#BUT THIS IS HER WORLD AND SHE IS THIRTY FLIRTY AND THRIVING!!!

[corydoric]

Late entry for @terroryuriweek is Alternate Universe!

This is the Sex and the City/Devil Wears Prada AU I’ve been working on with my brother which is focused on the Lieutenants as employees working for Terrebus Magazine. Hickey may or may not work for the company. It’s unclear what she’s actually doing there.

A lot of work and personal drama going on, sometimes simultaneously!

[wildesqdreams]

rom com

pairing - xander hawthorne x fem!reader.

summary - a girl who loves romance and a playful boyfriend spending time together. it's like out of a movie.

warnings - none, just fluff and cuteness, well, and xander's annoying scones.

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a/n: god, guys, it has been a while, hahaha. i'm sorry for not posting anything, i've just lost inspiration, but i'll try to write more, but i'm not promising anything... enjoy :)

'i wanna be thirty... thirty and flirty and thriving!'

y/n pulled the blanket up her body, as she got more comfortable on the bed, the smile not leaving her face. watching silly little rom-coms on her laptop with snacks and a peaceful environment was her way of having a fun time, so when her boyfriend suggested it, she was delighted.

she looked at her phone. 30 minutes had passed since xander left to get some scones, qouting, "what's life without a blueberry scone?"

even though the plan was to get everything ready, both being present and then start the movie night, y/n couldn't wait and started the movie - besides xander has watched it a million times because of her, since she loves love.

a small laugh escaped her lips from the scene, where jenna woke up as a grown-up and met the random man in her apartment. 'you're naked!' she spoke, using an umbrella as a weapon.

her gaze went to the door that opened, xander entering the room: "i'm back-" he stopped, the door shutting closed, but him remaining by it.

his hand went to his heart, "you started watching without me."

the smile on y/n's face grew wider at his sarcastic tone, "and you started eating without me?" she motioned to his hand that held a half eaten scone.

xander walked towards the bed, "couldn't resist it, besides jameson already ate most of the blueberry ones," he put the plate on the nightstand while eating the rest of the scone.

the girl hummed, "well, i couldn't resist the movie. besides, you've already watched it," her eyes met his, "multiple times."

her boyfriend chuckled as he moved the laptop off her legs, placing it further in the bed, "i feel heartbroken."

"hmm," she laughed, while xander climbed on top of the girl, putting his arms besides her on the bed, "well you should eat another scone then, since they're your favorite thing."

he laid on top of her, nuzzling his face in the crook of her neck, humming, when he felt her hand touch his hair, "mmm, after robots."

y/n chuckled, "dammm, and here i thought i was your favorite."

"naa, you're like in the third place or something."

"you jerk!" she faked gasped while smiling and pushed him off of her and off the bed. but before she could get comfortable, she felt hands pulling her waist, "wait, xander-" the noise of them both crashing on the floor filled the room.

xander groaned as his arms tightened around the girl, who was on top, "that's what you get for talking like that."

a small smile appeared on his face, "yes, ma'am."

the boy let out another groan since he was the one who landed on the hard floor, hitting his head in the process.

"you idiot," y/n brushed his curls away from his forehead, then placing her hand on his cheek, drawing small circles with her thumb on his skin.

the boy turned his head and softly kissed her wrist, "i love you," his lips traveled up her arm, "more than scones and robots," he pecked her shoulder before laying his head back on the ground.

"so you're telling me even more than blueberry scones?"

he grinned, "now, that's a little too far."

the girl chuckled, as she pushed his face with her hand, "shut up."

xander's arm traveled up her side to the back of her neck, pulling her down, as he turned his head back, "come here."

he let out a satisfied sigh when their lips met, his other hand squeezing her hip.

"i love you," she mumbled against his lips, her hand on his shoulder

he deepend the kiss, pulling her closer, "i love you too."

if y/n could choose one thing in the world, that would be staying in xander hawthorne's arms forever. feeling his soft touch and rapid heartbeat. feeling the love he has for her till she couldn't breathe anymore. the nerdy, sarcastic boy was her home. he was the dream that she wished for as a hopeless romantic. he was everything.

soon, xander pulled away, mumbling, "what do you think of watching the movie on the floor?"

she pecked his lips before getting up and grabbing the laptop and a blanket, "i would say you're a genius."

[darkmagyk]

Thirty, Flirty, and Thriving

In honor of his 30th Birthday, have a fic about Percy Jackson's 14th Anniversary. Check it out here on AO3.

Percy had been a morning person for a very long time. He thought it was probably something to do with being an East Coaster in his heart. And that connection between the beach and the sunrise. He and Frederick had had a conversation about that, once, about how much they both disliked watching the sun set over the ocean, knowing in their veins it should be the other way around. There was a reason neither of them lived in California anymore, after all.

He was alone in that, at least in his bedroom, however. Frederick Chase had thought that the sun should rise over the ocean, not set on it. But he didn't much want to see it, except for on very special occasions. And his daughter was the same.

Annabeth was a night owl. Because of course she was, what else would she be? A lark? He suppressed a laugh at the idea of calling her that, careful not to wake her as he rolled out of bed. She needed her beauty rest. It was a Friday, but she'd taken the day off, and he intended to let her sleep in, just like she preferred.

She deserved it. Working so hard, and all that.

He didn't ever work on Fridays. His classes were all on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and he preferred to do research at home on Mondays and Wednesdays. Sometimes, he got dragged to campus because of a departmental meeting, but he'd made it pretty clear to the chair that he saw his academic career connected to a university as a fun hobby, and if they tried to drag him a second longer away from his family that he was okay with, he'd leave it behind in a second for stay-at-home-dad-hood, or at least independent scholarship or a school that would give a classics prodigy everything he wanted. So they were pretty decent about not pushing for committees that did meet on Fridays, or when he wanted to be elsewhere. Who knew being a demigod made you such a hot commodity in the world of academia?

He had a plan though, because it was not just any Friday, it was a very special Friday. And he wanted to celebrate it like it deserved.

But he was a little surprised, when he got to the kitchen at 6:30 in the morning, to find what had been spotless when he'd gone to bed, now very much not that. There was a pile of flour on the counter nearest him, and something else on the kitchen island that might have been sugar. There was melted butter all over the cookie sheet. The sink was full of two of his stand mixer bowls, a shield--the baking kind, not the weapon kind, though that had happened once before--and the dough hook and whisk, plus two wooden spoons and two more normal mixing bowls.

“What are you doing up so early?” Junie demanded. She kept repositioning herself, trying to stand in front of the stand mixer, which is clearly going on, and shooting looks out of the corner of her eye at her little sister. The secret message being sent was apparently being understood, because Lucie was standing in front of the ovens, trying to raise her hands, presumably so Percy could not see what cooking was happening.

Behind Junie, on the counter, about a third of a bottle of blue food coloring was leaking onto the granite. He once again applauded his wife’s choice to go with the blue marble.

“I’m always up this early,” he pointed out, he glanced between them. “You aren’t, though.”

“I am,” Lucie chimed in.

“I know you are; I’m surprised you're not watching your cartoons.” Lucie, all of seven, was all Annabeth. Blonde curls and gray eyes and a warrior’s cunning. But in her sleeping habits, she was all him. That was one of his favorite things about having kids, picking out the pieces of him and Annabeth, and learning all about the awesome people they created together.

“This is more important than cartoons,” Lucie said.

“What are you doing?”

“Lucie,” Junie snapped, mouth tight.

Lucie snapped her mouth closed.

Percy looked between the two of them, going back and forth to see if either of them would crack.

They were holding up admirably well.

But though they were legacies of Athena, with all the wisdoms and battle acumen that might have afforded them, Percy had a work around.

Even wisdom had to bow to strength, sometimes. So, Percy walked up to Lucie, who looked up at him, staring at him gilessly. The eyes of a little girl who could steal from a gift shop and not even feel bad about it. He loved his kids so much.

He reached down, hooked his arms under her arms, and lifted.

The reaction was instant. She shrieked. Her kicks were not wild flailing, but rather well aimed and deliberate. Which was actually to his advantage, as it meant he could anticipate them a little bit, and tense up as he turned and set her back down.

“Shh, you don’t want to wake your mama or your sisters,” he said lightly, while he peered into the oven. He had already guessed it was a cake. He could only sort of make out the cake through the little window, in the dim yellow light. But it was clearly blue.

“Junie,” He said, not looking away from the oven, “would you please make sure the food coloring doesn’t drip on the floor?”

She gasped a little bit, and by the time he straightened back up. She was ripping a wad of paper towels from the under counter holder.

“It was supposed to be a surprise.” Lucie said.

“Well, I’ve got to make Mama her breakfast.”

“It’s your birthday, shouldn’t she make it for you?” Junie asked.

Percy raised an eyebrow, and Junie nodded, conceding his point. Annabeth Jackson was one of the most amazing people to ever have existed. She could slay monsters and fell giants and design monuments and lead armies and kiss booboos and sew historically accurate high medieval princess dresses from late Byzantium. But she could not cook.

“Right,” Junie said, and then she started nodding. “Exactly, Mama can’t cook. So, she never makes you breakfast, or special treats for your birthday, like you do for all of us.”

“So you two decided to make me a cake?”

“Yeah,” Lucie said, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Happy birthday, Daddy.”

“Thank you, Birdie.” She grinned up at him. She was missing a tooth. It was horribly adorable.

“Happy birthday, Dad,” Junie said, with much less enthusiasm.

“What’s wrong, Honey Dew?” She frowned at the childish nickname. Because his baby had just turned ten two weeks ago.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” she said. “A special surprise.”

“It’s both,” he assured her. He kept a hold of Lucie but shuffled over to Junie, hugging her after turning off the stand mixer. The buttercream was more like sweet, blue butter at this point. But that was alright. They should probably wait until the cake had cooled before worrying about frosting. “Thank you for thinking of me.” He ruffled each of their sets of curls, and held them close. They were so grown up now. Able to wake up early and make a mess in the kitchen.

The smell of baking was filling the air, and it smelled like they’d probably done it mostly right.

“You’re welcome, Daddy,” Lucie said.

“Tell me about how you got the idea.”

“It was mine,” Junie said, her mother’s daughter, always eager for credit for her brilliant ideas. It had already cost her two schools, which was a lot for a rising fifth grader, though not quite his record. So he counted it as a win. “We’ve been having Mia teach us.”

“That was very nice of Mia,” Percy said. He really had hoped, after ten years, his mother would have gotten over her deep resentment over having a grandchild before she was forty, which had resulted in her absolute refusal to be called anything with the slightest hint of Gran in it.

Some of the skepticism must have leaked into his voice.

“I’m allowed in the kitchen unsupervised,” Junie said defensively.

“I’m pretty sure there was more to that agreement,” Percy said, chief among them being ‘the ten-year-old does not count as supervision for her little sisters.’ Though that was kind of in a gray area with Lucie, who just needed to not get distracted around heat. It wasn’t like they were worried about knives and their kids, after all. “But you’re not in trouble, baby, I promise. I am so happy you did this for me. But I am going to need help cleaning up. And then we’ll re-make some butter cream. And then you can start helping me prep the olives for Mama’s anniversary breakfast?”

At 9:30, he was something like done with breakfast. The spread of homemade cinnamon rolls, bacon, sausage, quiche, and olives were all laid out on multiple trays.

Left her to own devices, Annabeth would have liked to sleep later, but he knew she wouldn’t be. He went back into their bedroom, Junie and Lucie carrying other things, to find her sitting up in bed. Sophia in her lap and Thalassa next to her, the three of them acting out a Greek tragedy with stuffies.

“Happy Anniversary,” he said. Reminding Lucie to put the giant tray of Olives on the bedside table and Junie to set the rest of the quiche down and go get more plates so they could all eat together.

They settled in together, the six of them, sitting on the bed to eat breakfast. Their bedding was going to require a lot of washing when this was over. But that was okay, because fiber crafts were just one of Annabeth’s many talents. She was great with laundry. Everyone had cinnamon rolls, Thalassa got cream cheese icing in her hair, and Sophia sucked on a piece of bacon, while Junie and Lucie recounted their cake decorating adventure. Percy had to leave at one point to get another jar of olives. Proof, he thought, of how much he loved his girls.

When he got back, they had all shifted enough that he was able to sit right next to Annabeth. She leaned into him as Junie used the stuffed animals to explain the Allied powers' aviation strategy during World War II, because she spent a lot of time with her grandfather.

He felt Annabeth’s hand start fishing for his, and he grasped it, squeezing tightly. “Happy fourteenth anniversary.” Percy whispered, turning his head to plant a kiss on her close-cropped curls.

“Happy thirtieth birthday.” Annabeth replied.

“Best one yet.”

“You say that every year.”

“It's true every year,” Percy said, “every single birthday since my sixteenth has been getting better and better.”

“Well, I’m hoping this one can get better. I have plans, and they involve your favorite foods that I can buy from restaurants in New York City, and a Moana/Finding Nemo double feature, and my dad taking the girls for five hours after lunch.”

“Better and better, like I said.”

Something Junie had said caused Thalassa to break out into a pile of giggles. Not wanting to be left out, Sophia copied her.

Percy felt it in his heart, all of this. Happiness and love, and his perfect family.

“Happy birthday to me,” He whispered to himself before joining in the laugh.

[in-flvx]

In the face of the weird online sentiment that every person (especially women) over 30 are basically dead, I just want to appreciate the movie '13 going on 30'. Bc Jenna is absolutely terrified of going through her teens, her biggest wish is to be 'thirty, flirty and thriving'. That's literally all she wants at 13, to get at a place at her life where she is secure and self-sufficient, and has the entire world at her fingertips. And the way she actually thrives at that age, is by taking up all the hobbies and interests she had at 13 'again'

And I think some people should take that to heart

[the-hawkeyes]

The Hawkeyes Blog Character Primer

Hello! Welcome to the blog!

My name is Sandra, and I've been running this blog for a while.

I'm a transwoman in my early thirties, and my big things that I'm into are FFXIV, rp and everything else, sci fi, gundam, big robots, Mecha, Lancer...and Ladies. Lots and lots of Ladies.

So to start, here's a short primer to introduce and give you an idea of what sort of characters you'll see here!

Kiera Hawkeye

The Main Mom. The one that started it all. Kiera Hawkeye.

A woman nearing her 50's, and has experienced a lot in her life. From partying as a youth, to marrying in her late twenties, to having a son. Losing that husband, discovering parts of her she didn't know, and settling down with a newfound wife.

She's settled in her personality, but she's still flirty. Still full of love and life. She loves a nice, stiff drink, a good book, the feeling of fresh dirt under her hands, and holding her wife, Iyrnswys.

Ala Mhigan, and proud of it. Keeps up her figure by being a miner nowadays. Most notably known as the organizer of the Annual Melon Crushing Contest on Balmung !

Tags: kiera tag

Katie Willow

My Warrior of Light. The main character of Final Fantasy XIV!

A woman who started an adventure with a heart full of young naivety and excitement, and got wrapped up in something that she never, ever could have expected.

Still working her out, so stay tuned for more!

Tags: katie tag

Zophia Wheeler

The Best Ass in Thanalan, the Cumtank herself! All self-declared titles~.

A sex worker in her mid 30's, now working at a brothel in Thavnair with help from a friend to provide stability after an unfortunate falling out from her previous one.

Loud, brash, flirty, and always speaks her mind, Zophia is quite the woman! Recently she learned of her families history as powerful Red Mages due to a chance encounter with a long lost aunt. She's been dealing with the fact that she's had a family she never knew.

Luckily her wife (Qahli, another's PC), is there to help her out!

Stephanine Rainteau

Stephanine Rainteau of House Rainteau is one of the prominent Summoner's produced by the Arcanists Guild. Originally from Ishgard, sent to Limsa Lominsa to study arcanima to help with the Dragonsong War.

But through her studies, she changed. Taken under the wing of another powerful summoner, Stephanine was introduced, gradually, to a world that she never thought she would be a part of, but ended up thriving in it.

A selfish woman, a woman of multiple lovers, capable of acts of profound compassion and near heartless cruelty. One may never suspect considering the rather polite and haughty attitude of a noble she wears.

Tags: stephanine tag

And more! Keep an eye out for updates!

[highoctanegem]

2 for 1 Slay special || Eve & Jade

TIMING: Recent. LOCATION: The 3 Daggers PARTIES: @technowarden & @highoctanegem SUMMARY: Eve and Jade share a drink and catch up. CONTENT WARNING: None.

So like, full disclosure? Her relationship with The Three Daggers was flimsier than… nope, she wasn’t gonna dignify her parents by making them the center of her humor anymore, actually. Jade was like, a big grown gal now. And sure, maybe, hypothetically, she was riding the high of being thirty, flirty and thriving and pretending her frontal lobe reached peak performance when the clock struck midnight on October 14th (and she was gonna keep believing that for the next few months, what about it?) but— Hold up, where was she going? Oh, how she felt about The Tree Daggers. Right, yup. It was… a mixed bag. The bar had been a place of solace during the height of her villain era, (all two months of it), so she did have a soft spot for the ugly little barn and all the ears that were forced to listen to her yap about her problems. But on the flip side, there was the whole… Daiyu turning into a rotisserie chicken cause of some silly vendetta, right outside their supposed safe haven. It was so sick and twisted that as a result, she just decided not to vibe with the bar for a while in solidarity. 

Except, she couldn’t stay away forever just for precaution, right? She wasn’t even sure Daiyu was doing that! For better or for worse, Jade relied on The Three Daggers, it was like a little piece of home away from home. Where else was she gonna find emotionally stunted folks who drone on the importance of their calling? Who else would pat her back and reassure her she was doing the right thing by taking out (killing. Killing) undead? The bar was the only real substitute for her siblings in town. Plus, her contribution to making the place way cooler with her presence couldn’t be understated. Someone had to queue the Rihannas and Carly Raes to counteract the Chers (She wasn’t coming for her crown, alright? Never. She just wanted others to share the spotlight too). Someone had to keep hunters in touch with the real world, and the memes and the goss. She was the hero they didn’t need, but the hero they deserved.

It was a mix of friendly smiles and fond eye rolls (right?) when Jade sauntered inside the place. A little short of the round of applause she expected, but she’d take it. (Cause turning 30 made her humble, you know?). She waved at all the familiar faces, making a little list of everyone she planned on talking to, but first? Drinks. She strutted to the counter and hopped on the empty stool, flashing a megawatt smile to ask Mark for the usual. (A Mai tai).  “You’d think they would’ve brought out the confetti machines and blasted ‘Cut to the feeling’ for my triumphant return,” she quipped to whoever would hear her. By her side, a beautiful, familiar face caught her attention. One of the girlies, of course. Eve, who was obviously carrying her laptop with her. If anyone could carry the mantle of keeping hunters in the 21st century, it would be her. “Tell me I’ve missed some juicy gossip, did they get Flappin’ Flann at last? Hit me with it,” she could use some positive hunting news.

—

There were never many Wardens at the Three Daggers in autumn. The few that were there looked wiped, half asleep as other hunters passed them occasional beers. Eve, on the other hand, practically felt bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in comparison, which admittedly wasn’t saying much. Sometimes, she got a bit of shit for it, and more now than any other time of year, but for the most part, it didn’t go past gentle ribbing. Eve usually let the comments roll right off her back, and her work spoke for itself. Over the past couple years, the three daggers had become a home away from home. Somewhere she didn’t need to think about twisting every conversation in her favour, where she could speak without watching her tongue. Her hacking made for a particularly lonely hunt; it was good to have friendly faces to see in the evenings. 

Even if she had brought her work with her. She was expecting a data dump to come through at some point this evening, but she didn’t yet know the timing. Every twenty minutes or so, she flicked open her laptop, checked her alerts, and closed it again, far more interested right now in the beer in front of her. For a few hours, the town could stand to wait. 

Just as she was closing her screen again, a familiar voice approached the bar. “Hey beautiful!” Eve waved Jade over with a grin. “Hey Mark, could you put her drinks on my tab tonight, please? I hear it was your birthday recently. Big three zero, right? You’re a senior hunter now,” Eve teased, clinking her half-finished beer to Jade’s Mai Tai. 

Eve looked around to check which ears nearby were listening before leaning in. “No one’s caught Flapping Flan, but Davide over in the corner claimed he got a shot in before losing track of it. But you know what his relationship is like with the truth.” She rolled her eyes pointedly. Then she cocked her head over to a slayer looking especially pissed off in the corner. “But Jaws has finally been killed—you know, the Sand Shark everyone’s been talking about this summer? Exceeeept, both Lucy and Valentino claimed credit for the hunt, and they are not on speaking terms right now. There’s even a betting pool going round on who actually did it and how long it’ll take before they’re in bed together again. Of course, you didn’t hear that from me.” Eve said with a wink. These were the fun stories—the ones worth sharing. Not the new nightmares that everyone came to this place to avoid, nor the dead ranger Eve had spent this morning clearing up. Plenty came here to drown their sorrows; few came here wanting to hear more. “But what about you? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you in here.”

—

Jade’s face lit up (well, it continued to shine) when she realized she was getting free drinks. What a way to commemorate her return to The Three Daggers. And sure, it wasn’t like getting free drinks was something she struggled with. Charisma didn’t simply vanish just cause she had eyes for one woman and one woman only. The bat of her eyelashes never lost its juice. But this was nice, this was like, a nice little reminder of why The Three Daggers had carved a little place in her heart despite their 2.2 rating on Yelp! (Which was like, totally unfair anyway, cause hunters barely knew how to use their phones) (It wasn’t them leaving those unfair reviews). But whatever, Eve was paying for her drinks, which was what mattered in the first place. “You’re the bestest,” she said softly, only for Mark to huff at them when he returned. “Nope, you too!” She blew a kiss at him when he came back with her cocktail. So efficient, that man. Resting her head on her hand, she played with the little garnish on her glass, before fully turning to Eve, ready to get their yapping session on the road. “It so was. Best birthday ever,” so much so, that she literally felt no need to post about it on Instagram until like, a day after (cause gift hauls were still important obviously) (everybody had to know how spoiled she was). And actually, maybe it was true, that happy people led private lives. That always just sounded like a buncha crap depressed folks told themselves just to feel better. 

She cackled at Eve’s words, ignoring the dirty look the guy on the corner threw at her in response. “You’re so right about that, does that mean I get to like, boss you around? You gotta respect your elders, you know?” she fired back, friendly grin still in place. It was super weird to be referred to as a senior. First in like, a good way. She’d made it! Mostly unscathed! A milestone! But also… Her legacy wasn’t all that great, was it? Her solo career left a lot to be desired. Kinda like a wunderkind who was all the talk in college but never reached the peak after that first draft (See! She did pay attention when Jasper forced her to watch football) (Just don’t ask her how what of the movements were called, okay?).  In a lot of ways, hunters were like elite-level athletes too. Trained from infancy to capitalize on their youth and stamina and natural talent, only to retire with injuries that made life a struggle. All that before even reaching forty. For her, the highs and lows were a lot more like… the lows and lowers. Really, the montage of career highs would probably be condensed into a 10 second TikTok. But it was so chill, so fine. She still had time. She could still end up becoming an MVP eventually. Right? Yup. She had this. And she had a perfectly delicious Mai Tai in front of her that she could use to distract herself from her eternal underachieving.

