#my blog is just an ongoing love letter to her

[etrevil]

hey!! I absolutely love the vibes of your blog! I’m getting into bungo stray dogs (or trying to :’) ) and since you seemingly write fics for it, do you have more recs?? I don’t really know what the main pairings are but I like to use fics as a way to see if I’ll like the fandom and pairs!! Thank you!!

you're making me crack my knuckles because DAMN AM I NOW EXCITED :DDD

terms used: bsd (bungou stray dogs), hp (harry potter), mha (my hero academia), soukoku (chuuya/dazai), shin soukoku (atsushi/akutagawa), chuuda (where chuuya tops), fyozai (dazai/fyodor), fyolai (fyodor/nikolai)

First and foremost is the widely beloved I Was Screaming Your Name Through The Radio by ElectricSplatter, which is just a rollercoaster of emotions that grip you by the throat. Do note that the chapters are hella long, but enjoyable. The relationships are fleshed out beautifully.

Magic and Mystery by Allegory_for_Hatred is also a good start because it's a bsd and hp crossover that's just, amazing. Had me up at 3am until I physically could not read. There's an ongoing sequel too!

wtf, since when are you married? by xxalwayssofia is a short, quick laugh that, for me, had one of the best characterization for soukoku. Sofia's stories in general (check her account!) have got the character's personality traits down with little creative liberties.

Ne Chuuya, won't you marry me? is another one by xxalwayssofia, and I die of laughter because of this on a daily basis.

Now, I may be mean for suggesting this, but this fic is a diamond found within a gold mine that will eventually end you up in jail because some rich dude probably owned it first. In summary, it hurts. Like a gunshot wound (wink wink to the readers). And that is Ruiner by gev_ao3 (rated the E-est of E's)! The long-awaited consequence chapter is already out for this one, so when you binge read it the ending will hopefully be satisfying. Just be aware this is incredibly graphic, psychological, and angst-filled to the brim.

I read If the Far Side Saw You by birbleh a considerable time ago, but it both pinches and caresses my heart all the same. I haven't anything else to say other than give it a chance.

Ice Queen by TheHighQueen is a great ongoing Dazai genderbend fic, that follows canon with interesting diverging road stops.

This Color Ain't It by justcallmedude has Kenji, our lovable super strength-powered farmer, as a main character! Crossover between bsd and mha with a dash of angst thrown here and there.

For a shin soukoku pairing fic, I'd suggest Fair Ankles by spirallings (rated E) and love knows no boundaries by dangodangomilk; fun, interesting stories that aren't that long, the latter's a oneshot and the former's ugh, just around 100k words :>

One of the first bsd fics I've read, which is with a fyozai pairing, is Letters from the Underground by ktaem! The writing style has its own refined edge, with the exploration of a what-if scenario that had me by hook, line, and sinker. This fic is still in my tab group because I always keep rereading it!

Now if we're entering the explicit territory, I will forever recommend my favorite series (pairing is chuuda btw) Ineffable Partners by Ch_ee_rios. The eighth installment is currently updating, and I promise, you will cry- or at least feel a significant gut punch.

Head Full of Lies by AbsoluteNegation, as my friend one said, is where the good shit's at. The premise had me instantly curious and soukoku's dynamic is wonderful, messy, and DAMN I LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH.

Mors Vincit Omnia by themadtree, an soukoku and fyolai fic that will have you bending over and dying of laughter and pain. The author's other works (akai!) are also very good.

The series all that is left by alaruya is a personal favorite of mine. The writing style is unique, with choppy sentences and tear-jerker lines. Was the first story that ever had me thinking, "god I need to bookmark this," and I did.

Bottom of The Deep Blue Sea by arkastadt is a filthy, guilty pleasure. (can you tell I'm an avid bottomzai reader?)

And that's it... I think? I'm also willing to suggest Leafing Through The Pages, I Found You by YunaYamiMouto, but letting you know it's an ongoing reaction fic of the bsd cast to Dazai's life (with the author's own creative choices and headcanons), so there will be a lot, and I mean a HECK TON of spoilers. Which, to be fair, the other fics do have in sprinkles, but this tackles novel events that maybe you'd wish to read at your own pace :D

also shameless plug I have my own fic, the heat of your orange, and I know there's only one chapter but I'm trying my best to update soon

Happy reading!

[little-peril-stories]

LPS: Blog (Re)Intro

Little Peril Stories | Kate | adult | she/her

Masterlists:

The Queen of Lies (ongoing): AU for The Prince of Thieves—sheltered, rich sad girl meets snarky criminal; chaos ensues; whumpy, Victorian forbidden love vibes with a side helping of angst and girl power

The Court of Rogues (work in progress): sequel to The Prince of Thieves; details to come 2024.

The Prince of Thieves (complete): guy and gal get arrested and tormented by super cool, totally normal constable while pals on the outside freak out and make bad decisions; fun 1800s prison vibes with a side helping of angst and chosen family

Blood Garnet (side WIP, low priority): girl gets lost in magic woods and gets chased by her hapless cousin and a grump hunter; awkward magic man tries to help; supernatural(ish) romantasy vibes with a side helping of angst and betrayal

Man of Letters (UNRESOLVED; part of Whumptober 2023): awkward scholar boi tries to save the girl he falls in love with and gets way more than he bargained for; light romantasy paired with heavy emo vibes, with a side of helping of angst and torture

Fen and Freddie (complete): gal gets kidnapped, dopey cinnamon roll with hopeless crush tries to rescue her and fails; vague superhero sci-fi vibes with a side helping of angst and pining

The Curiosity Collector (complete): sweet non-confrontational magic boy gets kidnapped and needs rescuing by bf and sis; witchy, autumnal vibes with a side helping of angst and falling in love

✨ Check out: OC & WIP extras (mood boards, lyrics inspo, tag game creations, and more!)

This is a whumpblr/writeblr space! Sometimes I’ll post/reblog writerly posts, memes, etc., but a lot of the posts/RBs will be about whump. I post original writing and reblog the work of others that I enjoy, gifs, tropes, prompts, and other such things.

I’m down with asks and tag games but may not respond right away. If I seem to ignore you, it’s not personal, it just means real life is taking priority at that moment.

I love comments and feedback on my writing and welcome them with open arms.

A note on age: I know I can’t actually stop you from accessing this blog, but I do not wish to interact with people under 18. It’s not personal, I’m sure you’re great, but it has everything to do with my job IRL. Please respect this boundary and come back on your 18th birthday.

Check out: My Most Common Tropes

My favourite elements of whump have to do with power dynamics, intimidation, dread, and angst. I love captivity-with-a-cause: kidnapping for ransom or as leverage over someone else, prison (in fantasy or historical settings, less so for modern settings though it’s not a hard rule), and the like. Fantasy presents so many creative versions of this trope, so I do love me some fantasy whump! It also gives lots of opportunity for dungeons, shackles, and other fun implements like that. Gratuitous tying or chaining up is always delightful to see. Pining, desperately trying to protect a loved one (…and failing), and self-sacrifice are other big tropes I love, so expect to see lots of those!

As for characters, I love it when they are as far as you can get from perfect, pure, and innocent—when they’re good enough people, but whose flawed or maybe even problematic decisions lead them into trouble. Always, always, I want my characters to have a hand in their own fates. Pure-hearted victims of the narrative who simply fall into a whumpy situation are cute and fun, but not what I tend to write.

A few odds and ends I’m such a sucker for, so you’ll probably find them in my writing:

Sibling relationships

Allusions to songs, books, folklore, and musicals

Nature and weather helping to set the scene (oh my goodness, how many times can I work snow into one story?)

If romance, either slow burn or instant attraction

…with a sprinkling of “huh, I don’t understand what I’m feeling, wtf is going on??”

‘In the nick of time’ rescues

Painfully awkward moments

Fluff and comfort, but only once they’ve really earned it

Almost kisses

Hard choices

Happy endings

You probably won’t find much gore or explicit noncon here, but there might be some elements of those in my stories or in reblogs. I don’t write BBU or pet whump.

My original “whumpy things I like” post can be found here.

Anyway, thanks for reading! 💕 Happy whumping!

[areacodefan]

Confession & Connection Time

I know many of us are shaken to the core about the sudden death of Lisa Marie.

I read the tribute from her friend who was also a grief counselor and in it, he wrote about Lisa dedicating herself to supporting other grieving parents, including their plans to do a podcast. It inspired me to go out of my comfort zone in her honor and in honor of that commitment.

I am tremendously upset by Lisa’s death and cannot stop thinking of Priscilla and bursting into tears. Because I know what it is to lose a daughter. My only child was killed in a wreck two decades ago and I have never been the same. I almost didn’t survive it and was fully incapacitated for many, many years. In the past few years I have been coming into a promising new phase of grief and life, one that is difficult to navigate but one for which I am grateful. But any time I hear of a parent losing a child — whether it’s someone I know personally or not — it affects me tremendously. School shootings and celebrity deaths can be just as upsetting for me as for someone I know, albeit shorter lived since someone I do not know is not connected to me daily. But the universality is still there. Only other parents whose children have died know the suffering when their child is gone before them, regardless of circumstances and regardless of age.

Sadly, ironically, this is why I blurred out the letter I wrote for Elvis’s birthday when I posted it. After thanking him for his life and talent, I asked Elvis to hug my little girl for me. I think we all know he of course would do that. It’s making me cry again to write this now, imagining him scooping up my precious sweetheart (she was only 8) in his fatherly arms. I also asked him to find my mom and to tell them both I feel them with me always. As sensitive and kind as everyone is in our fandom, it felt too personal and vulnerable to share these details among a cyber community.

But here we are now. Lisa is dead. Priscilla’s heart is shattered. The family is devastated. The Elvis film family is floored. And the world is in shock. And I imagine that Austin is grieving in a strange and unique way, having come to love her as a “daughter” through his character work but also by feeling a maternal bond from her as well after they met. I acknowledge my thoughts about Austin are speculation on my part and I do not want to suggest I actually know what he is feeling. I don’t want to disrespect him with a formal assumption. Only to share that these thoughts and feelings have bubbled up for me by way of concern for his tender soul, whether or not they are accurate, and I’m sad for him, too.

Personally I must and do believe Lisa is in her father’s loving and long-awaited embrace and that she is also reunited with her beloved son. I know that I long for the day I will be with my daughter again on the same energetic plane — even though I connect to her constantly across the ethers. It was, in fact, that intense pull to be with her that made my life so precarious for so long after her death. And something I deeply understood about Lisa when she referred to how hard it was for her without Benjamin, including her intense feelings of guilt.

I decided to post this in case there are any others in the fandom who have survived a child and who need the extra support & understanding that a fellow bereaved parent shares. Also, after seeing Mel make a post about caring for ourselves and each other, and the many other anguished tributes that are showing up in my blog. Amongst the many posts I have spotted a few comments, tags, and reblogs that have the resonance of someone who knows a parent’s grief. So just in case someone else here is facing that, too, and in honor of Lisa, I decided to bare my soul.

Please feel free to comment, reblog, DM, or send me an ask. In between my own self care (which includes pacing myself on social media), I am also in ongoing recovery from a recent hospitalization, which is a factor in the amount of time I’m on tumblr right now. Otherwise I am available and at your service in compassion and solidarity.

I want to acknowledge a few of my fandom anchors @karamelcoveredolicity @ash-omalley @troubleinapinksuit @burninlovebutler @succsessions and everyone else who is posting, caring, sharing, and hurting. To any other bereaved parents, we know there are no words that adequately convey our experience. We only have the recognition and companionship of one another as fellow travelers on a journey we never, ever imagined we would be forced to take.

Love,

MJ

[7grandmel]

Todays rip: 11/11/2023

Your Silent Reality

Season 2 Featured on: SiIvaGunner's Highest Quality Rips Volume A

Ripped by Ahmaykmewsik

Birthday Special!

Yep, its the big day - 11/11th is the day I was brought into the world, and now I'm yet another year older. And I was thinking about this in the context of the blog for a very long time - I really wanted to make this day somewhat special too, by highlighting a particular rip that means a lot to me. Or, well, that was the thought I had back in like, July this year. With close to two hundred posts, I've already been drip-feeding the blog with some of my all-time favorite, most resonant rips from the channel's life. From Battle! The Trainer Inside Your Head!, to Everybody's Special Course, to The 0 Has Returned and A love letter to this wonderful community and my amazing friends - to not even mention everything connected to the Christmas Comeback Crisis such as voiceless and 時の回廊 ＜ver. CCC＞. The amount of times SiIvaGunner has touched my heart and rewarded me for my time invested in such a silly project is frankly incredible, and I've shared many of those feelings with you here already.

Yet one remains. Your Silent Reality.

To say that A Silent Voice was a film that broke me would be an understatement. It to date remains one of my all time favorite films and my first time watching it, I cried more than I believe I ever have in my life. To date I still have yet to rewatch it purely because of how dearly I hold those memories of that initial viewing, how much it meant to be to be able to be so openly emotionally connected to art. Instead of rewatches, its Your Silent Reality that's kept my mind still thinking of the film - a rip that has touched me, and seemingly thousands of other viewers, to their core. Its release in Season 2 just so happened to be at the absolute perfect time for me, and its been my go-to therapy music for every year since.

I feel like Ahmaykmewsik may be a contender for the most underrated ripper on the entire channel? The guy has been around for a very long time, and I've covered his rips here on the blog before with Everything Circus and Picture This Ranch - he's a ripper with an excellent attention to detail, and in general knows how to make stuff emotionally resonant. There's a number of his rips coming up in the pipeline, but Your Silent Reality is obviously no exception to the rule. In describing it as a mashup between Your Reality from DDLC and music from A Silent Voice, and a six-year old rip at this point, you may initially get the impression that it'd be a rather simple effort. But in listening, I get the sense that Ahmaykmewsik himself knew how important the music he was arranging here was, likely even due to personal experience - and went above and beyond in delivering that premise. Small little edits and tweaks are done to the rip's instrumentals, changing in and out of melody changes to other, well-loved songs by the SiIvaGunner fanbase, be it music from Undertale or a cue of Snow Halation - yet it never interrupts the ongoing vocal performance, the heartfelt ending to Doki Doki Literature Club.

Though I've fallen out of interest with the game at this point, back in 2017 the game was yet another game I found it hard to divorce my feelings from - its music and characters do genuinely mean a lot to me. DDLC - most notably Monika - had a rather large presence on SiIva during Season 2 and Season 3, though I believe the plans for her importance to the lore...eventually fell through. Yet that's not something I mourn - in fact, in a way I think it adds to the spirit and feel of the rip as a whole. That knowledge, and the knowledge of everything that would happen to the SiIvaGunner channel over the six years that passed since Your Silent Reality was uploaded, serves to remind me of one very simple fact:

The SiIvaGunner team are, just like us - human.

A non-profit, passionate group of hobbyists, with a silly plan for a storyline, organized within a bunch of different minds, a bunch of different creatives with differing goals for the channel. And amidst it all, sits Ahmaykmewsik - another human, another individual, who just so happens to love A Silent Voice. And though the lore and foreshadowing and all such greater plans for Monika and DDLC seemingly amounted to nothing...Your Silent Reality didn't. In fact, NONE of the rips paying tribute to DDLC did - Your Silent Reality may be my favorite, yet I'm certain you reading this have your own favorite rip of the game, or favorite rip of another game - rips all made from the burning passion of individuals the world over making music. And in all honesty, as borderline fanboy-ish as it sounds, I find it hard to be truly upset with whatever direction the SiIvaGunner channel takes when I know its all for the benefit and strength of its team of immensely talented, fellow human beings.

There's a YouTube comment, left on Your Silent Reality in particular, that I vividly remember reading back when the video was first uploaded six-odd years ago. Part of the kayfabe with the SiIvaGunner channel is that its an entity that rarely if ever directly interacts with us as fans - our gratitude is reciprocated through indirect action, or through dialogue with individual rippers, yet SiIvaGunner himself is an entity so large and all-encompassing to where it would feel...wrong, to have it interact with us as people. The only interaction it usually has with the comments is with a track's original composers discovering and approving of rips - yet this time, a Heart was awarded to just another comment, by just another human. Yet NexusPlayerNA's comment resonated with an entire community, saying the silent, heartfelt feelings we'd all had bubbling internally out loud: Its 267 words of pure, unfiltered love and gratitude toward everything SiIvaGunner does. Because behind all the memes, behind all the shitposts and behind all the demands, requests and disappointments we may express toward the SiIvaGunner team - I think many of us are simply grateful for all that they've done. What was once a mere gimmick playing off of Vinesauce memes has evolved into a magical network of human expression, a place for artists to grow and connect with one another - and a place for humanity to be expressed within the confines of remixed video game music.

