#that means it made at least a bit of sense and got past gmail

[fingertipsmp3]

Survived my first day of my new job :)

[laughing-with-god]

Pandemonium XII

(Author’s note; so I owe everyone an apology.  I haven’t written for this story in a long ass time and tbh it shows.  I’m sorry but I lost inspo for this story and that’s why this story had been dead for so long.  I’m trying to get back into the flow of this plot, so please just have a little more patience with me.  I have no right to ask for that but I really need it.  But anyway, this chapter is more of a buildup for the next big event I want to happen in this story, please enjoy.)

Words; 3.6k

“Your mom’s chest hair!”- Janis Ian, Mean Girls

You were having a Lindsay Lohan moment in a bathroom stall….except the ‘Regina George’ in this situation was God fucking with you in a form of a shitty day.  

Okay…*record scratch* you’re probably wondering how you got yourself into this mess.  

You gasped after the dreaded ‘D’ word left your mouth and before you could give Namjoon a chance to respond over the phone, you hastily pressed the ‘end call’ button to return to your pitiful sobs.

Except these sobs were harder than the ones before because like...what the fuck??  You called Namjoon daddy….. Why?

The taboo word slipped past your lips as if it was nothing, as if your brain didn’t send signals to your mouth to form the name and release it.  You didn’t give your mouth permission to utter it, but it was said into the receiver of your phone before you could even process why the fuck you would say it.

“‘Word vomit”, some might say.  

Two ‘Mean Girls’ themes in one day...you were on a role.

How could you face him after that?  Knowing you accidentally fed into his dumbass daddy kink just because you were having a meltdown and needed someone to call on.  The fucker probably thought he ‘snapped you into submission’ or something. His pathetic male ego was most likely purring right now.  

And your timing couldn’t possibly be any worse.  

You JUST had this conversation with him and told him that you would never play into his weird little bdsm game, yet here you were.  You couldn’t comprehend your own stupidity.

Hastily, you pulled out your laptop from your bag.  While sitting on the toilet with little regard for hygiene in favor of your record-breaking distress; you quickly opened your gmail to send a message to your professors that you would be missing class for the rest of the day.  

After doing so, you slammed the device shut and exited the stall.  

The mirror reflected the tiredness and annoyance you felt.  Your skin was blotchy and drained of color whilst your nose and eyes were red with evidence of your crying.  The swelling of your eyelids was enough to make you head to the sink in attempt to splash some cold water onto them.  

While hunched over the sink, you heard your phone buzz from its’ place in your pocket.  You reached around to grab it but when you saw whom it was, you felt the need to throw it out the window before jumping out yourself.  

However the person calling was not to be put off by the decline to talk, given they only tried again and again.  When the device began buzzing for the fifth time, you groaned but answered it in hopes to give them a piece of your mind and end the line of future communication for good.  

“What do you want?!”  You growled, sure to let the bitchiness overlap your tone.

“Y/n!  Thank god you picked up!  Where are you? I saw you looked really down and just ran away.  Do you want me to take you home?” You heard a rustle over the phone which told you that he was indeed looking for you.  His heavy footsteps and background noise of student chatter hinted that he was still wandering campus in search of you.

“No Jungkook, I really rather not talk to you right now.”  You bluntly responded.

“Why?  did I do something wrong?  At least let me talk to you~”  He whined pathetically, the sound more annoying than what you originally recalled it to be.  

“I don’t know.  Maybe ask your bros why I feel like trash.”  You couldn’t help but be passive aggressive, not caring if you were giving in to the stereotypical women trope of being petty without reason and emotional without logic.  

“My ‘bros’?  What does that mean?  Did one of them say anything to you?  Because if they did then I will kill them I swear-”  You cut him off with a bitter laugh.

“Listen, I don’t think I can have a sugar daddy who goes to the same school as me.  It’s too….” you struggled to find the perfect word. “...problematic.” You said, the words surprising even you for the solution to the problem was staring at you right in the face.  

With the other brothers, there was a clear line of personal life and professional.  You never had to worry about running into them on campus or having your classes and peers interfered with given that all of them were older.  All except Jungkook. And although he was closer to age with you, he still was a man. And you rarely trusted men that age, much less men in general.  You would live in constant fear that he would spill the truth to your classmates about what you’ve degraded yourself to in the name of money. Today was a slap in the face of just how much power Jungkook held over you in this arena, the paranoia now unveiled by seeing him laugh and talk to other college guys.

It was too risky.  

“W-what?  Where is this coming from?”  His footsteps became more hurried as his voice began to tremble.  “Where are you? Let’s talk about this. We all have bad days, Y/n.  I’m sure tomorrow you’ll think differently. Just tell me where you are so-”

You ended the call.  

What followed was a nervous pacing driven by your frenzied exhaustion of the drastic turn of the day.  Perhaps when this day was over you would look back and realize that this was an extreme over reaction on your part.  But at this very moment, in the midst of a nervous breakdown, all you felt was an insufferable itch to abandon anything and everything that seemed to complicate matters.  And at the moment, Jungkook was very much complicating an already complex situation.

Your head pounded due to the sudden stress it had to endure in the last few hours.  With a deep sigh, you paused your pacing to rest against the wall and catch your breath...or rather hyperventilate.  Over the sound of your haggard gasps for air, your phone continued it’s onslaught of ringing. It was a mixture of calls and texts that only succeeded in making your brain ache more.  

There was no ignoring for the disturbance of peace was persistent.  You felt annoyance in its’ purest form and was determined to yell at the fuckboy to never contact you again.  This was your goal when you picked up the device to answer the incoming call.

“Leave me alone!!”  You barked into the speaker after pressing the phone to your ear, no time wasted on greetings.

“.....I don’t recall asking for that attitude so I strongly recommend that you drop it.”  A baritone voice rumbled right in your ear.

You spluttered for a moment as you were met with Namjoon over the line and not the expected manchild.

“Listen, I’m in your campus parking lot if you need a ride home.”  

This statement made you gather your senses.

“I-I don’t recall asking you to come.”  You bit back, startled at his sheer boldness.

He chuckled.  “Yeah, because you’re obviously doing so well where you’re at right now.”  

“Sometimes I can’t help but wonder who you think you are.”  You said this through gritted teeth.

“Don’t worry about who I think I am and just focus on what you think I am; daddy.”

You choked on your own salavia.  “I’ll drop you just like I did your brother, don’t fucking try me I swear.”

“Dropped?  My brother?  You must tell me more when you get in the car.”  He sighed, voice as casual as someone discussing the weekend weather.  

“You still have yet to tell me why I should leave with you.”  You rolled your eyes while saying this. You noticed something within the brothers, they all only paid attention to what they wanted to and never what they didn’t.  It was selective focus that you suspected was inherited from the breastmilk because they all had it.

“Let me break down your options.  You can ignore my ride and continue your hellish day at school whilst trying to avoid crying again.  You can ignore my ride and insist that you go home on your own, relying on some public transport given it’s pouring rain out here.  Or you can save yourself the trouble and take a free ride home.”

Perhaps you were just too tired and drained to even muster another retort.  You felt your stance slump as you released another sigh of defeat (you seemed to be doing this a lot lately),  

You were a prideful person.  

But you also weren’t stupid.  

Why bite the hand that feeds you?  

Even if that hand was attached to an insufferable and egotistical man….it was still feeding you.  

“I’ll be out in a sec.”  

--

How many unlucky events could occur within the same 24 hours?  

You seemed to be the runner up for that record breaking given you just tumbled up yet another unfortunate conclusion.  

Namjoon’s car was quiet except the pattering of the rain against the vehicle.  You had not said a word and neither had he. Perhaps it was your stiff posture and miserable expression that told him to back off.  Thankfully, it was a short ride to your dorm.