“Yum!” Taking her first sip, Jade forced her smile to stay in place, happy that Eve was providing gossip she could cling to instead of… all those weird football analogies. Wasn’t it way better to chat about other people’s failures, anyway? Totes. She leaned forward mimicking Eve’s secretive gesture before she was caught up to date with all the happenings of this silly little bar. It was almost like watching her favorite storytimes on TikTok, except there weren't a bajillion separate parts to scroll through. “Oh, he’s claimed that like, five times before,” Jade waved her hand when Eve mentioned Davide. Actually, probably more times when she wasn’t around. Still, she was totally rooting for him to get the W. The man was Obsessed with capital O. More juicy than that, was the newest chapter of Lucy and Valentino’s Will They Won’t They story. (She should’ve gotten some popcorn). “Oh, I’m so getting on that betting pool” she tapped the counter excitedly. Cause first of all, was there anything more fun than a betting pool between hunters? And second of all, she definitely trusted her sixth sense on this. Lucy caught it, and… they weren’t gonna last a day before banging out their differences. She dragged her index and thumb across her lips, promising secrecy when Eve winked at her. “I didn’t hear what?” she shimmied playfully, taking another sip of her drink. 

She grinned smugly when Eve pointed out her recent absence, feeling totally flattered. “Right? I know you missed me so badly, but,” she licked her lips, playing with the Claddagh ring on her left hand, “just living my best life, you know? My girlfriend and I are moving into a new place. Sorta enjoying the domestic bliss of all that,” going down the list of ideal surfaces where to get frisky on, also. And… Did she consistently refer to Regan as ‘the girlfriend’ in front of a known warden? Maybe so. (Eve was retired and all, but… nothing and no one was worth risking Regan’s safety) (If Eve put two and two together with that beautiful brain of hers, then that was just…not her problem). But, not to linger too long on the elephant in the room, Jade opted for being a bit of a Debbie Downer. “Also like… did you hear about Rafael?” It wasn’t like hunters weren’t used to death, but right outside their turf? “Yup, I wasn’t sure the vibes were gonna be too great after that”.  

—

 “You can certainly try to boss me around. See how that works out for you,” Eve replied, tongue in cheek. Like every other hunter in town, she shared a complete lack of trust in authority. Even if Jade was one of the people who might be trusted with that kind of thing, Eve would immediately reject it. And Jade was... maybe not the first person Eve would trust with that sort of responsibility. A delight? Absolutely. A capable slayer? Definitely. The kind of person who wouldn’t use power like that to make everyone wear weird outfits and sing camp songs? No chance. 

Missing Jade’s darker thoughts entirely, Eve just chuckled at her reply. “Right? At this point, I think Flapping Flan is a rumour sustained entirely by Davide’s need to have the weirdest hunt in any conversation. Oh, and the betting pool is run by Mark, obviously! I think twenty hunters have made a bet so far.”  

“Oh Jade, I’m thrilled to hear that!” Eve clapped her hands together. She barely knew anything about Jade’s girlfriend, but it wasn’t hers to pry, not really. Eve so rarely shared anything about her life—even with the hunters she liked—that she couldn’t expect every detail in return.  Although it hadn’t felt like Jade and her girlfriend had been together that long, and she hadn’t realised it would be that serious. “Congratulations! That’s a huge step. Are you at the physically moving step, or at the fun part with the decorating?”

“I heard what happened vaguely, but I don’t know the specifics,” Eve admitted, signalling Mark to make Jade another drink. “Things were a little quieter for a bit, but you know what hunters are like.” Spending time in the Three Daggers was the least self destructive option open to them. It wasn’t like most of them would live long enough to experience liver problems. Eve ran her fingers over the counter of the table, where dozens of initials were carved into the wood. For too many hunters in town, these letters were their only legacy, the only way they’d be remembered after a decade or two. The butterfly ripples of the lives they’d saved would spread on for decades, but few would ever know. 

—

“Oooooh, I love a fun challenge,” her nose scrunched up in delight, exchanging a mischievous look with Mark, who rolled his eyes at Jade. (So rude, actually) (But she was still his fave, she was convinced. The tough act never fooled her). And like, wasn’t it so nice when hunters just… knew how to banter? That’s why she’d missed Eve so much. The world would be a way sexier place if no hunter offered to stab anyone after a few jokes. Wasn’t that so novel? But anywhoosies, back to what mattered: Ladies being superior. “You’ll find that I’m a total expert at that,” one simply didn’t get to level 15.000 in Candy Crush without being like, super tenacious. “In a totally platonic way, obviously. I’m a committed woman, as we know” and actually… “Wait, I mean, I bet someone’s snatched you already too,” she wiggled her eyebrows at Eve, curious. (Nosy).

Jade took another sip of her Mai Tai, nodding enthusiastically at everything Eve was revealing. Yup. “I love that for him, actually. Gaslighting an entire town just to stay relevant,” she shrugged. Why hadn’t she tried that? Well, she was sorta doing that. By convincing a good chunk of folks that she was some fearsome slayer. (And, wasn’t that exactly what she wanted?). Her jaw dropped dramatically, pointing an accusatory finger at Mark when he was unmasked as the mastermind behind the bet. “Of course you are, you love to pretend all the gossip is beneath ya, but you need to sustain yourself. I see you. I get you. We’re like, kindred spirits. Remind me to place my bet after. It’s gonna be Lucy, obviously, and a day before they make up,” she gave a convincing nod, tapping the counter excitedly. 

Fun gossip aside, whenever the convo switched to her favorite person Jade just couldn’t help but to beam. Nothing would ever stop it. “Right? It’s just, the best,” she swooned, getting distracted for a beat (or two), daydreaming about Regan. What was she up to, was she writing in her journal? Or maybe going over the different kinds of grey to paint their bedroom. Or maybe she’d found a dead bird in the front yard! Aw, she could just picture her excitement…Oh! Right, Eve. “We’re at the decorating stage. We have like put up all our pictures on the walls, including the ulcers” she explained, matter-of-factly. And the nudes, obviously. That went without saying. Those were literally the first things they ever hung. (As they should). “And also! We plan on having a little garden…” They were gonna have so much fun with that, she just knew it. Even if Jade’s green thumb was like, not great at all. “So, we were living in a cabin in the woods so there wasn’t much to move anyway. Plus the rest of my stuff was back at my apartment anyway, so…it was a pretty quick process,” that was the best part, definitely. To finally be free of roomies who never ever appreciated her. And getting full custody of her babies back. Lullaby and Melody were so happy discovering their new home. She wanted to keep gushing about Regan and her happy domestic life, but Jade held her tongue (a feat nearly impossible to achieve, so please clap) before she did something stupid like inviting Eve to the housewarming or something. 

Another sip of her delicious drink later, Jade hummed, putting on her more serious face, just out of respect for everybody involved. “I think only Raf and Cass knew the specifics, but neither of them is here anymore for the tell-all. Cause even Daiyu was like, she jumped in to stop it… so I don’t think she knew what was going on before,” she explained, glancing down at the counter just like Eve. It totally tracked that the hunters went into sulking mode after that, which… all the more reason to avoid the place. She had her own little mental breakdown she kept hitting snooze on, she didn’t need to get inspo from anywhere else! While she looked at the surface, Jade noticed the laptop Eve had covered with her arm. “Why did you bring homework to the bar, by the by. What’s that about?” 

—

“Oh, are you? I’d like to see that. Platonically.” Eve chuckled, shaking her head as she finished her beer. “I’m the youngest of eight, disobeying my elders is my real expertise. And you are definitely an elder now.” She said, although it wasn’t entirely true. If her siblings called to tell her to jump, Eve wouldn’t even ask how high. Luckily, they didn’t call often.  Jade’s question caught her off guard. “No, happily single, still. I mean, if I find someone to go home with tonight, that’d be a bonus, but hunters are notoriously bad at commitment. Present company excluded, of course.” Happily single was a stretch, but Jade didn’t need to know that. She couldn’t help it, Eve giggled at Jade’s persistence, that startled even Mark. “My money is already on Valentino, and four full days. Valentino holds a real beef.” She confirmed.

 Wow, Jade was really lighting up as she spoke about her girlfriend. Eve’s stomach turned slightly, a rot of envy. Which lasted right until- “Wait, ulcers? I think I misheard you.” She leant back against the bar, crossing her arms. “I didn’t have you for the gardening type. I bet that will be lots of fun come spring.” 

“Was Cass another hunter? I heard it was a fae attack, but that they escaped,” Eve shivered. Fae that knew this place was here was another reason things had gone quieter for a while. But no other attack had ever happened. If one were to happen from the fae, fall would be the time to do it. Fae were naturally impulsive, if clever. They wouldn’t sit on this information indefinitely. 

Eve looked back at her laptop with a sheepish smile. There was an answer about a possible data leak happening, that she’d need to damage control as soon as it dropped. There was another, more truthful answer, that Eve was terrible at untangling her work from the rest of her life. She wasn’t the only one here - anywhere you looked around the room, you could see hunters comparing tracking routes, planning weapons for a shared hunt, or comparing strange injuries. Most people here sometimes let their work leak into the bar. As long as it wasn’t the violent part of the work, no harm no foul. 

The third, most truthful answer was the one she was least likely to share at any moment. That so many hunters here didn’t see her as a real one, that she felt the need to compensate. Her hunt was done tucked away in a corner at her home, far from where it was visible even from the other hunters. How could they take her seriously, unless she was also doing it here.

“I just need to see the good memes with as high resolution as possible, as soon as possible, obviously!”  Eve replied eventually. “Anyway, you’d be amazed at how often another hunter comes up to me to ask me to fix their phone or GPS while I’m here. It saves me so much time just to have a computer here to figure out whether whatever they’re brought me is worth saving.”

—

“Eight!?” Jade paused, well and truly flabbergasted by new Eve lore dropping so suddenly. Her eyes sparkled in amusement. “How?” She held her hand up to stop Eve before she could interject. “Stop it, I know the how…” She saw the joke coming from outer space, and even if it would’ve been amazingly delivered, no doubt, she just needed her thirst for knowledge sated. “Did your parents not know they had like, other stuff to do besides boning? Like, hunting and stuff?” On the other hand, there was the very real possibility that maybe Eve’s parents actually loved their children and didn’t stop having them just cause they despised the last one to come out. (Hypothetically) (It might have been what happened with the Bloodworths, it was hard to tell). But even if Eve’s parents loved love (sure… let’s go with love), it didn’t look like that translated to their youngest. There was no rush though, love came knocking when you least expected it. “I’m totally rooting for you to take a hottie home tonight,” she twirled in her stool scouting the options, ready to be the best wingwoman if needed. 

In the spirit of good fun, Jade wasn’t gonna tell Eve she was totally wrong about her predictions, but like… she did exchange a quick look with Mark, giving him the faintest of headshakes. Nope, four days was way too long for a hot-blooded (read horny) duo to get it on. Jade had this in the bag. But it would be fine, she’d buy everybody a round with the money she made. 

Weirdly, Eve seemed to think she’d misheard Jade, which was so weird cause what else could she have said that sounded remotely like ulcers? Or was it the ulcers bit that was confusing? The corners of her eyes wrinkled, finding joy anytime she had to explain her and Regan’s little quirks. The best way to do it was always with a straight face. “Ulcers! You know like… ulcers. My partner’s like, obsessed with them, we have some framed, so she can admire their beautiful colors,” and she was definitely downplaying Regan’s expertise as an obsession, obviously, in case that gave too much away. Cause while her beautiful lady was a total pro at conversational intercourse these days, she did have like two or three subjects she always brought up and made her too recognizable. (Or in her totally unbiased opinion, iconic). “And you’re totally reading me right, cause I’ve never done very well at gardening. But hey! I love to learn new tricks, I always say, it’s never too late to realize you can do whatever you set your mind to,” right? Yup. That was definitely something she said all the time. Especially to herself. Definitely.    

Jade didn’t realize that thinking about Cass would still make her feel a little uncomfy and a lot conflicted, until Eve asked directly about her. She dragged her index finger along the rim of her glass, a friendly smile still plastered on her face while she took half a beat to think of her answer. It wasn’t fair to bring up Cass, or whatever her villain era had been… mostly out of love for Van, who suffered the most with her death. But also possibly, a little out of guilt (small, barely there guilt, don’t get it twisted) over what she did to Cass’s bestie. There, she said it. It was weird that even after all this time, Cass continued to haunt the narrative. Maybe she would’ve liked that actually, knowing she enjoyed comic books and all. “I dunno what Cass was, actually,” she deflected with a nonchalant tone. Playing dumb was still one of those roles she excelled at, anyway. She wasn’t gonna air out Cass's dirty laundry. Even if Jade was kind of a bad friend to her in the end, she could at least offer this, out of respect. 

Her grin widened when Eve brought up the memes, bouncing cheerfully as she reached for her second drink. Nothing about the explanation seemed sus or anything, even if Jade obviously knew hunters kept a few cards close to their chests. Maybe Eve wasn’t just here for the memes, or maybe she was, but either way, that was totally chill and fine in her eyes. Everybody had to cope however they could. “Ugh, not all superheroes wear capes, sometimes they carry laptops,” she hyped up her friend, lifting her glass to Eve’s beer. “You have to be careful though, you’re gonna end up having to set up their Netflix accounts. Oh! Or, maybe even helping with their Tinder profiles!” she cackled just picturing the scenario.   

—

Eve laughed at Jade’s horror, holding in the obvious, painful jokes that had been her birthright her whole life. “Somehow, they found space for the hunting. I think my mum literally brought her warbow to the delivery room.” She did not explain the idiosyncrasies of her parents belief systems that resulted in this many children, or that some of her siblings had taken up the same mantel, leaving Eve with more niblings than she could handle. “It’s definitely happening. But for now, I’m chatting with this total babe, and I can save the flings for later.”

Although… if Jade’s idea of a good partner was someone who was in to ulcers, maybe Eve didn’t need Jade wingwomaning. (Although, considering one of Eve’s recent dates had come into being because of wet cake throwing…… maybe she had no place to judge.) “Oh! How quirky! I’ve never thought of ulcers like that before.” Nor would she ever again. Look, Eve, like many hunters, could appreciate the aesthetics of a combat related injury or scar. Ulcers were…. Not that. She was eager to move on to other topics, post haste. Gardening was a perfect distraction. “You know, I agree. I think a lot of us become trapped in the idea of only being good hunters, and not setting our minds to anything else. Good for you!”

“Okay,” Eve replied. Jade seemed nonplussed by the mention of Cass, and Eve had little reason to doubt her other than the self expressed discomfort that she felt about coming back to this place. If Jade said she was fine, Eve had no reason to question it. For all the enthusiasm and bubbly joy between them, that fueled many absurd conversations, they didn’t go much deeper than that, they didn’t need to. It was all Eve needed; someone else who had also chosen smiles and laughter as their coping strategy. Hunters died all the time, there was no need to get too close. As the jokes turned to her laptop and tinder, Eve gasped. “That would actually be a horror. Worse than the demon, even! You know how human men have their fishing photos? It would be the only thing on a hunters profile.” She shuddered, clutching her drink.

—

“That’s nuts! But wait, kinda iconic of her too, actually. I’m so stealing that,” not that… well, someday, after six seasons and a movie Jade kinda hoped there would be an even littler Jade running around, (or even better, an even littler Regan), but who knew if that was ever gonna be a thing. And the more she thought about Eve’s parents (not like that, ew), the more she realized that maybe hunters just had better time management skills than regular humans did. Cause she had time for two delivery jobs, plus slaying most nights, plus giving her bone partner all the attention she deserved (24/7/365). Feeling incredibly proud for doing all of these things, all while maintaining her hair routine, Jade was over the moon when Eve proceeded to compliment her some more. “You’re so right, you pretty much peaked in terms of company already, but ya know…” she shrugged, eyes still dancing from the stools, to the booths, to the tables, selecting a few decent alternatives for Eve to get her hands on. 

A vibrant laugh bubbled in her chest watching Eve react to her very deadpan explanation of the ulcer thingy. “Me neither, she totally opened my eyes that way,” which was so true, even if she wasn’t technically speaking about the ulcers just now. Nope. The kind of awakening Regan stirred in Jade wasn’t all about their beautiful and colorful love, but about a buncha uncomfy things too. Like duty, and life, and choices (the ones that, hypothetically, were taken for her before she had any say). Also… dead animals. She itched to tell the story of how the two first met, except… She’d be giving away stuff like Regan being a hot doc, and making glass explode without touching it, and keeping a dead squirrel on the table to impress her. All of which gave big strong banshee vibes. So… Eve would have to miss out on learning about their meet cute, unfortunately for her. Jade knew she was smiling like an idiot as she reminisced that first night, but Eve brought back her attention to her gardening skills, so she followed along. “Right? Those hunters… whoever they are, need to like… lighten up a bit” she waved her hand, circling around the room. “Imagine reducing your entire worth to whether you can stab the thingy or not, couldn’t be me,” except. Except. 

Eve was fine with her (allegedly) not having too many deets on Cass, and whether she could tell Jade didn’t wanna spill more tea than needed or not, at least she was super graceful in letting her off the hook. This was totally why Eve was one of her girlies, they had a pretty similar way of interacting with the world. A way that wasn’t that easy to find elsewhere. Yup, she’d missed The 3 Daggers for that same reason. And ugh, fine. Jade had gloated about not being like ‘all the other hunters’ so many times before, but alright, okay! Maybe, possibly, she shared like, fifty percent of the traits with them. (The other fifty was all down to her incredible personality). She clicked her glass against Eve’s beer and took a quick sip, laughing about the horrors of hunter Tinder, pushing the thoughts of Cass and Van, and her own actions very, very far away, for another episode. “Ew, you’re actually so right. Just instead of the fish it’d be like… the head of a hellhound or whatever,” Jade scrunched up her nose. She’d never been a dating apps girly (on the account of you know, being a charisma monster), but she was so freaking glad to be off the market and not have to endure that even in a fake scenario.    

Finishing her second Mai Tai, Jade placed her empty glass on the counter, holding off from asking for another. “But come on, let’s take a real screen break,” she batted her eyelashes in a pleading way, tugging at Eve’s wrist. “Why don’t we go shoot darts? I haven’t in a while. I have to get back into the leaderboard. Plus, I know your skills will catch someone’s attention,” she wiggled her eyebrows and slid off the stool before Eve got a say. And sure, she’d probably end up taking her laptop with her, but Jade was totally dragging the girl to have some fun. Be it via darts or with the cute brunette in the corner who hadn’t stopped looking at Eve since Jade first spotted them. Either worked in her book.

[pbs-theundeadmaggot]

first love // smiling as I burn

🎶 smiling as I burn by capsize

(AU) Steve Harrington x fem!reader

[a/n] just a filler part for now but its gonna get difficult from here on out, if you want your feelings hurt look out for the next part! hopefully coming by the end of the week

[warnings?] hurt feelings (I promise it will get better... at some point)

first love masterlist here!

For such an ungodly hour of the morning anyone would’ve thought you’d drunk your weight in coffee beforehand, that mixed in with a ten hour flight was a blackout waiting to happen. However, Robin couldn’t be mad by your energetic exterior which strongly juxtaposed her somewhat agitated mood, after all she knew what you and Steve shared was special and as much as she hated cliches, you were meant to be. 

It had taken months of difficult conversations over multiple bottles of wine for you to even admit that you still held feelings for the chocolate haired boy. It wasn’t a secret amongst the group but more of an unspoken thing that you kept buried deep inside, to be dealt with at a later date except the date had come. In less than a month you’d be turning thirty and joining the “thirty, flirty and thriving” crew although for you it leaned more towards the “thirty, unflirty and crying” crew. Hopefully Steve could change that for you and not just because of the pact you’d made almost ten years ago. 

“Thank fuck, one more minute being the third wheel to the lovebirds and I would’ve gladly thrown myself out the car, ruined the hair and all.” The unmistakably boyish voice of Eddie echoed through the quiet terminal entrance. Unable to process his words Robin had thankfully shot him a glare before grabbing ahold of your shoulders and pulling you towards the nearest restroom, aware Eddie would be stalling the pair for the sake of your sanity that quickly slipped away.

“Are you okay?” Robin’s usually husky voice replaced by a softer and almost pitiful one. You were pretty sure the world has stopped spinning, unsure if you could even speak or if you were stunned into silence. The only feeling that rushed through every fibre of your body being an uncomfortable ache that settled deep into the roots of your bones as if making a permanent home there. Loss and grief hitting you and for what?, for someone who was never yours in the first place. Not only had you missed your chance at possibly being more than a best friend, but now you’d also lost the opportunity to tell him explicitly how you felt. The self-doubt weighing down on your previously worn out and tired heart as you pondered on how exactly you were going to survive a ten hour flight let alone a week with both Steve and his girlfriend. 

“Look I’m sure its not that serious after all he would’ve told us if it was. And you know what Eddie’s like, he probably misread the whole situation.” Attempting to get any sign of life from your statuesque state, the only give away that you were in fact breathing and alive being the gentle rise and fall from your chest and the uncontrollable blinking in an effort to stop the tears that pooled at the corners of your eyes from falling like a waterfall. 

“You reckon Eddie has any pills on him right now?” Breaking the dragging silence. “Shit, maybe I should just go check before he scoffs them all.” You babbled trying anything to keep your mind from racing with thoughts about the man who stood less than 20ft away with what seems to be the love of his life, wrapped in his stupidly comfortable arms probably listening to the annoyingly calming beat of his heart, the heart that also most likely beat just for her, like she was the reason he was alive. The reason for being.

 Fuck it was going to be a long trip.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

[a/n]Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and encouraged!

other works available here!

want to be tagged in the next part? leave a comment

taglist: @freezaz123

[faevix]

    marielle chettiar, better known as agent faerie has been with cerberus corp as an eo since 2019 and is level ii. a fall whilst “flying” over a theme park has gifted them fairy physiology, though de-transformation when overexerting has also been noted. when they aren’t protecting the tri-state area, they are fond of modelling and are never seen without their charm bracelet. civilians think they are ardent & magnetic, but some of the other agents see them as impetuous & ostentatious. cerberus corp should consider the fact that their last mission status was successful though her partner became comatose after getting hit by stray fairy dust when giving out the next one.

001.  GENERAL

name. marielle lalitha chettiar. nicknames. mari , elle , mariposa , any fairy from pop culture. age. thirty , flirty and thriving. date of birth. 25th september 1993. zodiac.  libra. place of birth. long beach , california. current residence. soho , new york. gender. cis woman. pronouns. she / her. sexuality. bisexual , biromantic. occupation. model , level ii cerberus corp agent , child actor and theme park character performer ( formerly ). faceclaim. simone ashley. height. 5’8”. tattoos. none. piercings. both lobes and bellybutton. distinguishing features. it would be rude not to say her wings. positive traits. appealing , devoted , poised , self-assured , tender , versatile , vivacious , witty. negative traits. free-spirited , irreverent , materialistic , melodramatic , opportunistic , self-oriented , quixotic , wilful. labels / tropes. action fashionista , class princess , contractual purity , drama queen , everything’s better with sparkles , fairy sexy , girly bruiser , magical girl , master of mixed messaging , power gives you wings , proud beauty , transformation sequence. inspirations. barbie ( both the character and the animated fairytopia trilogy ) , magical girl shows : winx club , sailor moon , w.i.t.c.h. , tokyo mew mew , totally spies , etc. megan gwynn ( marvel comics ) , kimberly hart ( power rangers ) , tinker bell ( peter pan ) , angel salvadore ( x-men : first class ) , annie january ( the boys ) , justine ( gen v ) , golden age / old hollywood starlets. likes. performing arts , the colour pink , burlesque , partying , modelling , glitter , fashion , punctuality , attention. dislikes. being told what to do , her child-friendly image. fears. rejection , falling… the feeling of falling asleep for the way it mirrors that. hobbies. modelling , content creation , collecting charms , yoga , flying. habits. tapping her nails on every hard surface , flourishing her arms as if she’s flying even when she’s not , tends to talk over people , flutters her eyelids often.

