#I say as I pull out more red string for my conspiracy board

[djsherriff-responses]

Me realising that while we saw Pey’J get gunned down by Eden police officers while protecting other hybrids during the riot , Pey’J was never actually confirmed to have died from those bullets

Bullfrog was taken into custody before he could try helping Pey’J and Dolph was taken by Sarah into the wasteland. Meaning neither of them were there to see to Pey’J’s body, and that the two are assuming Pey’J is dead

Cody, Jade and Dolph all died because of the bombs inside their heads detonating. We also saw their bodies from the aftermath of that fact

Pey’J is the only one (besides Bullfrog) whose bomb didn’t detonate

We didn’t see what happened to Pey’J’s body

Shit

[bloodgulchblog]

I started reading Halo books after you recommended Legacy of Onyx to me not too long ago. I started with Fractures, which was a good first taste. Really liked Into the Fire. Next up was Legacy of Onyx, which was REALLY GOOD WOW and I chewed through the whole thing in two days. There's SO much left about Onyx, I hope we get more of it in novels or gameplay in the future. Now I'm onto Rubicon Protocol, which is pretty good so far (ch3) but not holding my attention as hard as Legacy of Onyx did

Ooh, Fractures is an interesting place to start imo. I'm glad you enjoyed it! It honestly gives you a lot of directions you could jump off in if you're looking for more book recs. I think getting into stuff with big lore like Halo is, unless you're doing something wild like just reading all of it like I did, mostly about figuring out what your handholds are and what you're interested in and where to go to follow those interests.

Rubicon Protocol is definitely a heavier, slower book than Legacy I think. It's a lot grimmer. I thought it was good overall but there were definitely points where I had to take a break because that gets dark. Really loved what the author did with Stone in particular, though.

If you are looking for more things to add to your list for later, based on what you've said here...

(Big post of tumblr user bloodgulchblog rambling about different Halo novels below the jump)

Ghosts of Onyx is the one I'm most confident about. I typically wouldn't recommend Ghosts as someone's first go at Eric Nylund's Halo novels because they're kind of a trilogy and having The Fall of Reach and First Strike read first makes it better, but if you had a good time diving right in the deep end at Fractures I think you'll be completely fine. (...The other two have Master Chief though and he's my special guy.)

Anyway, the reason I'd say Ghosts of Onyx is the stories you've already read are very heavy on the Spartan-IIIs, and that one is their origin story. You've met Tom-B292 and Lucy-B091 twice, you know Chief Mendez, you've seen the Ferrets, you've seen what Onyx turns into. Then if you like what Nylund was doing, Ghosts has you meet the surviving Spartan-IIs and Halsey and that's a big handhold to dig back further toward tFoR and FS if you feel like it.

Into the Fire is also an easy one to pull a rec off of, because it's actually the first section of a novella called Smoke and Shadow about Rion Forge. I liked it! It's short, but it was refreshing to see a book completely focused on civilian characters (...which is another reason that Legacy was fun for me.) It's also the start of a trilogy. The other two books are Renegades and Point of Light, both of those are full length and are circling back to Forerunner lore that hadn't been touched on in a while.

...Actually, speaking of Forerunners, man I feel like it has to have been wild to go right off with Promises to Keep without the context of the Forerunner trilogy. If you're curious based on that, try Cryptum. The Forerunner Trilogy is some true old-fashioned world-buildy weird scifi, Greg Bear was a master, and Cryptum is pretty accessible because it's about Bornstellar the idiot Forerunner teenager who knows just as little about what's going on as you do.

If you like it and go forward there, I'd say the middle book, Primordium, is much slower paced because it's focused on one guy (Chakas) in particular walking around with some other characters on a spooky Halo, but the third book Silentium is this great apocalyptic log of the whole of Forerunner civilization coming the fuck apart and the Didact losing his goddamn mind. 10/10

....What else.

Oh fuck, I know what else.

Alright, so. I don't like the Kilo Five trilogy, which is the series Glasslands is the first book of. The writing is engaging, but it has... it's hard to say it in a short way without starting to pull out my red string conspiracy board of insanity live on camera, but 1) this book in particular severely mishandles the characters from Ghosts of Onyx and 2) it has this really uncomfortable vibe about ONI and "necessary evil" that I think it doesn't quite stick it in a way I'm cool with. tl;dr the fictional characters don't need to be good people doing good things and fiction isn't real and the author doesn't have to come out on stage and tell you BAD PEOPLE DOING BAD THINGS IS BAD in order for a book to be okay, but I just do not trust the way this author handles ONI for real-world reasons that have a lot to do with real-world military imperialism.

...Also if you disagree with her on anything, especially Halsey, prepare to get hit with a sledgehammer telling you that you shouldn't be having fun. But I'll try to be the bigger person here.

The main reason I would say Glasslands at all is mostly Jul 'Mdama, who really does not get any emotional weight anywhere else in Halo. He's just kind of a ragdoll they throw around to have a bad guy in Spartan Ops and the Escalation comics until killing him off in the first 2 seconds of Halo 5. But if you cared about his sons in Legacy, I think you will find the origin story of Jul and how he wound up in an extremist Sangheili sect (and how badly the UNSC treated him as a POW) interesting. (He's also in The Thursday War, which gets him to where he is when he goes to find the Didact. Up to you if you decide to continue for that.)

It also deals with getting characters out of the dyson sphere at Onyx right after that's been discovered. I'd say if you're interested in this one, definitely read Ghosts of Onyx first.

........OKAY I THINK THAT'S EVERYTH-

This is just to say that if you really liked the Halo But It's High School vibe of Legacy of Onyx, you might enjoy the actual Halo YA novel Battle Born where four scared high school kids and one (1) wounded Spartan-III who's only a little older them try to rescue a whole town from the Covenant. It's slow at the start, but it's short and I had a lot of fun.

DONE FOR REAL THIS TIME THANKS FOR READING HAVE FUN OUT THERE BYYYYYYE

[direwombat]

tagged by @natesofrellis​ and @socially-awkward-skeleton​

and taggin forward: @thomrainer​​, @strangefable​​, @purplehairsecretlair​​, @adelaidedrubman​​, @strafethesesinners​​, @confidentandgood​​, @noetikat​​, @aceghosts​​, @funkypoacher​​, @harmonyowl​​, @deputyash​​, @sstewyhosseini​​, and anyone else who wants to share some of their wips before the ball drops on 2023!

the writing has been slow this uh...whole month...but here’s a rough start of syb’s canonical storyline! 

[Sybille] stares at the tangled mess of a conspiracy that she supposes may not be so conspiratorial after the goddamned bitch of a night she just had. Newspaper clippings, photographs, scrawled notes that she might have once disregarded as the rambling of a madman all pinned up on a cork-board, all connected by red string. Somehow, Dutch had managed to tie together events, found the common threads that ultimately led back to the Seeds. Succeeded in piecing the puzzle together where the Sheriff’s Department had failed.

The signs were right there, staring them right in the face. Why hadn’t they acted sooner?

“Christ,” she sighs. Dutch comes to stand next to her, handing her a cup of coffee, which she gratefully takes. The ceramic mug is the first warm thing she’s felt since being pulled out of the river. She cradles it in her hands, shivering as the heat slowly works its way from her fingers to the rest of her body. “How did we miss all this?”

“Peggies ain’t exactly trusting people,” Dutch shrugs. “They kept most of this under wraps for years. They were careful. Moved slow until suddenly they metastasized like a fuckin’ cancer. And now that this “Reaping” as Joseph calls it has started, shit’s only gonna get worse.”

Sybille’s jaw clenches, not taking her eyes off the pictures of the family who fucked the whole county. “Let me guess: you want me to be the surgeon in this metaphor.”

“We need as many able-bodied people as we can if we want to stand a chance against the Cult. Being a good shot is a bonus.”

She turns her head to look at him, her eyes narrowed. “You need a soldier,” she says plainly. She’s more than familiar with the speeches. So many commanding officers have touted the need to band together against a common enemy -- protect your country -- when what they really mean is that she and her brothers and sisters in arms need to kill so other people don’t need to. She’s made her peace with the grim reality of the blood on her hands. There’s no need to pussyfoot around it. 

She’s being asked to kill again. The war she had been so gracelessly kicked out of seems to have followed her back home. And not in the way it does most who make it out. 