"Godspeed, you magnificent bastards. I hope you never stop finding fulfillment in everything you do, because I always will."

[cboffshore]

Hi there - I'm Lila!

I've been here for a while, but I'm just now realizing I never did a pinned post with All Of The Essential Info. So, before I go do something else and forget, here's the (pretty long) 411!

You can call me by the pseudonym Lila (or, to be extra fancy, the full pseuds: Lila Almondpetal) wherever you bump into me online. In terms of finding me, my @ is @cboffshore for here, Twitter, and Discord. I'm also on AO3 under OffshoreWriter. (If you're wondering what the "cb" in there stands for: those letters were on clearance at the Username Parts Store and I blew the rest of the budget on "offshore," so they don't really mean anything, but it's a nice rhythm overall!)

You'll learn pretty quick that my primary fandom is Ninjago. However, I've also got other media interests that you'll see me dabble in: Bionicle, bands like My Chemical Romance, IDKHOW, and Fall Out Boy, Pixie Hollow/Disney Fairies (yes to the fairies bit but no to the Disney), The Umbrella Academy, and probably some others I'm forgetting. Besides the Skybound Analysis PhD (more on that in a bit), my only real fandom claim to fame is apparently inventing the Ninjago Couture genre; check out the tag #ninjago couture on my blog for examples of that. I also dabble in grade-A shitposting, although that's more of a Twitter thing. The tag #analysis freak Lila back on her bullshit is a good one if you enjoy it when people read too far into things.

Back to the Skybound Analysis PhD thing: that's definitely a thing I put in all my bios! Whether or not it's from a credentialed institution is up to you, but it means that if you like funky, canon-based takes on Skybound, you're in the right place! I do a lot of stuff related to Skybound, but here are some guided recs of my favorite projects:

If you like high fashion and symbolism, try this half-art, half-essay series analyzing Nadakhan's psychological state and desires through couture remixes of seasonal outfits.

If you like extended metaphors and bittersweet criticisms of massively popular works, you'll like this academic-turned-artistic two-part essay about how I feel about the concerning trend of gratuitous SA in the Skybound fic scene. Please be forewarned that this is a vent essay, not an attack; I've had people miss the disclaimers before and it's never fun. If for any reason you'd like to cite it or build on my ideas, let me know in advance - mostly so I'm not blindsided, but also because I want to see what you come up with!

If you think Nya should have been allowed to beat up Nadakhan at least once, you'll love my ongoing AO3 series On Sea, Sunlight, and Sky, which concerns Nya's experience during the second half of Skybound. The beating up here is more emotional than physical, but whatever brings him down a notch is good enough for her. As of late 2023, this gets a shiny new installment every December; this year's, "If I Can Think (Of Something Clever)," is complete, clocking in at over 30k!

[gotstabbedbyapen]

A Welcome Letter

Greetings to whoever is reading this,

I am known as The Pen, death by being Caesar'd with pens, and the owner of this Tumblr blog. Yes, “The Pen” is not my real name - it was just one of my pseudonyms. But nobody needs to know my real name and my other pseudonyms :)

Anyway, now that you have stumbled upon here and wanted to know what to expect from me, here are some things you can jot down!

1. I am an everything enthusiast.

This is a fancy way to say that my content is very inconsistent. Most of the time, I brainrot over Greek gods and heroes and everything in between, especially Apollo and Hyacinthus. I'm also interested in other mythology or non-mythology topics, which you'll come to see.

Yes, I am a certified weird kid in real life. I always pay attention to the wrong things and want a place to scream about what I've learned. You might be side-glancing me right now, but I can't see you through the screen, so that's fine!

But my hyperfixation of something does not make me an expert. Everything you see on my blog should only prompt you to learn more about the “new thing” I just discovered, not accept it as a fact right away. I might be wrong. I might be missing something. I have a lot to dig through, and so do you.

2. I am a professional shitposter.

If the discoveries are too complicated and must be written in an essay with the 1000 words minimum to fully explain them, fear not!

I cannot write lengthy analyses without my pea-size brain exploding, so I will make them into memes to be more digestible. Please don't judge me! I am very uncultured and have a cringy taste.

Other than that, I will be writing incorrect quotes, doodling fanarts, and cooking other shitposts and shenanigans for no reason at all!

3. I am an amateur writer.

If the incorrect quotes are too long, I will write them into oneshots, long stories, or even series. English is not my first language, so my grammar and wording can be weird. I'm trying to improve them, but I guarantee nothing.

All my works are on Archive Of Our Own, and my account is GotStabbedByAPen. If you are interested, here are some of my Greek Mythology works!

Spin The Wheel - What are we having today? [ALWAYS ONGOING] A collection of oneshots I wrote about my favorite characters and relationships.

I'm Starving For Hyapollo Content [ALWAYS ONGOING] A collection series of my Apollo x Hyacinthus works, ranging from oneshots to longfics.

To Do What Is Right [COMPLETED] A Blood Of Zeus fanfiction, told from the perspective of Iris, goddess of rainbows and Hera's messenger.

Have A Word [COMPLETED] A oneshot featuring Zeus and Persephone, where the father and daughter talk things out about her marriage.

Hyacinthus Appreciation Week [ONGOING] I wrote seven short stories in seven days as an appreciation act for our Spartan prince and his loved ones.

You Charmed A God - And He Fell [COMPLETED] A Poseidon x Nerites fanfiction I wrote in English and Vietnamese. You can find both versions in here.

That is all you need to know for now. Whether my blog is educational or entertaining or neither is up to you to decide. I still hope you have a good time here!

Thanks for sticking to the end. Don't forget to stay safe, stay sane, and keep making the good stuff!

Love you all,

The Pen

[cloakedsparrow]

Hi. This blog looks cool. How do I get into the bat family? I've looked at some stuff online but I didn't really understand and read some of the Wayne family adventures but I don't really know what order I should read the comics into.

Thanks @thisisbjustmehyperfixating! That really depends on what era/continuity you're intrtested in. There are a few distict different ones (although they do all tie together to some degree). I mostly read New Earth/Post-Crisis era stuff. Wayne Family Adventures isn't a good jumping on point for the comics as it seems geared more toward fandom fans than comic fans and doesn't seem to follow any canon continuity/characterization, from what I've seen.

There's a four part story called Batman: Year Three (Batman issues #436-439), which I think is a good jumping on point for New Earth bat family, as it introduces Dick/Robin while also showing some of Bruce's early Bat career.

Batman: The Cult is a really interesting story wherein Batman loses before the big win and Jason (as Robin) picks up the slack. Then, Batman #424 & #425 showcases Bruce & Jason's issues that lead to Batman: A Death in the Family (Batman #426-429).

The Mud Pack story (Detective Comics #604-607) showcases Bruce's headspace after Jason's death well and is a good read before Tim's introduction, I think.

Batman: A Lonely Place of Dying (Batman: #140-142 & The New Titans #60 &61) introduces Tim and really kicks off the bat family as it's generally known today.

Batman Annual #13 (1989) shows how Alfred ended up helping to shape Batman and why he stayed after Bruce started his crusade. It also shows that JASON was in fact the first Robin to wear pants and has some nice moments with Babs & Commissioner Gordon.

Batman #456 & 457 really kicks off Tim's Robin run. His first three mini series introduce a lot of great characters (I personally love Huntress) and concepts, too. They're collected in the trades Robin: Tragedy & Triumph and Robin: A Hero Reborn. The latter also has Batman #456 & 457 in it, so it's a good deal.

I'm personally a big fan of Batman: Dark Victory and Batman: Haunted Knight. I just love the way the Rogues are used in those stories.

Nightwing: Alfred's Return is a good story that focuses on those two named characters without Batman's immediate presence.

Batman: Son of the Demon (1987) showcases the relationship between Bruce and Talia nicely, gives some much needed history on her, and includes the original story of how they had a child together.

Batgirl #1-6 (2000) are packed full of information on Cassndra; they cover her background with David Cain, her language barrier, her fighting prowless and reason for fighting, as well as showing her relationships with Babs and Bruce.

I cannot reccomend the first 20-30 issues of Batman: Gotham Knights (2000) enough for bat family content. Several of the early issues include journal enteries or letters written by members of the family to showcase their feelings/relationships in a way they wouldn't otherwise express them. The story with Hugo Strange is peak Dick & Tim bat brother bonding. The issue with Cassandra really shows how alike she and Bruce are. You have issues that showcase Babs' relatipnship with some of the bats and ones that cover the Dick & Slade weirdness.

Red Hood: The Lost Days and Batman: Death and the Maidens take place before Batman: Under the Red Hood and I feel are really needed to understand Jason and Talia's side of the story, as UtRH is (understandably, since the story was first published in the Batman ongoing) very Batman focused.

I'm going to leave that here for now as it's getting a bit long and mobile is being a pain. Hopefully that gives you an idea of where to start looking for the stuff you see here on my blog. ^_^

[analog-mothman]

Spotted On Sixam

Listen, earlier this week was rough, and mistakes were made.

I could have been reasonable and just deleted all of the old posts off of my old blog, but there was a lot of baggage with it and low key the girl who started it kind of sucked and was going through some things.

But we're all about self-growth here and sometimes self-growth is deleting your Tumblr account in the middle of an ongoing panic attack because someone said mean things and honestly it's Tumblr's fault for being such an easy social media to delete; we love that for her.

j/k

But seriously. I'm sorry for disappearing, but no real ragrets™ except for I kind of like this hellsite actually.

I'm going to take the next week or so to recoup and go through the content I made; sort what's worthy of relinking and what I will officially disown to a SFS folder like most of my clay hairs ew.

I'm not sure how active I'm going to be here. I'm sorting out if I want to use the main blog for my sims shit or confine it to a side blog and just be a hot mess over here. I'll figure it out.

Also, feel free to still tag old cc @spottedonsixam. That's still technically me; my husband is the best and most supportive partner and saved the url if I wanted it back. But I think new blog, new me.

I'm sorry if I worried anyone. Not gonna lie, I worried myself. But once I'm feeling better, I think I'm going to take this as a fresh start to try to get more engaged in the community.

I joined Simblr originally as a distraction for a lot of things going on in my personal life, so my old blog held a lot of resulting baggage. And idk if I'm going to allow anon asks for a while.

Anyway, I'm done rambling. I dunno if I should sign this like a letter or not.

Eh fuck it,

Nykteia

[bonvoyagenoona]

A Map of Mrs. Kims | KSJ, KNJ, KTH | North: 03

🧭 Fic Masterpost and Schedule 🧭

Chapter Pairings: Taehyung x female OC; Bongseon x Jihu (that’s right, we’ve got another taste of smut goin’ on)

Chapter Rating: 18+ | Explicit | Mature

Word Count: 13k | read on ao3

Series Synopsis: Mrs. Kim is tired of being accosted in the grocery store, at her art class, and even in the country club restroom about her three incredibly gorgeous but stubbornly single sons. So many women are vying for a spot on Jin, Namjoon, and Taehyung’s arms, but these three boys are dead set against settling down. Hopefully, Mrs. Kim’s trusty map of the city’s fourteen top bachelorettes will finally guide them to true love.

Genres | Content Warnings | Themes: Kim line as brothers, slice of life, family drama, enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers, unrequited love, fluff, angst, smut (food play, oral sex, vaginal sex)

Author’s Note: This is my love letter to our funny, sweet, and heartwarming ARMY, and it is particularly dedicated to all of you who have been so kind and generous with your time, your laughs, your feels, and your own beautiful stories! You can read the original ask that prompted the idea, check out the asks and snippets that have followed, and follow #amomk to check out all the still-ongoing asks / snippets / drabbles!

Taglist (italics mean I couldn’t tag but will get you the fic!): @acertifiedhoe​ @acsycharm​ @afangirllikeme-blog​ @apprentlyeveryusernameistaken​ @arandomcyborgsayshi​ @awinkies​ @babycoffeefire​ @bluejin0812​ @btseditsworld​ @codeinebelle​ @dearbambideer​ @downbad4yoongi​ @dreamamubarak​ @ducksflysblog​ @dvalitaes​ @effielumiere​ @elyte​ @emmmui​ @firesighgirl​ @greezenini​ @helenazbmrskai​ @hobiiiiiworld​ @imaginativedreams​ @jimcartop​ @jkkit​ @kflixnet​ @lynnloveslokiredacted​ @m-yg93​ @miffy1997​ @miscelunaaa​ @missbickerbocker​ @mochilatae​ @morti13​ @pb-n-juju​ @purpleheartsfortae​ @purpuravm​ @qhuedie21​ @raplinesmoon-main​ @reliablemittenmain​ @rurugoeson​ @shina913​ @skyys-universe​ @somewhereofftheglobe​ @sumzysworld​ @sunnietee​ @svgahigh​ @takaiko​ @tryagain-84 @yuugehn​

Yoongi grimaces at the inefficacy of this 1-ply piece of paper in getting all of the sticky, maple icing out from the corners of his lips. He means well, but his eyebrows are tight and stitched together when he asks, “How was it?”

Namjoon shrugs, content with letting doughnut crumbs fall where they may. It’s Friday, anyway.

He grins, but it’s just a one-dimple grin.

“Ah, maybe the next one will be better,” Yoongi mutters, taking another hungry bite. “And you’ve got, what, at least two or so dates after that, right?”

“Yeah.” 

Both of them stare out at the wisps of cadet blue slowly starting to etch themselves into the sky as they sip their iced coffees in silence, perched side by side on the hood of Yoongi’s mid-level sedan, which is parked in its usual place and highly coveted spot, over by the side exit, just by the band hall.

Yoongi’s left boot heel slips a little on the bumper. When he readjusts, he looks left to see Namjoon chewing his bite of doughnut very slowly. Effortfully. Jaw flexing and releasing way more than it needs to. As if speaking aloud the words that are forming in Namjoon’s racing brain.

“Was she… mean?” Yoongi asks.

Namjoon lets whatever thought he was crafting fall away like his crumbs.

“Actually,” he says, icing flying out of his mouth as he smiles again and turns to face Yoongi, “she was really nice. And really smart.”

“Hmm. Nice and smart.”

“I mean, who doesn’t like nice and smart?” 

“Apparently, you,” Yoongi jokes, smirking and taking another sip of coffee. 

Yoongi watches as Namjoon sets down the rest of his Boston cream doughnut in the box and closes the lid, placing the box between them and looking back out at the sky.

Yoongi nods while he presses his tongue against the edge of his straw, taking a quick gulp as the rising column of liquid gets pinched off and slides back down into the rest of his drink. He licks his sweet lips and swirls his ice.

“Was she nice and smart?”

Namjoon turns to Yoongi. His chin wrinkles, and his brows rise in question.

“The Sadness Girl?” Yoongi tries. 

Namjoon laughs.

Normally, he has three distinct laughs. 

And Yoongi pairs them with situations like a sommelier pairs wine with food. 

Yoongi’s favorite is Namjoon’s oldest laugh. The laugh that probably burst forth from him when he was a baby. The laugh encoded by his genes. It’s his truest laugh. Not that Namjoon has a fake laugh, really. Honest, and showy, arguably to a fault, with his emotions, Namjoon could never disguise something as wonderful as joy. So, in that vein of honesty, it should be labeled as Namjoon’s completely unencumbered laugh — which, despite every attempt to look away, cover his face, and redirect its energy out of other people’s faces — completely trumpets out of Namjoon’s wide-open mouth in all directions, quickly filling the air with musky, buoyant, balsam notes of cedar and winter berries. It’s full. It echoes. A real chortle. And he chortles when he’s caught off-guard, but pleasantly surprised that he’s also kind of right about something. It pairs exceptionally well with finger pointing, “I knew it!”s, and “I told you so!”s. 

There’s also Namjoon’s giggle. Like gears that stick a bit. The sound of a ratchet adjusting a bolt. Metallic. Grinding. Shorter spurts, forced through his pinched throat, hovering teeth, and two-( always two-)dimpled smile, more air and spit than voice. It’s percussive. Quick. Kekeke. It doesn’t last long. All treble and mid-tones, zero bass. It’s meant to dart through conversation, zipping things up to make sure that everyone safely gets to the next topic. His nostrils flare when his giggle comes out. It needs more air to push it through. It pairs well with his look of momentary confusion, the top of the bridge of his nose caving in a bit as it strains under slight worry, until he can see the rest of the conversation through.

