he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
cherry valley forever
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Misplaced Lens Cap
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çĽćĽ / Permanent Vacation

Andulka
Aqua Utopiaď˝ćľˇăŽĺşă§č¨ćśăç´Ąă
we're not kids anymore.
Sweet Seals For You, Always

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@rmarceline

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the in-between
jaewon.
this is how it feels like when someone points at him and asks him what heâs done, asks him to confess even though they know it already. it feels like condemnation, because thereâs no way this is anything other than a crime. jaewon is not a nice guy. heâs not good, not in the way that counts, and he feels himself drifting again to where his mind shouldnât. alcohol drags him there, like an unwilling asshole, and fucks him right over when she says no and doesnât take her hand away. he doesnât notice how much closer she is.
he hums in response to whatever she says, laughs like someone prompted him to: something to fill in gaps that arenât really there. it chokes his heart, so he stops, and, just a tad, a millimetre-difference, he leans against her, because sheâs the only thing that ever comes close to stable. his silence is enough.
so, now, see, he canât help it when he brings her palm to his lips. itâs just another tug towards an unknown he used to have a name for. he remembers this â how it felt like on that balcony â and he lets his mouth linger, breath warm with alcohol, and brings the inked skin away from him when heâs content. itâs the only selfish thing he might remember doing, and still he thinks: maybe heâll keep this safe ( this thing that might turn to ashes, if she crushes it enough ), and maybe heâll keep her safe, too.Â
âi remember,â he half-admits ( to what, heâs not sure; maybe to both ). there are some things he doesnât, but he remembers a little. too much, and still not enough to mean anything other than a sinking feeling that heâs done something he shouldnât have. âcan i ask about it? i mean â whyâŚthere?â
thereâs a string between them, and maybe itâs gold and maybe itâs red, but neither know because theyâve spent a lifetime squeezing shut their eyes as soon as theyâre close enough to see. this is a game of monsters-under-the-bed in reverse, pretending the good things arenât there if you pretend hard enough. theyâre so close, and she canât feel the difference because it feels like where theyâre supposed to be, and she can because itâs so much closer than theyâre allowed to be.
one day she just wants to molt into his side. it wonât matter if she canât pick herself up whole again.
she hears music play as he lifts her hand up again, but itâs nothing sweet or kind. itâs some kind of warning signal, the theme in jaws before the girl has her legs swallowed. from the spot his lips touch she turned incandescent, yellow warm flitting through her like a paper lantern. soon, sheâs going to burn.
âall of it?â she asks, and maybe thereâs resentment balled up in the syllables, a blunt edge at the end of the question mark. âbecause,â people come out of the house, clattering and happiness. marceline takes her hand away, cold and quick and pulling it to her side like somethings been done wrong. âbe like the flower that gives its fragrance to even the hand that crushes it.â she canât look at jaewon, with the face sheâs known since childhood and the trespass heâs just made, brushing intimacy against her skin like she means something else to him. thereâs people here. this isnât allowed. her gaze stays on her palm, flexes the hand, curls her fingers over the rose. âitâs from rumi.â awkward, empty explanation. âa reminder to always give that fragrance. but this flower wonât crush.â
FREE OF CHARGE
jiheon
itâs a miracle theyâve gone this long with not a crack seen in what they have. he has half a mind to tell her that theyâd let each other go thank you very much, but he decides that would be more childish and do little except give her something to laugh about. âwould you want to hang around somebody who couldnât graduate because of a little fun?â he asks. âi donât see why you canât give me hickies whilst i study but whatever. virtues and all that.â
he huffs at her, lips pursed at a girl who has luxury dripping off of her and probably more future plans at aged eighteen than he has now. in fact, marcelineâs someone that jiheon probably shouldnât even dare to look at but here he is with her prettily seated in his lap. âsounds like an easy decision for someone like you. for someone like me, however,â he tilts his head, âif i do that, i might as well sign my death warrant.â
âand that would be a tragedy?â he phrases it like a question when they both know itâs a clear statement, clipped at the sides with mirth. he doesnât even find it within him to do anything when she has the audacity to pull his sweatshirt over, a chaste kiss to his jaw and thatâs it. he feels the cool air against bare skin and sighs, a picture perfect example of someone used to her ways. âof course youâll always be here. thereâs not a single other person i could trust to flip a page for me and leave me half naked.âÂ