But a doomful emptiness welcomed you when you reached into your pocket for the usual key to said dorm.  

It was missing.  

And Kat was at school and wouldn’t be back till hours later.

Namjoon watched carefully as your face dropped and hand frantically grasp around your (empty) pocket.  

“Oh no~” He whined in a fake tone of concern that barely masked his grin of delight.  “Did you lose something?”

You glared at him but huffed, “I don’t have my key.”  

“Whatever shall you do?”  Namjoon was really bad at acting, even his dimples were on display as he tried his best to pull off looking sorry.  

“I’ll wait until my roommate comes back.”  It was unrealistic as Kat wouldn’t be back until much later and that’s a lot of time to spend just sitting outside your front door, but he didn’t have to know that.  

“Y/n, don’t be stupid.”  he chuckled and before you could reach over to open your door, you felt him pull out of the parking lot.  

“Hey!  What the fuck?!  Stop this car right now!”  You growled and watched in horror as he crruised into the main road.  

“No, you’re coming to my place.”  

--

Namjoon’s apartment was far too big for one single person.

It was yet another high-rise penthouse that was doused in expensive furniture and decor that somehow managed to be brutally pricey while also being overly minimalistic.  Blacks and greys seemed be colors fond to Namjoon’s heart and you briefly got flashbacks of a certain bunny-smiled fuckboy…

Just what did the brothers have against color?

Did it come with the territory of being rich?

Were dark colors the only thing allowed in their aesthetic?

The layout of the apartment was a bit more complex than Jungkook’s home.  When one entered the apartment, you were in a small corridor that eventually lead to a living area (complimented with a bar and fireplace) while next to it was an open kitchen area.  You spotted a smaller hallway beside the kitchen but you didn’t bother asking what the other rooms were, though you counted three. Before one could get into the hallway, one would have to pass a staircase that lead to an upper level of the residence.  

Your time of inspecting the space was cut short as Namjoon gestured for you to follow him.  

He lead you up the stairs, and you noted with small surprise that the whole second floor was just his massive bedroom.  

He began talking and walked around the area comfortably, lazily unclasping his rolex watch and tossing it onto one of the bedside tables.  

“I have some extra sweats in the third drawer down over there.  You can wear those and I’m sure you can find an extra t-shirt in the drawer above it.  I have netflix and hulu and whatever the fuck you kids watch these days. Not that youtube red bullshit though.”  he explained before he began pulling his tie off.

You made your way over to the drawer that he had refenced, pride being easily outweighed by the alluring comfort of over-sized sweats and a t-shirt.  You spotted a doorway leading to a connected bathroom, so after you gathered the clothes you made way to dress there.

When you returned back to the bedroom, Namjoon was nowhere to be seen.  

You didn’t quite care.  Instead you hopped into the bed and climbed under the covers, moaning as you did so due to the cloud-like softness of the matress and the gentle threading of the expensive sheets.  

You rolled over but felt the hardness of a remote halt your movement.  

You grasped at the object and used it to light the giant flat screen across from the bed to life.   It didn’t take long until you found a movie to entertain you.

You were about 10 minutes into Ratatouille (cheering the old hag on as she shot up some rats) when you heard weighted foot steps approach up the stairs.  

Stubbornly you kept your gaze on the film, not addressing the male as he climbed into the other side of the bed with you.  

“So, are you going to talk about what happened today?”

“I think I finally snapped.”  You deadpanned, purposely avoiding further details.  

“I’m going to take the freedom to assume that you’re meerely referencing a bad day and not a murder or something.”  He rumbled, causing you to shoot him a glare.

Namjoon had a way of speaking that was amazingly condescending, yet it was not the tangible type of rude (as in the type that you could call out).  It was very clever, as if he was explaining something to a child and not a grown woman, it was amicable enough to slip under the radar but the symboliminal passive aggressiveness was also evident to anyone willing to pay attention.  

You huffed and flipped to your side, curling up and closing your eyes as you let the stressful weight on your eyelids win its’ battle.  

“Are you going to tell me about the brother you ‘dropped’?”  He pushed, not at all affected by your show of bratiness.

“Your toddler asshole brother was talking about me to his other fuck boy allies.”  You informed him, eyes still closed and ignoring the sting in your heart at the foul memory.  

“I’m not the one to say ‘I told you so’ but I’m pretty sure I expressed that you needed a man and not a boy.”  After saying this, you felt his larger and warm form curl behind you. One of his lengthy arms circled around your waist and pulled you into his firm chest.  

“I need money.”  you said, strategically not favoring the ‘man’ or the ‘boy’ as it was not a relationship so much as a business transaction.  You then instinctively breathed in his foriegn cologne that somehow smelled aristocratic. You found his smell to be very soothing, and very ‘Namjoon’.  Is it possible for certain scents to just scream money?

“I make my own wealth while Kook has to rely on his trust fund.”  

You snorted at this and allowed your body to melt into his, exhaustion being harder to keep at bay.  

Silence spilled onto the bed after that, the only sound being the french music of the Ratatouille movie sounding from the high-tech speakers.  The world became flooded in darkness and the only stimulation you were able to experience was the feeling of Namjoon’s nose running up and down your neck, his breath ghosting the skin and leaving goosebumps in its’ wake.  

A warm glow of vulnerability blossomed from your stomach as you curled closer to Namjoon’s side, a touch starved mammal was all you could bring yourself to identify with in that moment. You didn’t quite care that cuddling was a tad too intimate for your tastes, you were far too tired and simply appreciated the protective hold he had you in.  It lulled you to sleep and calmed the nerves that had been abusing you all day.

You just hoped he wouldn’t read too into it or bring it up to the others.  

It would be a shame if another Jungkook situation happened again.

With that though, you fell into a deep sleep.  

Dreaming of baguettes and cold hard cash.  

--

“What the fuck do you mean he found out?”  

“How should hell should I know?”  

“Joon, you’re the closest to him.  You can talk him out of this.”

“It’s out of my hands.  Once he’s made his mind up, nothing could change it.”  

These were the words you heard pull you out of your slumber.  

The voices started out muffled but became more coherent as you became more aware.  You pulled yourself from the dark comfort of sleep and opened your eyes to investigate the intrusive sounds.

You groggily sat up and glanced around the bedroom, only to discover it was completely empty and dark; the television no longer on and Namjoon no longer present.  This meant that the voices were coming from downstairs, you could see the light from below and the sounds of pacing occuring in the living room.

You yawned and stretched before slowly getting up from the bed to lean over the railing.

Namjoon was pacing beside the wall-sized glass while three other people were sat on the enormous sofas, faces not clear due to the sky-view that only allowed you to make out the tops of their heads.  

“Well, it’s not for us to decide really.  Y/n would have to make up her own mind about it.  We can’t force anything.”

The light-hearted and soft spoken tone was easily deduced to be Hoseok.  

And at the mention of your name you decided to waltz down the steps, all too eager to involve yourself in the phantom conflict you were somehow associated with.  

At your approaching figure, all their heads snapped towards you.  

Seokjin, Yoongi and Hoseok all widened their eyes at the sight of you.  

“What the fuck is she doing here?”  Yoongi growled, glaring at Namjoon with his piercing black eyes.  

“Princess, did Joon force you here or something?”  Jin favored to focus on you, eyes roaming up and down your figure in search of any evidence of harm.  

You shook your head in response to Jin and directed your attention to Namjoon, who was furiously shaking his head in decline to the foul implication of him trapping you here.  

“Okay so...what were you guys talking about? Who found out what and how do I have anything to do with it?”  You asked while casually plopping yourself between Yoongi and Hoseok, noticing the way they grimaced at the clothes you were wearing (belonging to their brother).  