There’s even Namjoon’s sheepish, high-pitched, sing-song, tee-hee. Soprano and sweet. Like a moscato. A dessert wine of a laugh, let out at the end of a highly satisfied meal of his favorite things. An inadvertent, shared look with Taehyung when losing his turn at a hand game in the backseat of a long, long drive. A muttered, impatient joke that slips from his Jin-hyung’s lips as they help their Appa check the foundation of the front porch swing every fall. When an annoyed Yoongi stands his ground during weekly department meetings about the disappointing size of the tangerines in the cafeteria. It even has citrus notes itself. It pairs well with his chin rising, a quick, backward thrust of his head, and squinched eyes. Fond. Like when he spots something tiny, adorable, and cute.

But this laugh?

It’s different. 

It’s not even really a laugh. It’s more of a punctuation mark. One of those abstract ones that was ahead of its time, like the interrobang, intended to try to convey something that everyone knows and feels, but can’t quite describe, and can kind of already express in other ways. Just as his jaw had been working at imaginary words, so too does this laugh work at the prospect of something being funny but not… quite. It’s low. Barely perceptible. Almost nonexistent. A hush. Something finished before starting. A punctuation mark at the end of no sentence.

Yoongi notes that it pairs well with wide, glistening eyes that are so black that they almost seem blue.

“They told you about her, huh?” Namjoon asks, turning his black-blue eyes out to the cadet blue sky, like the good soldier that he is.

Yoongi stares at him for a moment, pupils unwavering. And then, he crams the rest of his doughnut in his mouth, giving up on the tissue-thin napkins that have all but dissolved, choosing to wipe his hands on his pants instead, and stretching backwards, palms and fingers spreading across the cool, red metal, a little wet with some reformed dew. 

Through hastily chewed doughnut fluff, Yoongi says, “Ma did, actually.”

“Eomma? Really?”

“Yeah. Last time I came for dinner.” Yoongi swallows. “She cornered me by the bathroom next to her studio.”

“That’s why we never use that one.”

“Well, she asked me if you were secretly seeing anyone, and I said, ‘Since when has Namjoon been able to keep anything a secret?’”

Namjoon scoffs.

“Obviously,” Yoongi goes on, reaching for his iced coffee, “I told her no. And then she told me to encourage you to take a look at the version of the map that she had at the time. She said the top picks in your candidates all had Sadness Girl qualities.”

“Sad Girl.”

“Mm?”

“Just Sad Girl.” Namjoon shrugs. “And you don’t have to call her that.”

“Oh, then, what was her na—”

“You don’t have to call her anything.” 

Namjoon glances over at Yoongi to see how the sentence lands. He always forgets that he doesn’t have to do that with Yoongi. Yoongi always understands, and he shows so with a series of slow, wavy Yoongi nods that pair well with a contemplative lick of his lips. 

Yoongi smirks. “She was also trying to give me the most updated version of her application form for my own map.”

Namjoon’s eyes brighten with just a bit of gold. “You should take her up on it! She’s really systematic in her approach— We could go through this madness together!”

“Don’t you already have brothers for that?”

“So then all the brothers would finally be in on this,” Namjoon points out. “If anything, it’d be a great story! Y’know, ‘Hey, Yoongi, remember the time eomma helped you find your soulmate?’”

Yoongi’s shoulders sink. Not out of embarrassment. They sink because, around the Kims, he can actually relax. 

But then he spots something that reminds him that they need to get on with their day.

Hopping off the hood, Yoongi says, “This is y’all’s story. Not mine.”

Namjoon smiles. “If it’s ours, then it’s a little bit yours.”

Yoongi chuckles as he throws open the driver door, quick to throw the flimsy box with its flimsy napkins in his seat.

“C’mon. We’ve gotta go.”

“But—”

“Bro, get the lead out of your big, goofy feet — I’m trying to help you here.”

Namjoon frowns. “Help me? Help me with what?” 

“Yoongles!”

The sound of a new voice pairs well with a thin streak of pink starting to thread through faint, white clouds starting to wake and fluff together for the day.

When Yoongi sighs in annoyance, he almost blows them away.

“Yoongles, I know that’s your car, and I brought the maple—”

The figure stops in her tracks. Namjoon can just make out her arms falling to her sides. Something seems to topple to the ground. Another box of doughnuts? The logo looks so similar.

“Is that…” Namjoon blanks on the name. “She teaches those seminars for the gifted kids? There’s, like, a physics one? Wait, is it physics? I know it’s something with a P—”

“Like I said,” Yoongi says, nearly halfway to the school’s entrance as more and more of the faculty’s cars pull into the parking lot, “I’m trying to help you here. Let’s get inside before the parents start to queue up for drop-off.”

Namjoon scrambles off the hood of Yoongi’s car, grabbing his half-full iced coffee and clutching the strap of his messenger bag resting at his chest.

 “Yeah, some kind of stomach flu,” Jin replies.

He listens as his boss’s pleading voice drones on in the back of his head, but his attention is paid in full to the words on his screen. 

“Bit of a fever,” he reads. “Some cramping. I think it’s some bad seafood that I ate.” His boss’s voice is only getting stronger until he reads, “Diarrhea! Loads and loads of diarrhea.” 

He swivels his desk chair around and stares out the window. 

“I don’t know about you, sir, but I’ve never had it this bad before. Honestly, like, I had to use an app to order some cleaning supplies because I haven’t been able to get off my toilet — let alone out of my apartment! — long enough to shop for my—”

His boss’s words start decreasing. Decreasing in count. Decreasing in fervor. Decreasing in demand to rethink taking one measly day off. Jin has only worked for one company, and he’s banked nearly 365 of them during his stellar tenure.

“Thanks for being so understanding,” Jin says, voice sweet but eyes rolling, “I really appreciate your kindness during my, uh—” 

How should he phrase it? 

“Time of, um, need.”

Just a few, short words later, Jin puffs out his cheeks and triumphantly blows out some air at the sound of his boss disconnecting from the call.

It’s frustrating to call for a day off when his mind is still technically working. It’s just working at something else entirely.

He pulls up his dear eomma’s map. Smirks at how he can hear her voice narrating each aspect in sing-song during family dinner earlier that week. Even though he won’t go through with any of this, not for real, he has to admit that it’s nice to see his eomma so well-intentionally passionate about something again.

Three down, and eleven to go. 

He isn’t sure about the first (he’ll wait for Namjoon’s sappy playback later), and he’s already said goodbye to the second, with an egg white omelet, some back and forth about when they’re going to see each other again (they won’t), and one last kiss on Kamou’s sweet lips.  

But it’s the number 13 that still weighs on his mind. 

He drags the window of his eomma’s email to the left and snaps it to lock. Then, he clicks on a new tab and drags it to the right, doing the same. He smiles as the corners adjust automatically. It’s so satisfying when things just do what they’re supposed to do.

In the new tab, Jin looks up the old Camp Kanu website, wondering if there would be any photos from his time there. 

Their time there.

It stings a little that he finds them in the Archives section of the site.

She looks the same.

Jin wonders if he looks the same. 

He looks up his work profiles. There are so many professional networking sites with the same, standard, simple headshot of Jin in a suit. 

He thinks he looks the same.

At least, it’s plausible that someone from his past could recognize him.

It’s happened before .

His phone rings.

It has moved from his pocket in his pants on the floor to his pocket in his pants on the bed to his desk, right next to him, after having put his clothes in his hamper and getting changed into a fresh pair of sweats. “Hi, Eomma,” Jin says after putting her on speaker, his voice tight, hoping that because his keyboard is clacking right next to the receiver, she won’t be able to tell that anything’s different. 

“Seokjinnie, don’t forget that the annual boat race is this Sunday,” she replies. “The weather forecast said it might rain, but the club said they were going through with the event no matter what. You boys are still planning on racing, right?”

A needless question.

“Of course, Eomma.” 

The line goes quiet, but when Mrs. Kim says, “Hmm,” or maybe as far back as when she called in the first place, Jin knows that this conversation was never really about the boat race, and that it is far from over. 

“Is it a slow day today?” Mrs. Kim asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Usually, there’s always people chattering in the background. Even this early.”

Jin didn’t realize how attenuated his office’s background noise had grown to him, but that tends to happen when you’ve stayed in the same place for nearly ten years. 

“Ah, yes, well,” Jin replies, clearing his throat and suddenly keyboard smashing DFJKSLJWWTJ OIF NKLJDSFKLJSDFOKAALKJJKLSDFJLKSDF into the search bar in an effort to, well, do what, exactly? Feign preoccupation? Express surprise? 

Vent?

“Well,” Jin repeats, “I decided to log on from home today.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Should I move the date days to a weekend?” Mrs. Kim asks. “The date didn’t tire you out, did it?”

Jin smiles. 

“Seokijinnie?”

“Let’s just say that it put more than a little pep in my step.”

“Seokjinnie.”

“And I think it did for her, too.”

“Seokjinnie!”

“What?”

“You didn’t!”

He giggles.

“Kamou is a great candidate, and so lovely and sweet, and I wrote in the rules that—”

“Don’t worry, Eomma, everything is on track with your plan,” Jin interrupts, though he’s deleted the random keyboard smash from earlier and is instead typing a name, a well-constructed, melodious name, into a search bar.

Song Mari.

“Well, since I’ve got you,” Mrs. Kim says, too eager, “why don’t you, y’know, tell me about it!” Jin can hear Mrs. Kim’s eyebrows knit together. “The nice parts, I mean.”

Mari apparently has over 500 work connections. Her profile picture is of her shrugging, as if she doesn’t know what to do with them.

Jin laughs.

“Ooh, does that mean that you had a good time, then?” Mrs. Kim asks hopefully. “Had fun? Good conversation? Good food?”

Jin starts perusing some of the posts on the site. Shared job postings. Encouragement for colleagues. She’s a designer now? That plays. She was always the best at making those plastic, criss-cross-y, keychain or backpack zipper, um, thingies.

“The restaurant was a little cold, the bread basket was stale, and the steak was overdone,” Jin rattles off. “But Kamou is a—” 

He can’t help but smirk again. Kamou’s thighs around his waist. Her nail-dug trenches still present on his back. Her lips pouting, and sucking, and skating, wet against his cheeks as she moaned what she wanted next. 

Things can also be satisfying when they do what they aren’t supposed to.

“—a good girl.”

“Good.” Mrs. Kim sighs. Relaxed. “Good.”

Jin looks back at the map. His hardworking eomma has put so much detail into every aspect. The grayed out city blocks, carefully traced and stitched together from several different satellite maps and even updated to reflect areas under heavy construction. The precise rating system, with every compatibility percentage denoted in scientific notation, carried over to two decimals. The iconography, the incredible iconography, consistent in design style and color, cartoonish in tone, perhaps for levity. So much time, and love, and care, put into each heart. Every star.

The black dot, in comparison, looks like a keyboard smash. 

Jin tilts his head. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course. You know I always encourage that. You can always ask people things.”

Jin isn’t so sure.

“How did you find her?” he wonders.

“She filled out an application.”

“Right,” Jin says, blinking and straightening. “I know she filled out an application, but, like, how do you judge the applications, really? Are you soliciting applications from anyone and everyone? Do you have certain core criteria, or…?”

“Oh, so now you’re interested in the specifics!” Mrs. Kim chuckles. 

“I guess you just did such a good job with my first date that I wanna pick your brain,” Jin says, glancing at the screen once more before spinning his chair to the right and getting up. 

He talks as he walks back out to the kitchen, suddenly craving something sweet. 

“What is it that you liked about Kamou so much that made you think to pair her with me?” 

Does he have any fruit? 

“Was it an instantaneous thing?” 

He might not actually have diarrhea, but it is true that he hasn't gone shopping in a while.

“Or did it take some time, triangulating what you know about me, and what you learned or observed about her, and the answers that she gave?” 

He stands over his fruit bowl, at the sad smattering of not-yet-but-nearly-bad apples, grapes, and bananas. He should pick one of them. Before he knows it, they'll turn, and he’ll just end up throwing them out. 

“Well, seeing that she wanted kids definitely put her in the running,” Mrs. Kim laughs. 

Jin sighs and abandons the fruit. He already knew that he wanted cereal. He always wants cereal. And he’d been craving it since making that egg white omelette a few hours ago. He should’ve just poured himself a bowl then. 

He does now. 

“That isn’t the only reason, though,“ Mrs. Kim replies, amidst the clinking of corn flakes.

The plastic bag inside of the box of cereal slides back down as Jin angles the cardboard back.

“It’s not?”

“Of course not,” Mrs. Kim says softly. “Is that really what you think this is about?” 

Mrs. Kim turns to her husband, still snoring, lying in bed beside her, blissfully unaware of the resulting smile that she has on her face. She isn’t careful about not waking him when she gets out of bed. She doesn’t have to be. He’ll be out for at least another hour, when she finally decides to start frying up some sausages. Or maybe it’s that she just automatically starts frying up sausages when she intuits that he’s about to get up. Frankly, Mrs. Kim can’t tell anymore, and Mr. Kim will really only be concerned about the sausages.

Shuffling in her house slippers toward the front door, Mrs. Kim clicks her tongue and asks, “Haven’t you been listening to me this entire time?”

“I have!” Jin protests, mouth full of cereal.

“Have not!”

“Have too!”  

Mrs. Kim opens the door, leans out the door jamb, and checks the mailbox on the wall. 

“I think about your personality. You’re so kind. Generous. Charming. Sometimes, to a fault.” 

Coupons, some bills, and some local ads. 

“I think about your interests. Talents. Sense of humor. Funny. Also, sometimes, to a fault.” 

She smiles at Jin’s soft laugh. 

“Your big hyung heart.” 

More bills. There’s a flea market event coming up. That might be fun.

“And I think about what you need.”

“Need?”

“Yes, Seokjinnie. You know, you do need things.” 

“Uh-huh. A strong six-figure salary. A happy family life. Fun times, great friends, and good food. Except maybe that steak.” Jin scoffs. “Please, Eomma, tell me — what exactly do I need?”

Mrs. Kim closes the door behind her and shuffles back toward the kitchen. 

“You need someone who has all of those same beautiful qualities of yours that I just listed, and to shine them back onto you.” She tilts her head. “Plus a healthy amount of patience. The easy kind. Someone who wouldn’t necessarily say they have that quality. Patient without even realizing it.”

Jin smiles. Fiddles with his spoon a bit. Watching the light, and his distorted reflection change, nose widening as he turns the spoon over to face its shell.

“Sooooo… thennnn… what are the things that help you, like, cross people off your list?”

Mrs. Kim tosses the sorted mail down onto the kitchen table. 

“Well, for starters, I cross off anyone who doesn’t have a stellar career, who didn’t get high marks in school, who doesn’t have a healthy family history, who don’t have blood types and Myers-Briggs answers that aren’t compatible with yours, and who don’t want marriage or kids.”

“Wow.”

“But that’s just to start.”

Jin shakes his head, a heavy, unsurprised breath escaping out of the right side of his mouth.

“Only kidding,” Mrs. Kim says. 

Though she isn’t. 

Not entirely. 

“It really comes down to genuineness. Do they seem to want to get to know you? And to be honest, sometimes, it’s not even about getting to know you, specifically.”

Mrs. Kim walks into the kitchen and flips on the light switch before reaching for the refrigerator door, cradling the phone with her shoulder and pinning it to her ear, and pulling out the clear pitcher of water.

She reaches into the cupboard and pulls out a glass as Jin scoops up another bite of cereal.

“It’s about someone who is open to getting to know someone. Anyone. Open to all that it takes. The discussions. The empathy. The time. The sacrifice.”  

She sniffs. 

“But it also wouldn’t hurt if they were an ENTJ fire sign with at least a Master’s degree in a lucrative field that gives her a yearlong maternity leave package for each of your five kids.”

Jin holds his breath like his next spoonful, just hovering in front of his mouth. Like Mari’s breath against his ear, carrying a secret. Like Kamou’s breath washing, warm, over his lips, carrying seduction.

He lets the breath out.

“Well, if you’re so decided… then why did you entertain a black dot at all?” 

He lowers his spoon just a bit. 

“Why did you ask Tae-Tae to torpedo his date with Mari instead of just rejecting her from the process completely?”

Mrs. Kim frowns. “Ugh, that was more of an unavoidable favor.”

“For who?”

“Her eomma.” Mrs. Kim frowns. She reaches into the fridge for the opened, now half-pack of sausages. 

Jin’s next questions will have to wait. 

He stuffs his spoon into his mouth.

“Do you know how Tae-Tae’s date with her went, by the way?” Mrs. Kim asks quickly.

He places his spoon in his bowl, empty of cereal but still full of milk. “No,” he says. “We’re catching up later, though. Around dinner.”

“Alright.” Mrs. Kim reaches into the cupboard and pulls out a pan, setting it on the stove. It lands with too sharp of a clang! , though it isn’t loud enough to rid her of the storm of thoughts that are forming. “Anyway, I hope that’s the last we see of her.” 