he pauses. â⌠you know me too well. the usual, yeah?â
its only by the mutuality of their previous decision that marceline can make pretend passes at an unbalanced scale. âwell, no,â she admits with simple effervescence. âbut i liked thinking i was so much fun it could distract someone from their life goals. itâd be a good testament to my not safe for work game, right?â she chuckles, watches herself flex her toes then pivots her head back rapidly at jiheonâs next comment. her grin splits wide open. âreally? okay.â
playful at feline, she rattles her lips with air in response to his huff. âshut the fuck up. youâre smart. you could do whatever. and youâre a gumi monster,â she adds unnecessary, exaggerated emphasis to the last two words, opening her eyes wide and shaking her head, poking fun at the schoolâs reputation. âwe canât get killed because everythings afraid of us.â
âah!â she sits up excitedly at the agreement to food, sitting up on his knee as she reaches for her phone and begins to type in the website for their most usual orders. marceline hums her way through the pizza order, adds drinks to the basket and presses CONFIRM before flopping back down against jiheonâs chest. âit says thirty to fourty-five minutes. iâll get it when it comes. now -â her body pivots in place, a flexible desert stem turning the rose of her face into his neck. marceline cups his neck and brings out her teeth. âhow many hickies do you think i can do in fourty-five minutes?â
the in-between
jaewon.
in the beginning, when the stars were still fireflies, his soul, once, perhaps, prayed to some god for some change that left him warmer, left the world brighter, and he was given marceline zhao, years younger, smile more beautiful and skin so much softer, untouched by mortal crime. between the two of them heâs the only sinner, and he thought â thinks â heâs accepted it, but something in him drowns again in the temptation to go far away from this noise and this procession of monstrosity, towards somewhere they can be people, without power or evil, and only the goodness of each other. ( but this is a forgotten dream. )
instead he laughs, and laughs until his sides begin to hurt, even with her hand over his mouth, and he yells in return, unintelligible, and does the same for her, as if to catch the name from her lips and crush it in his palm.Â
but instead he focuses â heâs distracted! thatâs it â and his hand seeks out the one that holds onto her wrist, arm slipping down so he can, and holds it and holds it and doesnât think about anything other than he doesnât want to let go. ( because thatâs what he always does, isnât it, when heâs sober? ) âmake me more finger puppets,â he blurts out, because itâs the first thing that comes to mind that isnât venturing too far into places itâs learned not to go. âyou should teach me how to make them! i gotta be a big boy, you know â be self-sufficient,â and learn to live without you. âitâs about time, isnât it?â
he laughs because itâs something he finds funny, and she might not. he still doesnât let go.
âwill a kkangpae surprise you on your sixteenth? you remember, when we were on the balcony?â and he canât recall if heâs already brought it up ( he has, hasnât he? ), but it reminds him of that again, so he brings it up again, and thereâs something that hurts about the memory that heâs been gathering up the courage to face, and still gathers when he brings her knuckles to his lips and presses a kiss, and holds her hand in his own as if itâs a flower, and unravels her fingers and traces engraved ink: âthis wasnât here that time, was it?â
she stands like a concentric-moving circle, serpent choking on its own tailed shoved down its fucking mouth, wanting to pull away but unable to so much as flex her fingers in case the movement inconvenienced his gentle hold. why is he holding her, why why why. like a petty thief she wants all or nothing, and this first lick of a nitroglycerin trail to something burns up her throat, her intestines, the lining of her stomach. when her gut has disappeared the butterflies held captive there fly throughout her whole body, turning her fluttering, afraid, a tremor.
âno,â has she ever tried that word on him before? âthen what would you need me for? alpha boy, physics major, golden boy of new york -- i need something to stay relevant in your life.â i need you in mine. sheâs speaking properly but everything feels clumsy on her tongue, like sheâs tripping over cracks in a sidewalk. âbesides, youâre not that big.â her hand burns. please let go now. âwe havenât grown up so much...â marceline shifts her weight, a hip closer to him. the air between them burns now too. âweâre still the same, arenât we?â
you remember, when we were on the balcony?