“Nevermind that honey.  Have you eaten yet? Do you want us to uber eats you something?”  Hoseok’s attempt to divert the subject matter was laughable enough to make you roll your eyes.  

“I’m fine thank you.  Now onto the decision I supposedly have to make.”  You watched as the brothers awkwardly exchanged glances, obviously caught off guard and not knowing how to dampen your interest in the clearly sensitive issue.

“Babe why don’t you tell them about the Kook situation.”  Namjoon prompted, causing the three brothers to raise eyebrows at you.  You scoffed at Joon and shook your head.

“I’d rather address the ordeal you guys were talking about before I came down.”  

“Yn, it’s not often that I give a shit so please don’t take my words lightly; you’re gonna wanna stay out of this shit-show.”  Yoongi told you with that deep voice of his, face unusually somber in contrast to his usual aloof expression.

“Well now I have to know.”  You groaned. If it was enough to make Yoongi on edge then it must’ve been a serious matter.  Your interest was peaked and you couldn’t help the need to know what the fuck was going on.

“Y/n, why don’t we wait ‘til later to talk about it?  We still have to tell our other brothers and figure out the details.  I wouldn’t want to give you half the story.” Jin said this with a kind smile, a dazzling show that he must frequently use on women to make them bend to his wishes.  

You huffed a breathless chuckle and stood up.  

“Tell me now or I will walk home and never speak to any of you, I swear on everything holy!”

“Being a brat won’t get you anywhere.”  Namjoon frowned, as he always did when any disobedience was shown on your side.  

“How long are you going to use that threat?”  Yoongi drawled.

“Guys, lets just tell her.”  Hoseok pleaded with the others, always one to submit to any demands.  

“Fine, but don’t force her into anything.  This isn’t the only option. We could always work around this.”  Jin sighed.

“Yn….our dad was informed by various employees that we had an altercation during your job interview.”  Namjoon ran a hand through his hair and plastered on a look of despair (an expression that didn’t fit his powerful aura).  “He has requested that he meets with all of us.”

“What does that have to do with me?  Is he an evil mob boss or something?”  

“.....Our dad is a very….terrifying man.”  Hoseok said, face also downcast.

Yoongi took it upon himself to finish your unanswered question.  

“And it includes you because he told us to bring you along.”

[mab1905]

84 Questions

original: 

https://fuckyeahsurveys.tumblr.com/post/61049002526/84-questions

1. Put your music player of choice on shuffle and list the first 10 songs

Someone New (Hozier)

Cactus Tree (Joni Mitchell)

Budapest (George Ezra)

And Dream Of Sheep (Kate Bush)

Nancy Mulligan (Ed Sheeran)

And Then She Kissed Me (St. Vincent)

Level of Concern (Twenty One Pilots)

Lovefool (The Cardigans)

Best For Last (Adele)

Video Killed The Radio Star (The Buggles)

2. If you could spend a week anywhere in the world, where would it be and why? Would you take anyone with you?

Japan. I travel a lot and it’s been on my list for a while, I would really want to go to the Hayao Miyazaki/Studio Ghibli theme park, if it ever opens that is. I would bring my best friend, Layla. I also would love to go to Amsterdam again.

3. What is your preferred writing implement? (eg. Blue pen, pencil, green pen) 

My ink nib cartooning pen (similar to a quill, but without the feather)

4. Favourite month and why? 

October, not too hot, not too cold, and of course, Halloween!

5. Do you have connections to any celebrities (even minor)? List them.

Nope, met several, got to true connections though. 

6. Name 3 items you could pick up from where you are.

My iPad, my Leatherman Multitool, my collection of David Bowie postcards.

7. What brand logo is closest to you currently?

The Apple logo

8. Do you ever play board games or other non-computer games? Got any favourites?

Chess. Card games like Solitaire, Black-Jack, and Castle. A game that I can’t remember the name of but it’s essentially a board-game version of Capture The Flag. Mostly Chess.

9. A musical artist you love that isn’t well known

St. Vincent? I’m not sure if she’s well known or not.

10. A musical artist you love that is well known

David Bowie. 

11. What is your desktop background currently?

A picture of Apollo 11 accompanied by the words “It won’t fail because of me”

12. Last person you talked to, and through what you talked to them

My best friend Layla, through the iMessage app.

13. First colour name you can think of that isn’t in the rainbow

Salmon

14. What timekeeping devices are in the room you are currently in?

My iPad, my computer, my collection of vintage stopwatches

15. What kind of headphones do you use?

Sony, wireless, noise canceling, over-the ear 

16. What musical artists have you seen perform live?

Twenty One Pilots, Sylvan Esso

17. Does virginity matter to you?

I guess? I think it’s important, it’s certainly some kind of ‘milestone,’ but I don’t think it should be treated like the scale of a persons ‘purity.’ It’s important because it’s sex, and (hopefully) that means that you’re sharing a consensual, intimate experience that feels fucking great for both (or all, if it’s more then two) participants.

18. What gaming consoles do you or your family own?

Z e r o, although I’m hoping to buy a PS4 at some point so I can play Detroit Become Human.

19. What pets do you have? What are their names?

Juno is my cat, she is an adorable grey tiger-striped shorthair. She’s got little white mitten-paws and it’s absolutely ridiculous.

20. What’s the best job you’ve ever had?

Doing tech at a local theater

21. What’s the worst job you’ve ever had?

Teaching art to little kids (I like kids but it was just exhausting)

22. What magazines do you read, if any?

The New Yorker, and the National Geo if I’m like, waiting in my doctor’s office or something.

23. Inspiration behind your URL?

It’s just my initials and a year from the Edwardian era

24. Inspiration behind your blog title?

It’s just my initials 

25. Favourite item of clothing?

My reddish-brown knit sweater vest and my floral bow-tie (often paired together)

26. Are you friends with any exes?

I made a very conscious effort to cut my exe out of my life… we were not happy for a very long time to say the least

27. Name at least one book you loved as a child.

Strega Nona, it’s about an Italian witch that makes great pasta in a magic pasta pot. My dad would read it to me and my sibling in Italian.

28. What’s your native language? If that language has distinct regional variations, which variation? (eg. AU English, US English)

US English

29. What email service do you use?

Gmail

30. Is there anything hanging on the walls of the room you are currently in?

So many things. Here's the list:

A giant David Bowie poster, a plaque that says “David Bowie IS,” five David Bowie postcards, a giant Abbey Road poster, all of my patches from summer camp, polaroids of me, my friends, and my family (including my cat), ticket stubs from concerts and plays, two trail markers that I took off of fallen trees on two important cross-country backpacking trips I went on, playbills from a bunch of broadway shows I’ve seen, a poster that says “Stonewall was a riot,” a DC Comics poster, a Pink Floyd poster, a few paintings of mine, and a painting that I got for free from a street artist I befriended in Rome when I was twelve

31. What’s your favourite number, and why?

16, 24, 21, and 8, some numbers make me uncomfortable, but these are just very soft and light and nice 

32. Earliest moment in your life you can remember? 

A rocking chair with fruits painted on it sitting in a dark room and my great grandfathers brown leather loafers (I remember early early stuff in just images or stills, not full moments)

33. What did you have for dinner yesterday?

Pasta with shrimp

34. How often do you brush your teeth?

Usually twice a day, but I’ve been waking up later and later and sometimes forget in the mornings

35. What’s your favourite candy/chocolate?

I don’t know the name of it but it’s this chocolate bar that is stuffed with caramel, hot chili flakes, and crunchy bits of baked tortilla. It's one of the greatest things I’ve ever tasted.

