapal, our admiral. The situation in Khorm was unknown to us. Like in Orto Plutonia, the republic had lost contact with a clone division stationed there. The entire overview looked, at first glance, like a re-living of Orto Plutonia, since Khorm is also a frozen planet, but something felt terribly off to me. I told Wolffe and Zapal this, and that we would be going in to investigate with the utmost caution. Things never happened the same way twice, and I doubted the universe was going to go easy on me on my first command.

I was going to take every precaution and plan every last second of the mission, and prepare at least one contingency plan. I knew from experience that battles had a knack for throwing plans out the garbage shoot but it paid well to be prepared. Every maneuver, every flight route, every entrance, nook and cranny of the facility was taken into account; and every plan I made, I ran by both Wolffe and Admiral Zapal for their opinions.

It’s safe to say I didn’t really sleep well that week, not because of nightmares or resurfacing memories, but stress and anxiety does have a knack for making sleep restless. I meditated more during that week than I had before any battle I’d faught up until that point. I practiced mindfulness every morning as I woke up and tried my hardest to keep the Force as close to me as I could.

I tried to keep my appearance as neat and put together as I could, and tried to do the same to my quarters, but the amount of holomaps and  datapads on my desk were too many to keep in a neat pile. I didn’t want any aspect of my life to be neglected during that time, because neglect leads to darker places and I would not allow myself to be distracted in any way. Lives were at stake.

My friends helped in any way they could when they weren’t busy making their own preparations. Some sat with me during lunch, even when I was too busy reading to talk to them, others forced me to exercise or to take recreation breaks, others simply checked on me at night to make sure I wouldn’t stay up too late reading. It warmed my heart, even when I couldn’t tell them how thankful I was for taking care of me.

I also fell into the habit of performing my lightsaber drills every morning and every night. The funny feeling I had about the mission only grew as our departure date neared and something told me I needed to be ready. In any other situation, I would have considered the possibility that I was being paranoid, but we were at war against a very real enemy. It was only paranoia if they weren’t out to get you, and our enemy was.

It was almost time for lights out when Wolffe walked into the training facility. Only a section of it was lit up, the one that I was still using. I repeated form after form, one, two, ten, forty times until I was satisfied with it. I felt him approach me from the darkness, but I didn’t acknowledge him until he stood a few feet away from me, watching, waiting for me to stop. I didn’t.

“You should turn in for the night, Commander.” He said finally, never shifting his posture. Straight, solid, face and body language betraying nothing as he stood with his hands at his back.

“My forms aren’t as good as they should be, I’m staying for at least another 50 reps” I said, never stopping, my pace never dwindling. “Go to bed, Wolffe.”

He said nothing, but he also didn’t move. Wolffe just stood there, watching me move through the forms once, twice, three times. He wasn’t annoyed, I knew that much. He wasn’t pitying me either, he was simply there to make sure I didn’t work myself to exhaustion. He didn’t even feel resigned, it felt like he knew me well enough that he didn’t expect me to stop when he asked me to. He felt determined, like he knew the only way to get me to listen right then would be waiting for me to be done. There were times to insist and times to wait, he had known me long enough to identify each of those instances and react accordingly.

Wolffe knew I was nervous and doing my very best so that everything went smoothly. He knew the thing that stressed me out the most was the fact that his brothers’ lives, my friends’ lives might be in danger. He knew I would blame myself for each and every loss we suffered, and he knew this was my way of getting ready for that. Because we would lose men, we always did. But up until that point, I had never been the one in charge, I had never been responsible for the cones’ deaths, not really.

So Wolffe stood there, silent and strong and reassuring. Because he knew nothing he said would make me feel any less responsible, because he knew the best thing he could do was to be there for me.

[butididnottried]

I’m late to the party, but whatever. After a (ehehe he) few months of thinking about it, i finally watched netflixs “She-Ra and Princesses of Power”.

- Oh. Oh... Oh wow. Just wow. All these jokes and memes about Catra and therapy makes so much sense now. Like, even TOO much. This show have no business in showing all these issues so good, and yet, there they are.

- Scorpia is such a cinnamon roll. But she’s so stressed. She tries to play it cool, but man, her stress level is on some cosmic level. I have no idea how she do not lost it and not murdered anyone. Come on big girl, i’m going to be your best friend and you can hug me as much as you want. <3

- Hey Adora.

- I hope that Shadow Weaver will not pull some betrayal shit right now and will stick with the rebellion against Horde Prime. I don’t need her to be redeemed, she don’t really deserve that and probably don’t even want that. Also, she’s on the good side out of bad  motives, so that’s that. But her changing sides again would be just stupid and too predictable. It’s obvious that she will again try some shady magic to “save” the planet, while also at this same time gain more power, but i hope that will blow up in her face. Badly. Buuut. Since king Maika is alive and back at Bright Moon maybe he will have some good influence on her. Strongly doubt that, but its always a possibility. 

- Bows voice acting is probably my favorite in the whole show. The comedy timing with his voice, when it’s going a little to high and cracks up? That’s The Good Stuff.