what mask is this: one or two, comedy or tragedy? it feels like both. the butterflies inside marceline startle, panicking. âyes,â she answers slowly. i remember. you donât. thereâs caution in her pitch, the way with which she watches jaewon lift her hand to his mouth and press her knuckles there. she chokes on the heart of it. whose watching? why is he pulling her open like gold thread? âi thought you didnât remember.â
he touches her palm and itâs gentle and ticklish and makes her white-hot like that inked rose on her thumb is really blooming, opening up. sheâs so nervous, so fucking nervous. she wants to take her hand back but waits for the promise that heâll let go. â... no. you know that. i got it after graduation.â

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tzuyu - tt japanese ver. Â Â
the in-between
jaewon.
reality is the opposite of a dream; he can recall the beginning with such clarity â and every day leading up to it â but cannot, for the life of him, remember ever saying good night, or good morning. it mustâve been something, for sure, and he doesnât bring it up again. heâs too drunk to try. ( as he always is, when alcohol tugs him down further, and centres his gravity to the bottom of a bottle thatâs cheap in comparison to his usual tastes â but thatâs something entirely different, and he tries not to get too distracted by the fact that his drink is all but finished â )
and when she brings up home, and happiness, and youth, he laughs like theyâre back then and not now. oh, truly, the elder zhao wouldâve kicked his skinny ass out of that pool and into the open sea, if the man didnât treat him as a second son already. these are people heâs known, whoâs known him in return, and never to the same measure as marceline â no one ever gets that close and returns unscathed. âbendy wendy! thatâs a terrible nickname. your name is far from wendy,â he says, with unabashed distaste, mostly because heâs always preferred her name more than anyone elseâs ( even his own ).Â
so he laughs harder when she hits him, and notes, with regretful clarity, that sheâs started to hit harder. sheâs grown up. but her hand feels the same, and he reaches for it before she can pull it back, hoping to hold it still, and doesnât think about why heâs holding on still.
âjesus christ, cee,â another nickname, another time, and this time, theyâre back in highschool, and heâs fending girls off of marceline, because theyâre sure to get hurt before she can even obtain a bruise herself. âspeak of the devil and she shall appear!â theyâre speaking in tongues, now, and he holds on and holds on, and her hand is so warm, and he remembers that, at the very least. something in him jumps, and wants to pull away; heâs too tired to do that, too, so instead he lets go, as he always does, and holds out his arm instead. âsheâd be terrified if she saw this,â he says, referring to the markings there, multiple, now, and more than his mother has allowed. âor maybe sheâd think iâm mafia. either way â whatever gets her to avoid me forever is fine by me!â
marceline runs a hand over her scalp and the end of her ponytail. âhellions roll some strong shit, hey?â blame my head on this drug, the haze on the substance, the way my mind slants sideways until it passes all the way off the fucking shelf and into the depths i try to bury on the inebriation. itâs the weed, god, the alcohol, shit, fuck. the pink, fleshy insides of her brain fall off their perch and smash against the hard sculpt of her skull, squishing flat before starting to reshape into sentient, moving puppets of their past. she fixes the upper layer of her suit and swallows the question do you think i look pretty? it settles in her stomach like a mean black stone and her head spins.
her neck turns and her gaze offers jaewon terrible, terrible fondness as he palms and labels an old nickname not good enough. âyouâre right.â she concedes with lilt, intoning his fact-checking is obvious but endearing. âbut i couldnât just go and let him call me seelie anything.â
his skin is so soft and sheâs so, so sorry that she canât stop her eyes from dipping over his abdomen, a smooth water-drop roll from collarbone to hips. thereâs more muscle than ever before, though she can hear his younger voice defending the leanness of his shape. itâs their first time colliding tonight but she doesnât have to have been standing with him to know how many girls had stretched their imaginative selves like film over the sculpt of his body.
their hands are together and somewhere thereâs a glass breaking and the house screams. marceline hears nothing. her heart sweats, puts its hands over its ears. she looks at their fingers and feels gold molt down her throat, pausing her speech until it slides into her stomach and turns to gilded butterflies. she wants to ask forgiveness for whatever this is.Â
but then her grin is window-wide, playfulness coming in and out like air because jaewon is safe, so safe, even when he wracks her with fright it canât survive. âshh!â she inhales, gasps, uses her free hand to messily cup over his mouth. âdonât you dare. she is a - no, you listen - she is a fine woman, jung jaewon, and you could do a lot worse than miss toni. i hope she finds you again.â her body turns to the street, mouth to the sky: âTONI -â she calls a girl thatâs not there to make him laugh, to play this like a wrestling game because theyâre not supposed to spar in bathing suits on a college porch. her eyes slate on him and her mouth stands open in the jovial threat of calling louder, like she might just summon the strange girl into existence.
her restless laughter takes a hiccupy bed as he raises his arm, and she tucks her own behind her back. the other comes to hold his wrist, pulling his forearm out. âoh yeah,â she teases, loud and unafraid when they have joy between them. âthis is what makes you a real gangster. you and your finger puppets and your adoption centre up in your room - youâre basically a kkangpae.â
FREE OF CHARGE
jiheon.