36. Have you had other blogs on Tumblr? Do you have any other blogs currently?

I used to have one but I deleted it because I never used it

37. If you were suddenly really hungry, what would you choose to eat?

I would probably walk into the kitchen, realize that too eat something I would have to muster the effort to cook something instead, and then decide to just have a glass of milk instead.

38. What fandoms would you consider yourself a part of?

Downton Abbey (primarily Thommy)

Chernobyl HBO (as well as the Leonid Toptunov/Sasha Akimov subfandom)

Lord of The Rings and The Hobbit (books and movies)

CrankGamePlays

Buzzfeed Unsolved

Star Trek TOS

Philosophy Tube

The Dark Crystal and The Dark Crystal: Age Of Resistance

39. If you could study anything, what would it be?

If I had the energy to fully wrench my life in a completely different direction I would like to become a professional scuba diver and study the ocean. I already am a scuba diver, but it’s a hobby and not something I’m able to do very often at all.

40. Do you use anything on your lips? (eg. Chapstick, gloss, balm, lipstick)

I’ll wear chapstick if I have a cold

41. How would you describe your sense of humour?

Intellectual and dry

42. What things annoy you more than anything else?

People who think they’re better than everyone else and people who recognize a fault in themselves and then refuse to work to change it

43. What kind of position are you in at the moment?

I’m laying on my bed, hunched over my laptop

44. Do you wear much jewellery?

Occasionally I’ll wear a necklace or a few rings. I have a lot of non-traditional bracelets (I literally just have pieces of canvas and industrial tie-line wrapped around my wrist). I’m a gay guy and I like to sort-a walk the line between feminine and masculine (often leaning more towards the masc side), so it really depends on my mood.

45. Who is the leader of your country, currently? Any other levels of government with leaders? (State, region, province, county, district, municipality, etc)

A cheese-pizza flavored pringle is currently POTUS and every day the thought of that tears away at a piece of my soul. 

46. Last 3 blogs on your dashboard, not including any of your own

@shochmonster @velvet-of-the-night @panicsheerbloodypanic

47. What do you carry your money in?

My pocket, I have a wallet and I don’t use it

48. Do you enjoy driving? Why or why not?

It’s fine, don’t love it don’t hate it

49. Longest drive you have ever been on?

Three days

50. Furthest away from home you have ever been?

Went on a trip to Switzerland to visit family, I think that’s the farthest but I’m not entirely sure.

51. How many times have you moved house?

Twice

52. What is on the floor of the room you’re currently in, not including furniture?

Five paintings, stacks and stacks of books, boxes filled with stuff (mostly more books), plates, glasses, cutlery, clothes

53. How many devices do you own which can access the internet?

2, and iPad and a computer

54. Is there is anything that is guaranteed to always make you happy?

Listening to music

55. Is there anything that always makes you sad?

Thinking about my past for too long

56. What programs do you currently have open?

Google drive, I’m writing

57. What do you associate the colour red with?

Blood and fire

58. Last strong smell you can remember smelling?

Shrimp and butter

59. Last healthy thing you ate?

Three green olives and a handful of bean sprouts

60. Do you drink tea or coffee, and how much per day?

Used to drink coffee like it was life support (which it essentially was), now I’ll have the occasional cup of tea.

61. What do you associate the colour blue with?

Birds and rain

62. How long is the closest ruler you can find?

I don’t think I own one

63. What colour pants/skirt/etc are you currently wearing?

I am wearing olive green corduroy slacks

64. When was the last time you drank water?

30 minutes ago?

65. How often do you clear your browser history?

Never

66. Do you believe nude photos can be artistic, rather than erotic?

Nude anything can be artistic, it can also just be normal, eroticism is in the eye of the beholder.

67. Ever written fanfiction for anything?

Yes dear god so much fanfiction.

68. Last formal event you attended

I genuinely can’t remember, I am have extreme social anxiety and don’t go to events like that unless I absolutely have too

69. If you had to move your birthday to another date, which one would you choose and why?

I don’t care about birthdays

70. Would you prefer to be at a beach or in the countryside?

Beach, I love to swim, I’m also a surfer

71. Roughly how many people live in your town?

Uhm… eight times the number of people who live in the state of Montana and that doesn’t count daily commuters and tourists (New York City is essentially just a tin of sardines, except inside are 8.399 million sardines)

72. Do you know anyone with the same birthday as you?

No, but three of my friends were born on the day just after my birthday.

73. Favourite place to shop? Can be a certain store or a place where there are multiple stores

The Strand Bookstore, L Train Vintage, any antique shops in the town of Hudson, New York 

74. Do you have a smartphone? What kind? If you don’t, do you want one?

I used to have an iPhone 5SE but then it stopped working after a few weeks of quarantine and I haven’t gotten a new one (I’ve had it for about 5-6 years so it makes sense)

75. What is your least favourite colour, and why?

I don’t have a least favorite color, but my favorite color is prussian blue

76. How do you spell grey/gray?

Grey

77. Go to your dashboard and describe the image shown in the radar section (below the “Find blogs” link)

It’s anime fanart for a show I’ve never heard of

78. What difference is there between how many followers you have, and the number of blogs you follow?

3

79. How many posts do you have?

219

80. How many posts have you liked?

619

81. Do you post mainly reblogs, or your own content?

Mostly reblogs but I do my own content as well

82. Do you track any tags?

No, just blogs

83. What time is it currently?

10:39

84. Is there anything you should be doing right now?

writing

I’m not quite sure who to tag so it’s just open to anyone I guess?

[sanctferum]

Steven Universe – A Single Pale Rose reactions

Oh boy, time for what is undoubtably a really really interesting episode…

We start with a few things we’ve heard. Ruby’s testimony regarding Rose shattering Pink Diamond, Blue Zircon’s questions about how Rose got close to Pink, that dream flashback thing from last episode of Pearl drawing her sword. Steven’s eyes fly open and he’s on his living room couch.

Enter Pearl and Amethyst, talking about Pearl’s phone. She’s had it for a month, and she’s used it merely as a clock.

Amethyst IS the kinda person who would literally say the word “sigh” instead of sighing, yeah. That checks out.

Amethyst changes Pearl’s wallpaper to a selfie of the purble herself. Classy.

Meanwhile, Steven is about to burst at the seams with questions for Pearl. Amethyst dismisses him when he tries to interrupt her. Pearl learns how to send text messages, and immediately sends one to Steven.

Amethyst suggests getting a case for the phone. Pearl pulls a briefcase out of her gem. That’s a bit big for a phone, Pearl.

Amethyst leaves to get an actual phone case, and Steven seizes his chance.

Wow. That was awfully blunt.

Pearl’s conditioning or whatever it is that prevents her from talking about that particular subject kicks in and her hands cover her mouth and her phone drops to the floor. Good going Steven.

“It’s OK, you can just tell me!” It’s pretty clear she physically cannot tell you, Steven.

Amethyst comes back with the phone case. With the change of topic Pearl takes the opportunity to grab her phone, put it in her gem, and skedaddle, leaving behind Steven. And Amethyst, who didn’t get to give her the phone case and is very confused.

Later on, Steven is out for a walk, finishing off The Bits over at Peedee’s repurposed mayormobile stand thing. His phone makes an incoming text sound.

Wait shit, I just had an idea. Pearl can’t talk about the truth behind PD’s shattering. Could she communicate it via texting? Is that what this is gonna be?

“I want to tell you, but I can’t.” With a monkey covering its mouth emoji at the end.

Steven runs back home to ask Pearl about it. But…Pearl hasn’t used her phone since she put it away.

SO THEN WHO SENT THE TEXT????