“Mm.” Jin places his bowl in his sink. “OK, well, I should go now. Do some work.”

“OK, then.”

Mrs. Kim draws in a short, soft breath. 

“Seokjinnie?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Eomma.” He pauses, heart swelling. Growing heavy. A little too heavy. “And, well, thank you. Y’know. For…” He smiles. “Just. Thanks.”

Mrs. Kim grins with satisfaction. The satisfaction of having raised a kind, appreciative son. The satisfaction of being right. And doing right by him.

“Bye, sweetie. Have a good day.”

“You too. Bye.”

Mrs. Kim switches on the burners. She smiles at the sound of the flames coming to life. And she smiles even wider as she hears something beside her. A quiet, familiar scuffling of slippers against the kitchen tile. 

She turns to find a glasses-less, squinting  Mr. Kim in his robe, hair a mess, eyes heavy with sleep and fingers scratching his white tee-covered belly. 

“Sausages?” he asks hopefully. 

Taehyung tells them that it was much later in the evening than anticipated, so he wasn’t sure if there would be any tacos left when he ordered his usual. He doesn’t know why he always picks tacos. Yes, they’re cheap. And he can always count on his usual place being open late. 

But there’s just something about them.

There was something about the way the tortilla chunks, cheddar cheese strips, and lettuce shreds sprinkled across his sheets, like confetti celebrating the moment, little breadcrumbs detailing the trip from her thumb in the corner of his mouth, to the heated kiss, to those first bites into her skin. 

“Damn, not too hard,” she moaned, as Taehyung pulled away from her collarbone and unwound their legs from around each other.

He lifted her shirt, up and over, smiling at the sight of her breasts jiggling in their bralette. 

“Sorry. I’m hungry.”

“Then here.” She smirked with such glee as she reached over for the box, pulled out another taco, and said, “Though I wonder if you’d like to eat a different kind of taco.”

There was something about the sound and feel of the shell crisply breaking against his cheek, as she smushed the taco into his face, cackling with laughter as he playfully narrowed his eyes.

He rested back on his knees, straddling her thighs, and glaring down at her. “What are you playing at?”

“Me? You’re the one who brought these into the bed!”

There was something about the way sour cream looked when painted over her skin. And like her jeans had so easily slid down and off, the sour cream moved so easily too, barely nudged by Taehyung’s index finger, tracing cloud-like lines up the side of her thigh, to her hip, across her stomach. 

He licked at the dollop that he had placed on her navel, letting the tang of that cream mix with the salt of her sweat, pressing it against the roof of his mouth to let it spread over his tongue. 

“Gonna paint you with more,” Taehyung murmured, licking the trail of sour cream down to her shaven mound.

She squirmed when he said that, twisting the other way and whining when his tongue delved into her folds and tasted an unanticipated dessert.

“Mmm, you’re sweet,” he observed, taking a moment to nibble on her lips.

She reached back and gripped his headboard. Slid her hips down his sheets a little. Made sure she was right up against his chin.

He opened his mouth wider, grabbing her thighs and digging his cream-covered nails in as his neck craned left and right, head bobbing slowly until she started to whimper. 

His thumbs reached inside and spread her wider, and his head shook from side to side, faster and faster as she rolled against him in desperation.

Just as she was about to come, he let go, and pulled away entirely, a mix of cream, spit, and her arousal glimmering on his nose, lips, and chin.

Her eyes flashed open at his sudden absence, and her hips started bouncing up and down in want.

Taehyung only smiled as he reached for the box of food.

He chose blindly, but the first hot sauce packet that he picked had a funny little message: Burning For You.

She snorted as he giggled and placed the perforated edge of the packet in his teeth and ripped, hot sauce spraying out, dabs of it getting on her face and chest.

There was something about the way those packets of hot sauce dripped all over her body. The heat took on a different quality as he licked each drop.

She was so soft that he couldn’t help running his tongue, and his hands, rough and calloused near his nail beds and on the sides of his knuckles, all over her, the hot sauce stinging in places where he bit and chewed. 

Her skin was perfect. 

He guessed, at least.

If there were blemishes, or bumps, or scars, or moles, Taehyung’s fingers didn’t catch them, though that’s not to say he wouldn’t love to get more time to find out where each and every single one of them were.

But maybe that would be for the next time.

Tonight, he was too focused on the way she moved against his body, the hot sauce starting to get sticky, their skin starting to peel away when they would come apart.

He wasn’t the only one who was hungry. She took every inch of him, though it was a bit of a squeeze to get all of him inside. He’d push slowly, and then have to wait while her body wriggled around him. From her throat, an urgent groan would signal she wanted more of him. And then he’d push slowly again, his head hanging forward, eyes squinched shut so as not to lose composure, tongue busying itself by licking hot sauce from her gorgeous nipples as he waited for her pussy walls to relax just a bit more.

And then he’d push slowly again.

The time came for him to move faster, though, cock pulsing as he slammed inside.

“Gonna? Paint? Me?” she panted.

“You want it?”

“Yes, god.”

Taehyung’s hips shifted into double-time, his hands gripping her shoulders, dimples forming in his ass cheeks as he clenched and strained.

She clenched, too. Warm. And needy. He could feel her sucking him in deeper, and when he moved with her, he started to feel the tip of his cock hitting her innermost wall.

Her squeal turned into a wandering moan, high-pitched and tense.

“T-too much?” he panted.

She shook her head no and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her and lifting her legs in the air.

He grunted, clasping her even tighter, moving his arms under hers and circling them up to grip her shoulders from behind. 

He left his lips by her ear.

“Where do you want it?”

“My tits.” 

She squeezed her eyes closed even tighter, wrinkles forming in the corners.

“Ah, fuck, Tae, I’m gonna come so hard.”

Taehyung’s right hand slid up against the pillow behind her so that he could cradler her head.

She came apart, shaking, legs unable to hold themselves up. He caught her right leg, his hand whipping back, the inside of his upper arm pinning the side of her knee to his waist. Her left leg quivered as she did, kicking out to the side and sending tortilla, cheese, and lettuce bits into the air.

She laughed as she came, letting out a surprised shriek during an aftershock.

Taehyung slowed to enjoy the scene before him and take pride in the art he had created. 

But his cock was throbbing with need.

He grunted and started pumping again, and as she nodded yes with more fervor, his strokes became longer.

His hips used that backward motion to propel him out, a string of precum still linking him to her until it tore apart at the rush of cum spurting out of him, mixing with the hot sauce on her breasts, swollen from the friction.

She rubbed her fingers in that incredible mess as he took deep breaths to calm down, before rubbing those same fingers across his chest in contemplation.

She traced a trail up his neck.

She smiled wildly when he lifted her wrist to lick himself off of her fingers.

And when Taehyung proudly recaps all of this in detail during their video call, Namjoon laughs and says, “That reminds me of something Jin-hyung did.”

Taehyung frowns, and then pouts in annoyance. “What??”

All Jin and Taehyung can see is Namjoon’s ceiling, so they miss the way that Namjoon smirks, as he palms the wall, kicks off his shoes, and uses his socked feet to set them upright by the front door. 

“Eomma was telling me about this thing hyung did whenever she was pregnant with me, and then you,” he goes on. “Something about painting her stomach with food. Jin-hyung was so eager to feed us that he would slather her with stuff. Oatmeal. Ketchup. Peanut butter . Other stuff . She had to leave it on her stomach for a little while and wash up when hyung wasn’t looking, or he’d get frustrated and insist that she sit back down on the couch so that he could ‘feed’ you all over again.” 

Jin grins. “Copycat!”

“There are even pictures!” Namjoon answers, his eyes lowering, and then moving side to side as he picks up his phone from the floor and starts to type.

As a picture of toddler Jin, baby Namjoon, and a younger Mrs. Kim pops up in the group chat, and Jin and Namjoon’s exclusive laughter has the audacity to fill his living room, Taehyung gets further lost in his faraway look. But it quickly dissolves when those laughs turn into long stretches of high-pitched, increasingly satisfied breaths. 

He twists his face and stares at his own, motionless thumbs propping up his phone screen.

“Not every single one of my personality traits is one of your hand-me-downs, you know,” Taehyung scowls. “Plus, technically, Namjoonie-hyung, you were copying Jin-hyung, too!” His voice is starting to get louder, but also waver. “A-and, and—”

“OK, OK,” Jin says quickly. “No one’s really a copycat. We’re brothers, and best friends. It’s normal for us to do things alike, isn’t it?”

Namjoon chuckles teasingly as Taehyung rolls his eyes.

“Anyway, say more about your date,” Jin goes on, a little flatly. “Sounds like you and Mari ended up having a fantastic time.”

“No, hyung, this was with Dal,” Taehyung clarifies. “My friend, from that shop.”

Jin stops chewing.  

“Weren’t you paying attention?” Taehyung asks, delighted in his hyung’s expression, and no longer able to mask the bit of a grin that he’s been holding inside all along. “It’s like I said. I didn’t have to launch any torpedos. Mari-noona ghosted.”

It’s been a couple of years since she last taught an art class, but Mrs. Kim will never forget the concept of a classroom “T-zone”. She can still see the ancient, Java-coded graphic in the first tabbed section of every start-of-semester manual. This T-zone referred to the students who tended to sit in the front row and middle column of the classroom. With clean, bright, eager, shining faces, they’re the ones who, sometimes thankfully, sometimes annoyingly, always showed up. They always listened. Always participated. The overachievers. The high performers. The elite.

She was always grateful for them.

But Mrs. Kim herself was decidedly not one of them.

She still isn’t.

Every week, she chooses the easel in the back, by the window, next to the instructor's bookshelf. There’s something familiar about it that she can’t quite name, something that helps her access an aspect of her creativity that feels so much like her old self.

Her young self.

Today’s topic hits close to home, too. 

“This feeling that we’re trying to evoke,” the instructor goes on, cleaning her brush and eyeing the next color on her palette, a pale, Atlantic green, “is the feeling of being by oneself.”

Mrs. Kim feels her heart twinge. Not for herself, back then, or now. She can be by herself, no problem. But it’s been three whole lifetimes since she’s been completely by herself. And, unlike those three lifetimes, she knows what it truly is. How it truly feels.

She tries to forget Taehyung’s most recent text message.

Tries to stop thinking of ghosts.

She paints a black streak on her canvas. In warning.

“You may know the feeling as loneliness, which is when we are by ourselves and fraught with anxiety. There is pain. There is fear. There is the sense that you have been abandoned, perhaps due to your own actions, or due to some kind of inherent flaw.”

As the instructor dabs gently at their canvas, Mrs. Kim nearly pokes a hole in hers.

“But there is also another feeling. One that is peaceful, and content. One that reminds us that we are whole, and enough. Just by ourselves. That we aren’t inherently missing anything. That life is additive, never subtractive. That everything we receive, we receive because we are ready for it. We are gifted, never punished.” The instructor smiles at their work, and then smiles at the class. 

Mrs. Kim looks up and raises her eyebrows, her arm slowing under the instructor’s gaze.

“That feeling, my lovelies, is called solitude,” the instructor finishes, nodding once. “Blissful, content, wholesome solitude. Don’t take it for granted, friends. Some people go their whole lives mixing up the two, finding an inability to appreciate neither.”

Mrs. Kim looks back at her tortured canvas, all poked and prodded, and lets out a tiny, contemplative breath.

As the class begins to pack up, her eyes shift over to the easel next to her. A gorgeous, serene canvas of pastel pinks and purples, with something small in the background. A building of some sort? Or a figure, way in the distance?

“Is that loneliness, or solitude?” Mrs. Kim asks.

The girl who painted it stops what she’s doing and smiles back.  

“Probably a bit of both, to be honest. I don’t know if there's as distinct a separation between them as our instructor thinks. But what do I know?”

What could she know, Mrs. Kim thinks, looking at the girl’s sweet face, unmarked with life’s trials. But, surprisingly, just as memorable. 

“I think I know you,” Mrs. Kim realizes. “I saw you at the grocery store a little while ago, right? You were with your mother, outside?”

The girl nods happily. “Yes! I’m, uh, Yang Hwan?” she answers. Mrs. Kim lights up at the name, remembering the shy girl, always in braids, who also didn’t sit in the T-zone. “I also took beginner and intermediate art with you in school.” She giggles. “But that was a very long time ago.”

It can’t have been that long ago, given Hwan’s apparent age. But Mrs. Kim still feels her own age at the comment. 

“Ah, how are you?” Mrs. Kim asks, grinning. “Has life treated you well?”

Hwan nods. “Very well. Got my family. My art. Studying it in college now. Can’t complain. Very grateful.”

She clearly means it, but Mrs. Kim notes the clipped sentences, different from the pastel-colored melody with which she spoke of the blurring between loneliness and solitude. 

“You’re an artist,” Mrs. Kim sighs, her heart soaring. “How are you finding it? The journey?”

“I can’t see myself doing anything else,” Hwan admits, brightening. “I obviously wasn’t very good when I was in your class. But you and some of my other teachers really sparked a passion for me. I became obsessed.” 

She leans forward and shows Mrs. Kim her wrist, where there is a tiny tattoo of a paint brush,  with some royal purple paint dripping from its tip. 

Hwan smiles sadly at her tattoo.

“But do you buy…”

When she meets Mrs. Kim’s curious eyes, Hwan decides to bail.

She pulls her sweater sleeve over her tattoo. 

“Well. Anyway.” Hwan picks up her bag of supplies. “I’ll get out of your hair. See you in class next week?”

Mrs. Kim smiles. 

“Actually, I was going to ask if you’d maybe want to have some coffee or tea with me?”

The café one block over thankfully always has free tables. After putting their supplies in their respective cars, and more coins into their respective parking meters, Mrs. Kim and Hwan swing in through the café’s aqua doors and settle at one underneath a pretty, golden chandelier, sitting down in two lemon curd-colored, velvet chairs, in front of one mug of matcha tea, and one tall taro boba.

“Thanks,” Hwan says, both to the server setting her boba down in front of her, and Mrs. Kim placing her credit card back into her wallet.

“Thanks for the company,” Mrs. Kim says, smiling knowingly. “I usually come alone and read or call my boys.” She tilts her head. “Besides. I wanted to know what you were about to say. It sounded like you had a thought forming.”

They both take a drink, each of them savoring the sweet, creamy, mild tastes. 

Ironically, it’s Hwan who feels steaming heat in her cheeks.

She gulps down her sip, her cooled tongue now able to move a little easier.

“Formed,” Hwan clarifies. “Always forms. Keeps reforming. Duplicates. Grows. Every day. Without fail.”

Mrs. Kim knows to stir her matcha a little more. Not to pry. To wait. To let Hwan chew and swallow her boba uninterrupted, so that she can work out each letter of every word.

“Someone in our class asked you how you knew you wanted to be an artist,” Hwan recalls, her chipped jade fingernails fiddling with her thick, plastic, pink-lined straw, “how you knew you’d be fulfilled. How you knew you hadn’t made the wrong decision.”

Mrs. Kim grimaces. “And then I said something trite and stupid, didn’t I?”

Hwan laughs, and Mrs. Kim takes delight in seeing youthful stars in Hwan’s bright eyes. 

“You told us that making that decision, or any kind of big life decision, is never going to be easy. That we’re never going to be 100% sure of anything. But, also, that nothing is 100% permanent. So, we should always work hard, and be prepared, and go with what’s in our hearts. Even if it changes. Especially when it does.”

Mrs. Kim nods slowly. “OK, that wasn’t terrible advice.”

“It wasn’t. It was pretty good advice, actually.” Hwan smirks. “Got me this far. And, not to be judgmental, but I’m relatively unscathed, especially compared to some of my friends who, incidentally, didn’t take your class.”

Mrs. Kim chuckles, raising her mug to her lips. 

Hwan watches as Mrs. Kim takes another sip. And, amazingly, instead of launching into some parable or spiel, Mrs. Kim simply sets her mug back down on the table and waits for Hwan to go on. 

“Uh… well, so,” Hwan stumbles, “it’s like, y-y’know…” She sighs. “It’s like this.” She grips the bottom of her drink, swirling it around on the table, condensation on the surface tracing the pattern, pulling apart, and then reforming again. “I don’t know if I buy what our instructor said about being whole, and that being enough. I know I love creating art with every single muscle fiber and electrical impulse in my heart. But… the older I get… it just feels like something is always…”

Her drink comes to a stop, leaving on the table several wispy, watery circles, not quite attached.

“…missing.” 

Mrs. Kim nods. “Mmhmm. Been there.”

Hwan blinks. “Y-you have?”

“Of course. I find myself there from time to time, even now.”