âif we were still fooling around, i wouldnât be studying right now.â heâs quick to throw an answer back, furtively enjoying the way both of them can dip their fingers into the waters of a testing friendship without making anything horrendously awkward. then again theyâve always clicked even if theyâre so, so different. nothing like two peas in a pod, yet fitting together, much akin to a perfect puzzle. he hums appreciatively. âmm. youâll have to stop doing that soon.âÂ
jiheon laughs though, fixes their positions again so that she settles much more comfortably into his lap. he runs a hand through her hair, twirling a strand between his index finger and thumb. âi canât help it. biology makes me cranky.â
heâs not really sure what to do when she looks so proud of herself over something like turning a page, so he kind of .. gives her a round of applause at her accomplishment. âthe best.â he presses a kiss against her shoulder, mouth curving in an amused smile. âwhat would i do without you?â
touchĂŠ.
marceline laughs, mouth split open at the surprise effect of his rebuttal. âfair enough.â she tucks a finger against the place his cheek dimples, holding his chin briefly. âitâs a good thing i let you go, huh? youâd never be graduating otherwise.â in good will, the girl seems to consider putting her teeth away, âor i could just sit here and give you hickies. that sounds like more fun, doesnât it? then i could really get people to believe weâre dating.â
itâs easy, soft affection with only attention behind it, and it becomes a kindness to their bodies. itâs so wonderfully nice to have warmness to turn to without expectation, judgement, fear. marceline turns an arm under and around his to stroke idly at his bicep and shoulder. âso stop studying biology.â she says simply, with the luxe apathy of a girl whose future-decisions are still stiff and strong.
sheâs being facetious, a pretend dim-witted showgirl proud of her reveal of board letters, but his reaction turns her smile true. âprobably stay stuck on the same page forever. wasting away with limited knowledge and nobody with the panache to properly take you from 252 to 253.â her arms go up behind her, over jiheon, to grasp the hood of his sweatshirt and pull it over his head. she uses enough force to push him down with it, so he grows closer to her. she extends up enough to return his chaste kiss on his jaw before letting go. âbut iâll always be here.â
she lets him have silence for a few more minutes before breaking that across her knee.
âwanna order pizza?â
the in-between
jaewon
he wants to fall again into the ocean: return to the breathless closeness, the gasping for breath, and every excuse to hold onto her hand. he laughs but doesnât deny her claim; he can hardly remember, but heâs getting better at it. there are fragments of memory that heâd rather recall than the ones that stab at his dreams, even when the ghost of his sins has long since left. and maybe he has every reason to do the same, now, but theyâre all terrible, selfish ones, and jaewon returns to drowning in his own way. she forgives him for his transgressions, and it feels like condemnation, like another burden, and this, too, is one he wishes to have forgotten. ( Â he shouldâve stayed drunk. )
âiâm glad you enjoyed watching me fall off my surfboard,â he jokes, but is grateful nonetheless for her effort to lighten his shoulders â where else, and from whom, will he get this sort of weightlessness? something inside him glows, and itâs not the same soft fire; now itâs angrier, more regretful, and he puts another lid, another jar, another thing to try and kill it, and hopes to god that time will make it turn to ash.Â
âhey! â,â because he remembers, âto be fair, he only caught us once. your dad might as well think iâm your brother, so i donât think he wouldnât have minded if he caught us a second time.â and it might be that she thinks of him that way, too, and itâs killed so many things, but it hasnât stopped feeling like the dull thrum of a worn-out beat. âand if it had been andrew lin, your dad wouldâve made me chase the guy out myself. you know that boy has no spine. likeâŚliterally â what could he do? something with rubber.â boy, like he wasnât one, at one point. âandrew lin was never as bad as â whatâs her nameâ toni? wacky toni, you remember her?â
âwell i didnât know you were coming -- the surprise makes the falling all the more exciting.â