Pearl tries to grab her phone and check it for herself, but keeps pulling random other objects out of her gem instead. As she gets frustrated at being unable to retrieve the right thing from her gem, Steven gets another text from her phone. Another emoji. A rose petal? I’m no flower expert but that doesn’t look like a rose petal to me, so maybe not.

Pearl freaks out and tells Steven to go inside her gem and find her phone. Something weird is going on with it, and Pearl has an idea of what’s going on, but physically cannot tell Steven the details…

Inside of Pearl’s gem is…Pearl?

“There’s a Pearl inside Pearl’s pearl?” Apparently…?

The Pearl within the pearl attempts to file Steven with other objects.

Can I just appreciate that giant Pearl Point for a moment? You know, the stickers from Steven vs Amethyst, but Steven has presumably been shrunken down enough to fit in Pearl’s gem that it’s the size of his head.

And here are…a bunch of papers with phone numbers, including Mystery Girl’s. Some of them have hearts and lipstick smooches and etc on them. Besides “S”/Mystery Girl’s, there’s one from “RH”. One from “Yeva”, one with an indecipherable gmail address…no phone. Pearl switches to another segment of the filing system, where the cellphone should be. And indeed, there’s an empty space exactly where it should be. Wait, what?

“Some other me”? Is Pearl a matryoshka doll of mini-Pearls…?

After warning Steven about wherever it is these other Pearls are, Pearl sucks Steven into her gem. Now Steven is two layers deep into Pearl’s mind.

This area takes the form of the beach in front of the Temple, which noticeably lacks the house Greg built for Steven and the Gems.

“This doesn’t look like a mess. This looks like…the past.”

Right after Steven says that, he sees a third Pearl crying behind some rocks. And she looks different somehow.

Wait. Are all these Pearls…different regenerations? Which would make Pearl the current version, Pearl 2 the version that got poofed in Steven the Swordfighter, and Pearl 3 a Pearl from before the show began. I’m gonna have to check whether Pearl 2 has Pearl’s design from the original episodes…

OK, well in between that last sentence and this one, I had two doctor’s appointments as well as lunch. But I’m back! So, looking back on the episode so far…Pearl 2 has the same design as Pearl 1. Pearl 3’s design is definitely a Pearl from before the show began, though – I specifically recognize it as her design from “Story for Steven”.

So why is Pearl sobbing? It’s because of Rose, of course.

“What was she thinking?! She can’t have a baby…” Yeah, about that. Have you noticed you’re sitting next to Steven? As in, Rose quite definitely did make the decision to have a baby, and the boy next to you is the living proof that she did.

Yeah, this particular Pearl is from the past all right. After Rose’s decision, but before Steven’s birth. Those awkward nine months where it’s clear that Rose is perfectly fine for the time being, alive and well, and also clear that when those nine months end she is going to die, for good.

“I’m going to lose her. Just like I lost my…what was it you said?” Oh, nothing, Pearl 3. Cellphones haven’t even been invented yet from your frame of reference.

“I think I know where it is.” Is it…inside of your gem, by any chance? Being used by yet another of the matryoshka doll Pearls? Are we gonna have to go even deeper inside?

Where’s the Pearl with a Myspace titled “Welcome to my twisted mind”, I wonder?

Here we go!

Pearl 4’s environs are the Strawberry Battlefields. But strawberries won’t be growing there for thousands of years. This battlefield has just been recently decimated. It glows in a blood-red light, Bismuth’s abandoned weaponry and the remnants of the Diamonds’ army’s technology being all that is left.

No, that isn’t right, actually. There’s gems, too. Gems, lying everywhere. Whole gems, not shattered ones, but broken nevertheless – when they reform, it will be into the first corrupted gem monsters.

Pearl 4’s design is a new one. Well, OK, it was leaked a while back, along with stuff like Ruby and Sapphire’s wedding outfits, but in-show, I’m not sure we’ve ever seen it. We might have gotten a glimpse of it in Your Mother And Mine, possibly? That’s the only war flashback I can think of that hasn’t been shown in a stylized fashion.

“Is this really about your phone or what?!” Obviously not, Steven

Do WHAT, Pearl? Are you allowed to tell us yet, or do we need to talk to Pearl 5 to get the details?

Pearl 5 it is!

Those sure are flowers that look like the emoji sent from Pearl’s phone. And shards of what appear to be a pink gem. Is this…the moment immediately after PD was shattered?

And there’s Rose, or at least someone who has Rose’s appearance, in a cloud of pink dust, with PD’s death cry still echoing…

Rose? stands up, tears streaming down her face, as PD’s screams continue to echo. Steven approaches where she stands next to the palanquin, only to stop as Rose’s eyes open, revealing what are unmistakably Pearl’s pupils.

OK, so that seems to confirm that Pearl shattered PD, but…why is she crying? Why is she shapeshifted to be Rose? Does this mean the sword she used to shatter PD was part of the disguise, and as such didn’t have whatever adjustments Bismuth made to the real thing that prevented shattering? Was the sword a fake, is what I’m asking? Both the sword and Rose herself?

OK who is screaming? PD’s been dead for at least half a minute, this can’t still be her death cry…right?

“Rose” opens her hand to reveal…to reveal…

Pink Diamond’s gem. Huh?

Then…whose gem is on the ground? Pink Pearl’s, perhaps?

Steven begs for answers, but gets sucked into Rose/Pearl 5’s gem instead. Um. OK.

Pearl 6’s memory places Steven on PD’s throne, within the palanquin. Strange whispers echo off the walls Behind the throne, Rose and Pearl are talking.

“…And then it’ll be done. It’s going to be easy.” So…did Rose plan the assassination, and Pearl carried it out? But why not just have Rose do it herself?

And Pearl is clearly uncomfortable with the whole thing. Rose is pressuring her into it, in the belief that this will end it all, that Blue and Yellow care little enough about what happens on Pink’s colony that killing Pink will cause them to just give up the colony without a fight. Cut their losses and scram.

Well, that worked out great for you and your army, didn’t it, Rose.

“Your status…my purpose…none of it will matter anymore. This…will change everything.” “I know. Isn’t it exciting?!” “…It is.”

Sure, Pink might’ve been an awful brutal authoritarian brat who wouldn’t have cared a damn if the planet and its people died, but…there’s something unsettling about seeing Rose and Pearl get so hyped over a plan to kill someone.

“We can leave our old lives behind. If this is really my world, I want to give it to the Crystal Gems. I want to live here with human beings! I want to live here, with you! We’ll both finally be free…” But…you already are living here with human beings, Rose. And what do you mean, if this is really “your” world? It’s either Pink Diamond’s world, or everyone’s world. Why would it be yours, in particular? And aren’t you part of the Crystal Gems? Their leader, and founder, and…? This isn’t leading to some “Rose was Pink Diamond all along” kinda twist, is it? Cause that wouldn’t make sense, would it? I thought we already went over that particular fan theory with a fine-toothed comb.

“I can’t exactly shatter myself…” ??????

Rose shapeshifts into PD. Or…PD shapeshifts out of Rose? At this point, I…I don’t know.

Can…can she do that? Shapeshift her own gem? Huh?

That flower again…

She…changed the dirt into broken shards. The shards Steven found in the last memory.

“Wait…there’s one last thing I need to do. No one can ever find out we did this…I never wanna look back. So…for my last order to you as a Diamond…please…let’s never speak of this again. No one can know.”

I am so confused right now. My current thought process is something like this, though:

Pink did used to be a brat. But Earth changed her. Changed her, to the point where she wished to abandon the responsibility of her position. To the point where she fell in love with Earth and its people. Disenchanted with the gem empire and her fellow Diamonds and their plans to hollow out the planets they used as colonies until nothing but an empty shell was left, she staged an elaborate production, with both the heroine and villain played by herself. All to fake her own death and become able to live freely.