- And i don’t really like Entraptas (not Entrapa, what) voice timbre. This voice actress is very good - like every other on this show tbh - but something about her voice alone annoys me. She also often sound like her nose is stuck? Which is a nope for me.

- Hey Adora.

- Ah, Entrapta, my adorable science baby. How someone so smart can be so dumb at this same time. I know that she’s autism coded, but im not talking about that. She figured out this whole The First Ones tech, this whole connection of magic, princesses and rune stones to the WHOLE planet, but didn’t thought even for a second that maybe activating this machinery could most probably blown everything up. Really? ReaLLY? But maybe that’s just a science people thing, being sooo much into it, that nothing else matters? Idk, i’m a dumbass, i do not get science very much. But when she was like “we need to turn this portal thing off, Hordak will understand” i was like “oh no, oh honey, no, he DEFINITELY will not” and this moment was kinda hilarious. Oh well.

- And they we’re lab partners. _^_

- I don’t really know why, but i like Hordak. He’s that good kind of dumb, angry and nor very well socialized villain. Well, he lived in a place not very well suited for proper socializing. Yeah, that - he got a nice, kinda different backstory. Usually when a character is a clone their big and dark torment is the fact that they’re a clone. But he’s even proud of that? Because the original one is powerful and magnificent Horde Prime, so it’s an honor to be his clone. His problem is that he is a defective clone, unworthy, when he was made for such grande purpose like conquering the galaxy. I can’t even very much blame him for his bending for murder and destroy. Not because he’s sad, but because he was made in a lab to be like that, more or less programmed - murderous, angry and destructive. In cases of characters like that it’s not very much like an explanation, but almost an justification (but hey, that’s me, about fictional people, so chill please (: ). It’s like blaming a not self-consciousness machine for going rouge. Well, Hordak is not a stupid, unaware robot, but idk, there’s no real analogue in real world for a beings like this, so i “choose” to feel like that about fictional characters being made to be put-there-whatever. Also, he’s physically so fragile? It’s hysterical. It feels like the faintest wind would blow at him, and every bone in his body would broke. 

- And what i wrote about Hordak i think also about Light Hope. Shes and AI, probably almost at point where she could obtain self-consciousness, but not quite yet there. And she did what she did because she stick to her main program, she really didn’t have a choice. But she had! This one time. Because she is capable of learning and grow beyond her program. I don’t now if younger audience is going to catch that, but i’m happy that AI was showed as it is - just an very advanced AI, and not a mean, bad person. Or maybe she is self-aware and i just didn’t noticed that. Also, her design. <3

- hEy AdOrA.

- I was so ready to like Double Trouble, and eeeh. The only magic here is acting. I do not copy, i perform. I put everYTHING into ROLE! I’m an Artist! ArTiSt! IT’S ART! asdfghjkl just go away with that you pompous prick. Uuuugh, this is just the worst kind of artists. But, i still appreciate how they do not have any sad backstory (yet?), and are there only for money, drama and spreading chaos. At least someone is having fun in all this mess.

- Adora is so gay for big ladies. When all this mess is going to end, she deserve some romantic plot with gentle butch. Give Adora some big woman to love, you cowards!

- One of Bows dad is wearing socks and sandals. That’s it. 

- Swift Wind was visiting madame Razz all this time, because shes and old lady living alone in the woods. My heart just melted. <3 Also, i really want to know whats going on with her. Like, no one cares that’s shes probably more than a one whole thousands years old? But it look more like she has some time bending powers, that she do not control? And it messes with her memory and mind? Poor lady. ): 

- I had this feeling deep in my guts that The First Ones are going to be revealed as stupid bitches. And hey, they turn a magical planet into a super weapon. Why these ancient civilizations are such ignorant morons?

- I know that relationships between characters are the most important thing in this show, but man, i was so much there for the worldbuilding. The more information they were giving, the more i was like “just tell me what’s going on!!!”. And wow, i’m not disappointed. A++. But tbh, if we put aside all this cute stuff like magic, princesses and shiny, magical stones, this whole shit is pretty terrifying.

- When during daring rescue of Glimmer and Bow in Fright Zone Perfuma admitted that working with Entrapta can be... kinda difficult, and Entrapta - with a smile! - just nodded in agreement. This. This is probably my favorite joke in this whole series.

- h e y a d o r a

- Seahawk. Much love. Much joy. Gold of heart, dumb of ass. Yes.

- Also Huntara. Damn, woman, can you maybe tune down your attractiveness? I’m trying to keep myself together here.

- Designs in this show are just top notch. Bon Appetit.

- I love how this world is inhabited by so many various creatures, not only humans. NICE.

[bubblywrites]

Running From A Name Chapter 10

“That politician may have been the least of our problems.” Polpo said.

Bruno was taken aback. “What do you mean by that?”

Polpo fiddled with his wine glass. He swished the liquid around the cup but never drank any of it. “It wasn’t just the politician that was killed. I didn’t want to concern you with this, but now I guess you're involved. Several soldatos were murdered. Their territories were annexed by some mysterious group. I believe the ones who killed the politician are from the same group.”