everything about that night is pieces and wholes, details tucked into a locket and a picture painted on the back of her eyelids. she remembers a rose-coloured sky and green, thick bottles of warm champagne, sand turning their bare feet into sand paper, rubbing them together anyways; that blue-and-white striped towel looking grey as the morning light came. the way they huddled together up the beach and into the house, damp and dirty and exhausted, only stopping to wash their feet in warm water before climbing onto the balcony. the moment she thought the world was end-beginning and he was a sunrise.Â
she laughs and its real, whole, tastes like the night theyâre conjuring with cushions thrown haphazardly over jaewonâs exposed body on the pool deck. âoh, he wouldâve cared the second time. twice is too much skinny ass for him to see racing out of his hot tub.â and maybe thatâs how he feels about them, brother to something slight and un-grown, but her heart is a wild beast and her ribs are cages it wants to escape. âplease. i know you like to think youâre essential to the zhao family operation,â you are. âbut he wouldâve loved to have knocked that boys teeth in himself. now, maybe, heâd let you do it -- getting kinda soft in his old age.â she spreads her lips open because itâs a joke he can unlock by memory. zhao chen is a tooth in the eye of god, sharp no matter the day. âhe could stretch,â she corrects. âlike, elasticity. used to be kinda fun though - heâd help me do it myself, âtill i almost got better than him. called me âbendy wendyâ for a while.â
she sighs, and it has no edges. just frothy, kind dew.
her palm smacks against jaewonâs shoulder. âdo NOT speak ill of toni glowacki! that girl,â sheâs full-up and overflowing, spilling, toppled over by joy and impishness. her body turns to him, flowing seeking ray, shaking her head. âis your other half. just you wait - your love story isnât over yet, iâve always said it, iâm still saying it. youâre gonna see more of toni yet -â
the in-between
jaewon.
the stars align in all important events, and one day, it might allow him to restart, and return to sometime when the thing in his chest hasnât began to rot with time. he isnât the only one who can touch things and make them go away ( and heâs done it before ) ; it just hurts more, he thinks, when heâs on the receiving end of what he can do. perhaps, if they werenât so close, he wouldnât have destroyed what theyâve been, what they couldâve been, and everything else that comes after silences that shouldnât have existed between them.
so he laughs, because itâs all he can do when he feels that familiar twist, an old kind, the one he keeps safely tucked in all wrong parts of his bones. it rattles around, this laugh, and sounds a little too empty, so he drinks, takes a long swig so whatever it is, itâll drown somewhere at the bottom of a bottle.Â
âoh, please,â he says, and ignores the usual hooting and yelling, âif youâre old, then iâm a dinosaur. oh, to be young again.â he doesnât look at his youth beside him. theyâve grown up, and sheâs in his grown-up space, she said, and this space isnât one that allows anything between them to thrive. thereâs too much, too often, and not enough; heâs never been good at letting things grow, and helping things live. whatever they have isnât some stray he can pick up from the street. âi recall being able to stay on my board for five seconds. you probably couldnât beat my record then,â he jibes, and they both know this probably isnât true, but he says it anyway, and laughs all the same, and ends with something like a sigh.
âwhy didnât we?â it spills out of him, and it begins here, and he swallows another fountain of alcohol, and lets it coat his mouth first. âi think â uh â i had to go back to class, then. i donât think i ever said sorry for leaving so soon.â for leaving at all. he looks at her, apologetic without meaning to, and the ghost of something entirely different passes over his face, and disappears again. âbut if i did, your dad wouldâve killed me. us old adults are bad influence for you youngâuns.â
itâs hard enough to be here, now, pretending to be a new version of her and an updated version of him, without their past. heâs still so kind it makes her ache, so handsome the moon peeks out a little further to slant its light across more of his body. marceline knows the feeling. she wonders where jennie is.