Mrs. Kim’s gentle, kind eyes soften at Hwan’s speechlessness.

“I’m a human,” Mrs. Kim replies, “and a woman. Doesn’t exactly make things easier in this world.”

“But you have a career?” Hwan sputters. “And a husband? A-and a family? And your family, your sons, your husband, your career, are all so successful, I—” 

Hwan’s eyes start darting around the room. To the cash register. To the doors. Up to the chandelier. Over to the bit of lemon curd yellow chair back that she can see between Mrs. Kim’s left arm and torso. 

“Everything OK?” Mrs. Kim asks, furrowing her brow.

Hwan’s eyes grow wider. “No! Well, I mean, obviously not! As accomplished and content as you are, you still feel like something’s missing?”

Mrs. Kim bites her lip and wishes she could go back in time and bite her tongue instead. “See, I knew I wasn’t always great at advice.”

The table starts to shake. It’s barely noticeable, but Mrs. Kim realizes it’s because Hwan’s leg is starting to bounce.

“What’s got you worried?”

“I guess I was kind of hoping for a different reaction from you,” Hwan admits, eyes still darting around, but contained to the table top. 

“What were you hoping to hear?” 

Mrs. Kim doesn’t need to ask. She’s got enough life experience to know what Hwan was hoping to hear. 

Hwan doesn’t have as much life experience, but she is smart enough to know what she wants to hear, though, she is perhaps even smarter for knowing that Mrs. Kim won’t say it.

“That if I just stay the course, I’ll figure it out,” Hwan offers anyway, voice dripping with dejection. “That, eventually, I’ll find whatever’s missing. That it’ll all fall into place.”

The street is starting to fill up with more people. People spilling out of all sorts of Saturday morning classes. Art classes. Yoga classes. Kickboxing classes. 

Mrs. Kim’s eyes trace their outlines. “Actually,” she says, “I’ve found that you can always help things along. That you may even need to help things along, from time to time.”

All of these Saturday morning students start to bunch up into blobs. Group into families. Cluster amongst friends.

Pair off into couples.

Mrs. Kim’s eyes settle on one man standing by the bookstore entrance, looking out at the street periodically while checking his phone.

“Can I ask you a question?” Mrs. Kim ventures.

“Sure,” Hwan replies, smiling politely through her nervousness, “although, given what I just opened up to you about, I don’t think I’ll have any answers.”

“I think you will.” 

Mrs. Kim furrows her brow. 

“What does it mean when someone gets ‘ghosted’?”

Hwan’s eyes widen. “Oh!” 

“Not to insinuate anything other than my old age,” Mrs. Kim says warmly. “I think I might know what it means, but even if I don’t, I still don’t like the sound of it.”

“W-why?” Hwan asks. “Wait, did one of your sons— No, they’re too nice to— Unless, was one of your sons— But that’s, I mean, that’s impossible, because there’s a whole line of— A-all the applications, and the standby li—” 

She shakes her head. 

“Sorry. You asked about ghosting.” 

Hwan picks up her boba and cradles it with both hands, leaning forward slightly and speaking before taking a long sip. “Um, well, it means that someone didn’t show up.”

The rage is starting to bubble up Mrs. Kim’s throat. “Like getting stood up?!”

“Y-yes,” Hwan confirms carefully, “uh, l-like getting stood up.”

Mrs. Kim figured as much. 

How sharp is her paint trowel? Is it in the car?

“But!” Hwan adds, “I feel like getting stood up has a certain connotation of rejection to it. Ghosting isn’t exactly the same.”

“So, that’s it, then? There’s nothing else behind it? Nothing…” Mrs. Kim’s eyes narrow. “Unpleasant?”

“Actually, usually, it’s because people want to avoid unpleasantries.” 

Hwan sets down her boba but keeps her hands, still tucked into her sweater sleeves, around it. 

“Ghosting is much easier than showing up and facing situations. And it’s not just used in dating types of situations. People ghost on stuff like hangouts and job interviews all the time now. It might be weird to think about, but my friends and I even have this unspoken understanding. It’s just kind of expected that even though you might make plans for something, other factors, like how you feel that day, or other things that pop up along the way, or maybe even nothing at all, might change the energy around it. It’s almost like there is no such thing as making concrete plans anymore.”

Mrs. Kim shakes her head sorrowfully. “But to disappear like that? With no communication, whatsoever?”

“It doesn’t feel great,” Hwan says quietly. “But I think there’s… It’s…” She takes a deep breath that starts unsure but comes out decidedly. “Things just feel so overwhelming. Don’t you feel that? There’s just so much more. Many, many more things to face. More people to face. And so many more ways to avoid facing them.”

Mrs. Kim tilts her head. She’s no stranger to meeting things, and people, head-on. But it’s because there were only a few ways to meet them. Jin’s always complaining about how exhausting it is to work his fancy, cushy desk job, and it hasn’t been until recently that Mrs. Kim has realized that it must be overwhelming, being able to be reachable no matter what, whether it’s through his personal or work emails, his personal or work phones, or his company’s four platforms for direct messages, of which only two seem to work properly at a semi-consistent clip.

“That may be true,” Mrs. Kim concedes, but I don’t think I approve of ghosting. Communication is always multidirectional. And there’s something to be said for accountability.”

Mrs. Kim is surprised that Hwan merely sips her boba tea. That she isn’t more outraged by this.

How many times has Hwan been ghosted?

Has Hwan ever ghosted anyone else?

As she tries to read too-neutral Hwan’s face, Mrs. Kim wonders how many times she has technically been ghosted herself. Her one-track mind wouldn’t have noticed, let alone kept a tally, before moving on to the next thing.

Mrs. Kim has no time for ghosts.

Then again, if all the ghosts in Mrs. Kim’s or Hwan’s lives had actually materialized, what would have gone differently? Would they be sitting here now, in this lovely little café, two pairs of charcoal and paint-stained hands sharing two delicious drinks on a sunny Saturday afternoon? 

“Thanks for explaining it to me, though,” Mrs. Kim adds. “With your context I think I’m beginning to understand. Appreciate the, uh, perhaps… generational… differences.”

Her smile softens, like a line of charcoal smudged. Maybe not as bold, but just as present, and just as wonderful. 

Hwan sits up suddenly, her hold on her drink loosening just a tad. “I’m glad I could actually be valuable to someone!”

Suddenly, Hwan is standing, thanking Mrs. Kim for the drink, explaining that she needs to head home, and leading the way back to their respective parking meters.

And as Mrs. Kim stands by her car, watching Hwan wave as she drives away, Mrs. Kim wonders what in the world would make Hwan ever think she wasn’t.

“C.”

“Hmm?”

“The answer is C.”

“Ah.”

“Do you know why?”

“What?”

“Do you know why the answer is C?”

Jihu blinks, and everything becomes clear again. He looks at the group around him, each person shooting haughty smirks right at him.

“Uh—”

He looks down at his book and realizes that he’s not even on the same page as the others. 

“Sorry, what question are we on again?” he asks, flipping forward a few pages, checking the others’ books for the page number, and flipping back again.

“Chapter 15, practice question 32,” Yong-hyun replies, with the haughtiest smirk of them all.

Jihu starts to read the question, lips moving along, shaping another unfathomably polysyllabic chemical compound, when Yong-hyun’s finger lands on the page, right on top of the diagram just above practice question 33.

“Beckmann rearrangement,” Yong-hyun says. “Note the oxime.”

Jihu nods quickly. “Right. Right. The oxime.”

“Alright, out with it,” Mi-rae says, elbow landing in the spine of her open book, chin resting in her open palm. “You’ve been so distracted.”

“Oh,” Jihu laughs softly, “I just thought I saw—” His eyes widen. “Um, I just thought I s-saw someone I, uh, know. Sorry to derail things. We can pick back up.”

“It’s not just today,” Jung-kwon says. “You’ve been late. Hard to get a hold of. Especially for our late-night study groups. And your wardrobe.”

Jihu frowns as he looks down at his white button-up and black slacks, perfectly pressed. “What about it?”

Jung-kwon exchanges a knowing glance with Mi-rae. 

“I smell a girl.”

“Mmhmm. Thought so, too.”

“Someone finally worthy of the Kim name?” Yong-hyun asks. “Your parents must be thrilled. Especially after hearing all of your bitter diatribes against tradition.”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Jihu replies, throat flexing to keep his vocal cords calm. “I’ve just been… I don’t know. Tired or something.” He scratches at his collar. “And I ran out of clothes. A-and I thought I saw someone I know.” His eyes crinkle a little. “Someone who, uh, owes me money.”

“Oh shit, a good ol’ Kim family shakedown.” Yong-hyun claps his hands and rubs them over one another. Like a crime boss. Or a hamster. “How much do they owe you?”

Jihu shrugs. “Not much.”

“Isn’t any amount too much?” Yong-hyun points out.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Mi-rae echoes in warned surprise.

“Want us to get it for you?” Jung-kwon asks. “Even with what went down, you still have a reputation to uphold.”

“No, no,” Jihu insists, “that’s really OK—”

“Now’s not the time to be proud, Jihu,” Mi-rae replies. “Everyone knows you’re clever. But it’s not an easy thing to deal with, being cut off so suddenly. We’re trying to help.”

Jihu looks around at the group and can’t help but notice the haughty smirks haven’t really left their faces. And maybe Jihu hasn’t really left the world that has plagued him with so many more questions than answers.

“Thanks, but, really, I’ve got it,” he replies. 

He closes his book, the thick halves slamming dully.

“I should try to catch up with them. See if they have the money.”

“Want us to come with?” Jung-kwon tries again, as the group watches Jihu collect his things. “Backup support?” He leans forward in his chair and gestures to the black leather jacket draped across its back. “Rode my motorcycle today.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Badass intimidation factor.”

Jihu snaps his mouth shut as he swings his right backpack strap over his shoulder, and his dimples deepen as he forces a tight smile, gives a wave, and walks away.

He glances down at his shoes. Makes sure that his laces are tied. Reminds himself not to break into a run. Takes extra care not to stumble.

Because if there’s anything unworthy of the Kim name, it’s absolutely the fool who stumbles on his way to meet Bongseon, draped gossamer, peony pink, waiting at the top of the spiraling library staircase.

Her cheeks start to match that pink when she catches sight of Jihu walking— jogging— walking toward her.

And her voice is sweet as peonies when she squeaks, “Hi.”

“Hey.”

Jihu leans forward and presses a kiss to her forehead. “You excited?”

Bongseon keeps her eyes closed a second longer. Everything is somehow warmer, better, when Jihu is around. “Honestly, no,” she finally answers, opening her eyes and looking up at him. “I feel pretty numb.” And then a smile peeks through. “Well. Felt.”

Jihu giggles softly. “Gross. What’s happening to you?”

“I know, right?” 

She rolls her eyes and clasps Jihu’s hand. 

“Thanks for coming with me.”

“Thanks for inviting me.” He squeezes her hand a little. “And thanks for… y’know. Understanding.”

Bongseon nods. “Of course.”

He tilts his head and gazes at her, the wrinkles in her forehead slowly disappearing. It’s, frankly, a prize in and of itself to get to be one of the few people in the world who gets to see it. But he still isn’t exactly sure why this merits an “of course”.

“Your parents really aren’t coming?” Jihu asks. “No one in your family? No siblings, or aunts, or uncles, or—”

“No, but even with everything you told me, I’m excited to meet yours,” Bongseon replies.

She lets go of Jihu’s hand and starts off in the other direction. 

As her black heels clack against the floor, Jihu accepts that maybe this is a bit of an escape. From an uncomfortable conversation. From a seemingly painful past. From the intensity of whatever has been building between them. But Jihu will always revel in the feel of Bongseon’s hand nervously slipping from his. 

Because it means that he got to hold it in the first place.

The top floor of the library wasn’t the first choice for this exhibit, but it quickly became a contender when funding finally came in for the leaky roof, stained floors, and air conditioning renovations. Judging has been taking place all day, streams of people weaving in and out of each piece of art on display, those in blue ribbons noting their comments on cards that are placed into a black box in the center of the room. But students and faculty alike don’t care as much about that. They shelled out for tickets to see the architecture of the new ceiling, the imported couches and carrels, and the fancy glass floors that, due to one embarrassing yet thankful mishap with the dean’s secretary, became frosted just a week before an unsuspecting Bongseon bought this dress.

“A vast improvement,” Bongseon observes, looking around. “I can see myself studying here.” She winces. “That is, if I’m still around.”

Jihu wraps his arm around Bongseon’s waist and turns her a little, aiming her toward the one familiar thing in this room.

One big frame, housing one big charcoal sketch of multiple layers of Jihu’s form, his body in slightly different positions in each layer. Sitting. Reading. Talking. Laughing. Watching. Everything that Jihu was. Is. Encapsulated into one frame.

“You see that?” Jihu asks, gazing at Bongseon’s wide eyes.

“I’ve seen it once or twice.”

Jihu pinches Bongseon’s side, and she lets out, and quickly muffles, a squeal.

“Well, I know a secret about them.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Jihu leans down to whisper that secret into Bongseon’s ear. “I hear they’re going to win this competition.”

Bongseon gnaws at her lip, and in the process, smudges her lipstick just a bit. 

“Don’t do that.”

Jihu blinks.

“Do what?”

Bongseon frowns. “Don’t pretend to give me something that you know you can’t.”

Jihu’s hold on Bongseon’s waist loosens a little.

And at the sound of the second familiar thing in this room, his hold dissolves altogether.

“Jihu??”

Bongseon decides right there and then that Jihu must be an anomaly. An alien of some sort. Adopted, at least. Because Director Kim and his wife, the Mrs. Kim that she’s learned so much about over the past few months, project anything but warmth.

They project strength. They command respect. And they elicit fear. It resonates in the way they march forward, like troops toward battle. The way they scan the room, seemingly for threats. And the way they furrow their brows upon coming toe to toe with their son.

Bongseon can feel Jihu tense up. So she follows suit. But she waits to ball her fingers into fists.

“Jihu,” Mrs. Kim repeats. 

Jihu can feel the nearly invisible hairs at the tail of his spine stand on end, and he straightens unnaturally to let them unfurl.

“Eomma. Appa.”

Director Kim is barely there, silently counting down the minutes until this ridiculous event is over, and he can get back to his chair in his study.

“I thought that you had your study group with Yong-hyun and the others?” Mrs. Kim asks. “We saw them taking their places at a table about an hour ago, and they said that you were going to join them.”

“I did,” Jihu says. “But—”

“It’s good that you’re here,” Mrs. Kim replies. “There are many wonderful people here to introduce you to.”

Jihu’s eyes brighten, and his dimples appear as he pulls his cheeks into a small but happy grin. “Funny you should say that because—”

“Haneul!”

The face that turns at the call of that name is a face that all the other campus golden ratio girls would envy. She smiles politely and raises her eyebrows before turning back to the professor with whom she was speaking.

“Hmm, seems she’ll be just a moment,” Mrs. Kim observes. 

“Good, because, uh, actually, I was going to say that I wanted to introduce you to someone, too,” Jihu persists. “This is Pan Bongseon.”

His arm circles around Bongseon’s waist, firming with resolve, and making Bongseon’s lips curl into something instead: a surprised, proud smile.

Bongseon’s waist bends, her hips supporting a perfect, 90-degree angle, and her strategically chosen dress revealing nothing except her obligation to honor. 

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Director Kim, Mrs. Kim.” She smiles weakly. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Have you?” Mrs. Kim asks, bored. She looks around Bongseon, eyes never quite meeting. “Then again, most everyone in this room has, ah, heard so much about us.”

She shoots Director Kim a pleased look that goes completely missed.

“Yes, what with your illustrious careers,” Bongseon remarks, hoping that she’s not nodding too eagerly.

“Talk about illustrious. Bongseon’s one of tonight’s finalists,” Jihu says proudly. He gestures to the piece behind them. “Her piece is right here. The medium is charcoal. Isn’t she phenomenal?”

Director Kim stands in place while Mrs. Kim walks forward to get a better look.

“I don’t get it. Who is it supposed to be?”

“It’s not supposed to be any one person,” Bongseon answers. “The prompt called for human models to depict life in motion.”

Mrs. Kim frowns. “But he’s sitting?”

“I wanted the piece to show how we spend most of life moving time forward,” Bongseon answers. “By ourselves. In these small moments.”

Mrs. Kim stares at the piece again. “Well, the piece certainly feels small.”

Bongseon scowls.

“It kind of looks like you, son,” Director Kim chimes in, with an air of intrigue.

“Just, ah, Bongseon’s ability to c-capture the Everyman, I guess,” Jihu stammers.