“Couldn’t we just send more members into the overtaken territories to get them back? Part of the reason Passione rose to power so quickly was because of the use of stands. It shouldn’t be a problem to take these men out.”

Polpo cupped his chin. “Your right. It should be that easy. But the men I sent were killed. However, one did survive. In his report, he said, ‘Everyone with him was killed by bullets, knives, and something else unworldly.”

Bruno swallowed, then whispered, “A stand ability.”

“Exactly. I sent another person undercover to investigate the overtaken areas. He found this in one of the restaurants.” Polpo held up a small plastic bag with fairy blue jawbreakers in it.

Bruno perked an eyebrow. “I don’t understand. It’s just candy.”

“I thought the same thing too. But the man I sent found several people with this bag of candy. When he went to the nearest convenience stores, he couldn’t find these jawbreakers on any of the shelves. He was able to trace it back to an abandoned warehouse. Inside the warehouse, there were people high off their asses and surrounded by this stuff. He said they called it ‘Fairy Magic.’ So in other words-”

“The candy is a drug.” Bruno interrupted. His mouth went dry. His hands were clenched into fists and were trembling. Anger boiled deep inside of him, threatening to morph his stoic face into one of a raging bull.

Polpo glimpsed at Bruno’s hands then his face. He swirled the wine in his cup. “I understand your anger Buccellati. Our territory was stolen to expand some greedy mongrel’s drug trade. I do have a lead though.”

“You do?” Bruno asked.

“The man I sent to investigate saw a pimp there who has connections to us. We suspect he may have done more there than just get high. He could be moving the drugs into Passione’s turf. But we’ve had difficulty getting in contact with the pimp for a while. It’s only a struggle because he was shot by a cop and taken into custody.”

The idea of pimping women made Bruno gag. Ever since Alma told him about her mother, he’s worked hard to steer clear of pimps. Bruno wished he could be surprised about Passione’s connections with some of them. “Wasn’t that the case about the dirty cop?” Bruno asked.

Polpo nodded. “Yes, it was. I want you to try to find that cop. See if you can get any info from him about this mess.”

Polpo waved his hand, a signal that Bruno was dismissed.

Bruno stalked the scene of Abbachio’s crime for the majority of the day. The crime scene was a small abandoned house tucked inside of a former alleyway. The house had paint peeling off the walls, broken wooden boards, and empty liquor bottles strung across the floor.

The sky changed into dusk. Raindrops splashed onto Bruno’s shoulders. He opened his umbrella and prepared to leave. But Bruno’s head snapped at the sound of glass clattering. At the door of the house, stood a fit, tall man. He trudged out of the building’s darkness, allowing Bruno to get a better look at him. The man dressed in all black. The tail of his coat touched the bottom of his baggy pants. He wore a belt with a golden letter A strapped to his hips. His white hair was bone straight until it reached the base of his neck. The ends of his hair stiffened outward into mountain peaks. The man hung his head low. He held an empty wine bottle in his hand and swayed on his feet.

“You are Leone Abbacchio, right?” Bruno asked.

The man lifted his head. His eyes were layered with bags that were filled with pools of dark circles. After seeing his face, Bruno understood. Leone Abbacchio’s failure haunted not only himself but also the building. They were one entity.

“What do you want?” Abbacchio answered. His voice was gruff and hoarse.

“I need to ask you about the incident that happened here.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you. Now leave.”

Bruno stood his ground. “The man your partner shot was an important part of figuring something out for my organization. He’s in custody, so I need you to tell me everything you can about him.”

Anger flashed in Abbacchio’s eyes. He swung his arm against the wall, shattering the bottle in the process. “I said leave!” He roared.

Bruno sighed. “Abbacchio, I don’t know you that well. Matter of fact, I don’t know you at all. But one thing I can say is, how long will you let this demon from your past take over your life? I want to believe that the righteousness you once had, never died out. You can still be a man who can achieve great things.”

Bruno turned to walk away, but he stopped when Abbacchio called out to him. “What’s pushing you forward. Why do your eyes glow with conviction? Why do you talk with a sense of duty and responsibility?”

“Because I have things I want to achieve.” Bruno said without hesitation. “Fate has weaved a path for all of us. I want to stay true to the one it set for me.” Bruno closed his umbrella. He ignored the cold raindrops that drenched his suit. He wanted Abbacchio to see him fully. He wanted Abbacchio to see that he viewed him as an equal. “You’ve lost sight of your path, but I can get you back on it, Leone Abbacchio.”

Abbacchio’s mouth was slightly open. He stared at Bruno as if he were a lost child.

Bruno spoke. “There is a restaurant named Libeccio’s. When you feel ready to change, I’ll be there waiting.”

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Alma’s hands focused on wiping the tables, but her eyes were glued to the reserved seating area. Bruno hadn’t eaten in the restaurant for a whole week. When he finally started coming in again, he brought a strange, new companion with him. If Alma were to be honest, Bruno’s new friend had a mean mug that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand. Ever since he joined Bruno’s entourage, Alma’s been hesitant to serve the reserved table.