Dutch gives her a sympathetic smile. She may not be wearing the fatigues anymore, but the look of a soldier is unmistakable. She carries it with her wherever she goes. It’s in the set of her jaw and square of her shoulders. It’s in the way she needs to have a visual on all entrance and egress points and how her eyes instinctively track every subtle movement, even the ones that aren’t really there.

“We need more than that, Dep,” Dutch says. “We need a leader.”

She really shouldn’t laugh, but the irony is nigh unbearable. Promoted to Staff Sergeant only to be sent home and find herself as the Junior Deputy. The Rookie. “Your confidence in me, while deeply unfounded, is appreciated,” she says. “But all I want is to find my brother.”

Please. Please let Augustine be alright.

“Then odds are he’s caught in this shit too.” Dutch sighs. “Look, I ain’t gonna make you do anything you don’t want to, but I think you know that your best chance at finding your brother is by helping the people of the county. Someone’s bound to have seen him.”

She turns back to the conspiracy board and drinks her coffee. Black and scalding, just how she likes it. Her eyes track the map underneath the mess of papers and photos, landing on the Whitetail Park’s Ranger’s Station. It’s where her brother was on duty last night. Hopefully he and his coworkers were able to pull together and hold their position. She knows he’s armed, at the very least, but guns meant to frighten off bears won’t mean shit against a fucking army.

Goddammit. Dutch is right, isn’t he?  

She sighs and gives him an appraising look. Prepper-type like him must have some weapons stashed somewhere in his bunker. Some of them might even be legally obtained. Not that it matters now. “I’m gonna need a gun.”

[jingerhead]

Hi,.....if you don't mind me asking, can I ask your top 5 (or top 3) favorite characters from AFTG? And why do you love them? And your top 5 favorite moments from the series? Sorry if you've answered this question before....Thanks....

Hey lovely! I think I did answer this a long time ago but I don't mind answering again. So here are my favorite foxes in no particular order! I feel like I rambled a bit when talking about them so apologies for that.

Neil -

I really love Neil's character for many reasons, but I think the reason I love his character the most is because of the unconscious character development he goes through. To be honest, I feel like during the events of the series he didn't really notice it as it gradually occurred, but instead all at once. His goal going from survival despite his tiredness of it that leads him to accepting the offer to play exy to wanting to stay Neil Josten, the person who somehow got friends and a found family and people who notice and care about him is so good to me.

I also really love the complexities of his character for that reason as well, especially when we get to the Baltimore scene. Him deciding to let go of Neil Josten so that 'Neil' wouldn't have to experience the horrors but instead for 'Nathaniel' to face the fate he always knew was coming is bittersweet and hurts my heart. Everything about his personality is so interesting to me and honestly I feel like I could write an essay on it alone. I have many more reasons why I love Neil but this post would be way too long if I did PF so I'll leave it at this for now.

Andrew -

Andrew's entire character is just fascinating to me. There's bits and pieces of him I can pull out and relate to but there's others that are so far from myself I'm intrigued by it. Every bit of his backstory and the reasons why he does the things he does are so interesting. He's just such an interesting character to me that I still find new things about that make me freak out over.

To be honest, I think the reason why I love his character so much is because there's just so much in it. I feel like that red string conspiracy board meme when I dive into his character. From a writing perspective it's just incredible to me, because you can tell so clearly that Nora poured so much into him it's insane. I could write an essay about his character as well like I'm not sure what else to say other than I just love every aspect of his character.

Aaron -

Both the Minyard twins are just so interesting to me and honestly I think that Aaron has just as many complexities as his brother does character-wise. There are specific reasons why he makes the decisions he makes, behind his emotions and feelings, and the relationships he makes. I think that one of the biggest reasons why I like Aaron's character so much is because, as much as he can't see it, both him and his brother are completely ruled by their emotions. They feel SO MUCH. Aaron's anger and persistence can blind him, he's spiteful, he's hurt and healing but he's also happy and loving. There's just so much to him and his backstory and yeah I get emotional over Aaron Minyard.

Favorite moments from the series -

This is a way harder question to ask pf. In no particular order, here are my favorite moments from the series:

The 'thank you, you were amazing' scene and moments after, right when Neil got kidnapped

The scene when Neil picked the lock to the monsters' dorm, yelled at Kevin in French, ran for his life and then Kevin choked him in the middle of the hallway

The scene where Andrew gets a call from Higgins, hangs up, then answers the return call and says he didn't hang up

"Another bit of unexpected honesty"

The Riko Roast™

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Crimson Ties (Bela Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 1

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language and mild medical drama Warnings: Brief depictions of medical treatments for blood loss and its symptoms Genre: Hurt + comfort Summary: Bela has always wondered who her soulmate was, the person she was connected to by red string. When she finally meets them, she's devastated to find them hanging in her basement, being drained of blood. But her soulmate won't die- not if she can do something about it. Notes: Soulmate AU in which people have a red thread tied to their left ring finger (or elsewhere if missing the finger/hand), which connects to their soulmate. By default the string is taut/tight, only getting loose when the pair is relatively close to each other.

1: Stem The Flow

How long had she waited for this day? How long had Bela monitored the red string tied to her hand, waiting for it to be anything other than taut? A decade, at the least, if not two or more. For so long she had dreamt of her soulmate, albeit discreetly, wondering about every facet of their being. Entire days had been spent imagining them, and how they would come into her life. Sometimes, on those days, she would gently tug her end of the thread. Every single time, without fail, her soulmate had returned the motion. It warmed her heart more than she’d ever admit, to know that her excitement was not one-sided.

At times, it did worry her, the feelings in her chest reminding her of her youngest sister. Daniela was obsessed with love, dangerously so, to the point of being downright delusional. More than once her “affections” had gotten their family into some sort of trouble. No matter how mature Bela considered herself to be, there was a part of her that worried about repeating her sister’s mistakes. What if her excitement about her partner led her to overlook something crucial? What if the person in question posed a threat to her family? How easy would it be, then, for her to cut them off?...

Today, perhaps, she would find out.

The sun had set over the Romanian landscape, and with the moon rose the Dimitrescu household. First out of bed, as always, Bela wasted no time in getting dressed. Hazy visions of her fading dreams clouded her mind, tugging on her thoughts as always. Most days they felt more like memories than anything else. Today, they are quieter than usual, easily fading into the background. When the last traces of her grogginess disperse, Bela finds herself glancing at her left hand. It’s a daily habit, although discreet, that always leaves her with bittersweet feelings.

“Wait…” Bela whispered, as her eyes took in the unexpected sight: The red string of fate, tied to her left ring finger, loose as can be. It trails to the ground, coiled a single time, before heading underneath her door. “Am I dreaming?” She does not bother to pinch herself to check. Instead she practically jumps into her shoes, dashing out of her room with unfamiliar glee. Maidens in the hallways have to leap aside to avoid her, but she does not care, for once ignoring the standards her mother had instilled in her. If her sisters could be chaotic, we couldn’t she?

So she follows the thread, eagerly, without even wondering why it was so loose. No, she didn’t think about the implications of the situation. In her mind, it did not matter why her soulmate was finally within her reach, it simply mattered that they were. Soon enough they would be in her arms, safe, with nothing else to bother them. And then she’d be happy, finally having someone she was on equal terms with. Finally having someone to confide in, to cherish, to whisper sweet nothings to in the dead of the night.

She doesn’t hesitate until she finds the string wrapped around the door to the basement. At last the signs click together in her mind, like a conspiracy board bound with crimson ties. Instantly panic replaces whatever excitement she had been feeling. Then she’s abandoning all sense of caution, throwing open the door and rushing forward, dispersing into a swarm to cover more ground. Even if she could no longer see the thread in this form, she was certain that she’d know exactly who her soulmate was when she saw them.

And, well, she does. Something calls her to the far corner of the main room, where a body was suspended from the ceiling by its hands. An all-too-familiar needle was sticking out of the person’s arm, leading down to a large glass container, which was slowly filling with blood. The scent made Bela’s nostrils flare, and her eyes go wide, but she did her best to fight against her instincts. Quickly she gets to her knees, examining the jar to see how full it was. Most of the measurement lines were faded, having been worn out over time, making it harder to estimate the volume. In the end, Bela guessed that the container could fit just over six liters inside. Which meant that the person had lost close to… two and a half. That was bad- behind bad, really. Horrible, actually. Immediately life threatening to the point of having been life threatening before Bela had even woken up.