002.  EXTRA ORDINARY

near death experience… for  as  long  as  marielle  can  remember,   she’s  always  been  something  of  a  natural  performer.   a  precocious,   outgoing  girl  who  saw  the  world  as  her  stage,   just  as  the  great  bard  once  said.   her  mother  recognised  this  emerging  talent  early  on  and  set  about  utilising  it  as  soon  as  she  could.   mari’s  little  face  was  to  become  a  regular  sight  amongst  advertisement  campaigns  and  bit  parts  on  network  television  shows.   she  worked  steadily  throughout  her  childhood,   attending  performing  arts  school  and  eventually,   graduating  from  drama  school  at  twenty  two.   despite  her  wealth  of  girlhood  experience  in  the  industry  however,   marielle  didn’t  have  much  luck  with  auditions  post-college.   already,   there  was  an  image  she  was  having  difficulty  shedding  but  the  stars  eventually  aligned  when  she  was  hired  to  work  at  a  famous  entertainment  resort  complex  in  orlando.   mari  was  a  character  performer  there  for  three  years,   playing  iconic  princesses  and  mermaids  and  fairies  alike  day  in  and  day  out  and  entertaining  children  endlessly  as  she  did  so.   it  wasn’t  the  best  job  by  any  means,   fending  off  leering  fathers  became  a  pastime  and  her  mother’s  disdain  for  it  all  was  more  than  evident  but  it  paid  the  bills  and  she  was  getting  to  do  what  she  loved…

so,   she  always  persevered.   one  job  she’d  occasionally  perform  was  that  of  the  fairy  during  the  evening  firework  display  the  resort  would  put  on  each  day  in  their  main  park.   it  was  absurd  and  unnerving  and  involved  being  launched  across  a  zip  line  atop  the  park  for  all  the  patrons  to  see  but  it  did  come  with  a  substantial  bonus  so,   who  was  mari  to  turn  it  down?   the  day  was  like  any  other  when  marielle’s  near  death  occurred.   she’d  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  castle  with  her  supervisor,   dressed  in  a  green  mini-dress  and  blonde  wig,   ready  to  make  some  “magic”  before  being  sent  across  the  zip  line  as  usual.   fireworks  burst  into  colour  behind  her,   the  audience  wholly  mesmerised  by  the  display  until  that  adoration  swiftly  turned  to  abject  terror  as  they  watched  in  horror  as  the  fairy  fell  from  her  harness  mid  flight.

the  thing  had  fucking  snapped!   was  all  mari  could  really  string  together  in  terms  of  coherent  thought  as  she  plummeted  to  the  ground,   LED  wings  and  all.   that  and  the  likelihood  of  her  very  imminent  death.   the  bright,   colourful  world  she’d  come  to  know  immediately  fading  to  black  upon  impact  with  the  ground.   ambulances  were  called  soon  thereafter,   just  as  clips  of  what  had  happened  began  circulating  online.   the  entertainment  company  tried  to  subdue  the  coverage  and  bury  the  lede  but  sure  enough,   news  of  actor,   marielle  chettiar  and  the  extensive  injuries  she’d  suffered  under  their  employ  broke  that  very  night  and  nothing  was  to  be  the  same  again.

power… she  used  to  dress  as  a  fairy  for  work  so,   she  became  a  fairy!   sorta.   marielle  possesses  the  unique  ability  to  transform  into  and  subsequently,   access  the  traits  of  a  fairy.   through  a  sparkling  transformation  (   which  used  to  be  triggered  by  a  vocal  command  but  can  now  be  performed  non-verbally   ),   she  shifts  into  her  “supersuit”  and  grows  a  set  of  beautiful  butterfly-esque  wings  which  allow  her  to  fly  with  great  manoeuvrability  and  at  enhanced  speeds.   this  glamorous  transformation  also  grants  her  the  ability  to  produce  fairy  dust,   which  possesses  hallucinogenic  qualities  when  it’s inhaled  or  comes  into  contact  with  skin.   through  her  work  as  an  agent,   she’s  learnt  she  has  an  innate  magical  aptitude  and  often  tests  the  effectiveness  of  her  ability  by  honing  her  hand-to-hand and close  combat  skills  too.

drawbacks / vulnerabilities… when  hit  or  overwhelmed  and  overexerting,   marielle’s  found  she’s  prone  to  detransformation.   which  effectively  powers  her  down  completely  and  often  puts  her  at  great  risk  of  suffering  similar  falls  to  the  one  that  gave  her  the  power  in  the  first  place.   they’re  not  easy  to  recover  from  either,   requiring  a  period  of  rest  and  rejuvenation  before  she’s  able  to  fully transform  into  a  fairy  again.

cerberus corp… in  the  wake  of  a  landmark  workplace  injury  lawsuit  against  the  entertainment  company,   marielle  amassed  a  large  and  very  dedicated  following.   the  proceedings  were  all  public  and  these  fans  saw  what  had  happened  to  her  as  an  injustice,   backing  her  at  every  turn  when  it  came  to  righting  that  immense  wrong.   including  her  new  career  ventures,   which  had  now  expanded  to  modelling  —  wherein  she  debuted  her  fairy  form  to  the  world  and  incidentally  captivated  the  hearts  of  children  all  across  the  globe.   hers  was  a  story  dubbed  “the  american  fairytale”,   a  pr  dream  and  before  she’d  had  time  to  process  it  all,   who  should  knock  on  her  door  but  elena  navarro  herself.   cerberus  corporation  were  interested  in  recruiting  her  and  with  her  aspirations  higher  than  ever  before,   mari  was  quick  to  accept  the  offer.

she’s  been  with  cerberus  corp  for  four  years  now,   since  2019  and  whilst  she’ll  convey  that  it’s  all  been  smooth  sailing…   it  hasn’t  really.   outwardly,   marielle  is  everything  an  agent  should  be.   singularly  dedicated  to  the  cause,   with  her  eye  ultimately  set  on  becoming  a  level  i.   but  she  and  the  corporation’s  pr  team  clash  more  often  than  mari  would  like  to  admit  and  it  all  comes  back  to  that  child-friendly  image  of  hers.   the  one  she  can’t  shed.   because  despite  being  a  woman  grown  with  all  the  adult  needs  and  interests  that  come  with  it,   her  past  and  fantastical  ability  mean  she’s  a  huge  draw  for  the  younger  demographic  of  eo  fans  and  the  corporation  have  stayed  firm  in  their  position  of  not  wanting  that  to  change.   it  leads  marielle  to  act  out  on  missions.   she  plays  fast  and  loose,   living  up  to  her  codename  and  doing  as  she  pleases   (   within  the  confines  of  what’s  been  asked  of  her   ).   she’s  caught  between  a  rock  and  a  hard  place.   perpetually  wanting  to  progress  higher  but  not  at  the  cost  of  who  she  is.

codename… given  that  her  ability  is  so…   self-explanatory,   faerie  was  something  that  came  to  mari  early  on  and  it  caught  on  quick.   of  course,   people  still  spell  and  say  it  as “fairy”  as  well  as  calling  her  by a  spluttering  of  fairy  names  from  pop  culture  but  it’s  faerie  and  she  will  correct  you  if  you  get  it  wrong.   do  shorten  it  to  “fae”  if  you  like  though.   she  doesn’t  mind  that.

003.  HEADCANONS

tbd.

004.  WANTED CONNECTIONS

the  ken  to  her  barbie.     can  i  get  a  himbo?   be  it  pr  relationship  or  genuine  friendship,   their  energies  are  perfectly  matched  and  they’re  seemingly  attached  at  the  hip.   perhaps  a  fellow  level  ii/iii  agent  who’s  trying  to  climb  the  ranks  like  she  is?   just  all  the  fun,   playful,   party  vibes  please.

a   partner.     someone  whose  feet  are  firmly  planted  on  the  ground  whom  she  can  provide  air  support  to.   doesn’t  have  to  be  an  entirely  amicable  dynamic  but  they  make  a  damn  good  team  in  the  field  and  continually  find  themselves  paired  up  together  because  of  it.

the   not   winx   club.     i  had  to  ask!   maybe  they’re  more  gotham  city  sirens  /  marvel  divas  vibe  but  an  eo  girl  squad…?   please?

misc.     friends ,   a  mentor ,   ex’s ,   friends  or  enemies  or  frenemies  with  benefits ,   a  rivalry ,   a  level  i  she’s  trying  to  get  cozy  with  to  raise  her  status ,   someone  who’s  trying  to  do  the  same  to  her ,   photographers  she’s  worked  with ,   people  who  are  annoyed  by  her ,   hidden  depths  duo  i.e  they  get  deep  with  each  other ,   somebody  that  knows  or  recognises  her  from  her  acting  days ,   tol  and  smol  (  she  might  be  the  tol  ).

[sloanerisette]

You Need A Promotion, I Want A Shake Up, So Let's Get Married! Chapter 2

Hey everyone! We are BACK with chapter 2! This chapter was already done by the time I posted the first chapter but to be honest I wanted to beef it up a bit so I took a while editing it, especially after dealing with some real life stuff, but it is finally here!

Chapter Summary: It's Mimi's big thirtieth birthday celebration, and she can't WAIT to spend it with her favorite people!

Jou has to go to his big work fundraiser tonight, and even the thought of it has him wishing he could be at a hectic birthday party with people he doesn't know.

It's a big night for both, but will it be a good one?

Big thanks as always to camp digimonth and everyone there for all the support and excitement, it means a lot to me! There will be a short blurb under the read more, but if you want to check the chapter out, you can do so at AO3, HERE!

Thirty, flirty, and thriving.

That’s what Miyako said to Mimi that morning when she called to wish her a happy birthday.

Thirty, yes.

Thriving, definitely.

Flirty? Not if Yukimura-san had anything to say about that.

The thought lingered on her mind as she sat out on her balcony, watching the bay as she sipped her tea. She knew her manager was looking out for her, but she was thirty! She should have been able to have a relationship if she wanted, or at least some light, fun flirting with someone!

Mimi didn’t exactly want a relationship at the moment, but she at least wanted an opportunity to have a relationship. She was thirty! She wanted to get married and start a family someday! She wanted to do all that and still maintain her career, too!

A long, low sigh fled her lips. She took another long sip of tea after.

At least her birthday party was tonight, and there was nothing that could ruin that. A fancy hotel, dinner at the fantastic Italian restaurant there with an open bar for them all to partake in. Her old friends would be there, as well as so many model friends she made over the past almost 15 years. It was going to be incredible.

She had no shoots today, no appearances or interviews, nothing. Just her and a few hours of some much needed relaxation before the day kicked into gear. Nothing could be better.

She checked her phone again and looked through all the RSVPs. Everyone would be able to make it, though there was still a question mark by Jou’s name. He said he’d probably make it, but given how busy he was— he was a doctor, after all— he would probably be late.

As long as he showed up, though!

It was her birthday and she wanted to see all the people that mattered to her. Even if she hadn’t seen some of her friends in years, they still meant the world to her— they always would.

She’d have a video call with her parents in a few hours before they’d call it a night on their side of the globe, and then she’d have to get ready to head to the hotel and make sure everything was set up just right.

“Mmm…” she hummed quietly, holding up her mug in a toast, “Happy birthday, Mimi-chan.”

She looked over at the empty chair next to her. It was easier to just get a little balcony set with two chairs, though it did leave her wondering who she would share this with one day. Who would be sitting there with her on lazy Sunday mornings, sipping tea, talking about anything that crossed their minds, and sharing life and love together?

She sat there for another few minutes to finish her tea, then stood up, stretched her arms over her head, leaned to one side, and then the other. Once she was done, she picked up her mug and headed back inside.

She looked at her clock, glad to see she still had some time to lounge around before needing to get ready.

Soon enough she’d be running around, so for another hour or so she just wanted to lay on her couch and not have a care in the world.

[tiktaalic]

better than revenge is for sure. a song. can’t wait for when she has to re-record it. also as I too was listening to it over the past few days I had a vision. I think someone needs to be like taylor . taylor I know how we can make this hashtag feminist. what if the revenge is you make the girl fall in love with YOU over your ex-whatever. men were already unimportant in this particular instance. and as this conversation is going down I am a fly on the wall listening in. this would be funny to me. also in a world where it could really happen it would be funny to see some people use it as a concrete evidence for gaylor and others go no. she just wanted to make us sure she is not a misogynist anymore! could fuel some great tumblr posts

i love thinking up ways to bully taylor swift into making songs people would hate. i think if i #manifest hard enough then her next album WILL be about her personal life and it WILL be about how getting divorced sucks but being flirty thirty and thriving rules and there WILL be the classic pop girlie song that goes. i broke up with my boyfriend... and you were there to pick up the pieces... i spend all my time with you now... i love going out with you... i love dancing with you... i am so glad i found my soulmate who would have thought that she is a woman.... and she is ME! Self love.

[butididntpourthewhiskeys]

the fact that taylor is literally at the top of her game still after what is heart wrenching and devastating, like i am fully aware that yb was a piece of work but you don’t just come out of a 6 year almost marriage type commitment unscathed, and she is so glowy and full of life it’s beautiful. let her have fun people she’s just being thirty flirty and thriving and it’s so good to see :)

Exactly this. No one is saying that these past years (with Joe and since 6 months without Joe) have been scarring. It’s the toughest thing in the world trying to save a relationship you thought was forever from falling apart and then, ultimately, giving up the fight. This shit HURTS. But she’s out there, being who she is, doing what she loves the most, meeting new people and that’s what makes me so happy for her ☀️ even when life feels like its going down, there is a new day, a new sunrise, a new reason to be excited for what’s ahead

[bebepac]

Six Sentence Sunday 3.06.22 / Mood Music Monday

Real talk: Those who know me very well know how much I’ve been struggling due to the passing of my Riley face claim, Cheslie Kryst.  Well things for me haven’t been getting better.  In fact, they was getting worse.  And then, something random helped. A movie of all things. It popped up on my nextflix  the other day, called Just Like Heaven, and it reminded me so much of how I write my Liam and Riley that I decided to start writing a similar take on it.  And it’s the first time since all of this happened, that when I thought of Cheslie, my eyes didn’t fill with tears, I actually smiled.  So below the cut is a tribute story I’m writing for her.  I hope you like the snippet so far.  Moodboard credit goes to my dear friend @neotericthemis​​

​Original Post:  03/06/22 at 3:35PM  EST.

MOOD MUSIC MONDAY SUBMISSION

Mini Series: A Piece of Heaven On Earth: Part 1

The Book:  TRR

Pairing: Liam x Riley 

Status:  Writing for this chapter is complete

Song Inspiration:  I  by Yiruma

A/N: I am writing this as a tribute to my Riley FC, the late Cheslie Kryst.  In this world, she lives on through my  existing Riley stories.  I’m really truly excited about writing this, as it feels to be giving me peace.  So if you would like to be tagged in this very special release, please let me know.  

Riley pushed the door open and was met by a blinding  light.  When her eyes finally adjusted, she was standing on the rooftop of her apartment that had been converted into a garden oasis.  It was her garden, and it was absolutely breathtaking.  Who did this for her?

“And who the hell is going to take care of all this? I’ve legit got a brown thumb here. Mother Nature and God, y’all are gonna need to handle this!!!!”  Riley chuckled to herself, starting to wander through the beautiful sweet smelling flowers.

There was a seat  in the middle, and on it sat a white rose.  For her? It better be, it’s her damn garden, on top of her damn apartment.  She picked up the freshly clipped  de-thorned rose, lifting it up to her nose, to breathe it in.  She closed her eyes as she sighed contentedly. It was the most fragrant rose, and its lovely scent filled her nostrils. Riley sat in the chair relaxing, basking in the sweet air and the warm sunshine.

And there was a voice… it  was barely audible.   Who was he?  The gentleness of the sultry baritone tone felt familiar though, and put Riley immediately at ease as he began to speak.

“I wrote you a poem. It’s the first one I’ve ever written, because I felt so inspired by your effortless beauty..

Soft, Sweet….

Sensually Smiling

Sighs…. Softly….

Shifting Stares…

Sharing Secrets….

Shhhh…….

Shuffling Silently

My Sweet Star "

Footsteps approached her, and then a hand  caressed her shoulder. 

She knew it was him, her soulmate, the one she had always been waiting for.  Riley immediately turned to gaze at the face of the man that had just made her grin like a giddy school girl in love, and just as she did, her alarm went off.

Of course.  And that’s how she ushered in year thirty with a groan.

Flirty, thirty, and  thriving, is what I heard this birthday was supposed to be. My birthday began observing the torrential downfall  of a hurricane and still my brother and his fiancee wanted to meet for breakfast. We meet every year. It was our tradition. Minus one, my twin sister Taylor was M.I.A.

Of course Jaiden had talked the staff into singing happy birthday to me, whilst bringing a plate of cupcakes Bebe had made special for my day.  It was one of the many perks of having a baker in the family or almost family, unlimited cakes, cookies and confectionary sweetness for any situation that warranted it. First birthday serenade of the day? Check.

Sitting quietly for a moment, I was able to take it all in. Thirty felt different to me, not going to lie.  The years before, I felt young and carefree.  Even year twenty nine felt alright.  But this one, even weeks before my birthday, I started becoming introspective.

It made me take a cold hard look at my life as I know it.  Was I where I thought I was going to be in my life? Not completely.  I had the job well, maybe not the job I wanted, but working in the field I wanted. I wasn’t married, had no current romantic  prospects and no children.  I had a nice apartment a few miles away from my job, and I had my dream car.

 I guess in the grand scheme of things I wasn't doing half bad, and my student loans were more than halfway paid off.

“What’s up Dirty Thirty! Happy Birthday!!!”

“Thanks Nico!”

“You look beautiful. Tell me you’re finally going to let me take you out, so we can celebrate your birthday right?”  

Nico was trying to be cool leaning against the counter. The receptionist behind the counter hid the words "don't do it." in a cough.

Riley laughed at the receptionist. Everyone knew Nico had a playboy reputation around the hospital.

MOOD MUSIC MONDAY SUBMISSION

Ice Cream Social

University Student Ellie: Chapter 4

The Book:  TRF and beyond!

Pairings:  none

Status Still in the writing process

Song Inspiration:  Miss Independent by Kelly Clarkson

“Mel what is all this?” Ellie asked as Mel and another guard brought in boxes.

“ WAIT! Is this one of my plants?” Elle inquired, looking at the guard she had never seen before.  

“No, Eleanor he’s one of your new guards stationed in America. This is Stephen.”  

“Your Highness.”  He bowed to her.

“A present from your father, and a letter for you to read.”  

Ellie broke the red seal of the letter and began to read her father’s regal neatly scripted handwriting.

Baby Love, I always felt like you and I have always shared a special connection, different from that of you and your mother. I know this transition is going to be difficult but manageable for you, but I thought you should have a little bit more of home with you. The first gift I bequeath to you is a sandbox.  I can see your face right with a smirk just like your mother.  Because you want to know what the meaning of this is.  And now you are touching your face to confirm the smirk.   And your smile that you know I’m one hundred percent right.

Her father knew her so well.  

When Ellie went to grab the second box, it was heavy and she heard the clinking of bottles.  Upon opening it, the box contained her favorite wines.  

But there is a reason for this, as with all the things I do. Because this box contains Cordonian soil.  We both know only certain laws apply to you when you are on Cordonian Soil.  So now go open your second box.

Remember Baby Love, you are allowed to legally drink only on Cordonian soil. So please abide by this rule.  Should you not want to drink alone, that box admits two additional guests by royal decree of his royal Majesty King Liam Rys. Two more things. First and foremost,  don’t tell your mother. I will never hear the end of it, if you do. Secondly, should you need a replenishment, ask me to send you more Apple Crisps.  Your mother won’t be any the wiser.

The last envelope held her father's official Cordonian decree. He had legit passed this little sandbox into law that it was an extension of the Cordonian Embassy, on Hartfeld’s campus.  

Ellie laughed. "That's my father."

“Enjoy your present.”  

"Thank you Mel."

Unhinged

The Rotten Apple 🍎: Chapter 6

The Book:  TRF and Beyond

Pairings:  Liam x Riley / Ellie x Nico (Ellie x M!OC)

Status:  Still in the Writing process

Several Hours Earlier

Elle had just finished a cup of hot apple tea. She was starting to get morning sickness more often, and it was getting harder to hide it from Nico. All of it was getting harder to hide. She had to tell him tonight and get it over with.

She rubbed her stomach, which was no longer flat. There was a small, very noticeable curve, at least to her.

"You know, you don't have to grow so fast right? Or make me so hungry all the time. You have to give me time to figure this out. What we're going to do. Time so I can tell your father that you exist."

The phone in Elle's hotel room rang.

"Hello?"

"I know your secret."

"What secret?"

There were too many…. way too many of those.

"You and the guard. Meet me at the falls. Come alone."

"When?"

"Thirty minutes. Give the Guard the slip. I mean it, come alone."

"I'll be there."

For the first time ever Father looked concerned and wasn't taunting her.

"Eleanor, that  look in your eye, what are you planning on doing?"

Elle pulled her hair up in a ponytail.

"I am going to protect my family."

[hansolmates]

17 going on 27

summary; one second, you’re sobbing at prom because the most popular guy in school dumps you due to your relationship being a little prank to break your heart. the next? you’re a creative editor at Ego, the hottest young adult fashion magazine. as you try to figure out what’s the deal with this sudden time skip into adulthood, you come across relationships and friendships that are made to be cherished and made to be broken. pairing; photographer!jungkook x editor!reader (f) genre/warnings; fluff, crack, future enemies to lovers, teenage and adulthood angst, time skips from high school!au to late twenties!au, 13 going on 30!au, all your romantic movie tropes come to life! a really big mess honestly, various movie and music references, mentions of sex, use of alcohol, everyone give jin and jimin a big ol hug, language, a surprise guest from the queen of england w/c; 22.6k a/n; it’s that time of the year baby! the time of the year where i binge watch the good ol’ early 2000s romcoms that make absolutely no sense! a huge thank u to @eerieedits​ for making this beautiful banner. vivi got the whole delia’s/claire’s vibe down to a t! 

if you enjoy this fic pls consider giving it a like and a share✨✨✨

March 19th, 2011

Thirty, flirty, and thriving!