Feeling unnerved, Bongseon says, “It is him. He saw my ad for models. I paid $50 for a session.” She crosses her arms. “He was very kind, and very happy, to take the job.”

Mrs. Kim smirks. “Fascinating.” She steps closer toward the plaque next to Bongseon’s piece, hunching forward slightly, crossing her arms and squinting her eyes to read the summary, as if needing more proof. “You know, Jihu, if you need money, you could always just come home.”

“Not now, Eomma.”

Every time Jihu says it, he says it with a little more determination. As if the “not now” is slowly but surely transforming into a “never again”.

Mrs. Kim turns to Bongseon, arms still crossed, eyes still narrow. “If you think trying to buddy up with my son will nab you this scholarship, you’re sorely mistaken. We merely paid for the renovations and are attending this function in order to see the changes. We have no stake in who wins or loses. Though I certainly have an eye for prediction.”

Bongseon places her hands on her hips. “Then we have two things in common, it seems. An eye for prediction, and deep care for your son.”

Jihu brightens again, dimples deepening.

Mrs. Kim’s face sours as her head turns, chin moving over her shoulder. Her eyes scan the room again. “Professor Im!” She uncrosses her arms and waves for Haneul to join them. “You’re hogging her!”

Haneul sheepishly grins to the sweet, older man speaking with her. She says something seemingly equal parts charming and kind, given the way he smiles and nods gratefully. After a gentle handshake, Haneul makes her way over to them. She parts a crowd that has gathered around one of the sculpture entries, the figure of a ballet dancer mid-twirl. And like that ballet dancer, she strides, long, and graceful, toward Mrs. Kim, smiling politely and perfectly when she says, “Hello, Mrs. Kim. Everyone.”

Haneul doesn’t bow. At first, Bongseon wonders if that gives her a leg up in the real competition for the evening. Until she realizes that Haneul doesn’t need to bow.

And at that realization, Bongseon starts to shrink, wondering how hard and for how long she would need to stomp her feet to fall through the frosted glass.

“Haneul here is a scholar set to go abroad to study political science,” Mrs. Kim introduces. “Jihu, I think you and Haneul would make great friends.”

“I’ve been looking forward to getting to know you,” Haneul says happily. “Your eomma has bragged about you non-stop since I’ve met her.”

“It’s because I haven’t hit on every accomplishment yet,” Mrs. Kim says with glee, smoothing a slight ruffle in the shoulder of Haneul’s pure white blouse. “Come to our dinner party in two weeks’ time. I’ll send your mother the invitation, and I’ll seat the two of you together. You can catch up then.”

“I won’t be attending the party, Eomma,” Jihu insists. 

“Nonsense, you’re coming,” Director Kim replies. “Your grandfather will be in town.” He leans forward. “Whatever else is going on in our lives… well, you’d better be there to see your grandfather.”

“Excited to be a part of it,” Haneul says, grinning at Jihu. Her eyes shift to Bongseon. “I don’t believe we’ve met, but I think I might be in the same dorm as you. I’m in 205, with my suite mate.”

“308.”

“Lucky! You got the single dorm!” Haneul smiles. “Will you be at the Kims’, too?”

Bongseon tries to remember how to speak. That she is worthy of speaking. “Oh, I—”

“Family only,” Mrs. Kim says, with an encouraging wink.

Haneul’s head dips back slightly, and Jihu rolls his eyes.

“It’ll be a wonderful event,” Haneul says diplomatically. “They always are. But if you’ll excuse me? I’m volunteering at this event, and I believe I need to help set the stage up for the announcement of the winners and the dean’s closing remarks. We’re due to start in about fifteen minutes.”

“Go shine, Haneul, like you always do,” Mrs. Kim replies, nodding with proud approval.

“Thank you, Director Kim, everyone,” Haneul says respectfully. “And thank you for the donations to get these renovations done. Our student body is so grateful.”

As Haneul takes her leave, elegance and class wrapped up in the human form, Bongseon feels her own body disappearing into nothing. A better reflection of what she is.

“Go shine?” Jihu mutters. “Haneul volunteered. She’s just setting up the stage. Not even standing on it. Bongseon got here due to her artistic excellence. ”

Mrs. Kim tosses the statement right through Bongseon’s chest, Mrs. Kim’s eyes still not quite landing anywhere near Bongseon’s face.

“Please, Jihu. Only stars shine.” 

“Fuck my parents,” Jihu says.

Bongseon stops on the second stair of the entrance to her dorm, her purse swinging under her shoulder. Her long lashes blink in surprise. Despite the issues they had, Jihu had never used disrespectful language about his parents.

“I-I’m sorry, did you just—”

“Fuck! My! Parents!” Jihu repeats, stronger now. 

Bongseon looks around.

“C’mon. Let’s go inside. Someone might hear you.”

Jihu can barely keep his words in his mouth, muttering the entire time it takes for them to get from the front door of the building to Bongseon’s single dorm.

“They didn’t cut me off,” Jihu bursts, not even a full second after Bongseon closes her door. “I need you to know that. I need you to know that they didn’t cut me off, and that I’m the one actually refusing to accept their money.”

Bongseon raises her eyebrows. “OK.”

“They try to wire me my tuition every month, and I rip up the check. Every time. Because it’s the principle of the thing.”

“I hear you. Understood.”

“You could make something out of those ripped checks. Whatever that art style is. With all the bits of paper, and the glue, and you turn it into something else.”

“Papier mache?” 

“Yeah. But not really. Because I threw all the scraps away.”

“Papier mache isn’t really my forte, anyway.”

Eight, Bongseon notices. Jihu has angrily paced the same line back and forth eight times. But now, he comes to a stop. 

He scoffs. “Can you believe them? I was so excited to introduce you to them, introduce your art to them, and they just pulled their same old shit! And now I have to go to this dumb dinner and meet this girl? All because they’re so threatened that I could dare to see things differently than they do, that I could open up to someone who makes me feel—!”

Jihu catches Bongseon’s thoughtful gaze.

At the sight of her, his eyes widen and blink rapidly behind his glasses.

Bongseon’s eyes linger on him for a moment.

And then she takes a couple of steps forward.

Reaches up for his glasses.

Folds the earpieces down.

Sets them on top of a stack of books on her desk, just to her right.

“What do you feel?” she asks quietly.

Jihu’s eyes soften. 

“That’s it,” he admits, shrugging. “You… y-you make me feel.”

It’s surprising that it doesn’t happen in her studio, which is where he’d imagined it happening. With the door locked, it’s quite private. So much of her passion resides there. And it’s where they met, so it seemed like the most obvious place. He can’t believe that it happens in her dorm. He can’t believe how lucky he is to be able to be in her living space, where she eats, and sleeps, and lies on her couch while watching TV, and does her dishes. He can’t believe that this is where he’s cupping her cheek in his hand and kissing her with such intensity that he knows this is where it’s going to happen.

Her hands reach for his belt.

“We don’t have to,” he whispers quickly, lest he get his hopes up too early. 

But Bongseon smiles the way she usually smiles. 

Confidently.

“After tonight? Everything that you’ve said? How can we not?”

Jihu moans as he rushes forward for another kiss, and then another.

The peony pink dress looks at home on the couch. So does his button-up and slacks. 

Her white, lacy bra and matching panties look beautiful on her floor. So do his dress socks, and his boxers. 

And Bongseon looks exquisite in her bed, naked and excited, pulling Jihu on top of her and hooking her left arm around his neck.

That excitement. Contagious and thrilling.

Jihu realizes that that’s one of the feelings he always has with Bongseon.

The feeling of being wanted.

“I’m so glad you want it too,” he confesses, his hand snaking between her legs.

She bites her lip and lets out a moan at the feel of his fingers spreading her apart, slowly rubbing back and forth to coat his hand in her abundant arousal.

“Badly,” she whispers. She grips his wrist. “Can’t you tell?”

Jihu nods into their kiss, and his fingers massage her clit, hand staying where she holds him, as her hips start to rock back and forth.

Bongseon lets out a moan, head hanging back, teeth raking against her lips as she sucks in a breath to last her. As she moves, she raises her chest to him, and his kiss-swollen lips stamp a trail down her neck, and between her breasts.

She hoists herself up, and hugs his neck, while his free hand curls into a fist, the tops of his knuckles digging into her mattress like his knees are, springs creaking as she bounces heavier, and heavier, against him. 

Her throat closes up. All of her muscles tense. A scream presses against her tonsils, but they refuse to let it out. All Jihu can hear are his fingers sloshing around inside of her, and his own quiet, eager grunts.

When she comes, she lets go completely, her back hitting the bed, head landing on her pillow, hair strewn around her.

She lets out a gasp, air rushing into her body. She moans in delight, which turns into a more than satisfied, “Mm- hmm,” before rolling onto her belly.

Jihu lets out a quiet sigh as her ass slopes into view, her back arching, her hand combing through her long hair, and her pretty eyes peeking through as she looks back at him.

He bite his lip as he lines up behind her.

He’s patient as he slides into her. He’s so thick, and she’s so tight, that her juices are more enjoyable rather than useful. Still, she’s dripping everywhere, making an absolute mess.

Jihu loves getting to make a mess.

“Deep,” Bongseon instructs. “Long, and deep. Slow at first, yeah?”

She feels his nod, as it waves down his body and through her mattress’s springs.

A moan of ecstasy escapes her open, wet mouth as Jihu goes as deep as he can, cock curving slightly up, tip touching the back of her walls. 

When his hips start to pull away, the suction created by their tight, wet muscles makes them both double over, as it pulls him inside again.

Without looking, she reaches for him. Intertwines their fingers. Presses the back of his hand against her chest.

He fights through the suction as he pulls back. He nearly slips out of her. But then he pushes his cock head deeper, and his shaft rushes along her walls to slam into her again.

Bongseon’s head angles back, and she lets out a low, intrigued moan.

“What you had in mind?” Jihu asks through grit teeth. 

Whimpers are all that come out of Bongseon’s mouth. There’s barely any room for anything else against her gulping, heaving breaths. 

He bends down, his lips lightly brushing against the back of her shoulder as they move together, full, and slow.

“You know how long I’ve thought about this?” he whispers. “How many times I’ve drifted away and pretended I was kissing you? Fucking you? It’s all I wanna do.”

“Jihu.”

His cock fills her up with the same heat that radiates from his gaze. His smile. His broad chest. Every smirk, every kiss, every long day of work ended with a hug to cover up all the unspoken words, her temple pressed against his beating heart. 

He plunges deeper, stuttering on the way in.

Bongseon bites her bottom lip so hard that she thinks it might rip off and expose the bone 

“Deep. Slow. You knew exactly what to tell me. You’ve thought about it, too. You’ve wanted it, too.”

Bongseon isn’t usually one to show her hand, but it’s getting harder to fight the “yes” es collecting in her throat.

She wonders if he’ll fuck her there, too. Fuck them out of her. Fuck all the words, and thoughts, and spirals out of her seemingly ever-busy mind. 

How does he do this? Torture her and make her feel so at peace, so whole, at the same time?

Their backs arch and curve, sometimes snaking to opposite sides, playing with angles that release curses and unlock bursts of pleasure, sudden tension of hands gripping and teeth biting when it’s especially good. 

“Tell me,” Jihu pleads, voice still low, but thinning with urgency. “Tell me this is what you wanted.”

Bongseon whines, squeezing his hand tight, and squeezing her flesh tight, making Jihu moan into the back of her neck.

“Tell me you want more. Wanna give you more.”

Bongseon sucks in another breath, moving her hips back against him, telling him the only way she knows how. The only way she can. Her throat is too tight, voice too lost.

“Wanna give you everything.”

She nods, and Jihu slides his right hand along the seam of her right thigh, fingers finding her clit.

Bongseon bucks back, letting out a yelp as his fingers gather together and start to circle, pressure building.

“Want it all,” Bongseon finally admits, her voice far away. “Want you. All of you.”

As they move, they dip into the mattress and bounce up, rocking gently.

And then, violently.

Bongseon’s chin hits her pillow, and she starts to splay out, barely able to stay as tight as she has been. Her walls are fluttering, and Jihu knows that she won’t be able to last. 

“Just let go,” Jihu murmurs, placing his left palm in the small of her back as he speeds up. 

She nods. Doesn’t even bother moving her hair out of her face. Just lets her body take over, spasms and movements seemingly just as incoherent as anything that she tries to speak aloud.

When she comes, she wails, spit landing in her strands.

He comes soon after. Repeated grunts, soft “ohh, ohh, ohh” s, match each explosion of cum that springs from him.

When he collapses on top of her, she reaches back for him, fingers finding the back of his head. 

She taps him twice. 

“Well done.”

He laughs, lips brushing against her cheekbone.

“Now, get off of me. I wanna do something.”

Jihu rolls onto his side, kissing her there before she jumps out of bed, hair flowing behind her, footsteps punctuated by excited giggles.

She gets to her desk and looks around. Even with the clutter, her sketchbook is easy enough to find. Her pencils, though, always go missing. Remembering that she was last sketching when lying on the couch, she picks up Jihu’s shirt, and then her dress and purse, and finds the near-stub of a pencil between two cushions. 

She sets Jihu’s shirt back down. As well as her dress.

But she holds onto her purse.

She grabs the pencil and sets it atop her sketchbook on her desk. 

But then she opens her purse. 

Stares at the first place certificate.

As well as the check.

They each have her name on them, printed carefully, in elegant cursive on her certificate, and in serifed, clear, official font on her check.

She sets the certificate and the check on her desk, both face-down.

And then she grabs the sketchbook and pencil.

She jumps back into bed, having returned with a pencil and a sketch pad. 

“Stay still, OK?”

Jihu grins. He knows not to talk as she primes her space. 

After a moment, Jihu can’t help himself. He rushes forward and presses his lips to her bare shoulder, making her laugh and gently protest, as she flips her pencil under her index finger and over her thumb and middle, as her palm presses against his chest to push him back against the headboard.

Jihu’s never seen someone so consistently and intensely focused. And he’s not seen Bongseon like this, fresh off the glow of a win. In more ways than just one.

He lifts an arm and bends it behind him, resting the back of his head on his forearm. And, as he’s done for the entire time he’s known her, he watches her work. 

It’s amazing how content he feels, just watching her. He’d watch her for as long as she’d let him. And he’d watch her do anything. Sketch another scholarship-winning piece while bathed in the afternoon sun. Read on the top floor of the library. Cook. Laugh. Sleep. Think. 

Come.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Jihu tells her, making Bongseon roll her eyes. “I mean it. Just thinking about the way you looked when you…” He smiles. “I’m gonna be thinking about that for a while.”

“Not the only one,” Bongseon giggles, half of her brain in that moment, and half of her brain focusing on how to make sure to get the line of his left pec just right.

“Bongseon.”

“Mmm?”

“I hope this isn’t a one-time thing.”

“Me neither.”

“Good.”

Jihu doesn’t need a breath. Doesn’t stutter. Her confidence is so contagious.

“Because I think I may be falling for you.”

Bongseon looks up from her sketchbook, eyes wide.

Jihu snores.

Loudly.

And a lot.

Bongseon can’t help but fondly chuckle every time Jihu lets another one out. Though he’s loud, and the rattle in the back of his throat might raise concerns about his health, it’s indescribably comforting to watch him sleep so deeply, to know that he’s so comfortable in a place that has only ever been hers.

He doesn’t stir when she gets out of bed. He continues snoring when she makes some tea. He sleeps right through the kettle whistling. So Bongseon is sure that he definitely won’t wake up when she slips out of her room, just for a few minutes.

She takes the stairs instead of the elevator, as if trying to keep Jihu from hearing that, too.

She pads down the hall. Everyone else is definitely asleep. But she has no qualms about waking a particular person up.

She knocks on the door, and when it opens, Bongseon feels so relieved to know that she’s memorized the number correctly. 

Bongseon looks up into Haneul’s tired but curious eyes.

Hanuel’s voice cracks when she speaks.

“Y-yes…?” 

Her realization grows as more light enters the room and enters those curious eyes, helping her to answer her own question.

“You’re the artist?” she asks, voice still not warm enough. “From today?”

Bongseon nods. “Yeah.”

“Um… well… Congratulations, again?” She raises her eyebrows. “But why are you—”

“I’m really, really sorry to wake you,” Bongseon replies, “but I need your help.”

“Right now?”

“No. Two weeks from now.”

Haneul tilts her head, as Bongseon raises hers.

“Please don’t go to the Kims’ dinner.”

🧭 Fic Masterpost 🧭 Drabbles

[lessthanconventional]

Welcome to my Kinkblr!