And if that’s true, the Rose Quartz who we all know and love never existed. The person who started the rebellion against Pink Diamond was…Pink Diamond. Pink Diamond, shapeshifted into the form of a Rose Quartz, creating what was essentially a façade that would stop Blue and Yellow from searching for her after she disappeared.

That’s why Pink Diamond never managed to track Rose down via last episode’s lunar base orb, in case that wasn’t clear.

And. If all this is true, Steven was right back in Your Mother and Mine. Pink Diamond, in a very real sense, is still out there, under a different name. The name “Steven Quartz Universe”.

Also, that explains how Rose’s sword could have been the “fatal” weapon. As a sword unable to shatter gems, it was the perfect weapon to use to “shatter” PD while actually leaving her gem intact. Not only does it now make sense for it to be the weapon, this revelation means that it HAD to be the weapon, due to being unable to actually shatter her.

Holy fucking shit. Of all the fan theories to turn out to be right…and even those fan theories didn’t go far enough to claim that both PD and “Rose” were the same person.

Oh, and um. Here’s Pearl’s phone. Thanks Pearl 6.

And now to go back! Pearl shapeshifts into Rose, takes the sword and leaves. “Rose” “shatters” Pink Diamond, keeping her intact gem hidden within her hand. Garnet and Pearl fight on the battlefield, as the sky suddenly lights up with the corruption blast. Pearl sadly places her hand on Rose’s pregnant belly. Pearl sits outside the temple crying as Amethyst and Garnet attempt to comfort her. All this happens in a blur, and then Steven lands on the floor of his house.

Steven and Pearl share a moment. A moment which doesn’t last very long at all. Because, well. Garnet and Amethyst are standing right there, and they just heard Steven say Rose was really Pink Diamond, and this can only end poorly.

The episode ends with a preview of the fallout. Amethyst freaks out, but in a similar way to the way I am freaking out. That is to say, she takes this a lot better than some others, namely Sapphire, who defuses from Ruby in an ice-cold rage that quickly melts into a puddle of betrayal and, tears streaming down her face from her one eye, makes for the warp pad and fucks the hell off, leaving Ruby behind.

Yeah, that’s right. The reason Garnet exists in the first place is Rose Quartz. It was an attack by Rose on Blue Diamond that lead to their first fusion, and Rose’s advice that lead them to decide to live the rest of their lives as Garnet. w e l p

And that’s that for this special, I guess? More SU episodes coming this summer.

I…suppose I need some more time to gather my thoughts before I can say anything on what just happened.

[onceuponamirror]

little bells

///// CHAPTER 2

summary: She just wanted to close the book, but all chapters are meant to be read.

Or, how she accidentally willed a boyfriend into existence.

fandom: riverdale ship: betty x jughead words: 9k chapters: 2/4

[read from the beginning] [read the latest]

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The way Betty sees it, she has three options.

Option A is to just to flat out come clean. This is, objectively, probably the wisest move. Betty is not a great liar, whereas Cheryl is an excellent reader between lines, and Veronica could be hurt by the deception. And realistically, she probably won’t get very far into this plan as it is.

All Betty has to do is just sit Veronica down, explain that she’d been overwhelmed in the moment, and hope that Veronica’s well-placed but overbearing sense of duty over Betty’s happiness will subside.

As if.

It’s fairly unlikely that this will at all play out in a way that appeases everyone; Betty knows Veronica far too well to be that naïve.

Cheryl will happily summon a rainstorm of I told you so’s and Veronica will just circle back to her original argument: that Betty shouldn’t be going alone, or better yet, not at all.

And then she’s just back at square one, which is the moral equivalent of clapping her hands over her ears and singing her la-la-la’s while Veronica paces in front of her, demanding they eschew tradition. And Cheryl would probably be in the back, flatly suggesting Betty cut through the red tape and just hire an escort to be done with it.

But Option B is the gamble.

Option B is that Betty should just ask Jughead out, make dating him legitimate, and then, at some point next month, casually drop that she really needs a date to this wedding they’d been vaguely talking about before and try to convince him to accompany her.

And in some regards, this feels like the obvious solution. It certainly wouldn’t be the worst, either.

She’s definitely attracted to him, and rarer still, she even thinks he’s funny. But it would also feel like she was using him, somehow, and she cannot do that, even if she was being generous and saying there’s at least a chance it’s mutual.

Even though the only thing she has to go on is that Nancy said he wasn’t a talker, but he certainly didn’t seem to mind talking to her. Still, that feels like a flimsy basis for romance.

Not to mention that extremely awkward hug outside the building last week, the way he’d barely moved but to pat her on the back, like she was some kind of old, sick dog that he felt sorry for.

Frankly, he’d looked more like he’d been kicked in the stomach than actually enjoyed it, so considering that, she’s definitely not sure of anything. She knows, at least thanks to Nancy’s seating chart, he’s probably still single, but that doesn’t mean that he’s interested in girls, let alone her.

Plus, even if he did agree to one date with her, that’s absolutely no guarantee he’d agree to more, let alone such a big one like a wedding.

So if she asks him out, and he turns her down or they break up, that pretty much kills her plan right there in the cradle. She wonders if maybe that would be for the best, if she should just end this here and now, because really, how well can this end? How can she even actually properly execute it?

Betty can be called a lot of things, but scheming is not one of them.

But she knows her best friend well enough to realize Veronica will never let this go otherwise, so Betty considers Option C, which oddly, and completely illogically, feels like the safest bet.

Option C is just to talk to Jughead, explain what she’s done, and beg him to help her out anyway. At least with that option, there’s the tiniest chance that he’ll take pity on her.

After all, they have already talked about how miserable weddings are, which is why she thinks he might have a bit of sympathy for her situation. She definitely doesn’t know him well enough to ask of it as a favor, however; she’ll have to come up with something to offer him in thanks or payment. She can clean his apartment. Cook him dinner for a month straight? Or edit a manuscript he’s not ready to show Nancy? No, that feels redundant. Why would he want that, when he already has an editor?

She doesn’t even know him well enough to know what he’d want in return, and that feels like a bit of a sign, one that weighs heavy in her stomach as she crosses down the corridor, towards Nancy’s office.

With a big, steadying breath, Betty raps lightly against Nancy’s doorframe. She looks up from her desk, a grin already in place. “Hey sugar,” she greets fondly, folding her arms over her desk. “What’s up?”

“Um,” Betty starts, trying to steel herself. But she’s going to have to sacrifice her dignity several times over for this plan to work, and this, unfortunately, is where it must start. She takes another breath. “Well, I’ll just say it: Jughead…is he straight? Or, at least interested in women?”

Nancy blinks, and then her lips purse into a smile. “Of course, I’ve never asked him, but he once brought a girl to a fundraiser we threw. And based on his choice of heroines, it’s arguable that he’s even got a thing for blondes,” she adds, giving Betty an obvious once over.

Her cheeks warm, and her mouth opens and closes once, simultaneously searching for her next words while warring her instinct to bat away compliments. Luckily, Nancy comes to her rescue. “Let me guess. You want his number?”

Betty laces and re-laces her fingers. “Maybe his email?” She asks, and Nancy smirks, clicking the head of her ballpoint pen very decisively. She swivels back to her computer, types furiously for a few moments, and then copies something down onto a post-it note.

She rips it off cleanly, offering it out with the sticky side stuck to one very pointed finger. Betty scrambles forward to take it, her face still flushed red.

“You two make an odd amount of sense, actually,” Nancy adds, settling back onto her elbows. “Just don’t make things messy for me, if you can. I’d like not to be editing the story about the green-eyed girl who broke his heart next year.”