“Don’t die on me, please,” she half cried half shouted, jumping into action as best as she knew how. Not even bothering to turn the nozzle on the device, she pulls the needle out of her soulmate’s arm, cursing when more blood rushes out of the hole. Then she’s applying pressure, hard as she can, beyond glad that they weren’t awake for this. One hand goes to tear a piece of fabric off of their shirt. Hopefully they wouldn’t mind, all things considered. Next, Bela ties the cloth around the collection point, making less of a tourniquet and more of a generic bandage. “Shit, you need a transfusion, don’t you?... Fuck, fuck, what’s your blood type?”

Knowing that she wouldn’t be getting a verbal answer any time soon, Bela settled for dipping a finger into the jar, bringing it to her lips, and licking. The difference in taste among blood types was subtle, but she was nothing if not a professional at this point. Still, the type is not immediately clear to her, and she knows that she might have to go around licking more blood from other prisoners. Unless… could someone receive a transfusion of their own blood? Such a thing had never happened at the castle before, but there was a first time for everything.

“Hold on, I’ll figure this out, somehow, I promise,” Bela said, gently taking her patient’s hand in her own. Taking your hand.

When you wake, you find yourself among the softest sheets you have ever felt, as if laying on clouds themselves. But your vision is blurred, and your head is besieged by waves of pain. A whimper makes its way past your lips. For a moment all you can do is tense up, unsure of any detail of your situation, unable to discern anything around you. Then you feel a hand on your own, squeezing gently. Something about it sends a rush of comfort throughout your entire body. Still, you are more confused than anything, and you find yourself trying to sit up out of instinct.

Without warning the hand lets you go, only for the owner to shift their weight, climbing on top of you in an instant. They’re holding you down, saying words that don’t quite reach your ears. For how light they are, they manage to put an impressive amount of pressure on you, easily rendering you immobile. Unfortunately, this position does little to ease your anxiety. The last thing you could remember was a very, very tall lady sticking a needle in your arm with a cruel laugh. Based on how you felt, there was still a needle in your arm. But you had been standing, or hanging, before, and now you were on your back.

“Whathe… wha the ‘ell… can’t 'hink,” you muttered, stumbling over your own tongue. Whoever sits on top of you tries to comfort you, running a hand through your hair. “Who are you?” You asked, even though you couldn’t understand a word this person said. Their voice might as well have been in another language, with the way your addled brain processed it. Had you lost too much blood? Or maybe you had a concussion? “I just. I just wanted to meet them. Please, I jus… I just wanna see my soulmate.”

Again, you cannot understand what the person says in response, but they finally seem to understand this. One of their hands reaches out and grabs your left one, slowly tapping your fingers, one by one. When they reach your ring finger, they pause, gently holding it. For a few moments you’re left even more confused. Then, with a surge of warmth in your chest, the dots are connected. Whoever is with you quietly grabs the thread attached to your finger, before tugging gently. In order for them to do that… well, there was only one explanation. They were your soulmate. They were the one you had gone to this accursed castle to meet. Somehow they had saved you, and everything was finally looking up.

Mind clearing slowly, you’re finally able to understand something they- or she, as far as you can tell- say.

“Rest now, my beloved. You are safe in my care, this I promise.”

[the-official-account]

A Dump of my last pre-s2 theories

(and probably my last unqueued post for the day goddamn.)

Originally written yesterday. Edits day of posting. This post builds of evidence not yet presented in cannon but that is public to build the theory. If you consider that spoilers, dni. But here’s the tea:

On june 6th 2022 I sent this doodle to the discord

[ID: a simple, scribbled ink four panel comic showing a person with a short afro working on a laptop and slowly leaning back in their chair, silently, for three panels as the shot slowly zooms on their face which lookis progressively more worried. The last panel shows a close up of their face as they say “I’m worried about Elio.]

in hindsight I don’t know why i had to draw it out but i did? Alongside this I sent the messages

“Part of me wants la catrina to be undeniably good so bad but the more I think about the "nobody tells you what possession feels like" bit from episode one the more nervous i get and then listening to the season two trailer MMMMMMMM me, knowing he's not gonna be okay: I hope he's okay”

to which samy reacted with a single server emoji of that dude smoking and sighing and i have thought about that fucking reaction EVERY DAY SINCE.

But the REAL kicker? this post

[ID: a red blurry zoom in of the words “elio in season 2″]

IT SAYS ELIO HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH DIFFERENT VERSIONS OF GODS BEINGS PRAYED TO IN SEASON TWO. WHICH. WHAT THE FUCK? AS FAR AS WE FUCKING KNOW, EVERY OTHER PERSON WHO ORIGINALLY PRAYED TO LA CATRINA IS DEAD.

[ID: a meme reaction of a guy pointing to a red stringed, paper covered cork board, explaining a conspiracy.]

Anyways. Here’s where i start copying a lot from the discord so it’s more me being weird and less eloquent essay format.

La Catrina's WHOLE DEAL is that she's a blend between Christian and Nahuatl religion. And GUESS WHAT? THE SHORT STORY CONFIRMS THAT THE SAME IS TRUE ABOUT TALIA And the way the baron and la Catrina dance together? And their deeply worrying plan im the final trailer????? I dont have answers but I do have fear .

What does it meeeeean.........I mean clearly if Leo can be an angel while being anti crusade hope isn't lost but......okay this is a stretch but I wonder if there are crusade-approved....is missionaries the word? Like folks with the crusade, who's whole role in the system is to pray to Christian assimilated versions of dangerous gods to overpower past believers and try to control them. It's a STRETCH. But ??????

Shinji's Shinigami man fucker be stable. Shinji if it comes down to it pleeease pull through.

The Good...ish? news is that though the clip about Talia wanting to be a stripper instead of having to kill god (the funniest thing to say but queen shit) she says she HAS to kill god. Not HAD. So. Uhm. Based on structure shit, and stuff Samy mentioned I can't cite rn (understand that I am very tired and most of these rants happen in this same situation) about the show probably being about 3 seasons I think there's a pretty high chance that end of season 2 brings us up to speed with the narration timeline, because that's just a great opportunity there.

Which means that what I mentioned before about Shinji feeling unsafe mentioning where his family is still has a chance to come to change, so yay good. Elio refers to himself as the bane of crusaders or something along those lines, which means that BEFORE he fights god he's still doing pretty well so, hey, he probably won't get zalien god sucked again. Good, cool, chill.

Downside being we can't be absolutely sure if they live through the whole series but HAHAHA HEYYYY ITS FINE

I'm so mad cause I know there are so many details I'm missing that would make me actually chew on wood furniture as much as I say that like for real.  I might speed read the transcripts tomorrow [im not gonna so that asjdlfsfasd im tired] which it probably the worst way to consume this show but I have no defense. But the purpose of the recordings though it so help the next generation basically.

They're for preservation, I don't know how they phrased it exactly (sorry but you haven't seen my cry about the internet archive and I'm not gonna get started about the internet archive because it brings me to tears everytime but that's to say wow preservation is a subject and theme that HITS) but it could, alternatively, be very likely that the show recorded before finally preparations to fight TBMINTS

Which, you know, from a writing perspective there really are those two choices. Let the audience know there is a major format-shifting change end of season 2 to build anticipation for the final season OR save that getting up to speed but until the last few episodes of season 3 because a long term formatting change might annoy some audience members. There's also the idea that you can get up to speed, have daily/more recent audio-diary-like things, and then do a format switch end of season 3

We've got to find out about them fighting god somehow, and I don't know if the current format fits that whole deal? Maybe it could, I’d love to see it if it did, but I think the chances for a switch are high and what that says about the pacing of the show has some effect on how sure I am that my faves are gonna live ngl.

Like if you wait til the last few episodes a reflective on the noble deaths of the big 3 would work pretty well and yes it would be a wonderful story if it went that way I have full faith, but I also don't WANT it yk?

But I do not see all the cogs I am a poor fic writer leaning up a cypress tree etc.

[Here, a brief discussion on themes of cultural preservation and how they’re often recorded in real life]

Which HITS with elio especially. And also talia having read that short story. They had parallels but now they have PARALLELS. I just am literally so scared for elio next season though. And Talia by parralell extension but also cause I think Samy mentioned giving more into her deal s2 in the q&a? But less like SCARED scared.