Kinks You'll Find Here:

Stuffing

Stomachaches

Belly rubs

Tummy noises

Burping

Liquid bloats

Soft feedism

Mild weight gain/fat admiration

Kinks You Won't Find Here:

Scat/Eprocto

Pregnancy/Breeding

Nonconsensual force feeding

My Writing

I cycle sporadically between various WIPs, mostly about original characters. On the happy occasion I actually finish a story, I usually post it to my Pillowfort and AO3 and share links here.

Speaking of Pillowfort…

I can't recommend Pillowfort.social enough if you're in the market for an independent, user-funded, NSFW-welcoming social media site. They just came out with a rolling wait list a la AO3, but if you don't wanna wait, you can send me an ask off anon or message me for an account key. 🗝️

My Sideblogs

t-kiss is my sideblog project for tummy kink self-ship; check it out if that's your jam and maybe submit something for you and your F/Os!

unconventionalselfships is my personal t-kiss blog for gushing about my obscure F/Os.

unconventionalafterdark is where I put steamier content and real-life kink. (Basically it's a catch-all for anything that feels like "too much" for my main blog. 😅)

Current Projects (indexes coming soon!)

Whiskey And Ice Cream/WAIC: An ongoing series of self-indulgent stories centered around charming sugar daddy feeder Dustin, his adorable sugar baby-turned-boyfriend feedee Adam, and their glamorous feeder FWB Angel.

A Meeting of Minds/AMOM (WIP): A plotty kink series exploring my original urban fantasy universe and the queerplatonic found family that inhabits it. If you like the fantastic stories by @ginger-and-mint and @tiny-loves-rubs then this will be right up your alley.

The Tummy Date, aka Dirk & Vanessa (WIP): An experimental story of intentional kink that started out as a love letter to my favorite fic of the same name on StomachacheCafe (may it rest in peace). I love the OCs that came from it enough that I'll probably end up writing more for them. Set in the same universe as WAIC.

Wild Mountain Honey (WIP): More self-indulgent goodness centered around a bear shifter named Orson, the small mountain town he calls home, and his love interest Jia, a burnt out big city lawyer who's inexplicably attracted to Orson's big appetite. This is still in its early development stages, but the eventual goal is more or less kinky supernatural romance meets Hallmark movie. Set in the same universe as AMOM.

Kinky Blorbo Micro Manifestos

Ask me about any of these if you want exuberant infodumps and hyperspecific headcanons. Pretty much all of these have at least one back-burner plot bunny attached to them.

John Pope and Sara from Falling Skies: Pope is my blorbo to end all blorbos, the bright star on my horizon, my #1 t-kiss F/O. Sara is his kick-ass girlfriend, one of my favorite female characters ever, and someone I'm working up the courage to also make my t-kiss F/O. He's a trigger-happy berserker who's also a chef and eats more times on-camera than anyone else on the show, she's a plucky former graphic designer who asked him for Pringles at gunpoint—need I say more?

Nick Burkhardt and Sean Renard from Grimm (TV): The stars of the first kinky fanfic I ever felt brave enough to actually post online (which I will continue Someday™). I low-key ship them and Adalind in a kinky OT3. Sean x Cheesecake 4ever (based on an outtake that would've been memed in a larger fandom).

Pete Latimer and Myka Bering from Warehouse 13: This show is best known for its amazing and tragically non-canon femslash ship, Bering and Wells, but y'all, we are sleeping on Pete. He had as much kinky canon material (proportionally at least) as a certain gruff-voiced monster-hunter, right down to a signature favorite dessert, and he may have his flaws but his masculinity is a hell of a lot healthier overall. Meanwhile, Myka is a canonical stress eater with a canonical sweet tooth and a canonical best friend/partner (Pete) who's always trying to get her to relax. Pyka was queerplatonic and I will die on that hill.

Batman/Bruce Wayne and Catwoman/Selina Kyle from Batman: The Animated Series: I've had a long-time crush on TAS Batman, and tummying him is the inevitable result of that. It's practically canon that BatCat is some flavor of kinky, so Selina talking Bruce into self-care via feedism doesn't seem like much of a stretch to me. I'm also 100% down for kinky WonderBat and/or WonderBatCat.

The Leverage OT3 (Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison, and Parker): I'm still working my way past season one, but I have already made it my life's sidequest to believably tummy these three in various ways. Eliot's a hobbyist chef in desperate need of R&R, Hardison's hacker snacking provides endless windows of opportunity, and Parker has a major sweet tooth and zero inhibitions.

Flip from Slumberland (2022): Y'all. Y'all. I am feral over this man. A goofy outlaw and reluctant father played by Jason Momoa with fangs and a clingy T-shirt who carries snacks in his pockets and spends half the movie touching his belly is illegally tailored to my interests. Also the movie was hilarious and adorable and gave me feels and you should watch it. 

[dreamlandcreations]

300 follower celebration

So, today I reached 300 followers, and I decided to spread the appreciation of fic writers with a game.

Rules Guide: either name 5-10... ...of your favourite fics (that you wrote), ...best fics from your favourite writer, ...of your favourite writers with 1-1 fic that you like the best, or all of the above (there are no rules here, really, just give some appreciation however you like)

Oh, and don't forget to mention why they are your favourites!

Besides the list(s) of fics, also make a tag list to invite others to share their favourites.

No pressure tags: @cinebration @thefact0rygirl @youvebeenlivingfictional @massivecolorspygiant @pillow-titties @anetteaneta @dailyreverie @princessxkenobi @the-anonymous-pen @drabbles-mc @autumnleaves1991-blog @the-little-ewok @inlovewithhisblueeyes @becauseicantthinkwritings @rosethornxs @clydesducktape @maybege @aerynwrites @marvelmusing

AND ANYONE WHO WANTS TO JOIN!

See my lists below 😊

My favourite writers in no particular order:

@cinebration Wicked Creature (Alfie Solomons x Reader) The fic that got me to watch 6 seasons of a show I never intended to watch. The subtlety, the tension, the yearning. And writing a Tom Hardy character is not an easy challenge but the mission was definitely accomplished here.

@thefact0rygirl "Hold me" (Boba Fett x Reader) Vee is talented, kind, smart, funny and just simply the best. My trusty Boba fic provider. This can't be anything but a biased choice because all her fics are equally amazing but I love this one the best for obvious reasons.

@youvebeenlivingfictional The Logical Progression (Nathan Bateman x Reader) Dany, the evil siren, can do no wrong. I think this was the first Nathan fic I've read and by the time I was done my jaw dropped to the floor. This was so in character yet added so much to him that it's just incredible and I was so excited to read the Epilogue too.

@massivecolorspygiant The Bish/Brat story (Bishop Losa x Brat) Mags has a complete masterlist of awesomeness but I seriously can't express how much I love these little gems that you sometimes have to look for in the tags too. It's a wild ride. :(And I might be re-reading these instead of watching season 4)

@pillow-titties In the Morning (Billy Russo x Reader) I'm simple, I see Billy Russo and I click. This is cute Billy, drunk Billy, loving Billy... So what's not to like?

@anetteaneta The Letter (Poe Dameron x Reader) It's an impossible task to choose just one fic but I'm a sucker for heartbreaking angst but it's even better with a happy ending.

@dailyreverie Chill (Santiago Garcia x Reader) Again, a little biased but blushing Santi is just something special.

@princessxkenobi Delicate hints (Will Miller x Reader) The Poet. I'm in awe every time at realising how beautiful writing can be. This is one of the less poetic fics of A but it has that same 'smoothness' as the rest. When I read these fics it's like... being caressed by the water at the seaside, it is an unreasonably calming and lulling experience.

@the-anonymous-pen Prospecta (Bishop Losa x Reader) So, this is an ongoing project but I LOVE the concept and what I've read so far. *insert excited squeal* I can't wait to read more.

@drabbles-mc Fifty bucks (Bishop Losa x Reader) This is everything. The bet, the sneaking, Bishop's reaction, Agnel being a little shit.

and that was 10 already? so, I listed those who came to my mind first but there are so many talented writers here and it would be nice to see where this game could lead

My favourite fics: (pff, I don't think there is a fic that I wouldn't rewrite so I'm going with what little I can remember by the titles. the exorcism of haunting ideas by writing fics is not a helpful thing in this case. anyway...)

You are beautiful (Boba Fett x Reader) I think this was the first time that I just went with a concept with an idea of where it's going to lead. I also wanted to write something with no smut and it turned out to be a tiny bit angsty and a fluffy af.

Foreplay (Alfie Solomons x Reader) Another first. The first time I added an OC. The first time I tried to capture a character without imagining what they would say because Alfie is difficult if not impossible to mimic. I think this turned out to be okay, considering the aim.

Joy (Poe Dameron x Reader) This list is full of firsts, I guess. The first time I really ventured into the pregnancy plot. I was afraid I couldn't do this because the idea just freaks me out but I found it surprisingly easy to turn the uncomfortable moments into a joke. So there's that.

Bribing (Raymond Smith x half Asian!Reader) Ray is almost as much of a challenge to write as Alfie and I had my doubts about going into a banter with a character like that but I'm quite satisfied with the result.

Lost you (Darkling x Sun Summoner!Reader) This is where I started to build a fic around a scene. It's literally in the middle of the fic so the before and the after came together bit by bit. The 'after' part is where I tried to explore how an immortal being would view things and I'm not quite satisfied with what I could do here but it was not disappointing either, whatever that means.

Dating the Darkling / Billy Russo / Logan Delos / Caspian / +Sirius Black My first headcanon, multicharacter post. I really enjoyed doing something else than oneshots. It was interesting to think through one concept for different characters.

Devoured by the Dark (Darkling x soulmate!Reader) I'm really intrigued by the Darkling but I cannot help the thought that we are missing out a lot by showing this deliciously twisted character in the usual YA format. So I went a little dark here and it was fun.

Keep fighting (Billy Russo x Reader) The one where I abandoned plot altogether and created pure filth.

Seriously? (Billy Russo x Reader) I think this is where I almost made myself cry. I wanted to write the "before the Punisher Billy". When he could have made different choices, could have been an entirely different person for someone. It hit me hard that the obsessive need to be loved could only be satisfied by a deep connection. So I went deeper and deeper into the concept and this happened.

priest!Aleksander (Darkling x Reader) I'd describe this experience as being triggered. Seriously, I saw that moldboard and boom, I had to write these unhinged headcanons. This was new.

[red-the-dragon-writes]

🚧 this is not finished and there will be adjustments! 🚧 please do not reblog this post! 🚧 

Hi, I'm Red. Welcome to my writing blog. I use he/him, they/them, ne/nem, and fuck/fucker pronouns, and this is a sideblog. I follow and interact from @bitegore. I'm bi, trans, aro, polyam and above all Queer.

I write primarily Transformers fanfiction and, rarely, original fiction as well. I like dragons and I like robots, and I will put one or the other (or sometimes both!) into everything I do. I consider myself to be a horror writer, and I typically try to lean in toward whatever shitty implications I can come up with rather than lean out.

I have a particular love of in-universe documents and pastiche of things like current event news articles and sociological papers. I also love gore, death, horrific power dynamics, and bad sex that hurts everyone involved. I love when characters do bad things to one another and I want them to be awful.

I fully intend for everyone reading my stories to get some sort of rubberneck-style voyeuristic fascination out of everything I write. My smut is bad and I hope it makes you want to peel your skin off. My humor is pitch black and I will rhyme lying with dying and try to make you laugh about it. I do my best never to shy away from the edge and I want you to stare down at the pitch-black hole I've dropped my characters into and acknowledge the abject depths of their suffering and then be forced to admit that actually that's kind of funny anyway.

But i promise i'm chill as, like, a person and I want to give you the tools to read or not read that at your leisure and all that.

Current Ongoing Wips:

Transmissions from Cybertron - a letter-based epistolary fic about a transformer who goes on a weird mission and gets his brain fried super duper hard by it. Currently in its last few stages, I think, I just have to get it DONE.

Fortress Maximus v. Big Sword Studios - a pastiche of the ongoing "censorship is good/censorship is bad" debate from the beginning of modern media's existence set on Cybertron and in regards to deliberately provocative politically-charged pornography about (in-universe) war crimes. About half done. I have to kick it into high gear and I don't feeeeelllll like it i want to write stupid shenanigans instead.

Dedication - my take on the Tarn and Pharma Have A Child thing, wherein everything is bad, Pharma is currently dead, and the kid has never had a single positive adult in his life thus far. and also hasn't got a name yet. i just need to finish what i have written so i can get to what i want to write. this one also only needs a couple more chapters and then it should be done. Also Transformers fanfiction.

"You really wanna know where I'm from?"  - my beloved transformers oc Bait lies about her background to a bunch of people for fun and profit. A personal project and on the back burner.

some speedy pilot sharpshooter, or something - same beloved transformers oc takes a hit out on one of my friend's favorites and gives him a complex via torture, but I lost the other guy's voice and so I haven't gotten back to it yet.

laser core - Vortex (a transformer) wants to kill someone by fucking their battery until they die so bad he blows his dick up like fifteen times. Stuck in progress because I don;'t know enough engineering to make it work.

Crystal Clear - A Star Wars/Transformers crossover where Megatron and Optimus Prime are ancient jedi and Sith dug up out of the ground. I have no idea wher I was going with this but I want to get back to it someday.

Closerverse Main Story - Original fiction; a two part story that starts with a fucked up child soldier/member of a military cult discovering that non-human people (this is one of those high fantasy worlds with like shapeshifters and shit who are very much people) are still people and killing them is bad. and then falling in love, or at least good friends, with a dragon shapeshifter who also rather likes her. and THEN we take a hard swerve into grimdark territory and do bad things to our beloved dragon shapeshifter and hit him with a curse and do bad things to our ex-child soldier and THEN they go ahead and burn down the old world order and build a kinder one in its ashes. This one needs a prety comprehensive re-plotting but the bones are good; but also there's some awkward eeehhhh shit about what is essentially me processing my hashtag jewish-in-2022 feelings through making shapeshifting lizards be an oppressed culture and people that I don't want to take out because I want to be a shapeshifting lizard so bad i could cry but also the antisemites. they do that too. im not with them

no other serious origfic stories at this time smh

Housekeeping:

Tags in Use: #tag game - tag games (where I'm tagged/pinged by username) #ask game - ask games (asks sent in that I respond to) #wip thread - a long "thead" where i post snippets from one particular wip, usually short fanfics I intend to wrap and post within that week #tf writing - tag to specify Transformers writing #cls writing - tag to specify Closerverse-universe writing (changed 3/25/22) #ff writing - tag to specify other (non-Transformers) fanfiction #origfic writing - tag to specify other (non-Closerverse) original writing #others' writing - tag to specify that someone else wrote this and i just think it's cool #advice - advice #aesthetic - pretty pictures, usually just to fill up space #cn: sexual violence - "content note: sexual violence" - umbrella category for rape, noncon and dubcon #cn: gore - "content note: gore" - for body horror and "extreme" violence #cn: self-harm - "content note: self-harm" - for written descriptions of self-harm, including slightly less traditional ones like starving oneself #cn: death - "content note: death" - for stories dealing in large part with death. Note: not ones where it's incidental or background- stories where major charcters die or deal with grief.

I don't have a taglist for any wips because I have very few serious ongoing projects. If you'd like to be tagged for discussion and workshopping of Transformers fics, or for original works, please let me know which. Transformers taglist: - General TF taglist: - - Transmissions from Cybertron: - - Dedication: - - Crystal Clear: - - General Bait (OC) fic: - Origfic taglist: - General Closerverse Origfic: - - Closerverse Main Story: - - General Non-CV Origfic: -

[scentof-rain]

This story takes place in an old city on a lake. It's a very nice lake. Not such a nice city, but still a perfectly respectable place, full of perfectly respectable people, going about their perfectly respectable lives. Most of them, anyway.

Outside, cars rumble past, steam-powered things of tidy and sleek design, and conversation runs through the streets like the water from the lake when it floods in the spring thaws.

It isn't night yet, but it will be soon; the whole city will light up with lanterns and fireflies, flickering shadows cast in the alleyways. This is my city. I know the alleys better than I know my own hands, after so long hunting the scum that prowl them.

The office is even more familiar; it feels as much like home as my home does, but not as much as the streets. The lights have been broken for a while, so I make do with the old oil lamp on the corner table and the desk lamp, but I might keep it. It just makes the whole place feel cosy.

As I do most nights, I pull up the blinds on the door window. The decals there read Walter Shelby, Private Detective, in slightly faded black. I've been meaning to touch those up for a while, too.

I lounge back in the chair behind the desk, light a smoke, and wait for my next client.

The office is open for business.

Most recent update; July 22, 2022.