You finger the dog-eared magazine, last month’s issue of a shoddy fashion magazine that featured top actress Jennifer Garner on the front cover. Her caramel brown highlights practically glow on the page, blown out and beautiful. You suppress a sigh, you long to be the radiant young woman on the cover. The headline is glittery, sparkly and just begging for attention. 

Swiping a hand through the pages, your eyes are crowded with over-stimulation. Colorful models dressed up in the latest designs, Chanel and Burberry suits you can only dream of, and happy women at the prime of their lives. 

Twenty-seven and in Heaven! You smile wryly at the cheesy rhyme that headlines the following pages, but nevertheless the happy model on the spread does indeed look like they’re in heaven. 

Sure, you’re no shrinking violet. Heck, you don’t even consider yourself painfully average. You may not be on the traditional spectrum of popularity in high school, but you get around and have a wonderful best friend and an even better boyfriend. However given the social classes that preside, you do get those moments where you second guess your life’s position. Good thing high school has an expiration date, and you’re close to the end.  

“Baby Bun, what are you doing?” the magazine is snatched from your grasp, thrown on the table without a care in the world. Jennifer Garner’s hydro-whitened smile gleams tauntingly at you, “reading that junk is gonna mess with your head.” 

Your boyfriend returns from his final suit fitting, his outfit for tonight all pressed and ready to go. He pouts at you, pulling you up by the hand to lead you out of the Men’s Warehouse. Jeon Jungkook. Captain of the lacrosse team, flying by high school with a sports scholarship already in the bag. Eats up attention like plants soak up the sun. Secretly loves taking photographs of his dog and watching Netflix animes at your house. 

“Aren’t you excited for prom?” 

“Excited to listen to LMFAO’s Party Rock Anthem on repeat?” you guaff, “as if.” 

He pinches your arm lightly, “You also forget that we’re gonna tear up the floor to Nicki Minaj’s Superbass.” 

You shrug listlessly, crunching the white plastic closer to your body. 

Before you can suck all the air out of the garment bag, Jungkook carefully extracts it from your grasp, easily holding it between his one arm so he can thread his other hand through yours. “I am excited! It’s just that… Jimin’s not gonna be there and we’re sitting with the Yearbook committee.”

Looking down at the floor you extract your hand from his, slipping into his parent’s Honda Civic. The yearbook committee, meaning you’d be sitting at a table with head editor Jennie and her group of friends. Friends that are popular and pretty, just like Jungkook. 

Jimin is currently on a flight back from Korea due to a family funeral, therefore leaving a seat empty at your prom table. It was only seat that you cared about, other than Jungkook’s. It’s no one’s fault and Jimin of course is doubly upset to miss prom, but without your best friend you’re not sure if you can survive the night. 

One of the few secrets you keep from Jungkook is the fact that Jennie and you aren’t exactly friendly to each other. You don’t know why, maybe it’s the fact that you don’t run the in same friend group or you always win the debate in Civics class, but Jennie clearly expresses her dislike for you as easily as she expresses her love for Jungkook. 

Which makes you incredibly insecure, but Jennie and Jungkook have been friends for longer than you and him have been together, who are you to intervene? 

Jungkook slips in the driver’s seat, but not before pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek. 

Right. You’re Jungkook’s girlfriend, and that should matter more than his friendship with Jennie. 

But the smell of his freshly cleaned lacrosse jersey, his duffle bag overflowing with protein powder and unfinished assignments remind you that you have your world and he has his. A conversation about your insecurities could wait until tomorrow. 

“When’s Jimin’s flight?” Jungkook asks, one hand on the steering wheel and the other tapping on your thigh as he pulls out. 

“He’ll be back two hours into the dance,” you report, albeit glumly as you rest your head against the cool window. 

“That sucks,” Jungkook replies, a bit of sadness in his tone, “he has to miss out on his prom night.” 

You shrug, “Prom isn’t everything, it’s about the people you spend it with.” 

“Well then,” he squeezes your thigh, “I’m glad I get to spend it with you.” 

You only have a few hours to get ready until you meet Jungkook at his house for pictures, so when you get dropped off, you tell him that he doesn’t have to get out of the car to escort you into your home. But Jungkook is insistent, putting the car in park and getting out your dress for you with such delicacy that you’re positively sure there’s no wrinkles in the fabric. Taking the dress from his grasp you wish him goodbye and a promise to meet each other later. 

“Wait,” Jungkook is biting his lip, unable to let go of your hand even though you’re already up the stairs. You’re looking down at him, a rarity considering his tall frame. 

“What’s wrong, Kook?” 

“Uh, I was just thinking,” he’s scratching the back of his head, and you soften. The little quirk he has is a sign of insecurity, being the star player Jungkook is forced to exude confidence to a fault. “Maybe, we could skip the prom thing? You said so yourself that prom is about the people you spend it with.” 

Your eyes widen, clutching your dress tighter. “What? Jungkook, that’s ridiculous. Between the both of us we’ve spent a lot of money on the clothes and the tickets.” 

“Right,” he forces a laugh, and you put a hand on your hip to think it out but you can’t quite place what’s going on. “Sorry Bun, I just know how the finale of our favorite anime airs tonight.” 

“You’re so silly,” you chastise, reaching down to pinch his cheek. Normally he hates it, but you can’t help but melt when he leans into your touch a little more. “C’mon, I know suits are stuffy and stuff, but let’s just do this high school rite of passage thing. Afterwards we can go to McDonalds or something and watch the recording.” 

“You’re right,” his face is red, “what was I thinking? Can’t miss out on a night to see my beautiful girlfriend all dressed up.” 

He squeezes your hand one last time, a little too tight for comfort. With a half smile he waves, going into his car and driving off. 

You don’t have time to dwell on his weirdness (and trust when you say that Jungkook is plenty weird and it astounds you how the rest of your class has no idea) so you fly up to your room to get your hair and makeup ready. Your parents greet you excitedly along the way, telling you there’s a package left for you on your vanity.

It’s a plain cardboard box, already cut and unwrapped by your parents for convenience. The address shows it came from Korea, proudly displaying the name of your best friend on the return address. Inside is a beautiful compact, made of brushed gold and pink metal. The makeup inside is a loose glitter from a brand that you don’t recognize, but since it’s a gift from Jimin, you trust his taste. 

I have to be at prom somehow, Jimin’s note on the box reads, don’t overthink and have fun! 

You snort, reading the sticky note over and over in Jimin’s voice. Looking over the shade, you can’t help but grimace at the cliché name. Wishing Dust. The color is a little too white and silvery for your taste, but you’ll wear it in honor of Jimin. 

The dress, the hair, the makeup all come together little by little. You like the ritual of getting ready, building yourself up to the highest order and feeling closer and closer to the beautiful women in magazines. Surprisingly, your favorite part of getting ready is applying the glitter that Jimin gifted you. The puff enclosed is cloud soft, and surprisingly the color doesn’t look too ashen on your skin. The glitter sinks into your skin like a soft butter, accentuating your collarbones and cheeks as if you are glowing from within. 

You smile at yourself in the mirror. A little part of you wishes you could look like this everyday. You wish you could always look and feel this confident, and act mature and graceful. 

A buzzing on your desk stops your wishful thinking, and you frown at the message that lights up your phone. 

Jungkook: sorry bun, but the civic finally broke down and its on its way to car heaven. Could we meet at the party hall instead? We can take pictures there, jennie mentioned yearbook hired a photographer

Disheartened, you send a quick text back saying it’s fine. Any more explanation on your feelings would reveal your disappointment. You don’t know how you’re going to tell your parents that they won’t be taking pictures with your boyfriend anytime soon. So you suck it in and take solo pictures for your parents and some group selfies. This is just one bump in the night, the rest of it should be smooth sailing. 

But when your parents drop you off at the venue your eyes first land on a beat up Honda Civic. You’re pretty sure car heaven isn’t at the prom. 

The rest of your entrance is a blur as you go through every corner of the venue, searching for your boyfriend. You’re clutching his matching flower in your hand, a beautiful red rose with baby’s breath circling around it, all clutched together in a black silk ribbon. You wonder what kind of flower he bought you. 

But it’s nearly impossible to find him. Not at the photobooth, the appetizer buffet, or in the lobby. It’s not until you’re sweating at the brow and nearing the corner of the venue that you do find him.

Lips locked, kissing Jennie. 

The plastic encasing Jungkook’s boutonniere drops, clanging to the ground. 

Whispers of you circle the air, meeting your ears and confirming all your insecurities. 

“Oh my god, I knew Jungkook was cheating on her!” 

“Wow, how pathetic. She ran all the way to prom alone to see this?” 

“I thought his girlfriend was a smart girl. How did she not know that their relationship was a bet all along?” 

Jungkook and Jennie are on the balcony, looking picture perfect in matching formal attire and flowers. The sun is setting, not taking its time as it sinks deeper and deeper into the horizon. The sky darkens and the air is chilly, much like your heart. 

Jungkook's eyes are wide and in shock as he watches you from the balcony, but Jennie’s are sharp and satisfied. Satisfied, as if the whole thing had been orchestrated. 

While you can’t hear him because he’s so far away, you can see the ghost of your name on his lips. Your ears are ringing, numb to the laughter of the students watching and the pity that others are throwing at you. You feel dumb. You feel like throwing up. In a bout of anger your heel digs into the plastic of the boutonniere, crushing the innocent rose in its clear coffin. 

You don’t make it far out the door when one of your favorite teachers snatches you in concern. 

“Honey, any further and you’ll be running on the highway," Mrs. Song jokes, pulling you away from the entrance. 

You feel like a newborn deer in your heels and incredibly heavy in your dress as Mrs. Song drags you over to a staff bathroom. It's far, far away from the actual party. Mrs. Song doesn't say anything, and just gives you a sad smile as she let's you go into the single stall alone. 

Sitting on the toilet and not giving a care that your dress is probably getting soiled, you bury your face in your hands and finally let the tears flow. Fat, frustrated tears roll down your cheeks without a care in the world. 

"Mrs. Song please, I need to get in there." 

"Now Jungkook, I think you've done enough for today. Go back to the party and don't worry about it." 

You can imagine Jungkook now, he hated it when people told him not to worry.  It only made him more annoyed, fists probably clenched under his perfectly tailored suit and his cute teeth uncharacteristically gritted. He cared to a fault, at least you thought he did. He ruined your night, he made you feel so dumb and silly.

But the longer you stayed in the dim bathroom, you could care less. Thank goodness for Mrs. Song guarding the door. Why would he bother to follow you? It turns out all your insecurities are not in vain, and that you’ve been ignoring a gut feeling you’ve mistaken for your lack of trust. You shouldn’t have trusted Jungkook. You shouldn’t have been so tolerable of Jennie. 

Goodness, you feel so stupid. You hope that there are other bathrooms for staff to use, because you want to coop yourself in here until the last dance. Mascara drips on your sleeves, your hands swiping at your cheeks to stop any tears from staining your dress even further. 

The more you hear Jungkook and Mrs. Song argue, the more you want to disappear. You bury yourself on the floor, uncaring of how dirty the tiles are. Glitter smears across your cheeks and sticks to your hands, and you no longer feel like the thriving young adult you once felt when you walked out the door this evening.

All you can do is cry and pray you can get through the night. And the next day, and the rest of senior year. You don’t want to see Jungkook or Jennie until graduation, when they walk out of the door and permanently out of your life. You wish you could skip the rest of the semester, and fastforward to the life you’ve carved for yourself in your dreams since freshman year. You wish you could be like the woman on the magazine, who has her whole life put together. To be a woman who holds all the confidence in the world and doesn’t have to worry about stupid men. 

Just like the cover. Thirty, flirty and thriving. Just like the models in the magazines. Twenty-seven and in heaven. 

Just once, do you want to taste the feeling of having life on your side. 

March 20st, 2021

Your first thought is that you feel disgusting. 

Of course, falling asleep in a random bathroom stall will make you feel those things. Your dress clinging uncomfortably to your sweating form, lulled to the sounds of Mrs. Song’s temperamental voice and Jungkook’s arguing. 

But for some reason it’s a different kind of disgusting. The feeling is rotting in your throat, as if there’s a tang stuck to the roof of your mouth. You also feel impossibly dehydrated, as if you’ve run a marathon. And for some reason you’re sore? Especially in the crotch, and you don’t remember experiencing any cramps yesterday. 

Your hands come to your body, and instead of feeling tulle and taffeta your hands are greeted with a silky black negligee that hangs across your waist. Panic stings in your bones like a stroke of lightning. 

Eyes snapping open, your breath catches in your throat when you take in the room. You’re on a large plush creme couch, large enough to be a bed. The organza curtains are a shade of bottle green and are opened slightly to let the morning sun in. From your view it seems like this is the top floor of the complex, overlooking the city horizon. 

You feel the covers shift slightly, and you realize there’s a naked man sleeping next to you. You scream. 

The man screams back with an even higher pitch, falling off the couch and clutching the sheets like a lifeline. “What?” he panics, eyes darting back and forth across the room like he’s on a reality television show. “What the fuck? Is there something on my face! Why are you screaming so early!” 

The fact that he’s an adult man and you’re seventeen is even more terrifying, and you feel absolutely naked despite the fact that you’re nearly clothed. But what confuses you more is that this man looks awfully familiar. 

Familiar in the sense that you’ve seen him in one too many television sitcoms to count. This man in front of you looks like Kim Seokjin, the protagonist of your favorite television show: Sky City. He has the same plump lips and pretty face, only aged up. But last time you checked on Soompi, Seokjin is supposed to be twenty years old and filming the next season in New Zealand. Arguably he could be his older brother, but he never acted and you don’t think he’d be the spitting image. 

“Seokjin?” you taste the name on your tongue, “Kim Seokjin?” 

Seokjin relaxes considerably, and he finds it appropriate to return to the couch, placing a tentative hand on your thigh. “Right, were you really that drunk? You got my name right, but it seems that you’ve forgotten that the only name you called me last night was sex god…” 

His plush lips meet the ends of your earlobe, and you squeal at the strange sensation. 

You’ve had sex with this man and you can’t even remember it? Furthermore how can a peasant like you be in contact with a celebrity? What on earth happened last night? Shouldn’t you be calling the police or panicking more? Where’s the pepper spray and sharp knives where you need them? You can’t even find it in you to find a sharp weapon at your once cherished-idol, who’s apparently unfazed and drinking in your body like he has a taste of it every night. 

“What’s the date?” you push him away, looking around for any signs of where you are and how you ended up here. 

“It’s the first day of spring,” Seokjin says easily, stretching out on the couch. “I wonder when the cherry blossoms will bloom. Should we have a picnic with Bogum?” 

“Where’s my phone, I can’t find my phone!” 

Seokjin doesn’t bat an eye as he digs through the couch, pulling something from under him. He waves it in front of your face. “That’s not my phone,” you deadpan. 

“Okay I guess you were actually that drunk,” Seokjin rolls his eyes, forcing the large piece of plastic and metal on your palm. “When you went to the bathroom last night you dropped your old phone in the toilet. We picked up a new one on the way to the next bar. Good thing the new Samsung dropped last month!” 

Since when are phones this large? You carry the strange weight in your hands, confused as to why Seokjin thinks this is your phone. You own a beat up 2G that barely gets any reception in the school basement. But when you turn it on, the screen recognizes your face immediately and unlocks. Wow, since when do cell phones do face recognition? 

A selfie of you and Seokjin appears on the homescreen, looking totally happy. 

Is that you? 

No longer do you have acne lining your brows, or uneven skin texture. Your smile is high and prominent. Your visage is clean and done with minimal makeup, highlighting your beauty. 

The date flickers on the top of the screen. March 20th, 2021: 7:42AM.

You scream again. Seokjin screams again for the heck of it. 

“How did this happen!” you shriek, dropping your phone to step up to the window. You bask in your reflection, mildly impressed and even more so afraid of what’s in front of you. Your body has filled out like an adult, and considering it’s ten years into the future, other things have filled out as well. Experimentally, your hands go out to your chest, squeezing. Yep, those knockers were not there the last time you checked. 

“Well, you came back from work completely drained from a shoot and I just finished filming my Everyday Skincare Routine video with Vogue,” Seokjin comes up to you, blanket tied around his waist like a long towel. “We met at our usual bar and do what we usually do when we’re both stressed: bang it out.” 

You watch as Seokjin’s hands snake around your slick silk, hugging you from behind like it’s second nature. “Is this a dream?” you ask yourself, because it’s not unlikely that you’ve had a sex dream with Seokjin and this is the aftermath dream. 

“Nope,” you yelp when Seokjin pinches your butt, hard. It stings. “This is real life, baby.” 

“Are we dating?” 

You feel Seokjin’s grip tense, and he shoves your innocent question away with a coarse laugh. “You know both you and me don’t do serious relationships. It’s why we work so well together, you know that.” 

“Right,” you reply softly. That doesn’t sound like you at all, and it scares you considerably. 

“So, I gotta go,” you panic when he lets go and starts searching around for his clothes. Your face heats up at Seokjin’s perky ass staring back at you, and your eyes dart to a random spot in the corner. “I got a green meeting with Ellen, and lord knows I don’t wanna face her wrath if I’m late.” 

In seconds he’s fully clothed in a plain shirt and jeans, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Call me beep me, if you wanna reach me,” he sings, throwing a wave over his shoulder as he leaves you in the large apartment. 

The door slams with a hard smack and that’s when you collapse on the couch that feels foreign and strange, breaking into tears. 

The next time you wake up, it’s the next day. It’s a glaringly bright Sunday and for whatever reason you’re still in this aged-up body. Maybe time travel makes the body really tired. This isn’t a dream. You panic for the second time, walking back and forth around the loft that’s apparently yours. It seems like it’s yours, because the bills that linger on the coffee table have your name and the pictures in the one bedroom are of you and your family. 

But the refrigerator in the nook is digital and has fancy ice settings, something you could never imagine owning. Your closet is filled with brand named suits, and with every designer label you pass you mentally rack up the total of just one section. It’s enough to pay for your college tuition if your first choice accepts you. 

Wait. You’re apparently twenty-seven, college is long gone. 

Lying in your bed feels better, surrounded by familiar pictures of your cousins and family. Your favorite snacks are tucked with care in your nightstand, and it makes you feel a tiny bit better knowing that your favorite chocolate and chips will never change. 

What happened in the past ten years? Why don’t you remember anything and are you entirely sure this isn’t some strange fever dream? 

Time ticks slowly as you spend the afternoon, glued to your phone. It’s a 25 Note+ and it’s filled with multiple doohickeys and settings that make you feel technologically inept. You never thought you were bad with technology, but clearly these phones have a learning curve attached to them. 

You try to call your family, but according to the voicemail left they’re on a Disney cruise that you paid for. Your heart aches at the excited voice of your parents. Why are they on a vacation without you? 

The next thing you aim for is finding Jimin’s contact. According to Google Maps, you’re not far from your hometown and you know that Jimin’s always wanted to move to the city so he must be nearby. To your chagrin, his name isn’t on your contact list. Strange, he’s always number two on speed dial. 

Clicking on the internet browser, you go to the online Whitepages and search up Park Jimin. There may be a million ones, but maybe you could get a lead. When a picture and an address show up easily with one swipe, you scoff. The internet has no room for privacy ten years later, huh? 

The most casual thing you own in your closet is a Free People dress, reaching mid-calf with flowing bell sleeves. Heck, you couldn’t even find a single pair of jeans. You don’t care however, as you swipe your keys from the counter (you gape, you own a Tesla?) and race down to the parking garage. 

Jimin’s apartment is on the other side of the city. It’s strange, transitioning from high rises and shiny windows to quaint brick walls and lived-in patio spaces. You feel like it’s a race against time as you make it all the way to his room, knocking feverishly on the mahogany red door. 

“What? Who is it?” it’s clear that his room is cheap, the walls thin as you hear his voice shuffle throughout the room. Why are you shaking? It’s just your best friend. 

The door swings open and you and Jimin drink each other in. His baby fat has melted from his cheeks, revealing a handsome and charming jawline. His hair is no longer a natural black, but has been dyed to a sandy blond that suits his tan. His eyes, wide in surprise, are still a soft brown but not as bright as when he was seventeen. 

“Jimin,” your third round of tears hits you like a truck at the sight of your best friend, and you immediately run into his arms. 

But he doesn’t hug you back immediately. In fact, he doesn’t know what to do at all. Your name rolls off his lips like he’s seen a ghost. 

You pull away, as if you are burned. You flinch at the way Jimin regards you. “Is something wrong?” 

“I don’t know,” he looks at you, crossing his arms, “I don’t know what to feel when your old best friend suddenly shows up at your doorstep after ten years.” 

What? 

“Why would I do that?” you whisper, bracing your hand against the doorframe to steady yourself. 

“Well, after graduation you chose a college at the last minute. Decided to go to a prestigious fashion university in Europe. Shacked it up with some British guys and well, forgot about your past but I guess I can’t blame you.” 

“But I couldn’t have left you,” you know you’re not even talking to Jimin, but in fact scolding yourself for being so stupid these past ten years. “I was crying for you that night at prom. All I wanted was for you to be there and hold me!” 

That strikes a cord. Jimin pops his head into the hallway, looking back and forth to see if anyone is watching. He sighs when your tears turn into sobs, shaking your form. “Come in,” he mutters, ushering you inside.

Jimin’s apartment feels more like home than your apartment does. Cosy and warm with the scent of jasmine brewing on the stove. The pour of tea soothes you slightly as you relax on the worn leather couch. 

Jimin hands you a mug, sitting opposite you against the rickety living room table. “Are you okay?” he asks, showing genuine concern for the first time. 

“I’m,” you roll the muddy liquid in your grasp, watching the tea leaves tumble. “I just came back from the hospital, actually. Hit my head drinking last night and I’m suffering from memory loss,” you clutch your head for good measure, feigning injury.  

“Memory loss?” he gapes, unable to see through your lie. 

“Yeah uh,” you wince, “almost ten years of memory loss.” 

Jimin isn’t a man who thinks ahead, preferring to live in the moment. You figure he’s not going to question your excuse. Your former best friend nearly drops his tea in the process, hot drops burning his hand. He hisses, placing the plain mug on the table as he goes to his shelves, pulling out your class yearbook. 

“Ten years,” he shakes his head, looking like he’s just stepped into a Korean drama. “Is that even possible?” 

“Must be,” you sigh, not wanting to delve into the details of how you ended up in the future, “the first thing I did when I woke up was scream my head off. Then I woke up later and the first person I called were my parents who didn’t pick up, and then I wanted to call you but,” you squeeze the cup in your hands, “I couldn’t find your contact so I searched you up.” 

“Should we call the hospital or something? Maybe you shouldn’t be walking around like this.” 

“Don’t worry, they said the memory loss is only temporary,” you force a smile, knocking your head lightly with the heel of your palm, “I just gotta y’know, catch up a little bit. I thought you could help.” 

Jimin is patient, albeit a little nervous, watching carefully as your eyes glaze emptily over the old yearbook. You’re unfazed at the familiar faces and events that are described to you in detail, unable to recall what happened during the events that followed graduation. There’s barely any pictures of you, so it doesn’t help when he tries to explain as much as he can. 

You stop him at the sports section, pointing a finger at Jungkook being carried by his fellow teammates during the lacrosse championships. “What happened to Jungkook?” 