Okay wait hello this is very  but IS it a stretch to say there may be legions of believer’s tainting how the god’s menifest? Like it's a stretch if you're assuming these people are AWARE of their roles in the system. That it's an intentional force by each individual directed at helping the crusade

BUUUUUUT TBMINTS runs on media. He run on major movies. If I was the god of a massive, relatively culturally cohesive continent (north America in comparison to, like, Asia, has very few thriving cultures, the colonialism will do that to you) and I was created by, and therefore knew how to leverage, media to harness belief to get more power from humans, like the next step would very obviously be to manufacture more media to help reach my goals.

And if I was manufacturing media to help me goals with a very large, organized force that surely has some sort of research division because what is marketing if not research but evil, I would totally say to myself

Hey!

I can control other gods by controlling the perspectives of their believers!

Hey! I can make people believers and shape their beliefs with media!

Hey! Why not send out various targeted feeds in the news and in pop culture funded by my massive organized theocracy showing the most powerful of my enemies as fitting more cleanly into the idea of good and evil that benefits me, both so that the I convince the subjects of my dominion their is no other alternative than the way I rule and also to hinder the other gods by making them more wreckless and more violent in ways that do not help their ultimate goals and create a cycle of demonizing them in the eyes of the masses? Literally what is stopping me from doing that?

NOTHING.

[Edit: There’s some evidence to by found maybe in that Elio who grew up in the americas had no fucking clue about the governments of europe and japan until he was told. Smells like a propaganda machine to me.]

And if it wasn't TBMINTS plotting himself he's got, like, at least a million bootlickers one of them has gotta be a mastermind with how much holy steroids he pumps into them. 

And like. The show's been...well it hasn't defined belief yet, which is really what leaves room for this theory.

Marcus didnt believe in lady luck in the same way elio believed in La Catrina (shrouding themselves in dark robes and praying In basements "it was all very dramatic") he just saw her once and just kinda lived his life knowing that. It only came into play much later when he needed to confront it.

Witches are just assured of themselves and their power. That's a background belief they don't pray to themselves they don't actively maintain that.

And Samar's whole deal?

My point is with the breadth of diversity in what "belief" is in the show and how it powers gods there's definitely space for this crackpot theory still (watch that change as soon as this ep drops shfskhslss) [edit: VINDICATION! you cant call me wrong yet] but if I get even one thing right I'm gonna be elated.

But god also?? Like I feel like we're lead to believe fighting TBMINTS is going to be a physical thing. The trio's growing strengths are very physically centered. But how do you kill a god REALLY? With as many followers as he has even if you somehow slew him, what stops TBMINTS from immediately being reborn? His power  comes from the cultural eradication of nonbelievers, and as Leo's sympathetic example could be taken to hint at: you really just can't kill all those people. Many of them are just ...people. not crusaders.

SOOOOOOOOO IN THAT CASE. If you're fighting a god of the media in a world where where all power is based on popular belief and perception is not the best counterattack to create your own media? Physical aptitude keeps them alive, it wins the small battles, but it hearts and minds that win the war

WHAT IF THE REAL UNIMAGINABLY POWERFUL WEAPON WAS THE PODCAST WE'RE LISTENING TO ALL ALONG?!?!?!!?!

[swarmkeepers]

riz & gorgug for #5! ✨

5. heard you tell the same story multiple times but doesn’t point it out to you when you excitedly bring it up to them again + riz & gorgug (prompts linked here)

(starting immediately post-fhsy, and a little more angsty than the other prompt fills so far because it deals with some of the aftermath of spring break. sometimes friendship is late nights and brownie recipes and old stories.)

There are forty minutes left until Elmville when Riz digs his claws into the headrest of the passenger’s seat and clambers over the seat backs to sit shotgun in the Hangvan. 

Everyone else is asleep, or as Riz suspects in Tracker’s case as she stays oddly still as a human pillow for Kristen in the backseat, at least pretending to. But Riz is quest-restless even though they’re heading home, and Gorgug’s awake because he’s driving, and both of their darkvision light up the street ahead for them. 

Gorgug doesn’t look surprised when Riz lands in the seat next to him. Of course. Because his whole party knows that Riz doesn’t sleep, or at least has to be told to, or has to know that there are hit points to be regenerated and a fight to be alert for the next day. 

Streetlights speed by and Gorgug brings the van to a smooth stop at a light, accelerating smoothly up afterwards to not jostle anyone in the backseat. He’s practiced, easy, calm. Meanwhile, Riz’s thoughts are a messy turbulent maelstrom. He can’t sleep, and after everything in the Nightmare Forest if he never saw a bed again it’d be too soon. But, forget sleep, his brain isn’t even letting him relax right now, and Riz is struggling to figure out the questions that are on the tip of his tongue. His fingers itch for a ball of red string, trying to figure out why he wanted to be up here with the passenger seat and the windshield and Gorgug.

“What’s being a barbarian like?” he asks quietly, and Gorgug doesn’t exactly startle but does tip his head to the side curiously. 

“Can I ask why?” 

“I’m—angry,” Riz says, surprising himself, but it feels true enough. “I killed Kalina, but she said she was with me my whole life. And I hate that.” He wants to hiss, to bare his teeth and make the hair on the back of his neck stand up, but it’s not Gorgug he’s mad at. “Sometimes I wonder if I should use that to. Hit things.” 

“Okay,” Gorgug says. 

“And you—you know about that. About being angry, and not being. As comfortable. Or at least you’ve said stuff like that.” Riz picks at his long fingernails, pretending to be nonchalant and not looking up to see if Gorgug’s insight is better than his shitty attempt at deception. 

“Tell me about why you wanted to be a rogue?” Gorgug asks instead, and Riz understands it’s not really a question. He trusts Gorgug. He thinks about it. 

“Um, my mom was always a detective, I guess. And my dad was a spy, but I guess I didn’t know that.” Riz spends a lot of his time thinking. He’s realizing he doesn’t spend a lot of time thinking about himself. Maybe he needs to make a new conspiracy board. “Uh. I guess the first time I ever saw Penny sneak attack someone was really cool, I definitely knew I wanted to do that.”

Gorgug makes a soft hm? noise that asks Riz to keep talking. “Because I was little and Penny’s little too, and we were at the mall and some asshole catcalled her? And oh, man, you should have seen her, Penny was probably an Aguefort freshman then? But she told me to hide behind this vending machine and—”

--

They’re all the way home, with the Mordred Manor crew taking their stuff out of the trunk while Gorgug and Riz keep talking. Riz finished his story hurriedly as they pulled into the driveway, ending with Penny teaching Riz to make brownie bars at Strongtower after the sneak attack incident and being so cool and badass and nonchalant about making that guy’s nose gush with blood. He’s talking fast and gesturing big like he doesn’t usually, caught up in a story that he can tell well and that he hadn’t thought of in a while. Him and his rogue friends are tiny badasses. 

“That was a good story,” Gorgug says. “Rogues seem pretty cool.” 

Riz grins, all his fangs out and happy in the driveway of the manor. “Thanks, dude.” 

“I think you can be angry and not a barbarian,” Gorgug says, gently. 

And “Okay,” Riz says, gentled. 

--

It’s the tail end of one of Fabian’s all-out summertime ragers. The Bad Kids are in a big cuddle pile that barely fits on the picnic blanket on the lawn of Seacaster Manor, and Gorgug’s at the very bottom. Riz is tipsy on half a beer (goblin metabolisms are not good and it’s not his fault) and he thinks Gorgug looks a little lonely, lying on his stomach and tapping at his crystal with all the wind knocked out of him from everyone lying on top. He scrambles down the pile of friend-bodies and sits on the grass by Gorgug. Riz racks his brain for something good to say. He doesn’t want Gorgug to be lonely, not when Riz is going to be up all night and Riz is usually the lonely one.

“Di’ I ever tell you about the first time I saw someone get sneak attacked,” Riz says, words big and bubbly and coming out too fast. He doesn’t care, he’s buzzed and happy and Gorgug looks like he could use a good story.

“I don’t remember, tell me,” Gorgug says, putting his crystal down face down so its glow goes dark. 

“Oh man, you’re going to love this story. It was, like, me ‘n Penny at the mall, and there was this real asshole of a dude, and I didn’t know Penny went to Aguefort but she took out this knife? And it was like she flew at him—”

At some point in the story Gorgug falls asleep, and Riz is more pleased than annoyed. He looks cozy. And not lonely. 

--

“What’s this, The Ball?” Fabian asks when Riz takes a fantasy tupperware of brownie bars out of his briefcase and puts it on the the table in the cafeteria.