“I just wish that scary, white haired guy and Fugo weren’t there so I could talk to Bruno. His blue eyes are so dreamy. And I can listen to him talk all day with that deep voice of his. What I would give to just hear him say, ‘I love you Alma.’” Angelo whispered in Alma’s ear in an exaggerated feminine voice.

Alma elbowed him in the gut. Angelo lurched forward, holding his stomach.

“I was not thinking that you ass.” Alma said, annoyed.

Angelo straightened himself. “Sure you weren't. But there is something you might find more interesting that Buccellati.” Angelo held a white envelope sealed by a red and yellow coat of arms.

Alma snatched the envelope from Angelo’s hand. “This is from the University of Naples.”

“Sure is. I got it from the mailbox just now. I guess the school hasn’t updated your address in the records yet.”

Alma’s feet were nailed to the floor. Angelo had to grab her shoulders to walk her into the kitchen.

Marco peeked at them. “What’s wrong?”

“Alma got a letter from the University of Naples.” Angelo replied.

Marco dropped the pot in his hand to stand over Alma’s shoulder. Everyone in the kitchen stared at her in anticipation. Alma’s hands shook as she peeled off the seal. Her heart had beaten with enough power to burst free from her ribcage. She unfolded the letter and read the first sentence three times. Alma gripped the piece of paper so tight that she crumpled the edges. She jumped up and down, screeching, “I GOT IN!”

The kitchen exploded into cheers and hollers. Alma stopped jumping to read the letter aloud. Her mind moved faster than her mouth, making her words jumbled.

“Dear Alma Calamaro,

We are pleased to offer you admission into the University of Naples’ Art program. The admission staff was very impressed with your credentials and portfolio. On behalf of the admissions committee, we would like to offer you a full ride for all four years of your attendance at the University of Naples.”

The shouting in the kitchen doubled in volume. Marco and Angelo threw their arms around Alma, joining her in the jumping ritual.

Angelo released her to say, “I know the perfect way we can celebrate. We’re having an end of the year party on campus tomorrow. You have to come. It’s a great way to see the campus and chill with some of the students.”

Alma rocked her head side to side. “Parties aren’t really my thing, but I wanna go to this one. I really want to see my future campus.”

Angelo high fived her.

Marco held Alma’s face in his hands and smooched her forehead. “You smart girl. You got a whole full ride. I am so proud of you. I know your parents would be proud too.”

Alma clutched her parents’ wedding bands. “I’m happy to make you and them proud. Thank you zio.”

The kitchen staff came up to Alma to ruffle her hair, pat her on the back, and kiss her cheeks.

Alma’s face hurt from smiling for the entirety of her shift. Her usual fear of taking out the trash was overshadowed by her joy. So much so, she did not sense the person who snuck behind her clamp their hands onto her shoulders.

Alma jumped at the contact. She spun on her heels, but sighed in relief at the figure in front of her. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Bruno, I told you were a creep. And,’ She poked his chest. “I’m still mad about this tattoo.”

Bruno’s lips curled in amusement. He cupped a hand over his ear and said, “My bad. I didn’t catch all that. Your Sicilian dialect comes out when you're upset.”

Growing up, Alma’s parents forbade her from speaking Sicilian. They told her that if she spoke in Sicilian dialect, people from the mainland would never understand what she was saying. As a result, she only spoke in traditional Italian. But when she was with Doc, she only spoke in Sicilian.

Alma rolled her eyes at Bruno. “I said I’m still mad about the tattoo. And that you're a creep.”

Bruno laughed. “You're still not over it?”

“I was the one who suggested we get tattoos in the first place. But you know what you did? Went and got one without me. Traitor.”

“I’m sorry.” Bruno said, struggling to hold in another laugh.

“And he finally apologizes, but it’s not even a genuine one.”

Bruno leaned on the wall. “I heard all that screaming from the kitchen earlier. What happened?”

Alma bounced on the balls of her feet. “I got into the school. On a full ride to.”

“You serious?” Bruno asked, amazed.

Alma hummed, placing her hands on her hips. Bruno grasped her arms and pulled Alma into a hug. She flushed.

“I’m not surprised, but I’m still really proud of you Alma.”

Alma wrapped her arms around Bruno’s middle and smiled into his chest. “Thanks.” She gazed up at him. “Do you mind walking me home?”

“Yes, I do actually.”

“Bruno.” Alma said sternly.

“I’m joking. Yeah, I’ll walk you home.”

As they strolled to Alma’s apartment, Bruno asked, “You haven’t been serving my table recently. What’s the problem?”

“Your new friend is the problem. He has a face that scares children.”

Bruno snorted. “Abbacchio scares you? I agree, he’s not the most approachable person. But he’s not impossible to talk to.”

“If you say so.” Alma mumbled, unlocking her apartment door. She whipped her head to Bruno. “You wanna come in?”

He shrugged his shoulders and stepped through the door. Alma entered after him. She paused to blink at the mess in her living room. There were pillows and snack wrappers surrounding a giant fort made from black couch cushions, multi-colored blankets, and the dining room chairs.