-- and itâs even worse that he wants to be the them they were (still are?) collecting remembrances like pearls and stringing them out on a chain between them. let that girl die, something inside her screams. the one that waited for him when he was already right there and unable to give you everything you wanted. but sheâs tried killing that girl before. the knife always goes straight through. âyeah -â she chortles instead, eyes opening and eyebrows raising, pretending now to feel gardens open inside her. âyou got to five seconds maybe once. i had to stay on two feet to make sure you didnât drown.â
why didnât we?
she wants something to do with her hands, her mouth. another spliff, a bottle. thereâs nothing so she slides her tongue out and over her lips. she lapses into english out of habit, back into their world, just them, private from anyone else. âdunno.â you left. âitâs okay.â i wish you hadnât. âi had family stuff to do all that week anyway, itâs no big deal. i probably wouldâve been too busy to hang out much.â how might things be different if -- he looks down so she looks up, and god she thinks sheâs reading tea leaves trying to guess his expression, but she looks anyway. her smile is soft, a reassurance. something else entirely. âit was still my favourite birthday.â
âoh, câmon!â back into reality, to what they have to work with. congenial laughter and mutual childhood. âmy dad loves you. youâre like the only guy i ever brought over he ever let do anything. remember, that time he caught us skinny dipping? you were only banned from the house for like, a week. now if that had been andrew lin -- he wouldâve exiled him from the entire state right then and there.â

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the in-between
jaewon.
âworse than this one? why, you trouble-maker, you.â he laughs at their silliness. some things remain a remnant of their youth, and he remembers more than he should, thinks of something more than heâs allowed to. instead, heâs careful, and closes his eyes, and pretends that his mind is somewhere far away, where his heart doesnât rest. he doesnât have to be sober to regret so many things, and thereâs only so much he can carry around before he gets tired.Â
face turned upwards, he imagines theyâre back home again: their own private beach, and their pools and their balconies and perfect views. he remembers how the expanse of nothingness at night glitters with the light of a party, and when he opens his eyes again, itâs because of the weight against his shoulder grounding him back to the present.Â
âiâve gotten used to it,â he replies, and ignores her earlier inquiry. thereâs much to be said about jaewon, but he canât lie to marceline very well. itâs parties like these where people lose themselves, and jaewon is afraid, more than anything, that the control heâs so carefully maintained over himself will spill over, and slip out of his gloves, and remove the world because he hadnât been careful. ( but he doesnât move away. )Â
he glances over at her instead, this girl-turned-woman, and smiles again. âweâve been to a lot of parties together, marc. remember your 16th?â because itâs the first thing that comes to mind, and the night, just like then, reminds him of the cracked-up upturned cage in him, and the fire that licks at his bones. âwe lasted so much longer. until sunrise, if i remember correctly.â
itâs perception or itâs a knowledge of him, and thereâs a difference. he doesnât answer, and her gaze glosses him in concern. god knows he carries fireflies around in him to make him glow; there are ghosts in there, too.Â
âmmm,â she hums instead of asking whatâs wrong, because thatâs not a story for right now, with their bodies laid bare and open with so many people around. itâs repetition, knowing he wouldnât tell her anyway, but her words soften around the edges in an attempt to knit comfort together. âshould i go in their and embarrass you then? get really drunk and start calling for you? or should i go straight to the story of your exit at jimmy fischerâs year end party.â
but he wants to talk memory, wants to revisit memory instead, and itâs marceline that shifts in uncomfortability here. âwell, we were younger then. in our prime. now weâre old and canât hold our liquor.â a gaggle of hooting alphas exit the door in a rush and proceed into the street, marc watching. she makes the decision not to look at him. but thereâs gold unravelling like a pretty string from inside her, despite the lacquered hardness of this specific memory, pulling detail from her mouth and dropping it out in their hands. âplus on my 16th, we had the freezing ocean, which made it easier to stay awake. you kept falling off your board, throwing water on me and trying to drag me in, remember? god, i donât know how we stayed out there so long.â a breathy thing almost like a laugh. a silence unlike a pause. âi remember thinking i couldâve stayed up with you for days like that.â
the in-between
jaewon.
everything inside the madhouse is lost in short-term memory when the long-term lies before him ( and for so long ), and he doesnât dare touch past the hazy outlines of everything, just in case the madness follows him here. theyâve been to countless parties before, but never like this: around people they havenât known for years, in a place both of them have come to escape the one place they always find themselves returning to. thereâs a slow kind of burn, and he attributes the gradual rise in temperature to previous shenanigans and wildness, and thinks that everything that swims in his vision can be fixed if he calms down enough.
being around her does everything, all at once, and he finds himself smiling, finds his heart aching less, his lungs expanding to give it room to give.