“They’re sneak attack brownies,” Riz says. 

It evidently does not clear up any of Fabian’s questions. 

“Penny—Penny Luckstone?—they’re her recipe, she taught me how to make them the same day I ever saw her sneak attack a dude,” he explains. “She like, jumped out from behind one of those fake potted plants at the mall and slashed him so bad with a dagger and then she didn’t even get sneak attack on it but she also socked him in the nose and it was like the coolest thing I’d ever seen. And then she just went home and washed the blood off her fist and then we made brownies.” He puts a hand on his chest. “And I’ll never forget it.” 

“Okay, The Ball,” Fabian says, but he takes a brownie. 

Next to him, Gorgug’s already halfway into his second, nodding happily and energetically so his hair flops in front of his face. “I love that story!” he says. He’s all leaned in, listening to Riz’s story.

Riz lights up—he’s no Fabian, with expensive magical gifts, and he’s no Gorgug either with little artificed trinkets and sweeping big gestures. But he’d remembered the story and remembered the brownies and wanted to make some, and he’s just glad his friends like them as much as he does.

“Because the secret ingredient is sour cream,” Riz confides. Fabian fake-sputters, sending tiny brownie crumbs everywhere, and Gorgug swats at him. 

“You were eating it just fine before!” Gorgug says indignantly. “Respect the brownie, dude!”

“You’re right, Gorgug,” Fabian sighs. He takes another bite. “They’re not bad, The Ball.” 

--

Riz only dimly registers footsteps pounding up the stairs and also a greataxe brute forcing its way through the booby traps at his office door. His crystal is abandoned on the floor next to him, the last text he sent to Gorgug still on the screen. It’d been “Having a bad time. At my office. Can you come help? Thanks, Riz” and it’d been typed out with shaky fingers as his breaths started coming too fast, the way it does whenever he lets himself be alone in his own office for too long. Riz hates it but he needs help. He forgot the period on that text and it’s been staring at him for the past few minutes. 

His brain is whirring too fast—Shadow Cat, Kalina’s eyes in his own eyes, Baron in his mirror in his own office, darkness and danger and Fabian in churning waters, he died in that forest and so did Adaine and so could any of his friends, bullets dodged and bullets fired and it’s too much, too much. His breaths are coming too fast but also not fast enough. Riz feels suffocated. 

He’s wedged himself into his own briefcase of holding, the sides squeezing his arms in a way that’s grounding and comforting when nobody else is here in his office to help.

But Gorgug is. Gorgug is here to help now. He skids to a stop in front of Riz and sits on the floor and Riz only dimly registers it out of the corner of his eye where his head is curled into his chest trying to make himself small, make himself safe. 

“Riz, can I touch you?”

Riz does his best to nod and Gorgug just wraps long lanky boy arms around his torso, gently lifting Riz out of his own briefcase and settling him in Gorgug’s lap as they sit on the floor of the office. He doesn’t let go, just squeezes tighter. It’s so much help, and also— “Can you. Talk? Anything— Anything’s fine,” Riz says. 

“Um. Sure, Riz. I guess I can. I could list a recipe? My parents have been trying to teach me to cook more, for when we go to college in a couple of years. I’m sorry, I’m not like Adaine, I don’t have lots of interesting things memorized,” Gorgug says, apologetic. Riz wants to be able to tell him not to be, but he’s a little preoccupied trying to make his brain tell his lungs to breathe.

“Uh, so these are called sneak attack brownies?” Gorgug says hesitantly. Riz realizes what he’s doing and tries to laugh, the giggle interrupting the choked breath he was trying to take.

“They’re called sneak attack brownies because they’re my badass friend’s recipe. And he learned it from his badass friend. Um, I don’t know this super well, actually, but I really should by now and I’m just going to keep talking and if it’s wrong then I guess it’s wrong? I know that you need chocolate for a brownie. And eggs and sugar. You told me the secret ingredient is sour cream.”

Riz nods, thudding his head into Gorgug’s chest a little. He takes a deep breath. Gorgug’s hoodie is soft. And he’s a good listener.

“Right, uh. After sour cream. Flour. And butter?”

“The butter’s— the butter’s unsalted,” Riz manages to eke out, voice small and quiet and mostly talking to his own knees. 

“Got you. Unsalted butter,” Gorgug agrees, easy as anything. 

“Penny said— Penny said that dude she punched’s tears were salty enough, that’s how I remember it,” Riz tells him.

“Tell me more?” Gorgug asks, and he waits patiently as Riz lets his brain just focus on a recipe, an easy recipe and a badass story. It helps, to be given something focused to do. And Riz is just so, so glad he has friends who will give that to him, will listen over and over again when Riz needs to talk. 

And Gorgug waits. And Riz tells him. 

from the prompt list linked here! i’m closing prompts from this particular list simply because i have so many excellent ones to get through

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

A Miraculous TikTok Account

Part 21

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Rena stared at the plates in her hands -- or, more specifically, the akuma she’d squashed between them like a pair of cymbals. She wondered, vaguely, whether or not the akuma would disappear with the plates or whether it would drop to the ground in a pile of goo.

She looked around for Carapace to ask, only to find he was soothing a kid who had lost track of their parents in the attack. He was sitting on a rooftop, kid in his arms, and pointing out random things to keep them distracted.

At one point, she managed to catch his eyes, but he gave her a ‘not now’ look and pointed past her to show the kid a dog.

She huffed a little bit, but dropped it (and the plates) because it wasn’t like she could be mad at him for helping a kid in need.

Besides, her veins were still buzzing with adrenaline and happiness. She’d helped fight an akuma with all the other holders! They’d even used her plan! If she died right then she would have died happy.

And as she noticed the giant red and black blur of Ladybug’s sword falling to earth, she thought maybe that would happen.

Luckily (or unluckily?), the sword disappeared into thin air before she could die a perfectly timed death.

A few moments later, Chloe touched down beside her, a slightly frazzled Chat Noir in her arms. She looked annoyed about how he wouldn’t get down immediately, but she also wasn’t dropping him.

Rena smiled awkwardly. “Sorry about the plan, Chat.”

Chat looked at her, luminous green eyes unblinking… and then he pulled a smile to his face. “It’s fine.”

“Is it?” Mused Chloe. “Great. Get down.”

Chat swallowed thickly. “Uh… my legs aren’t really reformed yet, so I can't.”

The two women exchanged skeptical looks momentarily before Ladybug and the person who had been akumatized settled on top of a nearby car.

They seemed to have been in the middle of a wedding, if the gorgeous white gown was anything to go off of. Someone must have had cold feet, then, whether it was her or the groom. The bride sniffled, her face in Ladybug’s shoulder.

Ladybug was speaking, and Rena had to not-so-subtly shift closer to hear:

“-- to postpone the wedding for a while. Since you got akumatized, your family should be able to guess you aren’t in the right mental state. Leave town for a while, get some therapy, and consider if this is what you really want. Sound good?”

The bride whimpered and hugged Ladybug closer. “But it cost so much --.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Ladybug said, running her fingers through her hair. She looked up. “QUEENIE. COME OVER HERE?”

The bee miraculous holder wandered closer, Chat positioned on her shoulders like a child on their dad’s at an amusement park. “Yeah, ‘bug?”

“Want to reimburse a wedding?”

Chloe scoffed and probably would have crossed her arms over her chest if they weren’t busy holding Chat’s legs. There was a silent glaring contest between the two bugs before Chloe reluctantly detransformed. She pulled out her phone. One click (her dad was on speed dial, apparently) and started walking away with a cry of “Daddy! I need help --!”

Ladybug schooled her face back into a caring smile. “See? It’ll be fine. I know a few places outside of Hawkmoth’s domain that are willing to provide free therapy to Parisians in need.”

Rena decided to brush past the fact that there was free therapy somewhere (partially because she was a Parisian and, at this point, therapy was pretty much a foreign concept to her… but mainly because a different part of the sentence had stuck out to her).

She bit her tongue, though. It wasn’t something to bring up in front of the civilians. Instead, she rested her hands on her hips and waited for everyone to finish their hero duties and for the civilians to disperse.

The other heroes wandered over eventually and they all started on their way home.

“Does anyone think that that akuma was a little too easy?” Asked Chloe.

This got a bunch of nasty looks from everyone, especially one cat miraculous holder.