Emilio crawled out of the fort. “You brought Buccellati with you? Yay. You two come inside. It’s scary story night.” He dipped back inside the tower of cushions.

Bruno cocked his head. “Scary story night?”

Alma scratched her cheek. “Yeah. It’s something we started doing on Friday nights a few months ago. We make a giant fort in the living room, and I tell them scary stories. I was so caught up with news from the university, that story night slipped my mind. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I know you're busy.”

Bruno shook his head. “No it’s fine. I’ll stay.”

Alma failed to hide the growing grin on her lips. “Angelo keeps spare pajamas here, so you can wear those. You can find them by the washing machine.”

Alma dashed to her room to change into her pajamas: a pair of red, checkered cotton pants and a short-sleeved black crop top. She rummaged through her shelves. “Where did I put it? Oh, found it.” Alma grabbed the small sketchbook on her top shelf before leaving her room.

Her breath hitched upon seeing Bruno exit the bathroom. His undone braid added volume to his sleek bob. He wore Angelo’s silky black pajama bottoms along with a white tank top. His long arms were on display in their full glory. Alma wanted to run her fingers across the sharp and rigid muscles.

“Something the matter?” Bruno asked.

Alma’s face started burning. “Nope. Nothing’s wrong. Just glad Angelo’s clothes fit.”

Bruno crawled into the fort. Alma turned off all the lights in the house and followed in after him. Isabella shined the flashlight on Alma as she crossed her legs.

“You guys ready?” Alma asked.

Her siblings nodded their heads. Bruno leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “Let’s see how scary this story is.”

Alma opened her sketchbook. She began reciting her story while flipping to the corresponding pages.

“There once was a young boy who lived in a poor, little village. Everyday, he and the villagers struggled to find something to eat. Only one house in the village had an abundance of food. And that was the Black Mansion. But everyone in the village avoided the Black Mansion. It sat on top of a hill surrounded by dark storm clouds that shot off booming thunder. Even when the sun was out, it always looked like night time at the Black Mansion.

One day, one of the boy’s friends dared him to go to the Black Mansion.

‘I don’t want to go. It’s scary.’ The boy whined.

‘But I heard that if you go and the people living there like you, they’ll give you food. You could bring some back to the village.’ His friend said.

In hopes of getting food, the boy climbed the hill to the Black Mansion. There were bats flying around every corner of the mansion. Black cats meowed like they were in pain. Terrified, the boy ran to the door and rang the bell.

The door opened slowly with a loud creak. Standing at the door, was a man as tall as a tree. He had a bald head, and his skin was paler than snow. And he wore all black. Behind the man, was a woman who the boy assumed was his wife. She too wore all black. She had giant black spirals for hair, and her skin was just as pale as her husband’s. Even their eyes were black. The boy gulped.

The couple smiled at the boy. They said at the same time, ‘Welcome to our home. Would you like something to eat?’

The boy’s lips quivered as he answered with a weak, ‘Y-yes.’

The couple waved for him to come into their home. The boy jumped at the thunderous clap of the door shutting behind him. As he walked through the dark halls, the eyes on the paintings followed him.

The couple led him to the kitchen. The wife served the boy a plate of glazed ham, fluffy mashed potatoes, and fresh peas.

The boy’s mouth watered. He slowly took a bite of the food. His eyes sparkled. He shoved more and more of the food into his mouth. The wife refilled his plate over and over.

When the boy finished eating, he couldn’t move. The husband leaned in close to his face. He showed the boy his sharp, pointy teeth and said, ‘Now it’s time for us to eat.’ The husband and wife gobbled the boy in one bite.“

Alma turned to the last page in her sketchbook. On the page, was a drawing of the husband and wife. They were baring their jagged teeth with pieces of hair and clothing between the gaps. “The couple spoke in unison, ‘We can’t wait for our next visitor.’”

Alma snuck her hand behind her back and knocked on the leg of one of the chairs. All the color drained from her siblings faces. They screamed and climbed over each to escape the fort.

Alma and Bruno cackled. Alma wiped the stray tears from her eyes. Bruno calmed himself and said, “You make such a happy home for them.”

Alma scooted closer to Bruno. Her hip touched his. Alma rested her head on his warm shoulder. “It's a happy home you will always be welcomed to, Bruno.”

Bruno’s shoulder tensed under her cheek. He moved to lay on the blankets, pulling Alma down with him. He snaked an arm around her waist. Alma’s heartbeat quickened and a deep blush formed on her face.

Bruno cupped Alma’s cheek with his free hand. He caressed her with his thumb. He stared into her eyes and whispered, “Thank you, Alma.”

[max-will-one-day-be-okay]

Ink On Skin Chapter Four

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three

It took about two months to get everything sorted. Ethan got a small insurance payment and the shop closed. It was enough so that he may have time to find a new job, maybe with a month of rent and a few weeks of groceries.

He’d had to go to his lowest point and take a job at ‘Beanies’. Apparently Emma, the annoyed barista, had finally quit. Ethan was a good singer, but now he had to deal with assholes paying him less than a dollar to sing something. It was harder and it paid less.