suddenly heâs conscious about his hair, and tries to brush it back, even when he laughs, and hopes that the expression on his face is more put-together than the mess heâs become. âi hope the scheming is going well,â he tells her in good faith, bowing his head as if to acknowledge the power people might not have acknowledged today; itâs the least he can do.Â
he hums, too, and looks up at the moon. thereâs a lot of everything heâs never said, and knows that he never will, but instead, he says something else, âany alphas give you trouble tonight?â because heâll always fall back on this when heâs lost, always protect her, always give her his attention and take away all his fun from the festivities if it means giving her back any enjoyment she might have lost in coming here. âi know you can take care of them, butâŚold habits die hard, yâknow?â
i wish you wouldnât, she thinks as he pushes his hair back without thinking about what she means. i wish you wouldnât try and fix your hair. i wish you wouldnât try and smoothen your delightful mess. i wish you wouldnât come to me alone and beautiful as you are. i wish you wouldnât.
âah, yes,â she nods, exaggerated emphatic gesture. âyou should hear our plans for the eclipse. itâs going to be a riot.â her eyebrows rise and fall with a chuckle, turning around to face the open span of gumi and lean on her elbows. she looks over at jaewon, thinks about how similar a background this could be to the summers they used to know if she forgets about the screaming in the background and the cheap vibration of the floors around her. thinks about how he looks the exact same, only moreso.Â
âsure,â she shrugs, shoulders shrugging and then leaning into his. âcomes with the territory of having --â she makes a vague motion at her chest. âso little territory on my chest. nothing i didnât handle right away.â her gaze strips itself to his face, blooms in playfulness and repetition: âold habits die hard.â redbone filters through the door for the sixth time tonight, and begins with the same cheer of appreciation at its opening notes. marceline chuckles and runs her tongue against the inside of her cheek. âwhat about you? enjoying it so far?â her hip now juts against his gently, momentarily. âis it weird seeing me in your grown-up space?â
the in-between
@rmarceline
some cacophony or another later and jaewon is a drunk mess. he mightâve played too much beer pong ( and lost ), or got himself in a drinking game ( or two, or three ), but who can blame him? itâs a pre-requisite of being a dog, a hound, a more acceptable kind of monster: the kind that smiles and makes friends and pats the backs of others in passing, and wears gloves to keep the real kind of enemy from seeping into anyone elseâs skin. and he passes by them all, one by one, drinks and laughter and sharp words barked at each other in a series of unfortunate words, until he finds himself stumbling outside with the ghost of a laugh hardly-swallowed.
and this is where he finds her again.
he could have sat anywhere, but he decides to be next to her. ( he always does. ) thereâs no drink in his hand, now. not anymore. his lungs have been begging for reprieve, and when he situates himself by her side, his hands are flat against either side of him â on the spaces where she isnât â and he looks at her with all the familiar comfort of a fresh breath of air.
âmy seelie queen has decided to take a break from the festivities, i see,â he observes, words only slightly slurred, hair mussed in that alpha kind of way. sheâs still as perfect as ever. âi missed you back there,â and his smile is a little more somber, and he leans back a bit more, âyou didnât say hi when you came in.â
they carouse through the streets and into the house like imperious kings and queens, young and nimble delinquents that did not have to kick over property or spill garbage to be jailbirds: their very existences were criminal against the human race and its practices, a constant defiance to the etiquette and custom that meant each and every individual should be beholden to a kind of moral law. they were young and beautiful, powerful in ways money canât buy, and as such, did what they pleased and nothing of what they didnât. graceful tyrants, magnificent criminals with permanent impunity thanks to their old last name or new, unending ability.
and they make a fucking mess of this goddamn castle.
itâs sloppier than the parties sheâs used to; a concession, she thinks, to the kind of boys playing host: like a dog growing to resemble its owner, the party is shaped like its men. or vice versa. it doesnât particularly matter. she steps outside with a group of hellions for the promise of a joint, comradery formed while the paper and kush burns down. hellions always have the best weed, and while the especially drunk ones lose hold of their propriety enough to stare at the floral appliquĂŠ of her bodysuit and the breasts beneath them, largely theyâre fine company for a smoke. the group dissipates as the joint burns down, but marceline remains outside, grateful for small reliefs and slight silences. thereâs a voice and a boy coming into the darkness and heâs the kindest ghost sheâs ever seen. marceline smiles, the world around her warm-hazy.