“No, Chloe, it wasn’t easy. You just took all the best jobs,” said Chat.

“Think faster next time,” said Chloe with a shrug.

Rena found herself wondering why Chloe, the one of them with magically enhanced emotional intelligence, was the one to always have everyone mad at her, but she brushed the thought aside. She needed to focus on what SHE was mad about.

“You know how large Hawkmoth’s domain is and you didn’t say anything?”

Ladybug clicked her tongue irritably. “Rena, calm down, please. I really don’t have time for another akuma tonight.”

(Rena decidedly did not calm down, but that wasn’t surprising. Has anyone ever really calmed down when someone tells them to?)

“You didn’t think that maybe you should have shared that with the group? Or all of Paris, for that matter?”

“No. Because I’m not completely sure about where the line is, it’s more circumstantial than anything… and if everyone knew they’d leave and Hawkmoth would just move to another city. We need to keep him here, where we know where everything is.”

“You could have at least told us about it.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t tell us anything about him. The center of it is by the Tower. We already knew he was probably rich.”

Chat stepped between the two of them like he was expecting them to start a fistfight or something and he brought his brightest smile to his face. “Guys, really, it’s fine. Let’s just all try and be more open about things we find out from now on, okay?”

The two briefly met eyes before turning on Chat Noir for having the audacity to try and calm them down.

… at least he’d gotten them to stop fighting each other?

~

The five of them had stopped cold when they came upon their house and found one of the windows broken.

They exchanged anxious looks and transformed back into their suits.

It wasn’t that crime wasn’t a thing anymore, it just wasn’t very common. Who knows what would set someone off enough to create an akuma, the little bit of money you could get from robberies weren’t worth possibly dying a painful death (even if it was only temporary).

And, really, what were the chances that the miraculous holders of all people would get robbed?

Still, the person who had done it was likely still there. They would have had to get inside after the miraculous cure had been cast for the window to remain broken…

“Whoever it was, they’re gone. I can’t feel them anywhere inside there,” Chloe said, twirling the string of her spinning top around her finger. 

Interesting. Either they’d gone in with a distinct purpose or they’d noticed them coming and somehow gotten away without them noticing...

(Or Chloe was wrong, but they doubted it. She was usually right about this kind of thing.)

Rena pulled the light around them to mask their presence as they neared their home. Just in case.

Chat reached out and opened the door...

The place had been ransacked. Potted plants had been tossed and now the floor was coated in shards of clay and a fine layer of dirt, the cushions on the couch had been torn open and feathers spilled onto the floor, a game controller had been thrown at the wall hard enough to stick itself in the plaster, an armchair had been pushed on its side.

But that wasn’t what made Rena gasp.

Because the Hawkmoth Conspiracy Board had been the target.

Papers had been torn off of it in such a rush that pieces were still stuck to it, their calculations and work had been ripped to shreds, their pictures defaced. In a paint such a dark purple it was almost black, words were scrawled across the board:

STOP TRYING TO FIND ME. YOU WILL NOT LIKE WHAT HAPPENS IF YOU DON’T.

The miraculous holders stared for a moment...

Chloe scoffed, unimpressed. “So we all agree that this is lame, right?”