“The Van Morrison song that never was,” Betty chirps, forcing a smile, even as she privately thinks that of all the people involved in this plan, Jughead has the best likelihood of walking out of this unscathed—but, of course, tells Nancy none of that.

Once back at her own office, Betty closes the door and presses herself against the soft wood grain for a long moment, attempting to bottle her anxiety. She doesn’t know why this makes her feel so uniquely adolescent again; it’s not even a real flirtation, after all.

Obviously, she’s made overtures to men before. In fact, the entire reason she’s in this predicament at all is because of the time she got it in her head that she should try to initiate a relationship with a person who saw her as just a friend.

And here she goes again, with practically the same idea. But this time, Jughead probably doesn’t even see her as a friend. Doesn’t see her as an anything. What is wrong with her?

Perhaps she should start writing cookbooks.

She could call it, A Tablespoon of Salt: Select Recipes For the Hungry and Foolhardy.

Dear readers, simply add a teaspoon of irony, a drop of self-loathing, a cup of wastrel poetry, all the pleases in your kitchen cupboard, and voila! The perfect formula for repeating your past mistakes.

Betty closes her eyes and blows out a breath, gathering herself, and then marches forward to her desk and pulls up her email browser. Jughead’s address is simple, even if she doesn’t totally understand it—jfpj3 at a gmail account. Odd, but her first email address was an ode to a backstreet boy, so she’s in no place to judge.

Hey, Jughead!

It’s Cooper, Betty Cooper. Nancy gave me your email. Had something I wanted to talk to you about. Was just wondering if you’d like to maybe get a drink sometime?

No, no, that sounds terrible. What, is this her first time ever flirting? Is this even flirting? Technically, it’s not supposed to be. Anyway, in addition to trying too hard to be casual, asking to get drinks has too strong a connotation.

She aggressively hits the backspace button until the subject body is empty again, cradling her forehead with her free hand. 

Hey, Jughead!

It’s Betty, from Random House and/or the wedding, and/or the time you ran into me under the overhang of the office.

Nancy gave me your email address because there was something I wanted to run by you. Would you be able to meet for coffee sometime?

Best, Betty

She deletes a stupid smiley face from the end of the last sentence and rereads it, her teeth nibbling onto her bottom lip. This could almost pass as a professional inquiry, just vague enough to make him consider it. Betty nods to herself. This could work.

Hitting send before she can think twice, thrice, and then rewrite it four more times, Betty pushes back from her desk, willing herself not to sit there refreshing the page until her fingers bruise.

She decides to go make some tea in the break room, and hides away there, distractedly over-steeping her tea bag, until Nancy and another fiction editor appear in the doorway, in the middle of a conversation.

Nancy flashes her a large, knowing grin when she spots her, and Betty almost knocks over her drink in her haste to flee the room, because she’s apparently still feeling painfully immature about all of this.

But Nancy doesn’t know Betty’s intentions, doesn’t know it’s not real, and that seems to makes it all the worse, because Nancy thought they made sense and it just makes her feel like an asshole.

With nowhere else to go but back to her office, she drags her feet back there, once again closing a door she normally leaves open. She settles into her chair, places the tea mug down with care, and exhales slowly before checking her email.

There’s a response.

Hey Betty,

Yeah, I can do that. Want me to come up to the office tomorrow? There’s a couple of coffee haunts around your building, if memory serves.

-Jughead

It couldn’t have been that easy.

No questioning of her motives, no suspicious doublespeak? Just ‘yeah, I can do that’? And offering to come to her, even?

Blinking, she types back, No need to battle midtown on my behalf! You live in Brooklyn, right? I’m in Greenpoint. We could meet for coffee this weekend? I know a nice little café on Manhattan Ave. Or I could come to you. Just let me know!

A few minutes later, I’m actually in Greenpoint too, or just outside of it, anyway. This weekend is kind of busy for me, in that I’m supposed to be locked away in my room, listening to the new Mac DeMarco album and trying to dissect alt-alt-alt pet sounds. So if it’s all the same to you, I could meet tonight. Lmk.

Betty stares at the email. He wants to meet tonight? She then looks down at herself, at her outfit of a simple blue button up and jeans, of the slight stain blooming on her sleeve from sloshing her tea around, and has a moment of panic.

Fake date or not, she still wants to look a little cuter than this, or at least nominally better than the time he’d seen her outside the building, practically drenched in summer sweat.

But she could always leave a little early to go home and change, and decides that maybe it’s the right move, getting this over with. Waiting till the weekend would’ve just turned her into a wreck.

So she thinks of the nicest bar with the nicest lighting within proximity to her apartment, and writes back, Alright! Broken Land, on Franklin? How’s 7? Thanks!

Yep. See you then.

Once again wondering how in the hell that felt so easy and again cross-checking if Option B could actually work, she returns to the actual work she has to get done today at rush speed; she’s pretty sure her boss wouldn’t mind her taking off early, considering she’s only ever done that so rarely and usually for a long-established appointment, but once a goody-goody, always a goody-goody, as Cheryl might say.

She was too much of a nerd to ever cut class without good reason, and this is all more of the same; if she’s going to leave early, she better be done early too. And at quarter to five, she finishes up her last draft revision and prints it out to reread tonight at home, clicks off her computer, and then darts towards the elevators.

If she hurries her pace walking past Nancy’s office, she definitely won’t admit it.

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Once home, Betty throws her bag down in the hallway and rushes to her bedroom.

Before living here, she would’ve never been such an impolite roommate as to drop all of her things by the door and kick her shoes off to land where they may, but the real benefit of her best friend’s dating life is that Betty has inherited Cheryl’s old place and her rent-control, and can finally, for the first time in her life, afford to live by herself.

It’s a little lonely at times, Betty having gotten used to all those years of hearing bumps in the night and the clattering of pans inopportunely and the grinding of coffee early in the morning, but in moments like these, where she’s scrambling for time and running around the apartment in just her underwear, she very much appreciates the solitude.

The train had been delayed between junctions for twenty minutes, which had effectively thrown off Betty’s attempt at being ahead of schedule, and now it’s past 6:30, and really, she should already be leaving to meet him.

She shakes down her ponytail, but finds her hair far too fluffed out a mess to allow to stay that way, so she gathers it back up, leaving a few framing tendrils around her face, deciding it’ll have to do. Despite a constant ebbing sense of comfort in the way she dresses, five minutes before she has to leave is probably not the time to start analyzing her appearance.

Betty digs through her drawers for something that catches her eye, and with half a grimace and half a spark of excitement, grabs for the little brown corduroy miniskirt she only breaks out for dates or at Veronica’s insistence, or usually both. But sometimes showing a little leg makes her feel more powerful, so it can’t hurt this time.

Pulling on a cap-sleeved pink top but deigning to leave the top couple buttons undone, she slips into a pair of low heels and snatches her purse back up from the floor, checking her reflection in the foyer mirror one last time.

Definitely a little more skin than normal, but not more than he’s already seen, thanks to her strapless little dress from the wedding. She applies a shade of blush lipstick and nods to herself in silent encouragement, and then heads out into the night.

She’s only been to this bar a couple of times; Cheryl claims to miss it once every couple of months and insists the three of them meet there so she can properly reminisce her old stomping grounds, as if they all don’t know she’s much happier in the Upper East Side with Veronica. But Betty never minds, as it’s always the easiest trek for her, a simple fifteen-minute walk from her appointment.

The bar is just as she remembers it; ambient, dimly lit but for the string of oversized twinkle-lights lining the ceiling, though this time sparsely occupied, given it’s a Tuesday.

She does a quick scan for Jughead, but appears to have beaten him, so she presses herself against the bar and orders a hard cider. She’s just finished placing her drink request when she feels a presence next to her; Jughead has arrived, dressed in what she’s learning is a typical window display of black clothing and drumming his knuckles along the counter top.