Another issue was that it took two months too long to get the fill insurance payment, and Ethan was being evicted. He thought that he didn’t have much, but as he piled things into boxes he realized that he could have less. It’d make moving easier.

Everything was kind of a blur. He remembered little snippets of the past two months. He remembered Lex comforting him, but not what she had said. Her offering to let him move in with her when he got the eviction notice, but he didn’t remember agreeing to it.

Yet there he was, packing up his things to live with his girlfriend. Who he had only been with for a few months. To say that he was nervous was a drastic understatement. While it wasn’t the biggest thing on his plate, it was still something constantly on his mind.

He wished that he had the money for therapy. Maybe then he could work some of this shit out.

He pushed the thought aside and continued to pack. Ethan found himself throwing a lot of stuff away, not wanting to overcrowd Lex with all of his stuff. She didn’t need that. She was already letting him stay at her place. He didn’t want to be more of a burden than needed.

It took a few more hours, but soon all of his things were in boxes. He had already sold his bed and dresser, since Lex and Hannah lived in a two room apartment. There was no room for those there.

Ethan carried his boxes down to his old beaten up truck. He had spent most of the insurance money on fixing up the truck. It could finally drive a few miles without breaking down again. It was in better shape than when he had first bought it for fifty dollars.

It took a few trips, but soon all of the boxes were in the truck and strapped down. Ethan was meeting with the landlord in a week to give the old man his keys. He wasn’t looking forward to it, but he did like the old man. He was kind of like a grandpa, or like a cooky old uncle. But unlike Ethan’s grandpa, he probably wasn’t addicted to meth.

The last thing he got was Greg, who he sat in the passenger seat. Greg didn’t look scared or uncomfortable, so Ethan didn’t see the use of putting him in the crate.

Ethan climbed into the truck, sending a quick text to Lex telling her that he was on his way over. She sent a thumbs up, and then Ethan started driving. The road wasn’t as crowded as it usually was on a Saturday, and Ethan didn’t care enough to wonder why.

He pulled up to Lex’s apartment complex and sighed. He carefully scooped Greg into his arms and got out of the truck. He climbed the stairs to Lex’s door and knocked. Hannah was the one to open the door, and her eyes lit up when she saw Greg.

“Hey Banana Split,” Ethan smiled, “do you think you could bring Greg here inside and take care of him while your sister and I unpack?” Her smile could light up a room when he gave her the cat.

Lex came into the room. She was still in her pajamas. She had on a long sleeved pink shirt for a movie called ‘Santa Claus Goes to High School’ and soft looking pants covered in hearts. Her hair was a mess.

Ethan’s heart swelled at the sight of her, and his smile became more genuine.

“Alright. Let’s get to work.” Lex gave him a tired smile and walked down with him. She held his hand as they walked down the steps, and Ethan was sure that his mind should be somewhere else, but he didn’t mind.

They brought the boxes up, making sure that they wouldn’t be in Hannah’s way. Ethan was the one to bring the last few boxes up while Lex unpacked. Ethan didn’t mind that she was essentially going through his stuff, because he threw out all of the pictures of his family. Except for one of him and his uncle Henry.

He walked in to see Hannah on the couch, holding Greg like a baby. He put the boxes down and snapped a photo on his phone. It was sweet that Greg liked Hannah enough to let her do so without scratching her.

He looked around the small apartment. It was nice. Art was covering a lot of the walls, lots of it familiar. Ethan couldn’t put his finger on what it reminded him of, but it was nice. Comforting. And the style was just comfortable. From magnets on the fridge to a soft looking rug. It looked more like a home than Ethan’s apartment ever did.

He couldn’t see Lex, and he didn’t want to bother Hannah, so he decided to look for his… girlfriend. He felt like that was the right word. He was moving in with her, so that meant something. Since she had offered.

He explored his new home and walked down the hall. It was easy to see who’s room was who’s. Hannah’s door had her name on it in wooden letters. The ‘H’ had little honey bee toys glued to it, and the ‘A’ had a stuffed spider. All of the letters were painted a soft blue.

He looked at Lex’s door, and it was slightly open. He carefully knocked, not wanting to overstep. “Come in!” Lex called.

Ethan opened the door to see Lex putting his pillows onto the king sized bed. There was also his stuffed tiger on the middle of the bed. He had assumed that he would be on the couch, but it seemed that Lex had other ideas, but he couldn’t complain.

Lex had set up the photo of him and his uncle on the bedside table. When she noticed him looking at it, she gave him a smile. “Is that your dad?”

“No. My uncle. Coolest guy in the world.” Ethan smiled back.

“Seems it. So, where is he?”

“Um, in Hatchet Field.” Ethan told her honestly.

“That shit hole?” Her eyebrows rose.

“I know. He teaches biology at the university. His students love him. I don’t think he’d ever consider moving.”

Lex nodded. “Well I get that. My dad was like that for a while. Then when we found out about this new program for kids like Hannah, he changed his mind.”