“SUPER lame.”

~~~

Taglist

@nathleigh @sassakitty @th1s-1s-my-aesthet1c @blueslushgueen @woe-is-me0 @ladybug-182 @cas-and-their-refusal-to-write @trippingovermyfeet

[98prilla]

Hidden Shapes

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AO3

...

He runs.

 He runs past Patton, he shoves open his door, locks it behind him, then lunges through the portal hidden under his bed that Remus had installed years ago, when he’d first moved to the light side, a shortcut to his imagination, to the dark side. He pulls the trapdoor shut behind him, landing on the forest floor with barely a sound.

 Colors are brighter, stranger, he’s pretty sure in this form he can actually see colors others can’t, see at a spectrum impossible for humans, since he isn’t, not really. That thought chokes a sob out of him, though it comes out as more of a growling hiss, and he throws himself back into movement, speeding across the ground, jumping up, into the trees, when they become too dense, seeing the cliff approaching, but not slowing, he braces himself, springs, his stomach flip flopping as he drops-

 Then he shoots his web and latches onto the trees on the other side, swinging across the canyon. If he were in a better mood, he’d be laughing right now, at the feel of the wind, at moving so fast, at letting himself go, more than he has in years, letting himself go feral, but he isn’t, his heart is pounding and his breath is speeding and he’s moving, faster and faster, and faster-

 Then, suddenly, there’s no more trees.

 He doesn’t have time to stop his momentum. He manages to web the ground, before he crashes onto it, letting his shoulder impact first, easily slipping into a barrel roll, before losing control and tumbling across the earth, head spinning as he finally comes to a stop, hissing through clenched teeth as he sits up, taking in the damage.

His shoulder is bruised to hell, and scraped raw and bloody, and so are his legs, his hands, though his appendages are intact. There’s a gash on his forehead, and he curses, pulling his sleeve over his hand, pressing it against the wound to try and staunch the bleeding, letting out another hissing breath at the ache in his chest, a bruised or cracked rib.

 He’s crying. He doesn’t know when it started, he feels too numb to cry, but he is, a steady, endless flow of tears that wash down his face, and he squeezes his eyes closed, doubling over, legs closing in around him, hiding him from view.

 “Hello, little one.” He nearly jumps, at the sudden low and sonorous voice, but he doesn’t care, he simply curls tighter, trying to suppress the pathetic whimper trying to escape his lips. “You aren’t one of the usual resident monstrosities of Remus’s design. Are you new?” He flinches hard, this time, realizing what he’s being mistaken for, because he must truly look horrendous, and Patton, god, Patton, not to mention Roman, once he hears, and Logan will just want to study him, dissect him, like some specimen, he doesn’t want to be the monster, he isn’t, he isn’t, he isn’theisn’theisn’t- “Let me take a look at you, darling. I can help make it better.” He pulls his legs in tighter, shaking, forcing words to his lips.

 “N-no. G-g-go away.” He hisses, and he hears a sharp inhale.

 “Anxiety. You… aren’t supposed to be here.” He laughs, at that, a cold, hard, bitter laugh.

 “look at me. Where else could I go?” He bares his fangs, eyes flashing and shadows growing as he feels hands pushing aside his legs, gently tipping his chin up, meeting the orange cat’s eyes of the dragon witch.

 “I remember a time when you wore this form more often than not. You and Remus were feral little things, more beast than man, some days, all shadowy blobs of too many teeth and limbs and claws, with your venomous bites and poison laced scratches, I remember when you’d spend hours, weaving the most wonderous tapestries, that sparkled so brilliantly, in the morning dew. Or ones near invisible, that would trip up Remus, as he tried to invade your lair. Once you wouldn’t have consolidated monstrous, with evil, they are different. Plenty of monstrous things are still beautiful, after all. Plenty of monstrous things are still smart, and kind, and sweet, little one. I would have hoped that to be a lesson you remembered, still.” Her words are soft and gentle as she caresses his cheek, a tender smile on her lips. “I haven’t forgotten, my tiny terror.” He folds, falling into her open arms and sobbing, letting it all go, as her near black wings enfold them both, her tail gently coiling around his feet. She doesn’t say anything, simply holds him, rocks him as he cries, promising safety with her steady presence, her slightly hotter than normal warmth. “I gather from your state you don’t want to go back to the world?” He shakes his head frantically, not moving from his place in her arms. “alright, darling. Hold on tight, for a moment.” He feels a slight vertigo, the world running like a watercolor painting, before resettling to a homey looking cottage, a fire lit and providing gentle warmth, the floors covered in soft rugs, the smell of cinnamon and something else, something warm and fizzing and popping in the air. Magic.

 “If you want tea, you’ll have to let go.” He does with a slightly rueful smile, one she adores, and she brushes back his hair, before moving to put the kettle on, getting her favorite teacup from the cupboard, along with a black and white chipped jack Skellington mug.

 “you still have that?” He says, voice coming out hoarse, as he pulls himself into one of the surprisingly comfy wooden chairs surrounding the small table in the kitchen, watching as she bustles about.

 “Of course. I hoped I’d have occasion to use it again. Though I admit I hoped it would be under better circumstances.” He winces, looking away.

 “sorry. For not visiting. I… I should have. Me and Ree hadn’t been on the best terms, for… well, for a while. I didn’t want to chance being caught here by myself.”

 “Yes. I heard all about it, believe me. He fluctuated between grief, despair, and unmitigated rage, before settling on a scarily distant disdain. Any mention of you and he just… shut down.”

 “sorry.” He whispers again, to her soft huff.

 “Stop apologizing, darling. I’m not placing blame or accusing. I know you had your reasons. Now, let me have a look at you, we can’t have those getting infected, and you know they will.” He groans, wincing as he pulls his sleeve away from his forehead.

 “But it stings!” He whines, making her laugh, as she gathers the warm water and soft hand towel.

 “You’ve had worse, Anxiety. And unless you want me to summon Remus to instant heal you, we’ll have to do it the old fashioned way.” Her voice is slightly stern now, the same tone Patton always takes, when scolding them or breaking up a fight, and he smiles slightly, glancing up at her.

 “alright. It’s, um, Virgil, now, by the way.” She smiles, coming around the table and gently dabbing away the dried blood from the gash, wincing in sympathy as he grits his teeth, before patting it dry and securing gauze. “Ah. It suits you, I think." He pulls up his pants to reveal his skinned knees, his shins peppered with scrapes, though nothing there is hurt too badly, though it still stings like a son of a gun. They’re just finishing looking at his shoulder, her turning away to get an icepack for it, when he hears the tell tale swing of the doggy door, small scratching against the mat in the entryway.

 “Oh, god-“ He manages to just barely brace himself, as a ball of icy silvery blue barrels into his chest, knocking his chair over backwards, sending his arms pinwheeling before he collides with the floor, his fall slowed slightly by a quick spell, that lowers him gently the last inch to avoid concussing him. He doesn’t have time to thank her, however, as his face is getting destroyed by licks, and he can’t get a word out edgewise, between his pleas to stop, and his gasping laughter.

 “Nilas, stop, down girl, NiNi!” He laughs, finally managing to get the large cat sized dragon under control, though her tail still whipped wildly, and when he rolled out of the chair to sit up on the floor, she instantly climbed his shirt, draping herself around his shoulders, tail hanging off one, curling around his upper bicep to keep herself steady, her head resting on her paws on his other. He laughs again at her low, contented chuffing, the equivalent of a dragon purr, as he scratches her head. “Happy to see me, huh?” She buts her head against his cheek in response, before giving it one more lick, before laying back down on her paws, though her head stays tucked up against his face.

 “Yeah. I missed you too, Nilas.” He mumbles, pain forgotten in the face of a happy dragon snuggling against him, a soothing, perfect weight that grounds him, helps him breathe a little easier against the stress slowly fading away. He rights the chair and slips back into it, taking the mug that she sets in front of him.

 “Roman still giving you trouble?” He asks, after a few moments in comfortable silence, taking a sip of the tea, which is deep and herbal, just a hint of sweetness from the honey. She scowls, and he can hear her tail sweeping across the floor.

 “Don’t get me started. I enjoy playing his games, but that boy has not given me a moments peace. Do you know how hard it is, to swap into evil enchantress mode, when your nemesis has showed up in the middle of you baking? I had a pie in the oven and I couldn’t stop worrying it was going to burn.”

 “did it?” he asks, grinning.

 “No. I told him he’d better stop wasting his time with me, and worry about my agents infiltrating the castle, and he took off. There weren’t any, of course, from what I understand he had a lovely game of whodunnit about the royal crown, though it turned out he’d simply misplaced it.” Virgil laughed, imagining Roman frantically running around, accusing random townspeople, making one of those red string conspiracy cork boards, only to find it under his bed.

 “Oh, that’s amazing.” He finally wheezes through his giggling, taking another long sip of his tea, before yawning hugely.

 “alright, enough catching up. To bed with you.”

 “but-"

 “uh, uh, uh, you know the drill. You’ll be falling out of the chair soon, anyway.” She teases gently, helping support him as he stands, a bit wobbly on his feet, another yawn impossible to stifle sneaking through.

 “Curse my traitorous body.” He mutters, making her laugh, as he lays down on the cot in the dark corner of the living room, pulling all the fluffy blankets up so high they nearly cover his head, Nilas circling a few times, before curling up snuggled against his chest, kneading her paws contentedly.

 “sweet dreams, tiny terror.” She murmurs, kissing his forehead fondly, as his eyes flutter shut. “sleep well. You could use it.”

 “mhm. Thanks, Tabitha. Love you.” He mumbles, drifting off, a small smile on his lips as he rests his head against Nilas.

 She smiles, stroking his hair a few more times before pulling away, a low sigh slipping from her lips.

 Well. No doubt Remus would appear soon, and he could explain what had sent Virgil into such a tizzy, though no doubt it was something to do with the others. He wouldn’t have been so scared of himself, otherwise. He was never scared of himself, until he started hanging around them. He used to revel in causing mayhem, tearing through the imagination, scrapping with Remus, winning, more often than not, on his own merit. He was such a small little shadow, but so fierce, with those eyes of his, peeking guardedly through his mop of hair, an almost perpetual frown on his face, always braced for the worst.

 But he was kind, too. The first day she'd come across him alone, he’d glared at her, hissed, baring his fangs and scuttling backwards, ready to bite.

 She’d knelt down, almost as surprised to see him as he clearly was to see her.

 “hello, little one. What are you doing, out here alone?” He hadn’t answered, merely continued to glare, tensed to spring or run. She’d hummed, looking around, the field was full of knee high grass, his head barely poking above the stalks, wildflowers filling the space, butterflies (both literal and figurative) drifting through the air. A distant shout rang through the imagination, an echo of whatever turmoil was occurring up in the rest of the mind, and he flinched, curling in on himself, breath catching.

 “ah. Trying to find some quiet, until the storm blows over.” The little shadow nodded, watching a bee struggle to stay atop a flower blowing in the breeze, before reaching out and holding it steady, a small smile crossing his face as he leaned in, watching the bee burry its head in the pollen. “Well, don’t mind me, then. Is it alright, if I stay here to read? I won’t bother you.” A moment passed, but he nodded solemnly, watching the bee flit away, before fixing his gaze on her, which she studiously ignored, studying her book while watching out of the corner of her eye.