As they’re both standing between barstools, he’s close enough to reach out and hug, but she won’t be repeating that mistake again. He shifts from one foot to another, as if perhaps expecting her to.

“Hey,” he says finally, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye before turning to face her fully. He openly looks her up and down, mouth fidgeting with something else, but the bartender is returning with her drink and looking expectantly at Jughead, so he orders a beer and they wait in awkward silence while the bartender fills a glass from the well in front of them.

He reaches for his wallet, but Betty is already sliding her card across the counter. “It’s on me,” she says, smiling at him. “It’s the least I could do, for you agreeing to meet with me.”

Jughead’s brow very briefly creases, but he nods.

“Want your tab open or closed?” The bartender asks, plucking the card up from the bar.

Betty’s eyes dart to Jughead; if she says to leave it open, it implies she wants to stay here for a while. If she says to close it out, it could say the opposite. But this isn’t quite a social call, and she’s half-sure he’s going to want to run for the hills in about ten minutes, so Betty tells the bartender to close it out. If Jughead has a reaction to that, he doesn’t show it.

“I’ll get us a table,” he says instead, disappearing into the back of the bar with his beer in tow.

After she’s signed and tipped for the drinks, Betty finds Jughead in a lowly lit corner booth. He passes her a thin smile when he sees her, and the room is almost too dark to really tell, but she can almost swear his eyes are lingering on her legs as she approaches.

“So,” she says sharply, setting in across from him.

His eyebrows rise. “So,” he echoes, with an edge of amusement. “You said you wanted to run something by me?”

“Right,” Betty sighs, staking out a stalling sip of cider. Now’s the time to make her decision—Option B or Option C. Please date me, or please, please fake date me.

Golden light glitters in his eye as it falls on her, his expression curious but withheld all the same, and even if she thinks this kind of low, warm atmosphere certainly isn’t making him look less handsome, she can’t quite bring any words to her tongue.

And in a split second, she knows it’s going to be the safe option.

“Um, so I kind of did something stupid,” she says, all in a jumble.

Whatever he’d been waiting for, it certainly wasn’t that. His composure slips, eyes softening as his mouth curls upwards and, if she didn’t know any better, maybe charmed. “How’s that?” He asks, tilting his head at her.

“I did something really stupid,” Betty repeats, taking a big breath, though it does little to calm the ringing in her chest. “I have this friend, right? Veronica. She’s my oldest friend, my best friend, actually, and I love her, but she’s really…she picks a stance and won’t budge on it. No man is an island, but she is a rock. And it’s just hard to argue with her, you know?”

Based on his expression, Jughead clearly does not know, but he at least waits for her to continue.

“The only way to get her off your back is to either bow to what she wants, or to find a solution so perfect that she can’t argue with it,” Betty goes on, wringing her hands in her lap. “So, you might remember from Nancy’s wedding that we talked about this other wedding I have to go to in a couple of months. Um, of this guy I used to…have feelings for, and Veronica was really worried about me going to it alone, let alone pestering me about why I was going at all.”

Jughead nods, still obviously confused, and Betty realizes she’s doing a horrible job of explaining. However, on the bright side, she’s definitely doing a great job at rambling.

“I know it sounds dumb, but I want to go to his wedding because I really need closure from the whole thing. I just…he’s been hanging over my head for most of my life and I’m really trying to find a way to move past it. I think seeing him get married will be the final step,” she says, closing her eyes so she doesn’t have to face his reaction. Not that it helps; she can still feel him watching her.

“That doesn’t sound dumb,” Jughead says softly, and Betty’s eyelids flutter up, unable to stave off the hope blooming in her chest.

“Veronica was just…nagging me like crazy about it, and I’d had a long day at work, and I don’t really like talking about Archie in general, and she just kept pushing and pushing for me to find a date or she was going to come herself—which she can’t, she’s his ex—and I just really wanted her to stop, so I…I sort of said…you and I were already dating.”

Unfortunately for Jughead, he had just been sipping his beer, and he immediately chokes on it, sputtering through his attempt at swallowing. Eventually, he manages it, wiping at his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “What?”

“I know it was so out of line,” Betty says quickly, her eyes round with worry. “We barely even know each other. I mean, we’ve only met twice before tonight. But you were the first person to pop into my head that my friends didn’t already know, and…I just really wanted her to stop pushing me about it.”

He stares at her, jaw ticking, but his face otherwise completely unreadable. “So you’re telling me because…what, you want to clear your conscious? Look, I’m flattered that you’d pick me of all people, but Jesus, Betty, I think you’ll still get into heaven with one little lie on your chart.”

“No, I’m telling you because…that’s part one,” she says, all in one breath. Jughead’s tongue digs into his cheek thoughtfully, as if realizing where this is going. “I’ve thought this through a lot, probably more than I should’ve, and decided if I back out of the lie, Veronica’s just going to start all over again, or worse, try to find me a date herself.”

“I get it. You want me to come with you to the wedding,” Jughead correctly summarizes, settling back in his seat and surveying her. She can’t place the drive behind his eyes, but something moves there, blinking out like little headlights upon a dark road.

She nods. “Well…knowing my friends, you might have to show your face to them at least once, twice tops. Just to sell it and keep them off my back.”

“So, wedding date, and ersatz boyfriend,” he says with a wry grin. Betty takes it as a good sign; he’s at least not storming out. He doesn’t even look annoyed upon second glance, but rather, in the right light, perhaps pleased.

“Okay, yes. But you’d really be saving my skin,” Betty sighs, looking at him. “Just name your price. Obviously, nothing…funny,” she says lamely, and he blanches, for the first time looking offended. She presses her lips together, relieved. She hadn’t really been worried about that, but, like she herself said, she doesn’t really know him. “But I can cook, or um, I’m actually pretty good at fixing things, or—”

“I want to write about it,” Jughead interrupts, looking almost like he regrets the words immediately. He pauses, swallowing whatever thought is there. “No real names, no identifying features or places. But the story of someone consciously trying to move on from an old love is a new angle for me, and the symbolism around all the wedding stuff would be a good dog-ear for that. So…I’ll fake date you, as long as you promise not to sue me for defamation.”

Betty raises an eyebrow. “Are you planning on defaming me?”

“No, no,” Jughead says quickly, leaning forward across the table. “But I’ve been trying to break out from under the reviewing side of things, trying to write articles that actually mean something more. Honestly, this feels like the pitch I’ve been waiting for. So I’ll do it, just let me interview you once, and let me stay…observational. And I’d run everything by you before I submitted it anywhere, so you could pull anything you weren’t comfortable with.”

Of all the things she had been expecting him to say or do, this was definitely not it. She feels almost…disappointed, or maybe a little bit hurt, even as she immediately tries to chide the thought, foolish as it is.

After all, it’s not like she’d been hoping he would just gather her up in his arms, swearing fealty and that he’d do it for nothing but for a chance at her heart, like something cut out of an erstwhile Byronic monologue.

“Okay,” Betty breathes, nodding. “That…sounds fair. Deal,” she adds, offering him her hand to shake on it.

He almost looks surprised that she’s agreed so easily, but then again, she feels the same way. He reaches across the table and takes her hand. It feels warm and alive in her grip, like the fluttering of a moth desperately searching for a flame to call home.

“Okay, then. It’s a deal,” he agrees, and with a growing smile.

They shake, and while Betty distinctly muses that this is the best possible outcome she could’ve hoped for, she can’t quite dismiss that now-familiar tolling in her chest, the little song that urges her to turn back, turn back now.

And yet, unable to help herself, that little moth finds its light, pressed and warmed, and she returns his smile.

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