“Why don’t you guys live with him?” Ethan asked. Lex was only nineteen. He had found that out a few weeks ago, and it was a shock. He had been sure that she was older than him. He wondered if they had gone to the same school.

Lex didn’t even pause at the question. “I had enough money for this place, and Hannah wouldn’t let me leave. So as long as she stays in school and keeps a full stomach, she’s with me.”

Ethan could respect that; he could respect anything Lex did. She was someone that thought about what she did. Ethan was sure that she would never end up like he did. Without a job. Without a home.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when Lex looked at the boxes of his clothes. Her shoulders were slightly slumped. “You know, I could just unpack myself.” He offered, but she shook her head.

“No. You had to pack all of this up already. We need a break.” Lex told him, dramatically flopping back on the bed.

“What if we went out?” Ethan suggested.

Lex lit up a bit, “Sure. I could call Hannah’s babysitter and we could go to Beanies or something.”

Ethan was actually suggesting that they go out and bring Hannah along, but once again he was happy with what Lex was suggesting. He decided to just nod and lay back on the bed with her. He needed a moment just to relax.

He felt a bit lighter when Lex moved to hold his hand. He continued to stare at the ceiling, making pictures from the uneven surface. He let his shoulders completely relax and he closed his eyes for a moment. He wanted to stay there forever. When he was with her, things felt right. Not as bad as they really were.

They stayed like that for a while, neither wanting to move. Ethan was almost ready to fall asleep when he felt a shift. He turned his head and found his nose almost touching Lex’s. She had a soft smile on as they made eye contact.

Ethan slowly moved to kiss her, giving her time and means to stop him. She didn’t. Instead she closed her eyes and kissed him back. As they went, Ethan slowly moved his hand to cradle her neck.

Lex was the one to pull away. Ethan opened his eyes and saw Lex smiling at him. “I’m going to call Hannah’s babysitter now.”

“Okay.”

Lex smiled as she got up and went… somewhere to get her phone. Ethan took a moment when he sat up to keep the fuzzy feeling in his chest for a bit longer. He was surprised that it had taken him so long to kiss her.

When Lex came back into the room after about twenty minutes, she had changed as well. Her hair was neat and she had a long sleeved black dress on. Ethan had trouble keeping his eyes off of her.

“So Grace should be here in like, ten minutes. I told her to feed your cat if we’re out past ten. Is that cool?”

Ethan just nodded. His mouth was dry. If he tried to speak, he would just end up embarrassing himself. He chose silence and a thumbs up.

Lex snorted and grabbed his hand, pulling him to stand up. He followed her into the front room, where Hannah was still playing with Greg. The feline was purring loudly as Hannah pet him. He was also wearing a cowboy hat that looked like it had belonged to a stuffed toy before Greg entered the house.

Lex sat next to Hannah, her face softening. “Hey Banana.”

“Hey.”

“Ethan and I are going to go out for a bit. Grace is coming over to watch you. Is that okay?” Her voice was soft and motherly.

Hannah nodded with a shy smile, then quickly smiled at Ethan. He gave her a smile back and walked over, sitting next to Lex.

Soon enough, there was a knock on the door. Hannah walked over and opened the door. A consertive looking girl was standing at the door, holding a bag filled with what seemed to be board games and activities for Hannah.

Ethan looked at her and noticed her arm with just a small heart tattooed on it. It was cute, something he had seen other soulmates do. Maybe one day he would do the same, but for Lex. If he could gather the courage to go into her shop for a tattoo.

Probably not anytime soon.

Lex talked to Grace, telling her that her and Ethan most likely wouldn’t be back until after Hannah’s bed time. She was told that she could leave after midnight, since Hannah didn’t wake up after midnight most nights.

Grace informed Lex that she was making Hannah chicken nuggets and tater tots for dinner, and then Lex was grabbing Ethan’s hand and pulling him outside. He called a quick goodbye to Hannah before she shut and locked the door.

“So, where do you want to go? Now that my truck can drive more than three miles without breaking down the world is our limit.” Lex smiled at that.

“Let’s splurge then. I have a little cash tucked away, and you’ve had a rough few months. I say we go to the Red Lobster near the edge of town.” She suggested, and Ethan nodded. It sounded nice and fancy.

Ethan opened the car door for her, and she laughed at him. He loved her laugh. It was loud and sharp and real. It was better than music. Ethan wanted to make her laugh forever.

He climbed in and turned the key. The struck sputtered to life and he started the thirty minute drive. Lex was the one to turn on the radio, classic rock then coming through the shitty speakers of the truck.

When they arrived, Ethan decided to hold Lex’s hand as they walked in. She didn’t pull away, so he considered it a win. Instead, she gave him one of the warmest smiles he had ever seen. He felt his insides get that warm and calming feeling once again.

They walked in and were led to a booth. Ethan sat across from Lex and gave her an awkward smile. He took the menus from the hostess and looked down to distract himself. He already knew that he was going to get the lobster bisque. It was what he always ordered.