Jimin shrugged, “Blew his sports scholarship,” your eyebrows float to the top of your forehead, appalled that your former love would do such a thing, “decided to pursue his passion and went to an art school for a degree in photography.” 

So much has changed in the past ten years. 

“Hey, can you please stop crying?” 

“I’m sorry,” you warble, wiping at your sleeve as if the fabric didn’t cost hundreds of dollars, “I must be making you so uncomfortable by barging in. I’ll get out of your life—”

“No, not that. I just don’t like seeing you cry,” Jimin sighs, squeezing your knee, “of course I was upset when you suddenly upped and left town to study in another continent. But I was still happy for you. On the internet you seemed tons happier since highschool.” 

“I can say that’s no longer the case,” you mutter sadly, taking a long drag of your tea. The burn flows down your throat, digging you to reality, “I guess I just woke up and wasn’t prepared to be the person I ended up being.” 

“Well, what can your former best friend do to make it better?” 

Your eyes widen at Jimin’s uneasy stare, as if he’s wondering whether he said the right thing or not. 

“Um,” you bite your lip, “will you go shopping with me? I realized I don’t own any sweatpants or sneakers and I would really like to wear something comfortable right now,” you look despondently on your uncomfortable dress, swinging around the sleeves that seem to snag onto everything. 

“Okay,” he nods easily, “will you also buy me new sweatpants and sneakers? And dinner? I really want a New York Strip.” 

“What?” you furrow your brows, “can I afford that?” 

He chuckles to himself, pulling you up and wiping the tears on your face with a tissue from his pocket. You don’t even care to ask whether the tissue is clean, only focusing on the tender gesture that you’ve missed so much. 

���Honey, you’re one of the co-editors of Ego. I’m sure a couple pairs of sweatpants and steak will barely make a dent in your bank account.” 

You’re flabbergasted. Ego? The fashion magazine that’s on billboards and commercials? That Ego? 

After a couple checks through your bank account, and a triple check with a phone call and trip to the ATM, you’re sure the money is yours. It scares you, but also comforts you knowing that you’ve always been able to make it big. 

You barely bat an eye as Jimin tugs you around the city with a familiarity that has you reeling. You struggle to remember the streets you pass and the signs that indicate what part of town you’re in, all whilst Jimin basks in the fruits of your labor. You don’t give a shit, obviously. It makes you happy seeing Jimin slowly melt and grow more comfortable throughout the day. 

This is the kind of life you envisioned. One where comfort isn’t discarded for luxury, where the two cultures can marry. Jimin busts a gut when he sees you angrily shove your Free People dress deep in your shopping bags in favor of a black Adidas tracksuit that makes you feel like a soccer mom. Of course, he doesn’t know why you’re so aggressive with all your luxurious items, heck you even make him drive your Tesla, but nevertheless each passing hour brightens you up considerably.  

When you two arrive at a fancy steakhouse with a dress code, the manager doesn’t hesitate to chide you and suggest the Applebee’s down the street. 

You retort back that you’re an editor of Ego, and in seconds you’d have this restaurant swarmed with bad reviews. You know nothing about culinary review but you’re sure the manager doesn’t know that, and no arguments are placed after that. 

The evening puts you in higher spirits, and you’re almost convinced that you’re a successful twenty-something catching up with your former best friend. You’ve always been mature for your age, high school can do that to a person, and it makes it vastly easier to keep up with the new decade. 

“So,” you help Jimin get his bags up into his apartment. A little part of it feels like a bribe as you carry all the name brands on your arms, but you chalk it up to being compensation for the last ten years, “who are the people you hang out with now? Anyone I know?” 

“Well, Taehyung sometimes drops by if he’s free. He’s traveling the world now, he actually works with you,” Jimin provides the information smoothly, “only he works in the international business column. But surprisingly, the person I hang out the most with is—”

“Jungkook.” 

Standing face-to-face with your old high school sweetheart disarms you, and you’re sorely reminded that just you’re a seventeen-year-old in a twenty-seven-year-old’s body. 

Jungkook looks tired, and he rubs his eyes a bit as if to make sure he isn’t dreaming. You in the flesh, looking purposeful and confident as you hold three bags on each arm, each piece probably costing more than his rent. He’s filled out, what once was lean muscle and minor definition has turned into full muscle mass hidden beneath a large t-shirt and sweatpants that are two sizes too big. His face is still sweet-looking and baby-like, but his hair is overgrown and waving in front of his eyes without a care in the world. 

“Did I mention we’re neighbors?” you can practically hear the wince in Jimin’s voice, probably regretting that he hid that chunk of information from you. 

Jungkook tastes his name on your lips, and it sounds foriegn and strange coming from the both of you. “Good to see you,” he says, voice low. 

You barely formulate a response, replying with an equally nervous “right back at ya” and then you two resume staring at each other. While Jungkook hasn’t seen you in the last ten years, you saw him yesterday. Yesterday, where you started the day all peachy keen and it spiraled downhill shortly after. It’s jarring, knowing that your body doesn’t fit your conscience. 

“Well I uh,” Jungkook lifts his indicator to leave, a large garbage bag, “bye.” 

Jungkook shuffles out of the small hallway, and you get a whiff of his scent. It’s still the same, fabric softener mixed with his own musk. 

“I,” you start off slow, “maybe I should go talk to him?” 

“No,” he warns. “You and Jungkook are completely different people now, he’s just gonna think you’re pitying him if you go up and talk to him out of the blue.”

“But we’ve always been different people.” 

“You really think that?” Jimin shakes his head, “I know what happened at prom was rough but, I really didn’t think much of your relationship with Jungkook before that. It seemed like you were pretty compatible—”

“Up until the point he was kissing Jennie in matching flowers on the balcony like some kind of romance film?” you scoff, crossing your arms, “right. Super compatible.” 

Jimin sighs, as if he’s chastising a teenager. “Prom happened ten years ago, don’t act like it happened yesterday. People change.” 

You frown, because in your mind it did happen yesterday. 

Sleeping last night was hell. It’s one thing to be completely zonked out of your mind and unsure if you’re in a dream or weird coma, but knowing that you’re going to be stuck here for awhile is painful. Your loft is too big for your tiny body, your mattress cold and empty with just you in it. Without your parents to call and you feeling wholly insecure about your rekindling with Jimin, the only person you can really call is… Seokjin. 

And you really don’t want a repeat of your first night. 

So you suck it up, spend your waking hours in your office and quickly learning your tasks for work. You don’t even know what time you’re supposed to clock in, but from a sticky note attached to your MacBook it seems that you have a creative meeting at 10AM. You allow yourself two hours of sleep before you get moving.

The one exciting thing about your morning is that your outfit choices are virtually limitless. You feel like Cher in Clueless, all your outfits color-coordinated and organized by season. You pick out a springy Chanel number, a pale pink tweed skirt suit that has you feeling equally parts cute and an independent working woman. You even make time to buy yourself a coffee, because that’s what adults do right? 

Your office is gorgeous. Also located in the upper part of the city, the glass desk and high windows fit right in. You have an ideas board filled with various designs, fabrics and models to choose from. There’s a little frilly notebook straight out of the 2000s, all filled with phone numbers and special contacts all at your disposal. You even have your own cold press coffee machine complete with a mini-fridge. 

“You’re never this early, nervous for the meeting?” 

You squeal, nearly dropping your coffee as you take a tour around your office. You fight the urge to gape and point accusingly at the woman standing at your door.

“Jennie?” 

“In the flesh,” she gives you a cool smirk, holding her arms out for a hug. It really throws you for a loop, and you’re left stricken in your spot as Jennie closes the gap and squeezes the life out of you. Her grey pinstripe pantsuit crumples against your softer fabric. “You know you can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

“Jennie and you are practically besties,” Jimin sounds a little jealous while saying that, forcing you to scroll through your Instagram page to see the countless selfies of you and your high school rival, “I mean, at least that’s what the internet says. Went to college in Europe together and everything.” 

So it’s true. You awkwardly pat Jennie on the back, and she doesn’t seem to mind when she pulls away and tells you to meet upstairs. You mindlessly follow after her to the conference room, wishing a kind good morning to everyone that greets you. 

Once you make it upstairs, you flinch at the loud screech of your voice. “My favorite editor!” someone in a plaid red suit runs up to you and throws an arm around your shoulders. The editor-in-chief Jung Hoseok smiles brightly at you, leading you to a seat at the head of the table right next to him. You’re cosy with the editor-in-chief? This is crazy! 

“G-good morning Mr. Jung,” you stutter, trying to remain cool. 

“Did something happen to you this weekend?” Hoseok jests, pinching your cheek like a long lost sister. “You always call me Hobi.” 

“Oh,” you force a giggle, “you don’t even know how crazy this weekend was.” 

Hoseok simply laughs and gets himself settled for the meeting.

“I’m so jealous,” Jennie sing-songs, a manicured finger trailing over the back of your chair, “only the best of the best can sit next to the big boss.” 

The comment has you bristling. Are you really friends? Giving her a tight smile, she saunters to another corner of the meeting. On your section of the table is your itinerary and iPad, ready for note-taking. 

“One thing that we do at Ego is consistency,” Hoseok pulls up a projection of this year’s editions, all carbon copies of the same cover. “And while that is admirable, I want to put my top editors to the test and come up with the theme for next month’s issue.” 

Hoseok sends you yet another pearly white smile, and due to the sheer closeness you know that secret smile is only reserved for you. That makes you squirm in your seat, already feeling the pressure building in the pit of your stomach. 

“Take two days off this week to plan. Work out the days you’ll be out of the office with HR, those days you’ll be working in the city, finding ideas and inspiration for the issue. Remember, think outside the box!” Hoseok does a little fist pump, cutting through the air like his life depends on it. 

The whole lot of the group continues to stare at Hoseok, waiting for his next instructions. Then, the adults begin to panic, similar to a high school class that’s been told they have a pop quiz that’s worth half their grade. You sigh internally, you suppose high school never ends. 

“C’mon,” Hoseok urges, flailing his arms around, “get out there! Make moves, make money!” 

But the only moves you’ve made since 2PM are fleeting trips to the bathroom. 

Obviously you don’t have any memory of your degree or experience, so instead of feeling like an editor you feel more like a teenager playing dress-up. You couldn’t even sneakily ask Jennie for help because she deadpanned: “I’m not sharing any secrets, doll.” It seems that being backhandedly mean is a theme in your relationship, so after that you rolled your eyes and locked your door. Thankfully you packed a pair of sweatpants so you can comfortably lie down on the floor while you spread out your workspace. Magazines littered the hardwood, all sultry and sexy looking models staring back at you with the same half-lidded stare and overdone makeup. 

It makes you cringe, thinking back to the other day when you were jealous of these people. Now that you have this life, thriving and full of beauty, is that the only thing you want to show to your audience? How can they possibly relate to models who make triple their salary? What about the authenticity? The ingenuity? 

And that’s when it hits you. 

Scrambling to your computer, you search up a photographer that you know will be completely and utterly transparent. 

My Time Studios: Capturing the raw moment. 

You know exactly what you want for next month’s issue. 

Jungkook does not expect to see you through the peephole of his apartment, fiddling with the threads of your clothes and eyes glued to the ground. He mutters a curse under his breath, jamming his fingers between the metal double lock to swing his head out. He doesn’t even bother to open up all the way, just enough to stick his face out. 

“Jungkook, hi!” he still can’t believe you’re around. Jungkook winces at your tone, high and sounding like a teenager. He thought by now you’d be traveling the world, climbing to bigger and better things. Then again, the upper part of the city is certainly an upgrade. He just thought you’d want to be far, far away from him. “I b-brought you McDonalds.” 

You hold up a greasy bag of fast food, and his nose immediately responds to the smell of fresh fries and a quarter pounder (with cheese, of course.) It annoys him that you still know his weakness, but he isn’t going to go that easily. 

“Why are you here?” he asks a little too sharply, hands gripping the doorknob. 

“I wanted to offer you a job,” you get straight to the point, as if you know your time at his doorstep is limited. 

He scoffs, “You? Want to put my photos on Ego? You know my business extends to weddings and the occasional Bar Mitzvah. Why would you want me?” 

You frown, crossing your arms. He looks down at your attire, a nicely fitted suit on top, but the skirt is replaced with grey sweatpants. Comical, really. “I’ve always loved your photos,” you admit to him, “you know that. And they’ve gotten so much better since then.” 

The furrow between Jungkook’s brows softens a fraction, smoothed by the honesty in your voice. You’re right, you always made sure to tell Jungkook how much you loved his other talents. Namely, the photography, and sometimes his singing. He can still remember how easily you slept in his arms watching Sky City for hours, all at the melody of your favorite song. While his teachers and classmates loved to venerate his position on the team and his ability to garner attention, you encouraged him to work on the things that mattered to him the most, even in secret. 

Nevertheless, that was ten years ago. 

“I don’t need your charity,” he spits, “Jimin might be able to be bought by some designer clothes and an eighty dollar steak, but not me.” 

The pain in your gaze is glaringly evident, and you don’t even try to hide that you’re upset as the paper bag falls against your lap. If there’s one thing Jungkook knows he’s good at, is hurting your feelings. 

“You think this is charity?” you whisper, hurt delicately lacing your voice. 

“Are you kidding? Last month you got Xu Minghao to photograph your spread for Ego. He’s photographed the damn Queen of England,” if you notice that he’s babbling about reading your magazine, you don’t show it in your face, “the point is, I don’t understand why you’re trying to come into my life again. I don’t want to get involved in your fancy dinner galas or anyone else from high school. So please, just go back to your picture perfect life.” 

And without another qualm he slams the door in your face, effectively shutting you out. It doesn’t feel as good as he wants it to feel, clearly. He feels even shitter than before. His eyes glaze over to his rickety coffee table, cluttered with bills and credit card payments that should’ve been dealt with a long time ago. 

He slugs himself over to his couch, throwing his body over the couch that’s way too short. His legs dangle in mid-air, but it doesn’t stop him from throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the sunset. The bills can wait a little longer. Seeing you was too draining. 

The nap turns into a full-fledged night’s sleep, and by the time he wakes up the sky is dark and it’s the start of a new day. 12:08, the screen of his iPhone confirms. Feeling even crustier and worse than before, his stomach decides to harden the blow and go straight for the gut. He’s sorely reminded of the food you offered him hours ago. 

Quickly pulling on a large denim jacket, he grabs his keys and heads for the 7-Eleven down the park. Nothing like a frozen pizza to fill the gut, fast and cheap. Despite the fact that it’s dark and late, there're still some stray people in the park. A few homeless, some high school stoners who are meeting in secret, and you are typing away on your MacBook. 

Wait, what? 

You’re sitting on a bench in the park, typing away without a care in the world. Shoving soggy fries that he earlier refused in your mouth, you let a couple stray potatoes hang from your lips as your eyes succumb to the screen. You look positively silly, still in a pink blazer and baggy sweatpants. 

He must have been staring a little too long, because soon enough you turn your head, gasping at his figure. You quickly avert your eyes, but don’t make any move to leave the park. That interests him further. 

Shamelessly, he calls your name. His legs get to you in an instant, towering over your tiny figure. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I’m waiting for Jimin,” your eyes flicker to your open laptop, “and working.” 

At least one of those reasons is a lie. Last time he checked, Jimin always sleeps over at Yoongi’s house on this day. He knows it’s a lie, and you know he knows it’s a lie, but neither of you make the effort to correct it. 

“And what could you possibly be working on at 12AM?” 

“Finding a photographer,” you hunch over your laptop, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t have much time and none of my usual contacts are good enough. This project is… personal.” 

It makes him want to ask further, he can’t lie and say he isn’t intrigued in the kind of vision you’re going for in your next issue. “But why can’t you work at home?” 

“Don’t wanna go,” you reply casually, “it makes me feel lonely.” 

Lonely? You feel lonely? He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated at the display of nonchalance. Back in high school he always encouraged you to feel confident, but not like this. “Hey, it’s nice that you feel comfortable enough to chill in the park at 12AM, but it’s really dumb. You’re lucky you haven’t gotten mugged from all that money you’re carrying around!” he gestures to your fancy clothes and laptop, “and if you feel so lonely, call up one of your rich friends I’m sure they’ll—”

“Oh my god, Jungkook,” you slam your laptop shut, darkening the two of you. “I thought you wanted me to go back to my ‘picture perfect life’, so why do you care?” you get up in his face, standing on the bench so you’re nearly eye-to-eye, “why don’t you pester those kids over there? Tell them to drink their milk and go home,” you scoff, shoving your stuff in your bag. You don’t spare him another glance as you stalk off in the other direction. 

He groans, unable to untangle himself from the mess, “Where are you going?” 

“To a park where you’re not in!” 

Despite the exchange for sweatpants, you’re still wearing shoes not fit for walking. They’re little white pumps, not too tall but not remarkably comfy either. However, that doesn’t deter you from getting the heck out of there, seemingly walking in any possible direction to get away from Jungkook. 

“You’re being ridiculous,” he chastises once his hand clasps around your hand, pulling you around. 

There’s a little resistance, as you try to hide your face to no avail. Jungkook fumbles a little, not thinking you’d be crying. But tiny, shy tears are pooling around your eyes, looking flustered at your display of emotion.

“God,” you mutter to yourself, “I feel like such a kid.” 

That strikes a chord in the twenty-something man. The last time he saw you in the flesh was when you were both kids. Young, unbridled, and stupid. Well, only Jungkook was the stupid one. 

“Do you want me to take you home?” Jungkook offers, feeling guilty about his roughness. 

You shake your head. “No, I told you I don’t want to.” 

“Can I at least call you a cab? Or a friend so you won’t get lonely?” 

“Jungkook, if I had that option would you think I’d be here right now?” he’s trying, he really is. But you’re equally as miffed about this whole situation and at a loss. The two of you engage in a staring contest. It only takes a few seconds for you to crumble, and he frowns when you shiver in your thin blazer. 

Instantly, he rips off his jacket, pulling it over your body. It’s huge on you, swallowing your body and hopefully containing some of his residual heat. 

And finally, he relents. “If you want, I’ll come over and stay until you fall asleep.” 

“Okay,” your eyes widen in instant agreement, pulling something out of your pocket. “Will you drive?” 

His eyes widen at the shiny, minimalistic car key. Your sudden one-eighty has him second guessing his decision. “You drive a Tesla?” he gapes, taking your key like he’s holding the Hope Diamond. 

You got your license in February. One month ago, and only because the instructor felt pity on you since it was your second time retaking it. The fancy car terrifies you, and you’re sure Jungkook has much more experience driving (over ten years worth.)  

You shrug, “Not very good at driving. Haven’t had much practice.”

“Um, the car drives itself?” 

“It does?” you tilt your head, dazed, “wow, technology is amazing.” 

He shakes his head, putting a hand on your back so you can lead the way. You must be tired, because it seems like your head isn’t entirely there anymore. He takes charge, buckles you in and takes a couple minutes to fumble with the car settings. Nevertheless the drive home is smooth (and it takes all of Jungkook’s willpower to not squeal in excitement when the Tesla does in fact, drive itself.) 

You lead him inside your loft like a tiny zombie, throwing your shoes to one corner and throwing your jacket on the kitchen table. 

“Must be hungry,” you can’t even form complete sentences, “there’s food in the fridge, Kook. Sorry if it’s not to your taste.” 

Shuffling away to your room, Jungkook is left to gawk at your apartment. The baseboards of your walls are crusted in pretty pearl designs, swirling around the whole expanse. There’s a television that stretches the wall of the little living room, with a sound and video game system he’s only seen in movies. Your tables are meters and meters of granite, and he wonders how the floor of your apartment can hold all this weight. 

But he supposes it’s because there’s nothing much to hold. No pictures line the walls, only vague looking art to fill up blank space. There’s no touch of warmth despite the heating system under the floor that relaxes his toes. For such a big home, he can only imagine how small you must feel in it. 

Your fridge is just as empty, decorated with a couple of sad-looking salads and some protein shakes. He sighs, grabbing two chicken salads and a banana shake and bringing it to your coffee table. It’s a little two quiet for his liking, so he turns on the television real low just to make the room feel a bit fuller. 

Halfway through one salad he realizes he probably should’ve made you eat as well. Even though these salads aren’t remotely filling, they’re much healthier than some soggy fries. A piece of limp lettuce hangs from Jungkook’s mouth, suddenly feeling guilty for soaking up all of your amenities without inviting you. After all, it is your house. Wiping some sauce from his lips he dusts off his pants, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he makes his way to your room. 

Calling your name, the only reply is the whir of the heater. He only cracks the door a tad, but he sees you slumped against the edge of the bed, bare feet hanging from the end. You barely made it, your clothes strewn across the floor, an oversized t-shirt ruched across your barely covered thighs. Without a thought he quickly scrambles to move you closer to your pillows, and then wraps your body in your plush duvet. You’re out like a light. 

You’re sleeping, so Jungkook should go home. That’s what you two agreed to. He goes back to his late dinner (early breakfast?) mindlessly listening to an infomercial on rare dollar coins. He’ll leave after he eats. 

He didn’t leave. 

Jungkook awakes to a scream, your shrill voice echoing all the way down the hallway into your living room. It takes a second for him to register the empty white walls and the fact that he’s not in his apartment, but eventually it goes back to the point that you’re in distress. He jolts, scrambling off the couch to run to your bedroom. 

“What is it?” he exhales into your doorframe, socks sliding. 

Your hair is in a disarray, shirt rumpled and face scrunched in pain. You shove your phone in his face. “Since when did Iron Man die!” you cry, genuinely horrified at whatever entertainment article you’re reading. 

He slumps against the wall, running a hand over his dry face. “Since Endgame, obviously. That was literally two years ago. Is that why you woke me up?” 

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t know!” 

“Have you been living under a rock or something?”

“Or something,” you frown, throwing your phone across your bed, “I guess I should go get ready for work.” 

Jungkook watches as you shamelessly hop off your bed, uncaring that your shirt has ridden up, revealing the full expanse of your thighs and then some. You pull out a pair of sweats from a shopping bag, nicking off the tag to put them on your legs. 

“Do you have work?”  you ask casually. 

“Uh, no,” Jungkook coughs, crossing his arms. It’s been awhile since he’s had a solid gig. Two whole weeks have been spent doing more personal work which was fine, but at the same time his bank account could beg to differ. “I’m off today.” 

“Oh, alright,” you shrug, “do you know where I can buy a good camera?” 

“Why?” 

“Gonna go take pictures,” you snatch your wallet and keys from your bedside, stuffing it in a fanny pack. He watches you curiously as you zip your bag shut, muttering something about how you can’t believe that fanny packs are back in style. Swinging the strap over your back, you brush past him. “You can stay if you want,” you add pointedly, before you slip into the bathroom. 

Jungkook doesn’t understand as to why he’s slipping into sensory overload. The house is a shell of itself and the antithesis of a rainbow. Maybe it’s the fact that he woke up ten minutes ago or how you look completely peaceful and want to leave as soon as you wake up. Or how shocked you were that Iron Man has passed and you’ve completely missed Phase 3. Or that you’re not even thinking about breakfast or not wishing him a farewell, practically throwing him into your apartment like a second home. 