Introduction

Walter J Shelby is a private detective in the city on the lake. This is an interactive blog for him; you can send him cases, asks, or even items, tools, or gifts! His door is always open- but he makes no promises. ;}

How it works;

FOR ASKS;

Similarly to an ask-blog, you can ask him questions! How you do that is just like any other blog- you just go ahead and type up your question! The only thing I'd ask is that you add 'Interview' to the beginning of your ask, so I know it's specifically a question ask, since the case system is also heavily ask-based :)

Example; [Interview] Do you have a favorite drink?

FOR GIFTS;

This one has a very specific set of rules; at the very beginning of the ask, please write 'trinket', and then describe where it's been placed (i.e. on the windowsill, on his desk, pushed through the letter slot in his door, hidden in the pocket of his coat, etc), and what it is/looks like. You can also include a note, if you like, and add what that says in {these brackets} at the end of the ask.

Example; [trinket] On his desk is a single black feather that has an iridescent sheen when the sunlight catches it. underneath it is a note. {Thinking of you! Love, Julia}

Disclaimer; please don't send these as Julia, I just used her for an example. Thank you :)

FOR CASES;

Choose a role; Client, whose job is to hire Shelby for a case. Clients can provide evidence, clues, and witness statements. Criminal, whose job is either to hire Shelby for a case or try to get in his way on one. If you want Shelby to remember you in the future, please provide a callsign and [recurring] at the end of the ask. Anonymous Witness, whose job is to tip Shelby off to a case or provide evidence or clues on an open ongoing one. Bonus! Cop, who can invite Shelby onto an ongoing case of theirs- this is more of a roleplay choice. (Cops in this 'verse are not like real cops; they are actually decent people working to protect the public, save for the occasional corrupt one for flavor.) - Please note; clients and cops must be off anon or have a callsign. The other two do not require one (unless you want to be a repeat character).

Choose a method; Secretive; any clues, I make up myself. Your input is limited to a prompt and a choice of crime. Investigative; anyone can add clues, act as witnesses, or even add another victim. It is very unlikely that the story will go where you originally intended, but will likely be quite fun. Speculative; You are the only one to add clues, act as witnesses, or add more victims. Bonus! Argumentative; you play the villain. Send Shelby on a wild goose chase, lead him into a trap, or even try to kill him. - Note; Speculative requires that you be off anon or have a callsign, so I know you're the right client.

Choose a material; [Witness Statement]; A verbal or written account from someone who witnessed the crime. [Clue]; A hint towards the solution- either an item, a piece of information, or a detail about the environment. [Evidence]; A clue found specifically at the crime scene. [Victim]; An additional victim of the same or similar crime- or a description of the original victim. [Attack]; An attack on Shelby; please roll a die for a number out of ten- that'll tell you if you succeeded against my own roll. (Or you can pick a number yourself, if you want a certain outcome.) [Mun]; A message for the mun; either to suggest changes or ideas for running the blog/the asking system, or to ask questions about Shelby (though you can ask him yourself, too).

To craft an ask; Please choose one of each for your first ask, but for any further ones, you only need the third set. :) Also, please include a label for the case, so I can keep track which is which; all asks and notes about it will be tagged with the name you come up with. Put the label at the beginning of the ask, please :)

Example ask (immersive format); [Client, secretive, victim] And then you'd insert your story here; "I was robbed just outside the corner store by a group of men, and I need your help to track down what they stole."

Example ask (prompt format); [Client, secretive, evidence]; Client; (insert name here); Ms Lillian Woodshocke Crime; (insert crime here); Her shop was burglarized. Evidence; (insert whatever it is here); The window was broken, and several display pieces were damaged.

RULES;

please no more than 5 cases at a time (assuming this blog ever gets very busy); I can only keep track of so much.

while you're welcome to play anyone you like- even canon characters from other universes, though I doubt Shelby will recognize them- I'll ask that you don't play any of mine. Thank you.

No hurting Julia. No hurting Annie the Seer either, she doesn't deserve that :(

As relating to the above; threats are, to an extent, acceptable; they add a certain level of personal stakes sometimes.

No shipping please. Also, no magic anons. Shelby's happily married and I... haven't had great experiences with magic anons.

Tags;

Clients; non-anon case starters Clues; items + information Criminals; a file on the known criminals Shelby's encountered but not caught yet Case Files; summarized stories, written up upon closing a case Evidence; an ongoing list of all clues, information, and evidence acquired for a particular case Musings; Shelby's notes to himself the little black book; quotes day! quick blurbs from his book of quips and quotes of famous individuals from the city on the lake. content for when I'm burnt out on writing.

Bio;

BASICS Species; Human (with a particularly intense soul) Nationality; Mixed, primarily Irish, Choctaw, and Romani Gender; Trans man Age; 38 Occupation; Private Detective

APPEARANCE - Description; He has a narrow sort of face, with a strong jaw, a chiseled nose, and defined cheekbones. He's got a cupid's-bow mouth, with little facial hair (though sometimes, when he feels like it, application of makeup can give him the appearance of stubble). Tired eyes, the color of clear, bright amber, with neat, angular brows. His hair is shaved at the sides, long enough to tie in a short ponytail at the back; it's a warm, dark brown, beginning to silver at the temples. His skin tone is warmly tanned, with plenty of freckles. A man of average height, perhaps slightly shorter than average, and lean build, he stands at 5'7". - Tattoos/Scars; Notable scars are the one over his lips from a knife, a faded burn scar down his spine, two bullet scars in his left thigh, and a rather nasty scar on his left arm from being mauled by a fighting dog. (The dog is fine. He has a loving family and is very happy now.) As for tattoos, two of them; one on his right shoulder of a wolf, and an inch long 'strength' written on his right wrist. - Posture; Preferring to lean against a wall or lounge in a chair, his posture when standing is very straight, hands usually either behind his back or in his pockets. His head is often tilted down to hide his face behind the brim of his hat- regardless of whether he's actually wearing one or not. - Dress; While largely fond of the classic P.I. look, trench coat, fedora, suspenders, and all, there are a few differences. His coat and hat are charcoal grey, with black slacks, a warm-brown belt with matching combat boots and suspenders. His shirts vary between white, cream, navy, and black. If he does wear a tie, always loose and askew, it's silver or light blue; more commonly, he wears a white scarf. He owns several of the same coat, pants, and hat, so he has a consistent look that makes him easy to recognize in a crowd- and harder to recognize in other clothes, when he needs to avoid attention. - Gear; A simple silver watch, his wedding ring (made from cobalt with copper inlay), a piece of labradorite on a leather cord worn under his shirt, a set of high-quality lockpicks, equally high-quality handcuffs, a personalized lighter with a decorative sailboat engraved on it, a flask full of 'alcohol' (it's actually tea), a boot knife, and an old, well-cared-for revolver, with blackened metal and a rowan grip.

ATTITUDE - Personality; Irritable and standoffish on the surface, his true personality is analytical, compassionate, and intuitive. He's capable of both great coldness and great kindness, but he prefers to cover a genuine desire to help with a gruff, sarcastic exterior. - Quirks; When he's nervous or thinking very hard, he smokes to keep his hands busy. The rasp it gives his voice helps him with his dysphoria, too. Sometimes, he pretends to sleep with his hat over his face in chairs, in public places, to listen to conversations and gossip. - Likes; Fountain pens, the sound of typewriters and rain on windows, and alcohol- but only when not 'on duty' so to speak, and only in small amounts- no more than a very small glass a day, and typically only actually once or twice a week. - Dislikes; Exceptionally loud and sudden sounds, thunderstorms, politicians, that one street by the church that makes the bells echo - Strengths; He's observant, often noticing small details that others overlook. He's more flexible than most people, and his compact frame lets him get into places taller or larger men might have trouble with. He's also very patient. - Weaknesses; He's so good at finding details, sometimes he misses the larger picture. Physically, his left knee, which he injured on another case several years ago and which still gives him trouble in colder weather.

[adultswim2021]

Moral Orel #22: “Repression” | May 7, 2007 - 12:15AM | S02E12

Principal Fakey’s ongoing fling with Nurse Bendy is the focus of this episode. Bendy is a vapid but young and attractive school nurse, and Principal Fakey is just one of Moralton’s many lame, weak-willed and terrible men. Fakey is so consumed with guilt that he shies away from the details while in confession (we’ve seen a similar scene earlier in the series, but I forget what episode). Reverend Putty just wants to get some onanistic thrills from the sordid details, but Fakey can’t bring himself to go too deep into. Putty’s frustration stems only from being denied wack-off fodder. 

Orel, overhearing this, seeks wisdom from his father, who teaches him about repression. He also extols the virtues of being an authority figure. Not only do authority figures know best, but they are also the single authority of their own emotions and their personal truths. Orel relays this to Principal Fakey, who becomes a master of denial. In fact, while thrusting into Nurse Bendy, he learns that he has an STD (apparently school nurses can test for STDs). Oblivious to the fact he clearly got it from her (she speaks knowledgeably about how to treat said STD suggesting she has first-hand experience with it), Fakey immediately throws his poor, suffering wife out, believing that she must have given it to him.

There’s some funny dialogue in this one, and the episode is consistently funny, but it’s not VERY funny. There are very typical Moral Orel style jokes, but fails to be anything truly special. Mid-grade Orel. Not knocking it! I’ll take mid-grade Orel! 

I genuinely wonder if this is based on this bit from The Guide For the Married Man. I’ve basically lived my whole life based on the teachings of this sketch.

EPHEMERA CORNER

MAIL BAG

Jason Alexander admitted on 20/20 just now that he thought Michael Richards racial tirade was funny. He's crying about it as we speak.

I also thought it was funny but you don’t see ME crying! At least not for that reason!

What would you imagine would be the ideal first taste of Jonah Ray? Like if you had to procure a bite of Jonah Ray Comedy to make it the most palatable to a new comer. Any toppings?

A new coomer lol. Uh, I would slide that gorgeous human being with a soul and everything a copy of his AST-Records 7 Inch, which is dedicated to all of the fucking girls who ever shit on his heart... may they rest une peace!

The concept of Bob Odenkirk being "bit" by the Tim and Eric bug is so funny. He was also instrumental in grooming The Birthday Boys into prominence (in more ways than one). You could say he was the Lou Pearlman on young whiteboy comedy in the late aughts (in more ways than one).

I wanna get him to help me out by writing him a nice letter but I’m afraid now he’ll kick my freaking ass

It's Adam and Eve not Larry and Steve

LOL THATS FOR SURE

Not only did you know guys who looked like Jonah Ray, but one of our friends famously ID'd himself as Jonah Ray in an early viral video. Do you remember that and remember that man? You like him a lot. I can guarantee.

Don’t say private stuff like this on my mail bag, you dope. I do love that man, I love him a lot.

Link to the fuckable killer blog? Sound pretty good?

NO. This is more important than keeping the bit going, and I can tell this might hurt you. There is no blog where a guy ranks horror movies by how fuckable the killer is. I made it up. If you would like to start this as a blog yourself, as a spin-off (but you have to put in the description that you are a spin-off of this and link to me) then please go ahead. I would like to expand this universe.

[loreweaver-universe]

And that’s the episode.

“I’m counting on you.”  A letter from himself...he’s forgotten all about Mai in the present.  Either her powers overwhelmed even his ability to see her or she did something deliberately to make him forget.  And the letter makes remembering her sound VERY urgent--whether it’s a close friendship or he fell in love with her I’m not sure, but it sounds kind of desperate.

What an intriguing beginning to this show.  I’m definitely interested in seeing what happens next.  This journey they’re about to go on together seems like it’ll be pretty interesting.

That’s it for Bunny Girl Senpai for tonight, but we’re not done yet!  Up next is going to be the start of episode 6 of Kino’s Journey, so stay tuned for that in a few minutes!  But before I’m done with this wrap up:

I now have a Patreon for my streams, which you can find here!  I debuted this earlier in the month to some success, and recently I added a patronage tier where you can pick a game (or games!) for me to stream 4-8 hours of on one Sunday a month depending on how much you pledge.  I have a fairly expansive list of games I own that I think are streamable, which you can view here, or, if you really want to, you can buy a game you want to see me play (but the list of games I own really is quite large!)  There are four slots in this patronage tier, one for each guaranteed Sunday in a month.  If you’re interested, please check it out!  You can discuss what games you would like me to play on Discord--you can find me via the LWU community Discord server, which you can find at this link!

Anyways, that’s Bunny Girl Senpai.  I’ll see you in a few minutes for Kino!

IN OTHER NEWS:

I recently completed my blind playthrough of Persona 5 Royal!  You can see the full playlist of those streams by clicking here!

I’m currently in the middle of playing through Persona 4 Golden!  You can see the ongoing playlist of those streams by clicking here!

If you’d like to help me pay my rent, buy me some food, or help with my bills and medicine, please use my direct donation link!  If you’d like to support me per liveblog completed every month, please pledge to my Patreon!

You should also go pledge to Gio’s Patreon, or his Sponsus–our Discord server maintenance tech and creator of Rubybot deserves far more than I can afford to pledge to him by myself.

If you’d like more of me and my content:

My Episode Lists master page, where you can find every show and liveblog I’ve done!

My Discord server, where you can come hang out with me and other fans, check out member liveblogs, and join community gaming guilds!

My Twitch channel, where I stream variety games every so often!

My Youtube channel, where you can check out past streams!

My ask blog, where you can send me questions and comments!

My Twitter, where I make announcements about liveblogs and streams!

My merch store, where you can get shirts, mugs, stickers, and more!

It’s your kindness and support that lets me do this stuff, and I wouldn’t be where I am without all of you to do it for.  Thank you all so much for your support, and for tuning in every episode!

OTHER PEOPLE YOU MAY ENJOY:

I may have been one of the earlier Steven Universe liveblogs, but a whole community of livebloggers has sprung up over the last six years!   I linked to a bunch individually for a few wrap-ups, but honestly, this end-slate is already eight billion miles long, so I’m just gonna link to my links page.  Click here if you want recommendations of other livebloggers, or other neat people, or webcomics and podcasts that I recommend.

[softceleste]

i don’t know how to deal with the fact that one of my favorite actors is completely ignoring the ongoing genocide. the implication of their silence and them not even deigning to share a call for a ceasefire is something I genuinely can’t get past. they haven’t even cleared the bar of doing the bare minimum and i’m finding it hard to imagine engaging with any media they’re a part of at this point.

i’m sorry to bother you with this message but the person i’m talking about is someone you also like and i didn’t know who else i could talk to about this. i deliberately left out any identifying information so as not to invite any weirdos to your blog should you choose to answer this. i can send their name in a separate ask if you wish. once again, sorry to bother you

Hey love! So from the get go, I just want to say you are absolutely not bothering me whatsoever, okay? I’m glad that you feel safe / comfortable enough to come talk to me about how you’re feeling, and honestly like... if people are weird in my anons, I’ll block them. You’re good!

I’ll also be honest that I’m still trying to navigate my feelings with this specific thing happening with a couple of my favorites too. Like on the one hand, I obviously prefer that they’re not actively calling for the deaths of Palestinians given how many horrible posts I've seen from celebs doing that, but on the other hand, being silent is frankly just enabling genocide at this point and I fail to see how anyone doesn’t see that. It’s part of why I’m frustrated with people who were posting daily at the beginning and hasn’t posted the entirety of 2024 about it as well currently, because like... right now it’s extremely important to keep posting.  So I’m taking this case by case currently, and keeping an eye on the letters and stuff (because a lot of celebs are not posting zionist on IG to avoid being canceled rn and signing shit like the Biden letter, but on the flip side there’s been celebs I personally haven’t seen post yet, but I’ve seen photos of in the streets protesting for a ceasefire) right now, and in a lot of cases I’m leaning towards drop so you may see me drop more and more people as time goes on, but I’m gonna keep my eyes on stuff and see how it continues to go.

That being said, I got your anon about who we’re discussing and... yeah, so I kinda already have dropped her and decided to only post her when my friends tag me in stuff of hers for a variety of reasons (including realizing the sheer amount of vocal transphobes she follows and engages with, and not being able to think of a single time she has positively discussed the trans community) until I 100% decide how I feel about her - it may even end up being a 100% no reblog situation, we'll see after I sort out my feelings. But she did post in October, and I’ll put that post that IG story under the read more. I’ll be completely honest though, I wouldn’t expect any future posts from her, and between her closest friends politics / posts on the matter and what I know about the area she grew up in (because I have family who lives in the same town), I’m not sure we’d like any posts she’d make if she did decide to post about Palestine. Like it sucked dropping someone I was following/loved like a decade, but I'm trusting my gut on this one you know? Would rather listen to it and get proven wrong, than not and be proven right in this situation, personally 💕

Image Link (because I can't readmore it ??? yikes tumblr)