âshe did,â her mouth turns half moon, lips open. âitâs the moon.â she gestures upwards, to the blue in the sky, playing along with the fae royalty he swears she might be. âneeded to visit. recharge. discuss our plans for the eclipse and subsequent on humans trickery.â her chuckle fades into a hum, the hum mists into her closed smile. his hair is mussed and heâs too handsome. âsure i did,â she retorts, canting her head to lean against the pillar. âi said hi. you just werenât there.â itâs playful. deflection, maybe. a bell jar over their conversation, like the glass between so much of them.
oh wow
: UNDERCUT.
@rmyeol
sheâs all wrapped up in gold like sheâs a bottle of champagne, and when she moves it looks like sheâd taste the same: the identical luxe pop and fizzle of rosĂŠ is in her steps, the bow of her upper lip, the clink of drop earrings rustling against tender neck. she looks like you could swallow her and get drunk on the taste.
(and thatâs the story of a girl, isnât it? to fold yourself smaller and prettier and shinier until you look palatable, ready for consumption. well, if fairytales have told us anything, itâs that a pretty young thing eaten by a wolf will get out of the belly of the beast unharmed, and leave the animal bleeding out).
thereâs a bare shoulder peering out with curiosity from beneath marcelineâs haphazardly draped fur stole like it needs to know whatâs going on, why marceline is clacking down the hallway in thin-heeled jimmy chooâs and then leaning against a doorframe. it watches, like she does, the frothing of the student body as they go to and fro, boys stopping by her stagnant form like waves sliding to a jutting rock and receding without her when they realize they have no tide strong enough to pull her in.
thereâs a boy that comes on by, and heâs familiar in the way a hand youâve had under your heel is. marcelineâs lips pulled up to show teeth at his appearance like stars were making themselves hinges in the night sky, tacking onto the velvet blackness of night and pulling upwards to lift it into the air like a show curtain. âdo i know you?â she says suddenly, a grand entry into greeting. marceline cants her head, hips jutted out from her leaned position against the wall. âah -â she drops her head more. âah, there it is. i almost didnât recognize you, not on the flat of your back.â

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: STEP CLOSE.
@rmkhb
people on the whole, regardless of geographical location or subsequent cultural slang, had long been quite fond of the saying âthe calm before the storm.â metaphorically, it made a hackneyed kind of sense, in the way that all sayings with easily chewable syllables become palatable for the masses. if it wasnât said in the exact same way - perhaps substituting the ubiquitous âstormâ for a more specific disaster â a hurricane, maybe, or the gagging feeling one attainted when unable to remove a piece of hair from your mouth halfway through a bite of something dry â the sentiment remained the same. and unanimously, regardless of the affliction in question, there lay serious flaws within the logic of the statement; namely, the implication that all catastrophes (both of the fleshy nature and natural kind) were delivered with a forewarning of eerie silence and peace. marceline has always found that to be melodramatic bullshit, to be quite honest. life was rarely so dull as to be so predictable. her life never had been. gumi certainly wasnât, and nor was the alpha house & co.
the house was, in affect, the motel the aforementioned storm checked into for a quick fuck and a smoke break between disasters. some would have protested it was more a chalet than a motel when the occupants werenât present, but the sex was quick and sloppy and would probably walk around naked far too long after the alcohol and warn off and the spliff was ashes. lacquered calamity.Â
there was another double tequila in front of her, looking like liquid gold in the cheap red plastic glass one or another boy had brought back from the kitchen in efforts to do their best to bring her to the dance floor. the way the liquor shone caught her attention for a moment, and then the boys and girls and monsters cried out at once, and instead of adding her howl to the pack she drops her head and her sense back and swallows viscous mistakes, still sitting. thereâs no place to dispense the cup, and marceline holds it vacantly in the air a moment, facial contortion hovering in the distasteful. it was warm. she stands, high heels clicking against the sticky wood, and looks for a garbage or flat surface to dispense the cup - she instead finds the open ceiling-faced palm of a red-faced alpha boy, gesturing to remove the offending object from her.Â
âthank-you.â
she turns and offers no other attention to the dispensary, returning to the ottoman. but this is a house full of dogs, and thereâs not a single one that doesnât love to howl. as marceline pivots, a high-pitched, low-aimed whistle takes its place on her shoulder.
âow! pull those tits all the way out.â
her ponytail swings as she flips back, lipstick still fixed properly along the lines of her mouth despite the numerous bottles that have tried to mottle it.Â
âexcuse me?â