He wobbles back to the couch, trying to look as nonchalant as possible as he drapes the fuzzy blankets over his body. He flips through the channels, before finally settling on an old episode of Sky City. 

When you walk out into the living room, you scrunch your face in pain when you make eye contact with Kim Seokjin’s on screen appearance. Oh, how things change. Jungkook knew how much you loved watching Sky City, indulging in the protagonist's attractiveness. 

“Y’know,” Jungkook says over his shoulder, “if you leave me here, I could steal whatever I want.” 

“Go ahead,” you reply flippantly, already slipping on your sneakers. “There’s nothing of value here.” 

What is wrong with you? 

“Wait!” Jungkook throws all his pride at the window, unable to conceal his worry for you. Half your body is out the doorway, and you’re looking at him like he’s grown a second head. His voice takes up the entirety of the room, startling you. “I need to come with you,” he finally settles on, looking serious. “You’re going to buy the wrong camera.” 

“Okay,” you concede immediately, throwing the keys on the couch, “you drive.”

Jungkook must know something’s wrong with you. 

You don’t know how to act around him. Your heart is hurt and your body is a decade older than it was a week ago and everything in your life and mind is a complete wreck. It still aches to look at him, despite the fact that you want him around, all the time. You wish you could know a little more about your adult life, you feel like a proverbial Bambi sitting in a car worth more than your childhood home. It’s a wobbly, shaky road to adulthood, and you’re not having it. 

Jungkook sleeping over is the last thing you thought would happen last night. You didn’t even think he’d relent to coming to your house, since he was pretty hellbent on not being your photographer. 

But now he’s driving your Tesla again, after you instructed him to park the car where you parked it last time. That way, you can go back to the playground you were in the night before. You have a vision for the issue and it starts there. Fiddling around with the expensive camera Jungkook picked out, you feel his gaze burning into your shoulder. 

“Am I doing something wrong?” you ask archly, “I read the manual and everything. Or are you just being a perfectionist again?” 

“What’s wrong with being a perfectionist?” Jungkook shoots back, putting the car in park. As soon as the car stills in the parking lot, he grabs the camera from your grasp like a petulant child. “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t break it. Face it, you’re terrible at technology.” 

“Excuse me! I have a Samsung 25+ and a Tesla!” 

“Yeah? So why did I catch you struggling to use your pay feature on your phone when we grabbed coffee?” 

“It’s new,” you mutter under your breath. Everything is new to you. 

With a growl you snatch back the camera, and Jungkook for once doesn’t act like a baby with a sharing complex and relents. Of course, Jungkook manages to calibrate the camera and figure out the color balance before you could. This only annoys you further, wondering why Jungkook is still sticking around after all this time. 

“Alright,” you step out of the car, slinging the camera around your neck. “Thanks for driving me around, your apartment’s just down the street, right?” You dart your hand out, and Jungkook reluctantly hands over your key beeper. Maybe it’s because he seems to love the car so much, that he has a hard time giving it back. “I’ll see you around.” 

“Wait,” is that his word of the day? Wait wait wait. 

“What is it now, Jungkook?” 

He’s never seen you so full of negative emotions. You’ve been waiting for him to tire of you all day, from your clipped replies and unease ever since you two stepped out of your apartment. 

“Um,” he looks embarrassed, scratching the back of his head, “are you really going to take pictures? You always took really blurry pictures in high school.” 

The mention of high school has you icy, gripping the matte black digital camera to hold your feelings at bay. “Yes, I’m going to go take pictures because the photographer I wanted so rudely rejected me,” you revel in the way he shrinks, probably regretful already. “So if you’ll excuse me, I have a deadline.” 

He continues to follow you, all the way to the park. You make your way to a little garden, and start to take some test photos next to the little daisies that decorate the patch of dirt. You practically feel Jungkook breathing down your neck, feeling antsy everytime you click the shutter. Ignoring him is difficult, especially when he makes little noises of discomfort when you presumably do something wrong. 

“Jungkook, are you going to say something?” you seethe, not caring that the heavy camera strains your neck when it falls against your chest, “or are you just going to make me wait.”

Jungkook’s face is scrunched up, and finally he blurts, “I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry for what?” 

“For saying your life is picture perfect,” he sputters quickly, looking very sweaty. Jungkook always got sweaty when he did things a little too hard. Playing sports, thinking, campaigning on video games. “I—I didn’t mean it. I don’t know. I guess I was just upset at myself and I took it out on you.” 

“Well why are you upset at yourself?” 

“I’m upset because I—I don’t know, it’s complicated,” he plops down on the nearest bench, and while you follow him, you don’t let yourself sit next to him. If you do, you know your subconscious will want to wrap your arms around him and comfort him. That would probably be the worst possible action to perform. “I don’t really do the whole photoshoot thing. Like I said, I’m just doing some weddings and parties here and there. I shouldn’t have said those things about Jimin and how you’re only talking to us out of charity. It’s my fault for not considering how complicated your life could be too,” he looks down at the ground, shameful, “so if you still want me, I would really like to photograph for Ego. And I would also really like that camera back.” 

Unable to resist, you reach over to give him a pat on the shoulder. “I forgive you,” you reply numbly, thinking he was going to apologize for something else. You suppose he’s forgotten about that fateful prom night, just like everyone else. “It’s actually not for Ego, at least not yet. My boss is pitting us against each other, the best idea wins the cover theme.” 

“Don’t worry, we’ll win,” his face eventually breaks into a grin when you remove the camera from your body. “Come to daddy, baby,” he cooes, holding the shiny new camera in his hands like a newborn. 

“Gross,” you twitch, although you’re feeling all the more relieved knowing Jungkook will now be taking the visual reins. “You haven’t had a chance to look at the contract made up, but being paid five-hundred okay?” 

“Five-hundred a week?” 

“No, per day,” you correct, “why wouldn’t I pay you just like I pay the others?” 

Jungkook’s dark brows fly to his forehead. He practically chokes on his spit at the way you put Jungkook in high regard. A blush overtakes his visage, proud and pink as he rushes to get away from you. 

“You don’t even know my concept,” you called after him, chasing the midday sun. 

Jungkook is already in position, fitting the lens between two buildings. The afternoon sun looks like an egg yolk, melting between the clouds. “Well then is it?” he asks, bending down on one knee to get the perfect angle. 

“Well, yesterday when I thought of the idea I just wanted to be reminded of how easy being a kid was,” you don’t even know if Jungkook’s listening properly, given the rapid click click clicks of the shutter and Jungkook constantly moving around to get as many shots as possible. “I realized that not everyone can relate to the models or the clothes we advertise on Ego. Why would I want to see people I actually admire? Like, my friend’s older brother. Or Jimin, president of the drama club. Or even Jungkook, captain of the lacrosse team.” 

“So, nostalgia. The 2000s are back in style, I like it,” he replies simply, tilting the camera towards you, “pose for me.” 

“What? Jungkook,” you frown, holding a hand over your face. He doesn’t relent, continuing to snap you in different angles. 

“Oh! That was a nice one,” he turns the camera to reveal the screen of your furrowed brows, hand over your face, “looks super grunge. Totally a throwback look.” 

“Jungkook, I don’t model. I’m just the one who throws the ideas.” 

“Yeah, but. Wouldn’t it be cool if the readers of Ego could see the genius behind the paper and ink?” he gestures vaguely to your outfit, “and you’re wearing Fila. So that’s like, kind of designer?” 

“I don’t know,” you hug yourself, “I’ll think about it, okay? Let’s focus.” 

“Fine,” Jungkook stops buzzing around you, putting the camera down and following you as you walk back to your car. You don’t think you really need anymore park photos, and Jungkook seems to telepathically agree as well. 

“We need to plan some outfits and some backgrounds. I’ve already arranged a meet up tomorrow in front of our old high school with a couple of models. The school is on a grade-wide trip, so we’ll even have access to the track and field. I was also thinking disposable film? We could scan those.” 

“Alright, who are your models?” 

“Oh, you know. Just friends from school. I wanted it to be as authentic as possible. Taehyung flew back from Hamburg last night, so he said he’ll come. Jimin, obviously.” 

“Well you only had like, two friends in highschool.” 

“And you,” you clip on with a frown, “so don’t dress like a potato sack tomorrow, okay?” 

“I’m not modeling.” 

“Well, I’m still looking for a celebrity model to tack onto so. Don’t look like a chump.” you stick out your hand, while Jungkook pouts at your outstretched limb. If he feels sore that you called him a chump, he doesn’t comment on it when he clasps his larger hand in yours. “Partners?”

“Partners.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me your celebrity model was him?” 

“I specifically told you not to dress like a paper bag. Why did you continue to do so!” 

“You didn’t specify that your model was Kim Seokjin!” 

The current conversation is hushed, hissed between large reflective light panels and a parked car that held all your rented equipment. Currently, Taehyung, Seokjin and Jimin are huddled on the bleachers of your old stomping grounds, laughing at whatever funny video Seokjin has pulled up. They’re all dressed in variants of the same sweatsuit, a combination of Taehyung’s choosing since he’s one of the many color coordinators at Ego. 

But you haven’t started yet, and you would like to get some morning shots in before it gets any warmer. Jungkook is still petulant, pretending to buy time by balancing his tripod. He’s wearing his Birkenstocks, so old they’re definitely the same pair from highschool, and yet another black sweatsuit. 

“Seokjin’s like a big, fat cheeseball,” you assure Jungkook, who’s actually shaking from being in the presence of a celebrity. “No reason to be nervous.”

“That man has literally been part of our Sitcom Sundays for three years,” he gripes, “of course I’m nervous!” 

“Just go to the car. If you want to change I’m sure Taehyung’s brought something that fits you.”

“Well if they see me change they’re gonna see I’m trying too hard,” Jungkook pouts, he actually pouts. 

“I can’t,” you turn around, your Miss Frizzle-esque solar system dress whirling around your waist. The stars twinkle, glittering into Jungkook’s eyes. “Jungkook, do whatever you want. But we need to start in ten! No, five! I’m not paying you to try on Balenciaga and Off-Brand!” 

If Jungkook is shocked by your sudden snippiness or need to get things wrapped up, he doesn’t say anything to it. For once, he’s quiet about his needs and you’re thankful for it. Once he’s gone, you have a chance to breathe. It’s all wholly overwhelming to dive right into the job. Your brain is still in 2011 unfortunately.

“Babe, everything alright?” 

Seokjin appears behind you, having ditched Jimin and Taehyung after he saw you and Jungkook argue. He smooths his hands over your biceps. You’re still unsure over the exact nature of your adult-self’s relationship, but it seems that sans sex you two are relatively close with each other. 

“M’fine,” you mumble tiredly, trying not to stiffen under his hold. You suppose Jimin isn’t going to be the friend you confide into this lifetime. “I’m just nervous. We’re doing all this work and it can potentially go down the drain after this week. What if my idea’s stupid and we’re wasting time? Jennie texted me that her concept is going to be killer and now I’m scared this concept is too aesthetically soft and people don’t care about nostalgia anymore and I feel like simultaneously throwing up and crying—” 

“Whoa whoa, who’s replaced my confident editor and where did she go?” Seokjin decidedly goes with the notion that you’re definitely not fine. He swings his neck back and forth, peering behind the bleachers and over the football field. “My confident editor would never talk bad of herself like this! She commanded a whole crew of fifty within seconds when she did the Kim Taeyeon shoot in Milan! She never cowers under a challenge, the challenge cowers to her!” and in his gallancy you no longer try to shy away, in fact you even giggle at his silly way of comforting you. “And most importantly, she’d never compare herself to a wench like Jennie.” 

Seokjin doesn’t hesitate to swipe the moisture right under your waterline, making sure any traces of your crying are undetectable. “W-wait,” you sputter, “you mean, me and Jennie aren’t actually friends?” 

He chuckles, pulling you into a hug. “Even now, you’re such a good actress.” 

You let Seokjin continue to hold you as the pieces in your empty mind come together. If Jennie is truly not your friend and you two have been faking it all this time, how serious is it? And if so, are you the competitive type? You know for sure Jennie is, and will she stop at nothing to make sure she gets the spread? 

This fear is combined with an equal amount of sadness. You were a little excited to have a lasting friend from college, but your mother always told you to never believe anything on the internet. You suppose those selfies of you and Jennie on your Instagram are nothing but a facade. 

But at the very least Seokjin’s care for you isn’t fake, and you’re thankful that you have at least one friend in this life. If you didn’t do this time skip, would Seokjin remain your only friend? You try not to think too hard about it, “Thanks, Seokjin. I really appreciate you.” 

“Will you appreciate me tonight then?” Seokjin makes a move to kiss your neck, and the moment is promptly ruined. 

Shoving him away you say firmly, “Touch me like that again and I’ll rip your dick off in front of this whole crew.” 

“I love it when you get feisty,” Seokjin melts, but salutes you like a drill sergeant as he runs back to the men on the bleachers. 

It’s then you feel a presence looming over your shoulder. Tall, dark, and emanating. He’s changed, in favor of some fitted jeans and a plain white shirt, paired with black boots. Jungkook is behind you, glaring over your shoulder at Seokjin. So much for showing off your professionalism. Crap, how much of that did he hear? 

“Jungkook, I–”

“Let’s start,” he mutters gruffly, stepping past you to get to the equipment. 

You slap a hand over your face. It’s going to be a long day. 

However, the hours following are probably one of the brightest hours of your life since you’ve appeared in your future-self’s body. At first Jimin was anxious at your invitation, despite being in the high school plays and being okay at public speaking, he didn’t know he’d have the potential to be a model. A couple test shots and some coaching from Taehyung, Jimin is a natural, his photogenic energy strong enough to compete toe-to-toe with Seokjin. 

You also have to hand it to Taehyung, who has been running back and forth between modeling and choosing outfits for the boys. Jimin and you didn’t run in the same group as Taehyung back in high school, but time changes things and if given the opportunity, you would’ve loved to be friends with him back then. 

By the time you are done for the day and you feel like all the possible shots have all ready been taken, you circle around the school. You previously went inside empty classrooms, posed in the cafeteria, even pretended to reenact your school rendition of RENT in the auditorium. 

Everything is mostly packed up and put into the car by the time the sun is setting, and you just wanted to perfect this one shot. 

The gymnasium looks a lot smaller than it did as a child. As a teenager, you constantly feared getting hit in the face by a stray wiffleball, or throwing up during the pacer test after the 100th lap. But now, it just looks like an old gym. 

“It smells like sweaty balls in there,” Taehyung curses, adjusting the patterned button down by smoothing down his chest. He jabs a finger in the boys locker room, where Jimin comes out with another new outfit. 

“I think the sandwich I left in senior year is still there,” Jimin adds, pulling the collar around his burgundy knitted sweater. 

The back of the gym is decorated in balloons. Overnight you managed to build a balloon ring off of Pinterest, one of your proudest moments as you made Jungkook haul the rainbow colored arc and shove it into the trunk. Seokjin is sitting directly under the arc, decorating a letter corkboard. It’s one of those cork boards all the teachers display in class, often decorated with some witty quote or a basic “Welcome to Mr/Mrs/Miss _____’s Class!” 

Jungkook is setting up the camera on a tripod, wanting to do it the old fashioned way. Aside from the freakout he had in the beginning when he realized he was photographing Kim Seokjin, he’s been quiet and strictly professional throughout the whole ordeal. It’s amazing to see this side of him, as he seamlessly transitions from shoot to shoot knowing exactly what he has in mind for each photograph. His direction is soft but impactful, and the boys have no problems following directions. 

“Okay boys, everyone under the arc!” 

Working like this is a rush you can’t even imagine. In high school the path you were in the process of choosing wasn’t clear cut up until this point, but now you know exactly what you want to do for the rest of your life. 

Seokjin holds the finished corkboard in the middle, a proud Class of Ego in white block letters. 

Jungkook only gets a few shots in before Seokjin bemoans, letting the corkboard fall in his lap. 

“Guys, this picture’s gonna stink.” 

Jungkook’s appalled, “Excuse me—” 

“Because you two aren’t in it!” Taehyung agrees easily, “c’mon, JK. Put your camera on timer mode and let’s have all of us in it!” 

A blush melts on Jungkook’s neck, all the way to the tips of his ears. “What? No, that’s silly Tae. I really don’t—agh!” 

The three men are in a controlled frenzy, aiming to get their mission done. Seokjin rounds the camera and makes quick work of enabling a timer and a burst shot. Jimin pulls you by the waist, tugging you ungracefully to the center of the arc. Taehyung is doing a pretty good job of hauling your muscle hunk of a photographer, pressing his shoulders across yours. 

And finally, Seokjin hands you the corkboard. “You should be holding it. After all, you’re the brains behind it!” 

At first it feels awkward, squished between new friends and old friends. First loves and last loves. Despite his warm bicep pressing against you, Jungkook is akin to a sheet of cardboard, arm-to-arm and stiff as a board. 

“Alright people, let’s move it!” Seokjin yells unnecessarily loud, the noise echoing throughout the high walls. “Last couple shots here, and we’re not re-doing it because I’m tired as hell! So look alive and pretend to like each other!” 

The first click of the camera stuns all of you, akin to many terrible school photos where the flash disarms you and your face twists. But that click suddenly gets Jungkook into gear, and you feel him slide a hand over your shoulder, squeezing you toward him so you’re pressed against the side of his chest. He still smells like floral fabric softener, and that makes you smile. 

And suddenly you feel like you’re seventeen again, surrounded with the people you care for the most. 

“So, the tabloids are true huh?” Jimin smirks, waving a flimsy fry in your face. 

“T-tabloids?” you sputter, dabbing the ketchup off your cheek. The greasy burger slips off your grip and onto your plate.  Your expression says it all, it’s painfully innocent and genuinely confused as you attempt to swallow the cheese and lettuce as fast as possible. 

The crew sans Seokjin is eating a very late dinner with you at the restaurant of their choice. They put it to a vote, while you desperately wanted some McDonalds everyone else voted for a more high end restaurant. After all, you’re paying. 

“Ah, don’t try playing coy with us,” Taehyung jests, “the office talks.” 

“Well, whatever you’ve heard isn’t true,” you huff, crossing your arms. “At least, not anymore.” 

“What?” Taehyung bugs out, “I thought you loved your no strings attached relationship with Jinnie.” 

“I guess I did,” you frown, deflating against the plush booth, “I don’t know. I don’t know what I liked back then.” 

You resume eating your burger, trying to ignore the worried look Jimin sends you. He reaches over the table to press his thumb to the little 11s in your forehead, a product of stress. “Does your head still hurt?” he asks. 

Jungkook’s chewing slows considerably. He’s been strangely quiet this evening, opting to order a handful of appetizers and gorging on every single edible thing on the table like a glutton. But at Jimin’s question he turns his head to look at you, “Why would your head still hurt?” 

“She hit her head when she went out drinking with Seokjin last week,” Jimin supplies, “messed with her memory.” 

“Chim,” you frown, gently shoving him off you, “I’m fine now. Pretty much caught up. Just reevaluating my life choices, okay?” 

“How could Seokjin let that happen?” Jungkook asks, putting his fork down. 

“He wasn’t even there,” you shake your head, trying to clear Seokjin’s name as fast as possible. After all, this lie is completely fabricated, a blanket to cover the magical properties your true nature being here has. “I’m fine, Jungkook. Don’t worry about me.” 

He huffs, resuming his meal. “Wasn’t worried,” he disarms, reaching over the table to snatch a mozzarella stick. 

You cover up your disgusted expression by wiping your chin with a soft blue napkin. Jungkook is really out here inhaling the whole table and being a bit of a jerk. 

“Well,” Taehyung claps his hands together, regarding all of you with a closed-lipped smile stretched so wide you’re worried he’ll break. “This is nice. I can’t imagine a time where I’d be reunited with you three. It’s weird. But a good weird.” 

“Ditto,” Jimin echoes, lifting his glass to clink with Taehyung’s. Throwing an arm over your shoulder he remarks, “could’ve never imagined my ‘ol best friend would’ve wanted to pursue fashion.” 

“What?” you glower, pinching his thigh, “I love fashion! I spent months planning my Clueless Halloween costume and our summers cosplaying!” 

“Right, Cher,” teased Jimin, “that yellow plaid suit that made you look like a bottle of mustard?” 

“You little–” 

Taehyung begins to laugh when you start to tickle Jimin in the sweet spots, causing Jimin to curl his leg around your ankle and pull you onto his lap for a hair pull. It’s all in fun and nothing hurts, but you’re so caught up in it you’re sure people are worried about your well-being. Even Jungkook is laughing, egging Jimin on while Taehyung weakly attempts to pull you away. 

If you could rewrite the last ten years of your life, this moment would define the remake. 

“Why are we here?” 

“For research purposes.” 

“Are you sure the actual purpose is because you don’t feel like working in the office?” 

“Jungkook,” you groan, tired of his infinite amount of negativity. “This was our senior trip! Of course I want to get a couple shots in before my big presentation.” 

“You’re risking my baby’s life,” Jungkook cradles the digital camera closer to his chest, swaddling it between its felt case. Ever since you purchased the camera, Jungkook has been unable to let it go. This adoption is both equal parts cute and strange, and you’re a little too scared to ask for it back. 

“I promise, no big rides,” you roll your eyes, “your baby will be fine.” 

The local amusement park is a fan-favorite amongst the city-goers, a reprieve from the hustle and a chance for you to spend your copious amounts of money on overpriced sugar and popcorn. The last time you went here was two weeks ago—in your mind. In Jungkook’s mind it was over ten years ago and he probably doesn’t even remember the time spent roaming the artificial floor and the infinite amount of bubbles that seem to eject from the air to add to the whimsical charm. 

Jungkook isn’t even paying attention, citing it as an artist block because he’s going through sensory overload with the amount of stimuli in the crowd. Screaming teenagers wailing under him from a nearby rollercoaster, the smell of sticky caramel apples pumping through the diffuser stands, and the amount of gaudy color that decorates every single logo of the park. 

He plops himself down on a nearby bench while you wait in line to get some food. It’s early in the morning and a weekday, so you figure this is the best time to get some photographs in without any passerbys. You figure Jungkook will get the hang of it once he has some food in his stomach. 

“A funnel cake?” Jungkook is bewildered when you return with the confection in hand, “it’s ten A.M.” 

You raise a brow, knowing how much Jungkook loves sweet foods. The funnel cake especially, he ate at least three when you went to your senior trip, one for every meal. But you’re an adult, or at least posing as one, and you shrug loftily, plucking a hot piece of fried dough from your plate. “Alright then,” you reply, “I’ll just eat the whole thing.” 

Once the cake touches your tongue, you can’t help but make an exaggerated moan in pleasure. You can feel Jungkook squirming like an earthworm next to you, either from the scrumptious smell of funnel cake or the way you’re so enthusiastically eating it. 

“W-wait,” Jungkook’s stomach growls at the perfect moment, “I want some. But I don’t want to get the camera dirty, pass me a napkin.” 

“I can just feed it to you!” you quip innocently, immediately ripping off a piece and shoving it between Jungkook’s pink lips. You feel a little slick in the finger, saliva briefly coating your digits before you pull away. You swallow, feeling a familiar tingle in your tummy and a sickening heat low in your belly. 