He thought about the last time he was eating out. It was on a date in high school. Danny had brought him to the Red Lobster in Hatchet Field. He got the lobster bisque and Danny got the shrimp tacos. It was the night Ethan learned he was allergic to shrimp but not lobster. It was an odd and awkward trip to the hospital.

He looked up when Lex started talking. She went on about how glad she was to be able to have a night out. Things had apparently been more hectic in the parlor, business booming for some reason.

He leaned on his hand and listened to her. He was happy that she was doing so well. He knew that if he was ever going to get a tattoo, she’d be the one to give it to him. He’d seen a few works of her art, and they were all amazing.

“So, do you have any tattoos?” He asked.

“Oh! Yeah. Quite a few actually. Hannah drew one on my arm, and I’ve done the rest. I’ll have to show them to you sometime.” She smiled. “What about you? I’ve seen the tip of one on your arm.” She pointed out.

“Well… they’re my soulmate’s.” He blushed and looked down. Usually when his soulmate came up, dates became awkward. But Lex just shrugged and smiled.

“That’s fine. My soulmate and I agreed that we can see other people.”

“Mine too.”

They smiled at each other, neither connecting any dots in the world. They just sat at the table and waited for the waitress.

Soon enough she came, and took their order. Ethan silently thanked god when Lex got the salmon, glad he would at least be able to kiss her again without going into shock.

They continued soft conversation as they waited for their food.

“So, how are things down at Beanies?”

“They fucking suck. I thought working at Ihop in high school was bad? Every day at least one asshole tips just to embarrass me.” Ethan complained.

“Maybe they just like your voice. I think you sound amazing when you sing.” She held his hand.

“When have you heard me sing?” He furrowed his eyebrows.

“There may or may not be a video on the Beanie’s webpage.” Ethan could see her trying not to laugh. He groaned and put his head on the table.

He looked up as a new waitress came. He smiled, it was Emma. Who used to have his job. Who looked a hell of a lot happier than she ever had working at Beanies. He was jealous. She gave them their food without saying much.

Ethan dug in, basking in the bisque. He knew it was most likely frozen and just reheated when he ordered it, maybe even in a microwave. But damn, it was tasty. And with a few of those golden cheesy biscuits on the side. It made it the perfect date.

Ethan watched Lex eat her salmon and settled into the comfort that fell during the relative silence between the two of them. He smiled when Lex gave him the last biscuit. He swore that if he ever had to choose a last meal, this would be it.

Lex laughed at him when he voiced the thought. Her eyes lit up as she laughed, and Ethan was positive that his soulmate could never compare to her. He just wanted to be with her, always. He just wanted to spend all of his time with her.

He was pretty sure that she felt the same.

They continued talking over the food. While it was mostly small talk, it was enough to keep Ethan’s mind off of everything that had happened. He was almost completely distracted from the fact that all of his dreams had been crushed and he had a soul crushing job at a singing coffee shop.

When he caught himself spiraling, he pulled himself out of it. He shoved those feelings down and thanked Lex when she paid for their meal. Instead, he focused on how Lex seemed to be having a good time.

They walked out and climbed into Ethan’s old truck. It was past dark and getting late. Ethan was sure that only bars were open at that point. Lex turned on the radio. She turned to Ethan with a comfortable smile “Mind if I smoke?” She asked.

“Not a problem.” He replied.

She took a cigarette out of her bag and lit it. The rest of the drive was spent in a comfortable silence.

Ethan parked and the two of them got out at the apartment complex. Ethan walked up the stairs with her, and watched as Lex fumbled with the key.

She turned around and looked up at him. Her eyes were shining and her pupils were dilated. It left Ethan breathless.

“So are you going to kiss me or not?”

That was all it took. Ethan kissed her, and she took no time to kiss him back. In the back of his mind, Ethan noted that she tasted like cherries and smoke. It was something Ethan could get addicted to.

She opened the door and pulled him by his shirt inside. The door almost slammed shut, and Lex hardly remembered to lock it behind her. The two of them stumbled to their bedroom, not watching where they were going.

Lex pushed Ethan onto the bed, smiling down at his starry eyed expression. She straddled his lap and kissed him again. His hands found their way to her hips and she slipped a hand under his shirt.

Ethan pulled away and started kissing her neck. When he nipped, Lex couldn't help the sound that escaped her throat.

Ethan pulled away, “What about Hannah, what if she hears us?”

“As long as we’re quiet we’ll be fine. She’s a heavy sleeper.” Lex reassured him.

“And this, all of where this is going, this is okay?”

“Yes.”

Ethan smiled as he kissed her again. Lex didn’t hesitate pulling his shirt over his head as she kissed him again.

It was then that she saw his tattoos. Her tattoos. She pulled away.

“Oh my god.”

Ethan tilted his head like a confused puppy. He wasn’t sure what he had done, but Lex was looking at him with wide eyes. “Is everything okay?”

“Your tattoos…” She mumbled.

“I know, there’s a lot of them. Is it too much?”

Lex didn’t know what to do, so she moved her sleeve to show her shoulder. Ethan’s eyes widened, showing that he understood.

“Oh.”