You fight back a sigh, wondering if your libido also did a massive growth spurt in your twenty-seven years of age. 

Jungkook is placated at the touch of food, and you take turns feeding yourself and feeding him while more customers trickle in the park. Confectioners sugar dusts Jungkook’s long-sleeved tee, the white color staining the dark fabric. You reach to pat his chest, ignoring the toneness that still remains from high school. 

“Alright, let’s ride,” you declare, pulling Jungkook up once you’re done eating. 

“Do we have to?” 

“What happened to the adrenaline junkie I once knew?” 

“He realized being an adrenaline junkie doesn’t make money and he should stay on the ground.” 

“Alright, Negative Nancy,” your reply has no bite to it, and suddenly you wished you invited Jimin or Seokjin before Jungkook. Jungkook may have the talent, but he certainly doesn’t have the attitude. You don’t even get why he’s still defensive, after all you thought he apologized in the beginning. It’s not like you’re the problem. 

“Gimmie your hand,” your thoughts cut out when Jungkook offers his large hand in front of yours, palm up. 

“Why?”

“C’mon,” he whines, settling for snatching your hand instead. His palms feel larger, rougher as they enclose your smaller hand. “Now hurry up and walk in front of me. I’m gonna take a picture.” 

You already have a feeling as to what this picture is going to look like, so you scrunch your nose. “That is so cheesy.” 

“It’s for the nostalgia factor, now hurry up and pretend we’re on a date.” 

You roll your eyes but relent, jogging a few steps ahead so you can get into character. This pose used to be a popular one, where the sweet boyfriend would be dragged around by the girlfriend’s hand, tugging him to wherever she wanted to go. It’s super cliche but if Jungkook figures it’ll fit your theme, you’ll do it. Eventually you forget that you’re holding his hand, and point ahead to some rides you want to try out. 

“Oh, Jungkook! Remember that one?” you point to a teacup ride, with guests spinning vigorously through their own seat. “Jimin got so sick he fell asleep in the car for an hour!” 

Jungkook doesn’t reply, so you turn around and face him. Click. Jungkook smirks at his little trick, which makes you rip your hand from his and walk further. 

“Hey, hey,” he chuckles, the first smile of the day. Food really does make him peaceful. “The shot looks good, you look good.” 

“Could’ve just asked me to turn around and pose,” you huff. 

“Then it would ruin the fun,” he replies, “now c’mon, let’s ride the teacups. For old time’s sake.” 

Ten minutes later and the both of you are soon regretting that decision. You’re once again slumped on the bench, this time unable to keep your head up so you rest it on Jungkook’s shoulder while he leans on your head. 

“Haven’t rode that since I was a teenager,” Jungkook moans, holding his stomach. “Remind me not to eat so fast before getting on that kind of ride.” 

You mirror his expression, feeling green. “Is this what late-adult life feels like?” 

“Yep,” Jungkook replies, unbeknownst of how shocked you are at how weak your body has become. “You wake up with back pain, pre-arthritis from all the typing you’ve done over the last decade, and a lot of stress. Definitely not the fantasy you’d imagine from your 20s.” 

“You think you’d be less stressed if you kept your lacrosse scholarship?” 

“Nah, I think I saved myself,” Jungkook shakes his head, “before I could be any more awful than I already was.” 

You refuse that notion, sending him a bitter smile. “Well, look at me. I became awful right after high school.” 

“I didn’t mean you—”

“I know,” you hold up a hand to stop him. The two of you follow a red path up the hill, leading to a simple cable car ride. It’s a slow travel ride, made to get from one side of the park to the other with a beautiful view over the lake. “But you see those tabloid articles. They must be true.” 

“I—I didn’t think they were all true,” Jungkook’s lying through his teeth to make you feel better, but you don’t care. “Why do you sound unsure?” 

You shrug, “Probably wasn’t sober for most of my bad decisions,” considering your friendship with Seokjin and his boisterous drinking attitude, you wouldn’t be surprised, “If they weren’t true, I believe Jimin and I would’ve stayed friends. I can’t imagine why I left my home like that. But I guess it doesn’t matter too much because I came back. And I mean, we’re here together doing work,” you gesture between the small space between each other, “I think that counts for something.”  

The two of you walk in silence for a bit, contemplating. The line to the cable car isn’t long but it’s slow, considering the cable only moves a couple meters a second. The take-off area is a risen slab of concrete, and the cars are continuously moving so you have to hop on one car as soon as another guest exits. 

There’s a little bit of space between it, a centimeter gap that could be nerve wracking if there’s no staff around. You think nothing of it as you fiddle on your phone, waiting for the staff member to let you and Jungkook in on the next car. 

Jungkook enters first, taking great care to cradle the camera in one hand so it doesn’t sway against the car. The car swings a little as well, and Jungkook holds out a hand for you to grab. 

Instead you focus on how the once bright glassy pink is sun-ravished, faded and rusting on the metal door flaps. The color is almost pearlescent, vastly different than the vivid color you saw two weeks ago. You almost want to reach out and touch it, wondering where that quality went. 

“Bun, be careful!” 

The tip of your heel nicks on the stepping stone, slipping like butter as you topple forward. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up, hauling you into the car just as the metal door locks into place. The hard plastic of the camera digs into your chest uncomfortably as you plop on top of Jungkook, between his legs as half his thighs rest against the uncomfortable seat. 

“Were you not watching where you were going?” Jungkook huffs, blowing his bangs over his forehead. 

Instead of an artful answer you blurt, “You, you called me Bun.” 

His eyes widen at your response, and his grip loosens around your body. His eyes dart anywhere but your face, his cheeks ruddied and stained coral as he moves to remove you from his body. “It was a slip of the tongue,” he coughs, turning on his camera and getting shots of the lake. 

You huff in response, sticking to your side of the carriage. “I missed it,” you murmur to the wind, although you make yourself loud enough for him to hear. 

You try to bury your sour expression in your sleeves, just to hide how absolutely childish you feel. You don’t even care that Jungkook is trying to take pictures of you looking out the view, only trying to eradicate the feelings that are still down deep in your blood. Even the twenty-seven year old Jungkook is charming, albeit in a completely different way. 

The grown, mature Jungkook toots to his own horn. He isn’t concerned about a team or an image, and gave it all up to pursue an art he loves. The lacrosse jerseys exchanged for bulky long sleeves, the sport for a camera, and a mask for his true image. 

“Let’s go,” Jungkook takes your hand again when the ride stops, not letting go until you’re on steady ground. You figure he must think you walk like a toddler barely on her first mile. 

Would Jungkook like you even as an adult? With all this money, this power and this confidence you envisioned as a seventeen-year-old, it still doesn’t feel enough for him. In fact, you feel like a sore thumb sticking out, decorated in silly rumors and expensive clothes that separate you far from your roots. 

“Hey,” Jungkook touches your arm, pointing to a basketball carnival game, “remember this one?” 

“Yeah,” forcing a smile, you follow him to the small crowd that starts to form around the basketball game. The baskets are a short distance from the player, but so high up that it’s hard to tell the shape of the hoop. “I tried to tell you that it was completely rigged. From an angle you can see it’s still oval-shaped.” 

“And I told you it didn’t matter if the hoop was an octagon, I’d get you that prize,” he jerks a thumb to the prize booth, where a blue Piplup plush sits proudly with all the other starter Pokemon. “And I did.” 

“It’s still in my room,” you reply proudly, even though Jungkook is acting almost immaturely smug. “I, I mean it’s still in my room in my parent’s house. It’s probably lonely because my parents have been on a cruise for almost two weeks.” 

He raises a brow, eyes drifting to the booth. “Should I win another one to keep your bed in the city warm?” 

“That sounded oddly sexual.” 

“You know what I mean,” and Jungkook’s rolling up his sleeves, handing you the camera. 

“Jungkook,” you whine when he pulls out a roll of bills from his pocket, as if he prepared for this moment, “Jungkook c’mon—I don’t need any stuffed animals. Ugh.” 

You swear that the majority of your day is spent watching Jungkook blow cash on a low-quality stuffed animal with packaging pellets for the inside. Turns out carnival technology has also enhanced over the years, and it takes both your whining and the clerk’s whining to stop Jungkook from blowing his entire wallet to get one basket in. Eventually the staff relents and lets Jungkook take a Piplup keychain instead, glumly handing it over to you. 

“I like this better,” you chirp, clipping the ring onto your car keys, “now I can bring Piplup everywhere.” 

A small, barely there smile appears on Jungkook’s face. 

The rest of the day melts away like that, and before you know it the sun is slipping into the horizon and you’re being dropped off at your apartment. Jungkook even insists to walk you to your door, because your prizes are heavy. (Yes, he went back for the oversized Piplup.) 

It’s all too familiar, the way the walk upstairs is achingly slow, as if the moment is stretching itself down the hallway. How Jungkook looks so prideful holding the fruits of his labor, following you with a tug of your hand because the prize is too big for Jungkook to see straight. 

At the same time it’s different. The way you wobble around the hallway because you’re a little tipsy from wine flights is noticeable, even cute. How easy it is to not feel nervous when you clutch at his hand. How you two look like a seasoned couple, coming home from an all-day date. 

It ends at the front door, and you crack it open so you can slip your prizes through the crack. 

“Thanks, Jungkook,” you hold up the SD card that held all the precious memories of this week. 

This is where you part ways. You’ll spend the rest of the night editing your presentation, while Jungkook promised to go to a bar with his friends. A little part of you hoped you’d be invited, but you knew that would be impractical considering you have work in the morning. 

“Break a leg,” he says, leaning on the balls of his feet with his hands in his pockets, “you’ll do great. You’ve always been meant to do great things.” 

The investment he lays on you is insurmountable, and you feel yourself flush with simultaneous excitement and anxiety. Unknowing how to calm your nerves, you give him a small “thank you” and put your hand on the knob to slip away. 

“Wait—” 

You blink, a deer in the headlights as Jungkook swoops down and kisses you. 

You’ve received kisses—kisses reserved for a twenty-seven year old, before. Seokjin is an eager lover, and you felt it that fateful morning and even during your photoshoot when he tried to be sneaky and pull you away. Fleeting bites, kisses to the neck that are wet and hot.

Jungkook’s kiss does not feel like that. It feels like home. It feels like coming home after a long day of work, wrapping yourself in an old afghan and a hot cup of tea. The feeling of hot laundry, fresh front the dryer and smelling of floral softener. It tastes like ten years lost in a void, returning to your senses and lighting you up.

He holds you as if you’ll disappear right in front of him. Large hands cup your face, like a precious thing he never wants to let go. Your hands can do nothing but grapple after his, nails digging into his skin. 

“Good night, Jungkook,” you send him a lovestruck smile, a puppy love face. 

“Good bye, Bun,” he replies simply, jogging down the hallway. 

Being twenty-seven starts to feel a little more like heaven. 

Jennie used to annoy you in high school, but now she just down right scares you. 

Her presentation is one straight out of a thriller, with red shadow lights and neon green splattered in the dark room. Her models are intense, her designs are beautiful but overwhelmingly chaotic, and the whole affair is rather grotesque. The headline Fashion Suicide glares at you in a morbid scarlet font. 

Hoseok sends her a tight-lipped smile, and presses a button on his desk. “I need my antacids, Krystal,” Hoseok deadpans. 

Nothing betrays Jennie’s wicked expression, in fact her smirk widens at Hoseok’s fear. 

You on the other hand, are cool as a cucumber when you walk up to the front of the conference room. In fact, you barely have to say anything as the presentation presents itself. Jungkook took the liberty of making a video compilation for you, one that they could use in YouTube and Instagram promotions. 

“This, is preserving our youth,” you declare proudly, letting the video play. The music that accompanies it is very coming-of-age, like a yearbook slideshow of all the pictures you took. Taehyung, Jimin and Seokjin hold their arms around each other in matching attire, looking like friends for life. There’s even some videos of you and Jungkook at the park, playfully arguing at each other. “I’m tired of seeing people who could care less about my life, who I can’t relate to.” 

“This issue is for the unsung heroes—my best friend’s older sibling, the captain of the football team, and the black sheep with a dream.” 

The video cuts to Jungkook, looking ultra cool at the camera while he’s dictating Seokjin’s moves. It was taken on your phone, and you’re zooming in on Jungkook’s serious face before it breaks into a laugh, eyes crinkling and bunny teeth showing at whatever stupid thing Seokjin said. 

And finally, the video fades into a mock cover. The five of you are beaming at the camera, cheek-to-cheek as you hold up the placard: Ego: Class of Youth. 

Needless to say, the issue is yours. 

You ignore Jennie’s icy stare as you leave the room to negotiate with the creative teams on a set schedule. However, it seems that you can’t get a bit of rest when Jennie waits for you in your office.

“Jennie, get off of my desk,” you frown, watching a coffin-tipped nail flicking against a photograph of you holding hands with Jungkook in the amusement park. It hangs on a corkboard, standing up with all the other ideas that you and Jungkook have spent the last week meticulously planning.The black enamel scratches at your smiling face. You are not having this, not after all your hard work and all the meetings that have just been planned. 

Her feet dangle in the air, kicking back and forth as she sings your name. “You’re still such a child,” she sighs dramatically. “In fact, I think your cute little-wittle idea would suit something more like Highlights or Disney Monthly.”

“You’re just upset I did better than you,” you cross your arms.

Jennie’s nail slices your visage in half. 

“You’re right,” Jennie turns a 180 and gives you a bright, candy-coated smile. “Your idea is so good, it doesn’t suit Ego. In fact, I’m sure the editors at Mono will pay a pretty penny.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Ugh, you are such a fake.” Jennie giggles, “now, did you send this idea to Namjoon yet? Their publishing date is two weeks before ours, so I’m sure they’re getting to work on this whole Throwback Thursday spread.” 

You can’t believe the words coming from Jennie’s mouth. Before all of this, just how awful of a person were you? How could you sabotage your company on the regular, just to get paid a little extra dough for a rival company? It makes you think about what could’ve possibly changed. Had leaving your friends without a care in the world made you into this lost adult, grappling at the seams for attention? In college, did Jennie coerce you into being manipulative and backstabbing, and because without Jimin and needing confidence in a friend, you reluctantly agreed?

The coffee from this morning starts to back up in your throat, but you immediately tamp it down. No, you can’t be pushed around like this. You can’t keep pushing people around. You don’t want a life like this, and if you ever return to your old life, you’ll damn make sure you’ll create a future without Jennie in the picture. 

“I’m not going to send anything to Mono, and I’ve already fessed up to Hoseok,” you lift your nose in the air, voice impeccably clear for someone who’s absolutely bluffing. But Jennie’s face hits the ground, immediately buying your lie. You suppose you did become a good actress after ten years. Maybe Seokjin taught you a few pointers. “So if I were you, I’d swallow your tongue before words get around. I worked it out but don’t be surprised if a pink slip comes your way.” 

Turns out that no matter what, high school never ends. There will always be backstabbers and freaks and geeks. A mean girl that you subconsciously try so hard to appease, a grade that defines your life, and drama up to the neck. 

“He doesn’t like you, y’know,” Jennie whispers, but the words are loud and clear and you know exactly who she’s talking about. “Never had, and never will.” 

“You’re wrong,” you hold your hands, clasping them together to keep them from trembling, “he likes me.” 

So you leave the office, determined to prove yourself. That kiss last night was nothing short of magical, and it took a lot of strength for you to not drive up to Jungkook’s apartment in the morning in the hopes for another one. You pick up a pizza near his place, filling it up with your favorite toppings on one half and his favorites on his. A bottle of peach champagne is nestled between your arms. In the bathroom while waiting for your pizza, you’ve wriggled out of your tight suit and into a blue hoodie and bicycle shorts. Tonight, you’re celebrating. 

You’re vibrating as you’re knocking eagerly on his front door, excited to tell him the news. You hear a rustle from the couch, and some blankets shifting about. He must’ve passed out after going to the bar, how cute. 

But when the door opens, the vision in front of you is far from cute.

A woman, with cat eyes and a slim figure, tilts her head at you. She’s dressed in a large white shirt, transparent enough to show her lacy black bra and panties. Bruises decorate her neck and thighs, like red and purple gems. Her long black hair swishes, slightly frizzy at the bottom. 

“Can I help you?” her voice is sultry and velvety. “Are you looking for JK?” 

It’s obvious as to what transpired. Jungkook dipped after kissing you and fucked another woman. A woman who’s the complete opposite of you. Someone flirty and sexy and willing to give Jungkook what he wants. You don’t know who you should be mad at. 

“Who’s at the door?” Jungkook calls from the inside, and you nearly drop your bottle at the sound of the rasp. They must’ve had a fuckfest if they’re just waking up now.

Your cheeks are burning. Your heart is aching. And the vile that bubbled up from Jennie’s tirade is now resurfacing. From the way your eyes are watering, you must look like a crybaby. 

“Say, JK,” the woman closes the frame tighter around her small head, preventing you from seeing inside and for Jungkook to peer, “do you have any pathetic ex-girlfriends?” 

“No,” comes the muffled reply, “come back to bed, it’s getting cold without you,” the pizza starts to burn uncomfortably against your grip, “why the random question?” 

“Dunno, seems like you’ve had at least one.” 

At that moment, your savior appears in grey jeans and a beige hoodie. Jimin walks up to the floor, clutching a bag of groceries. It’s not hard to put two and two together as he spots you looking incredibly small in front of the strange woman, trying so hard not to break down. 

Your tears finally fall when Jimin reaches you. “Wrong room,” you mutter under your breath, quickly following your old best friend when he shoves you in his apartment. 

No words need to be explained when Jimin leaves the groceries on the coffee table and he’s pulling you onto his lap. You clutch him like a koala, rubbing mascara and blush all over his clothes as you sob. He pats your back and soothes your hiccups by offering you a glass of water. The stages of your meltdowns are pretty cut and dry, even after ten years. He still encourages you to finish the whole glass. He makes sure you have something to eat. He cuts your pizza into little bite sized pieces and feeds you. He doesn’t pressure you to talk until you’re ready, although he has a hunch as to what’s going on. 

And when you talk, he doesn’t expect a firm, “Take me home,” from you. 

“O-okay,” Jimin agrees immediately, pulling you into a sitting position. “Uptown, right? We can call an Uber or something and order from a restaurant.” 

“No,” you reply firmly, “Home-home. I want to go back to my parent’s house.” 

“That’s fine too,” he squeezes your shoulder, accepting the fob you hold out to him, “it’ll take about an hour, but I think the drive will be nice.” 

So you two sneak off into the sunset, clutching twin slices of pizza as you roll away into your Tesla. Jimin is right, ten minutes into the drive and you’re soothed by his smooth driving and the scent of fried cheese and dough. Your friend has been calm all this time, so you figure this is the right time for him to pop off. Again, this is also part of your breakdown routine. 

“Say, does this thing do calls?” Jimin asks, fiddling with the settings on your steering wheel, “Tesla, call Jeon Jungkook.” 

“Jimin,” you say weakly, although the little malicious side of you wants to goad him on. You don’t bother to fight the best friend territorialism, you just watch as his hands clutch at the steering wheel as the speakers ring. 

Jungkook picks up on the second ring, “Hey!” he says brightly, and it makes your chest pang to know how oblivious he is, “how did the presentation go?” 

“Fuck you, Jungkook!” you cover your free hand on your ear at Jimin’s shrill yell, louder than the speakers that carry Jungkook’s voice. “Fuck you for breaking my best friend’s heart twice!” 

The silence is deafening. It’s scary, like you could slash a butter knife right through the tension. 

Jimin continues, “I can understand high school because you were a real doofus, but this! You fucking lead my best friend on, only to fuck another girl right under her nose! She came all the way to your apartment from a long-ass day at work to celebrate and you ruin that day! I thought you’ve grown for the better but turns out nothing has changed since prom night. You’re still the stupid, confused little boy that doesn’t want to admit how they really feel,” you gasp at the blow, watching Jimin’s gritted teeth as he zooms down the freeway on a mission. “Good fucking riddance, Jeon!” 

Jimin punches the “hang up” button. A couple seconds of heavy breathing, and he turns to you with a gentle smile. 

“So, you want to listen to Taylor Swift’s new album?” 

Your room is lost in time. The Hunger Games novels are stacked on your shelf, looking old and worn. A Glee poster hangs over your four-poster bed, the yellow and red faded and the corners hanging by a thread from the old tape. The sheets are a pale pink, ruffly and definitely not in style anymore. When you sit on it, it creaks uncomfortably. 

You hug yourself, tucking your knees in as Jimin marvels at the room with an equal amount of awe. 

“If you could, would you go back to high school?” Jimin asks, sitting at the edge of your bed. 

With a lazy shrug, you smile at your collection of polaroids that are hanging above your vanity. You’re still hurt, but the pain is no longer rolling in waves. “Maybe,” you reply, “probably would’ve taken you to Europe with me.” 

He chuckles, “Is that the only thing you would change?” 

“If I knew what I knew now?” you tilt your head, “I don’t know.” 

Jimin gets off your bed, pressing a kiss into your forehead. “I’m gonna raid the kitchen and see if we can make something for dinner, yeah? Since your parents are on vacation and your fridge is probably empty, don’t  judge me if there’s only Totino’s pizza rolls and nuggets in the freezer.” 

When Jimin leaves your room, you quietly close the door and lock it. You lean against the cracked wooden door, falling onto the carpet and letting the tears fall. Is this what the rest of your life is going to be like? Evading pain and working too hard and trying everyday to stay afloat? Is adult life always going to be this difficult?  

These past two weeks have been nothing short of a rollercoaster. Major highs and major lows, and after today you thought you reached the end of the ride. However, it’s looking like the ride has no destination in mind, rolling in waves and finding a new hill or loop to catch you off-guard. 

“Are you kidding—how did you know we were here?” Another corkscrew. 

“You’re a turtle on the road, Jimin. Now move out of the way.” 

Jungkook’s voice startles you, and you tense when you see the gold door knob jiggle. Of course as strong as Jimin is, he’s no match for Jungkook. You hear Jimin grumble to curse Jungkook out, and the sound of him stomping down the stairs. 

“Hey, open up. Please,” Jungkook’s voice is weak and strained, and you only hug yourself tighter as the knocks continue. “Or, don’t. It seems like you can listen to me perfectly from here. I can hear your breathing.” 

You don’t say a peep, preferring to let everything fizzle out. Hopefully Jungkook will give up, say a pathetic sorry and be on his merry way. You don’t know why he’s followed you all the way over here, why would he bother coming when the damage is already done. 

There’s a slide of fabric across wood, and you can feel the door shake against your back as Jungkook leans on his side out in the hallway. 

“Back in high school, Jennie proposed that I date you to get back at you for stealing Jennie’s sewing sample and getting the higher grade,” you close your eyes, letting the story unravel. “She wanted to build you up before breaking you down, and back then I was vulnerable and thrived on attention, so I thought nothing of it.” 

You hear a breathy exhale from his side, as if it pains him to continue, “But obviously, it wasn’t true and I only realized it until I was way too deep. I liked you, so much. Heck, I think I might’ve loved you. We were so wrapped up in this relationship I even convinced myself it was real, until Jennie said she’d crush you at prom night.

“I should’ve tried harder to convince us not to go. I should’ve told Jennie to fuck off. I should’ve come clean. I should’ve done something,” his fist bangs against your door, the vibrations of the impact thrumming in your back, “seeing you so beautiful in that dress all heartbroken because I didn’t act sooner. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Hearing him pour his heart out is like watching your memories in his shoes. The pieces find homes and paint a picture left unfinished. 

“And then when you showed up at my doorstep, I was so angry. I knew you felt it. But I wasn’t upset at you, I was upset at myself. I felt so fucking guilty. I hated how easy it was for you to let me back into your life. I hated how easy it was to fall for you all over again. I knew how much I didn’t deserve your forgiveness, but you gave it to me and I was too selfish to refuse. I had so much fun, the most fun I’ve had in awhile. 

“I’m sorry I kissed you. I didn’t intend for it to I just, I couldn’t help myself. And then I was so scared that I turned away and made the second biggest regret to date.

“But it proves that we’re not meant to be together. I don’t deserve you,” the last part is hushed, a nail in the coffin, “we can’t turn back the time, but if I could I would change it all. I would be by your side and make your world even better than it is right now. I’m sorry it’s too late.” 

You clutch your mouth, suppressing the cries that muffle through the door. You hear Jungkook get up from your old carpet, turn the other way and head downstairs. 

Your first love just closed the chapter for you. His words show how much he cared for you, but didn’t know how to express it. How immature he was, how he realized everything too late. And now, he wants to set you free. Even if it is a good thing, it still tears you to shreds. 

Moving to your vanity, you pull out the chair and lean your head on the table, eyes poking through your hair. You look awful. The skin under your waterline is puffy and your eyes are red and bloodshot. Your forearms feel greasy, and you lift them up to reveal glitter painting the entirety of your skin. Your eyes dart to the open glitter, the package that Jimin gifted to you that fateful prom night. The compact is broken in half and left on the table, probably a product of your younger cousins fiddling through your old room. 

Ignoring the sticky feeling, you let yourself continue to cry. You feel like you’re stuck in the bathroom of the prom venue, waiting for an opportunity to sneak out and go. 

But you want nothing more than to go back to that moment. As amazing as your twenty-seven year old life is, you’re not ready for it. You don’t want a life without Jungkook, or a life having to constantly catch up and mend your relationship with Jimin. You don’t want to be the backstabbing bitch that tips off other magazines, or the two-faced woman who messes around with others for the sake of pleasure.

You long to go back. You long to live and grow. To be seventeen and have time to grow in-between. 

When you lift your head from your vanity, you’re ten years younger.

You scream. 

Your parents dash to your room with a kitchen knife and a confused face. With a wary smile and a teary gaze you say that it’s only a pimple. Your mother giggles and drops the knife, hugging you and helping you conceal the invisible mark. The hug is so warm and so missed that you nearly sigh in content. You’ve missed them. 

It’s a little strange to think well beyond your years, your brain still reeling from the trip you’ve just had. Your hands smooth over your body, the previous curves and maturity hidden away in your skin. That’s okay, you don’t mind waiting anymore. There’s much more important things at hand. 

If Jungkook isn’t going to realize his mistakes until it’s too late, you have to speed up the process. 

Stealing your parent’s keys and hopping in your Accord, you drive off to Jungkook’s. Hair and makeup not done, and still in your plain shirt and jeans. An hour from now, Jungkook will text you saying his car is down and he’ll meet you at the venue. 

It’s still rush hour, so he doesn’t notice when you park a few houses down. He’s sitting on his front porch, looking out the road. There’s really nothing in front of him, he’s just staring aimlessly, probably nervous about what’s about to go down tonight. You suppress a sigh, engraving the vision to memory. He looks great in his fitted black suit and tie, a little silver pocket square on the breast to match your dress. 

He gets up quickly when he sees you, as if caught in the act. Staring at your plain clothes he asks, “Bun, why aren’t you dressed? Prom’s soon—”

“Jungkook, I want to break up.” 

You see it in his eyes. Vulnerability. No longer do you feel insecure, the future told you that Jungkook genuinely did care for you back then. Or in this case, right now. His usual cheery expression crumples at your feet, and his hands fall at his sides. It feels a little unfair, knowing that you have experience under your belt, and Jungkook’s experiencing these feelings for the first time, unprepared. 

“What?” he wilts, “why?” 

“I know about Jennie’s plan,” you say instantly, unfazed. You give him a tight-lipped smile when realization hits his face. “So I know this whole relationship is orchestrated. The sewing sample fiasco is wrong, obviously. But I’m not going to get mad at you, I know she played you as much as she played me,” you clasp the straps of your purse, stopping you from fidgeting, “we graduate in a few months anyway. We don’t have to see or talk about this ever again. You should go enjoy your prom night with your other friends.” 

The present-day Jungkook is still young and confused. He’s at a loss, looking like he’s on sensory overload as he absorbs all the information. You see his eyes flicker to where your Accord is parked, your prom dress hanging on one of the arm pulls. You never even pulled it out of the bag. 

“Here,” you pull his corsage from your purse, placing the white rose atop the porch. If you try to put it on him, you fear you may never leave. With a determined huff, you turn around in the direction of your car.

“Where are you going?” he asks, clutching the railing of his porch, “what about prom?” 

“I have other plans,” you shrug over your shoulder, “have a good night.” 

You don’t look back, although you feel Jungkook’s stare burning in your head. You take great care in going into drive and punching in a new destination in your clunky GPS. This time you have to do things one at a time, once you get your Tesla ten years from now, you’re sure this process will be much easier. 

Jimin’s family comes out of the airport, looking impeccable as always. Ten years younger, with puffy cherub cheeks and bright eyes. To your surprise (but also all things considered, it’s Jimin), your best friend comes out in a three-piece suit. It’s burgundy, and suits his dark hair well. He places his luggage into your car, hugs his family good-bye and waits for them to depart in their cab. 

“You are all dressed up, and for what,” you chuckle, driving out of the airport.

“Well, when you sent that voicemail that you’d be waiting for me, I changed in the bathroom,” Jimin quips, already fiddling with your radio to play some poppy overplayed music, “but why aren’t you dressed? I thought we were going to be fashionably late to prom. Spill.”

“Hm, let’s talk about it in the morning. I wanna enjoy my prom night,” and you reach over to ruffle Jimin’s soft black strands, “y’know, you’d look really sexy as a blond.” 

He pulls down your mirror, positioning it over his face. Pursing his plush lips, he tilts his head. “Yeah, maybe when I’m older,” he grins at his reflection, “so if we’re not going to prom, let’s go get pizza.” 

So the two of you get pizza. But not before you take your prom pictures. Your parents meet you at the park with their old digital camera, ready for your impromptu photoshoot. Jimin uses an old tarp to cover the car up while you change in the car, shimmying in your sparkly silver tulle dress. Your hair is held up and away from your face, looking clean enough to be presentable as you pose for the camera. The two of you pick yellow dandelions from the grass, matching flowers as last minute dates. Your parents coo and are happy for you, knowing that even if you don’t attend the actual dance, the pictures will last forever and you’ll smile at them for years. 

Eventually you tell Jimin about Jungkook and the whole fiasco (sans the ten year mental time jump.) The reaction is expected, Jimin says he wants to fuck Jungkook up. Surprisingly for him, he doesn’t have to do much to console you. In fact, you sip coolly from your smoothie and say Jungkook will probably let Jimin get a punch in even though Jungkook can bench press his tiny body in half. But you tell him you’re okay, and all you want to do is go home and binge watch. 

Jimin carries the pie in his lap while you pull up your driveway. The smell of toasty cheese and fresh dough fill your car. 

“I want to watch Sky City,” Jimin sing-songs, “Kim Seokjin is God’s gift!” 

You crinkle your nose, “He’s alright.” 

“What! You thought he was so hot like, last week.” 

“Things change.” 

Jimin makes it to your room first, saying he’ll take care of setting things up. He’ll probably steal all the available cushions and make a fort for himself while he puts a picnic blanket on the floor in front of your television. You can imagine him hogging all your stuffed animals, placing it on his side of the carpet while he rifles through your drawers so he can change out of his suit. 

Your parents tell you to take out the trash before you have fun tonight. Careful not to get your dress dirty, you hold it away from your body as you waddle out the front door. You make it two steps into the driveway before the soggy trash bag is whisked from your hands.

“I got it,” Jungkook says quietly, and it takes little to no effort for him to haul the large bag into the waiting trash can. His shoulders are slumped under his white button-up, his suit jacket probably stuffed somewhere in the back of the car. 

“Jungkook,” you reply, dumbfounded, “it’s only eight, prom isn’t even over yet.” 

“I know… but then I realized you weren’t gonna get your money’s worth if you didn’t go. I asked the waitress if she could get me a doggie bag for my date and,” he holds up a stapled bag, presumably the dinner that was supposed to be served, “it’s your favorite.” 

“Thank you,” you give him a small, grateful smile as you accept the bag. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.” 

He bites his lip, stuffing his hands in his dress pockets. “A-and you told me before you left that I should go spend prom night with my friends,” he ruffles his hair, blown out of the pomade and falling into his eyes, “and then I realized that you were right. Jennie and all those people out there aren’t really my friends. They like my rep and they like my attention, but they don’t like me.” 

You shake your head, “Jungkook, you’re very likable. Jennie and her group are just one bad bunch.” 

“But I don’t wanna be liked by my rep. I wanna be liked for the things I love,” he steps a hesitant step towards you, and he relaxes when he sees that you don’t recoil, “I haven’t told anyone this. But I want to drop that sports scholarship. I applied to an art school, and I got in.” 

Suppressing a grin with a bite of your lips, you cheer silently in your head. Things are changing. “I’m so happy for you, Jungkook. Congrats.” 

“And I’m sorry for all the fucked up things I did. Jennie may have manipulated me but I definitely was a big part of it,” Jungkook pulls the words out of the sky, finally having enough time to formulate an apology, “but please don’t doubt for a second that my feelings are fake. I really like you, and I wish we got to know each other under better circumstances.”

“I wish we could’ve,” you echo sadly. “But our futures—” 

“I don’t want to lose you.” 

“I liked you, so much. Heck, I think I might’ve loved you.”

You shake your head, frowning at his kicked puppy expression. “I’m considering a fashion school in Europe,” you reach for Jungkook’s hand, squeezing it. Letting him know that everything’s going to be okay. “You and Jimin can visit me during the breaks, Europe has some great spots to photograph.” 

Something in Jungkook’s gaze tells you that it’s not enough for him. He wants to be selfish and hold onto you tighter, but you know that’s not good for the both of you right now. “That’d be nice,” he says vaguely, giving you a pained smile. 

Jungkook rubs his thumb over your hand, relishing in the softness of your skin. “You look really pretty,” he says, looking forlornly over the dress. He can only imagine how ethereal you’d look under the fairy lights that decorated the venue, “I wish we could’ve had one dance.” 

You shrug, “The night’s still young,” you gesture to the space in the driveway, and the lights that overhead the garage. 

The slow Taylor Swift music that plays from his pocket is muffled, but it doesn’t deter either of you as he places his hands on your waist and you wrap his around his neck. You’re wearing your bunny house slippers and Jungkook’s neck is moist from his nervous sweats, but you know that this memory will be engraved in your brain for years to come. 

It feels good to know that from now on, you don’t have to be so concerned about the future now that you’ve had a taste of it. All you want now is to take it one day at a time. At this moment the, the only thing you want to do is focus on how you’re going to hold onto Jungkook for the last time. At least for now, who knows what will happen in the future. 

“I really want to kiss you, Bun,” he leans in, foreheads touching, “but I don’t deserve it.” 

“You’re right,” you tease, “you don’t.” 

He frowns playfully, “Ouch. But fair.” 

Yet you figure you’ve made enough headway these past few weeks, and you deserve to be a little selfish. One last kiss, you think to yourself. Your fingers flatten against the pressed material of his collar, meeting in the middle to clutch Jungkook’s slim black tie. Jungkook bites his lip, looking down at you for permission. With the tiniest of nods, you get on your tippy toe toes you lean forward and you can smell the apple cider lingering on his lips—

“Ohmygod—are you broken up or not!” both of you whip your heads up to see Jimin hanging over your open window, looking absolutely bored. His arms dangle over your sill, wearing a frayed high school jumper. “Either tell him to get lost or invite him over to watch television because I’m hungry!” 

You pull away from him fully, squeezing his biceps. “Want pizza?” 

He shakes his head, “I think it’s a trap. Jimin’s waiting for me to come up so he can rip my head off,” he gives a tentative wave to the second floor, but Jimin just scoffs and goes back inside, “but I’ll see you Monday.” 

“Okay. Good night, Kook.” 

“Good night, Bun.” 

Your heart pinches a little as you watch him drive away. Before, you knew what the end game was between you two. It didn’t end pretty. Now, you’re not so sure. At the very least, it isn’t ending on a sour note. 

Some time later.

“Your majesty,” you give her a practiced smile, taking careful measures not to brush the lady’s shoulders too hard in the fear she’ll whittle away, “emerald is an impeccable color on you.” 

The Queen of England (the McDuckin' Queen of England!) just laughs at you and waves you off. You can’t believe you’re photographing a real queen. This is like the childhood equivalent of meeting Malibu Barbie. You thank every single choice and mistake you’ve made in your entire life that has brought you up to this impeccable moment. She’s a vision, you could cry. In fact, you’ll cry later in the comfort of your hotel room. “Do you think the photographer will take long?” she asks, frowning, “I have drinks with my friends in an hour.” 

You smirk, pleased to know she’s still kicking it in her golden years. “Yeah, just so long as my husband doesn’t get distracted. Fifteen minutes, tops.” 

“I’m not distracted,” Jungkook huffs, pulling away from his tripod. He gives up on trying to stabilize the camera, instead preferring to go freehand for this one. He gives you an incredulous look, hands on his hips, “I have two queens in my viewfinder and I only got room for one. Get out of the shot, Bun.” 

With a playful roll of your eyes, you step away from the lady of the hour to let Jungkook do his thing. He’s right in his element, blurting choreographed poses and telling the lighting people to move at his beck and call to get the perfect angle. You stand a distance behind him, letting him take control. 

“I’m so hungry,” your whisper is low enough to blend between the jazz music, but loud enough for Jungkook’s ears to listen in, “please tell me you’re almost done.” 

“Oui, oui.” 

“Wrong language, Kook. Please don’t offend anyone,” and discreetly, you take one step closer in your Tory Burch flats, “did you get any candids of me and the Queen?” 

“Duh, Bun,” you can’t see his face but you know he’s grinning, “Jimin will faint.” 

"Oh, yes! Thank you, I love you," you gush, reaching over to discreetly pinch his butt. 

He shakes his head, looking over his shoulder to give you a brief smirk, "Show me how thankful you are tonight." 

So silly, you think. It's amazing how well you work together as two separate entities of a photoshoot yet share a brain cell in the presence of each other. In another world, Jungkook said if given the chance, he'd be by your side and make your world a better place. 

Ten years later, it's exactly that and more. 

[boldlyvoid]

6 gives me the moment I knew vibes can you make something Spencer related with that?

“I’d really love it if you came” with a twist ✨

when she invited, Jake, the cute agent from homeland to her birthday party, she really thought he'd show. he was very flirty, they had been on 2 dates, and he knew of her third date rule... her birthday party counted as a 3rd date, surely.

everyone was coming. she made sure to have the biggest party imaginable for turning 30, most women treated it like a cruse. but she was going to take the high road, following Jennifer Garners words, "thirty, flirty and thriving."

he never showed, she was getting ready to cut her cake and have coffee before everyone left for the night and he still wasn't there. she twisted her thumbs around each other as she stared at her lap, trying to occupy her mind while the rest of her friends had a great time together.

Spencer notices, he's been sitting beside her the whole night. waiting to give her the present he bought her when no one else was around, "hey, Y/N?"

his voice is low as he sits beside her but she smiles when she hears it, smiling as they make eye contact. "hey, are you having fun?"

"it's a blast, I wish you were having a good time," he whispers, not wanting the other profilers to attack.

she sighs, "it's fine, just someone I thought I cared about didn't show. I have everyone I'll ever need here with me."

Spencer smiles, taking an envelope out of his pocket and handing it to her, "happy birthday."

she opens it slowly, brow raised as she tries to imagine what it could be. they're tickets, she mentioned that the nutcracker was her favourite play as a little girl, saying she never got to see it live and really wanted to. "Perks of having a December birthday."

that was the moment she knew, Spencer reid was the one she could always count on, "there's 2 tickets?"

he nods, "I figured you want to go with Emily or Penelope."

"I'd really love it if you came?" she has all the courage in the world suddenly, watching his eyes light up with disbelief.

"I'd love to go with you."

"it's a date."

[biinkspacewp]

Arazo Leone

Basics

Full name: Arazo Leone

Alias’/Titles: Captain, Second in Command

Age: 38 in The Force Awakens

Sexual Orientation: Lesbian

Home Planet: Adeaara

Appearance

Species: Human

Skin Tone: Fair

Eye Color: Hazel

Hair Color: Dark Brown

Hairstyle: Typically loose and down, occasionally seen in a ponytail while training or in a half up braided style when going into battle

Makeup: Normally light and minimalistic, occasionally she’ll wear red lipstick

Height: 6’1

Notable Features: Silver tattoos

Style: Usually seen in her Adahmeerian armor with black painted accents and a black cape

Weapons: A set of tseltan daggers

Personality

General Personality Traits: Loyal, Hardworking, Stubborn, Blunt

Strengths: Manipulative, Can talk anyone into anything, Impervious to the force

Weaknesses: Overanalyzes everything, Her loyalty

Habits and Mannerisms: Follows instructions extremely literally, Tilts her head when she thinks

Secrets: What really happened the night her mother died

Regrets: Not taking Aeris and leaving Adeaara earlier

Skills and Talents: Hand to hand combat, Making battle plans, Reading people

Likes: Breaking people down, Finding loopholes to everything

Dislikes: The weak, Situations she can’t control

Sense of humor: Depends on who she’s talking to, if she knows you she’ll match your sense of humor

Guilty Pleasure: Calling in sick every once in a while with Phasma so they can spend more time together

Defining Moment: Leaving Adeaara and joining the First Order

Relationships

Friends: General Hux, Kylo Ren (eventually)

Family: Aeris Leone (younger sister), Srelba Leone (younger brother), Irella Terrik (mother), Aalto Leone (father)

Enemies: Irella Terrik (former), The Resistance

Lovers: Captain Phasma (eventually)

Relationship Status: Taken

Reputation: Flirty if she likes you, but can’t take a hint to save her life

Miscellaneous

Current Residence: Moves between multiple First Order starships and The Oasis

Collections: Any and all physical books she can get her hands on, especially books about history

Signature Quote: “Was I wrong?”

Song: Born for This by The Score

Backstory

Arazo had a wonderful early childhood. She grew up in an outstanding society with two loving parents and a bubbly baby brother. She did well at school and her parents were delighted when they found out she was destined to be an Adahmeer. She even excelled in her training. However, when she was only six, the Red War hit and everything changed.

Her baby brother, Srelba, died during the Red War. It hit her mother the hardest, Irella becoming cold and distant; her father trying his best to keep the family alive. Adeaara was now a much harsher place with imminent starvation and murderers taking the place of thriving cities filled with joyful citizens. Joining a large group of surviving Adahmeer’s due to her mother, Arazo was still able to grow up in a semi-safe environment and continue her training.

When she was eight, she and her father went on a scavenging trip to gather some smaller supplies for the group. While walking through the demolished city, they accidentally stumbled upon another group of scavengers. Her father told her to run back to the camp as fast as she could while he held them off. That was the last time Arazo ever saw her father.

Not long after the loss of her father, Arazo’s mother discovered she was pregnant. Four months later, Aeris was born. Arazo immediately fell head over heel in love with her, vowing to protect her from the evil in the world. She watched over Aeris whenever she could and played with her all the time as they got older. Arazo taught her everything she knew and was so excited when she learned that Aeris was going to be an Adahmeer just like her when they were older.

The older they got though, the worse their mother became. The abuse was mostly directed at Aeris for things far out of her control and occasionally at Arazo when she would push her mother too far over what she was doing. She was conflicted. She loved her mother, but she loved her sister too. However as they continued to grow, the more Arazo’s hatred for her mother grew too.

Arazo was thirty-one when Aeris can limping into her tent with a stab wound in her thigh and a broken hand. Arazo stormed her mother’s tent looking for an explaination, for something, over what her mother had done. Arazo had asked her sister to move in with her five years ago when she finally got her hands on her own tent and every day after, yet she always refused with the excuse that someone had to look after their mother. Arazo didn’t know however, that the abuse had gotten worse since she left.

It quickly turned into an argument with weapon drawn not long after. It was over almost as quick as it started, with one person victorious and the other lying cold on the ground. Arazo packed up everything her sister owned and moved it into her tent before packing up everything of her own. She promised Aeris that they could leave and find a better place to live, someplace they could thrive instead of barely survive. On her last scavenging trip, Arazo had found a nearly fully intact starship that, with a few repairs, she was sure she could get up and running in no time. But, Aeris refused and with the reassurance that she was safer now more than she ever was, she convinced Arazo to leave on her own after her wounds healed.

Arazo spent three years floating around the galaxy doing odd jobs for money and food. She’d done everything from waitressing to assisting bounty hunters on jobs when she heard that the First Order was recruiting. Craving some sort of stability and control ever her life, she contacted the First Order. Pushing heavily on the fact that she was Adahmeer and that Adahmeer were rare, she was able to talk herself into a higher up position training people how to fight. Arazo easily fit into the First Order, enjoying the amount of structure they had. She was happy she finally found her place in the galaxy.

Credit to the lovely @shenanigans-and-imagines for the amazing layout of this character sheet!

[ao3feed-petermj]

by seekrest, thesemovingparts

“I’m rewriting this script,” she grabs the stack of paper from the corner of her desk and lets it fall heavily on the surface between them, bent pages fluttering in the wind of it. “And I needed an excuse to completely gut it. Fully page one it.”

“Alright,” he leans back in his chair, legs and arms both crossed defensively. “Then gimme your pitch.”

“My pitch?”

“That’s a thing in this world, right?” he motions broadly at the room. “Pitch me.”

*

  OR: When indie film director Michelle Jones-Watson gets the chance to adapt beloved comic book hero Spider-Man into the next big summer blockbuster, she expects a lot of hurdles. She doesn’t, however, expect Spider-Man’s creator Peter Parker to be one of her greatest allies in vaulting them.

Words: 4583, Chapters: 1/8, Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M

Characters: Michelle Jones, Peter Parker, Ned Leeds, Shuri (Marvel), Liz Allan, Tony Stark, Miles Morales, Mary Jane Watson, Betty Brant

Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones & Shuri

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, this fic hasn't met canon in its life, Michelle Jones is a Little Shit, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Hollywood AU, (kind of), a meta analysis of fandom in the form of fic, (haha jk.... unless?), Ned Leeds holds the only braincell, BAMF MJ, Jewish Peter Parker, MJ is mj, it's just us and our whims now, artistic liberties taken with the way movies get made (except the editing), (thank you very much), Co-Workers to Friends to Lovers, Adult Peter Parker, (they're thirty flirty and thriving)