 Another echoing shout, almost like a thunder crash, and he let out a little shriek. Before she could ask if he was okay, the little shadow had scuttled closer, throwing himself onto her lap and curled in a shivering ball, hiding himself under her cloak.

 “Oh, darling, it’s alright. They won’t hurt you here, I promise.” He hadn’t uncurled, and she’d hesitantly wrapped an arm around him, brushing through his hair with her other hand, humming softly, until she felt him slowly start to uncurl, realizing finally he’d fallen asleep, tiny hands clutching at her shirt, impossible to pry off even if she’d wanted to.

 When Creativity and Deceit panicked later, realizing Anxiety had been missing all day, they were surprised to find him happily coloring on the floor of the witch’s cottage, dark aura dispersed enough they could actually see his body, a dragon curled around him protectively.

 The next day he’d shown back up on her doorstep, a bit shyer, but no less brave, holding out a flower crown, painstakingly woven with colorful flowers, and it may have been the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her. From then on, Anxiety, or Virgil, now, was as good as hers, under her protection, always welcome, always at home in her home. Her baby, her shadow, her tiny terror.

[celsidebottom]

I want to throw out some of my theories (not sure if they’re really theories more like random thoughts) regarding the magical teleportation bulbs in the Garden of Yerlik so that all of my ideas can get destroyed in this week’s episode

I have been insistent that the bulbs in the Garden of Yerlik are somehow related to something at Kew Gardens that they encountered back around episode 20.  SO all of this may be clutching at straws However I relistened to the Kew gardens episodes recently and I noticed a few things

They mentioned that in Edison’s journal it says that the seed was purchased from some trader at sea, and then “What are the odds of finding two?”  THAT comment about finding two and then the Rangers only finding one seed makes me think that the seeds - and therefore something to do with the Garden of Yerlik - comes in pairs.  SO I am wondering if those bulbs are directly linked to another similar bulb elsewhere in the world.  For instance, there was one in Svalbard that then sucked the dwarves through to the garden, instead of the whole thing getting teleported there by the seed and then the seed growing. 

That’s the more legitimate part of this theory.  The rest is more red string conspiracy board nonsense but we’re putting it out there anyway.

At the end of the dungeon crawl in the bottom of Kew Gardens, they fight a bulb plant that uses its roots to pull itself around, but it is specifically described as a bulb and it has a red lotus flower on top, which made me think of how Alex described the bulbs in the Garden as not being open but still having the space to produce a flower in the clearing.  They also mentioned that the one in London had a skeletal arm and a skull in it.  Not sure if the rest of the body was there or not, it was not mentioned, only those two parts, which makes me wonder if somebody tried to travel through it with the whole void teleportation thing but it uhhhh didn’t quite work

And that brings me to Colgate, who was there at Edison’s presentation of the Simulacrum and then later at Kew Gardens.  As they’re walking in, he talks about some of the plants they see as they go along, and the two names he says are “Borealis Extremis” and “Borealis Gigantus,” and as far as I can tell neither of those are real plants.  It’s entirely possible that Alex just made up some names but the fact that they both have Borealis in them when the group is now, 160 episodes later, facing plants in the arctic where there are a bunch aurora borealis and wild magic makes me wonder.  It also makes me suspect Colgate as being involved in all of the destroy/take over the world plot going on, but that is a vague connection.

ANYWAY it is entirely possible that this is completely wrong BUT I am Thinking about it and I am very intrigued no matter what happens

[see-arcane]

Good morning everyone, I’m back on the Theories (c)

So “Epoch” came and demolished all my Extinction ideas, as was its right (I’m proud of my trash-eating baby Fear and I support its choices). And, other than opening the door to a hundred other what-ifs--chief of which is how many other newborn Fearlings are crawling around in the world? Is there a (Web) Reason the Archivist pre-Gertrude was killed while revising Smirke’s list of 14?--it’s got me thumbing back through my mountain of red string and thinking:

If the Extinction isn’t the impetus of this arc, what force is?

There’s a hole in the center of all these ‘!?’ factors that I assumed was going to be the Extinction, but now that it’s been taken off the board, what’s left?

What exactly is drawing Jon the Moth to the Panopticon? To do what? Nothing so bland as ‘killing Jonah to fix everything,’--but something.

And the one that’s had me pacing for m o n t h s--who or what sent the tapes to the cabin? We still don’t know. The Web is a decent theory, but I wonder. If it was the Web, wouldn’t Jon would have been able to See it the same way he saw the silk on the payphone and Annabelle’s voice inside the line? 

There were no eldritch fingerprints on the delivery of tapes. Martin assumes Jonah. Jon says nothing, neither confirming nor denying. Not a hint given.

Just as there were/are no hints given--or even curiosity from Jon--at how the Archivist personality seems to be revealing itself as a separate entity. It speaks to Jon in the recordings now--’you do this, I do that, we See this,’--and has repeatedly gone out of its way to try and mute Martin’s interference when he has to bring Jon out of the trance. The static jumps up every time, smothering Martin’s voice, trying to drown him out for the sake of more horror buffet time. “Night Night” has been the only case so far where we’ve seen Jon in synch with ‘the Archivist,’ being able to tune it out on command.

I’m sure the episodes to come will blindside us with fresh revelations. I’ll have a fresh batch of conspiracies ready if so. But right now?

I’m beginning to wonder if the Extinction wasn’t the only red herring Big Villain. The Web may well be in that pile too. Why?

Because I think the Eye, for all it supposedly Knows All and Understands Nothing, is being underestimated. At least in terms of its own stealthy manipulation of Jon. Consider how badly it has tried to keep him, to feed him, to focus on him, even when he was technically dead. Whether it wants something from Jon or it simply wants Jon himself, there is an end goal the Eye has in its so-called mind. 

I think it sent the tapes and blocked Jon’s Knowing it. 

I think ‘the Archivist’ is not nearly as much Jon as he’s been led to believe. 

I think that regardless of what strings the Spider may be pulling, the Eye is going to drag Jon to it like a pin to a magnet, and any cobwebs that interfere will break apart like wet tissue.

I think that when it finally pulls him to the top of the Panopticon, Jonah will be the least of Jon’s worries. 

Especially if the Eye intends to live out the end of that perpetual nightmare it gifted to Jon in “Eye Contact:” 

“It stares into him, and it stares out of him, and he is falling into the devouring eternity of its pupil. He wants to cry out in horror, but he cannot.

“He. Is. Whole.”

[bubmyg]

dare to begin - jjk

pairing: jeongguk x reader

genre/warnings: college!au, f2l (idiots to lovers), amateur model!jeongguk, aspiring photographer!jeongguk, amateur stylist!reader, graphic design student!reader, a touch of angst, mostly tooth rotting fluff

word count: 16,748

summary: jeongguk has a camera and you have a pirated editing software so what better for two broke college students to do than to open a photography business to their…closest friends on facebook or where kim seokjin’s modeling agency wants to sign jeongguk and you don’t know the first thing about curling his hair.

a/n: this was inspired by that random dispatch photoshoot in vegas...i’m not even sorry

“Oh fuck off.” 

Jeongguk’s head lifted from where his forehead was pressed between the crook of his elbow, squinting at you through bleary eyes. “...for once, I didn’t even say anything—”

“Not you,” You clicked so angrily on the notification, it didn’t register and you had to jam your index finger into the button again, “The bursar’s office.”

“Oh, did they—” Jeongguk rolled to his back, head half dangling off the end of your bed as he pulled his phone to his face. “—oh. Tuition statements.”

“How can they make us pay for something that hasn’t even started yet? We haven’t even finished this semester.”

“What are they going to do if we don’t pay by the first day of the semester—” Jeongguk’s eyebrows peered at you underneath his phone, “—kick us out?”

You glared at the mass of numbers twisted into the statement until they muddled together and gave your conscious the mirage that the cost was an extra digit more. Your phone skidded across the surface of your desk, coming to a stop in the pointed corner next to a decorative jar of pens and a concert ticket you’d pushed through the cork board material substance lining the back. 

“They won’t kick me out?” You didn’t look up from studying a fray of graining wood on the pointed corner of your desk but cocked an eyebrow at the waiver of uncertain concern in Jeongguk’s voice paired with the change in position from we to me, “Will they?”

“I don’t know,” You answered truthfully, arm slung over the back of your desk chair to face his pouted lips still slung backward over your bed. An unspoken why would they kick you out? “I really don’t.”

He answered your rhetorical with closed eyes and his phone pressing to his abdomen, “I don’t know if I’ll...have enough. That much. By then. Even if it’s not until the end of the summer…”

You scolded the glaring image of your bank statement when you gently tried, “There’s all kinds of loans you can apply for. What about scholarships? Isn’t the science department like...the biggest at the university? Surely they offer something—”

“I don’t think I have the grades,” There was a silence occupied by his notebook with messy organic chemistry notes rewritten twice from the previous semester when he’d taken the exact same class. Jeongguk dropped your gaze, shifting until the back of his head was resting on the side of your mattress while he went for his cuticles, picking at the edge of his thumb while soft red crept into his puffed cheeks and flaring nostrils. 

You abandoned the open animation file on your laptop that you’d forgotten to click save on for the seventeenth time within the hour, a final project you just had to turn in with a semi coherence to the material of the semester to maintain your existing grade. You stumbled, desk chair catching on the edge of your crumbled rug but it didn’t deter you from flopping in beside Jeongguk, leaning over him with both elbows pressed into his stomach to snatch his notebook. He eyed you curiously under wavy fringe until you settled on him, chin pressed into the bottom of the pages as a concentrated scrunch met the pass of your eyes over his handwriting. 

“What are you doing?”

You glanced up, gradual in the drag of your hands up his sides until you could jam your index fingers into the sensitive spots around his ribs, coaxing a soft squirm and a gasping giggle from his lips. 

“Helping you get those grades. Do you really want to take organic chemistry for the third time?” Jeongguk didn’t flinch because your inquiry wasn’t teasing or jabbing, it was serious for the sake of never seeing him on the verge of tears over three credit hours again. He shook his head in negation instead, reaching behind him to snatch one of your pillows to drag behind his neck, propping him up just enough to study the curl of your stature against his chest. 

“No, ma’am.”

“Good, now pay attention.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You watched Jeongguk sink his teeth into the mint chocolate ice cream balanced two dollops high on a cone with a wrinkle to one side of your nose, the smile on your lips forced when he swallowed the green between his cheeks and quipped, “What?”

“You know what,” You twirled a string of hot fudge onto your plastic fork, mouthing your lips over it until the sweet substance melted on the roof of your mouth, “Forget it.”

He shrugged, happily taking another, literal, bite off the opposite side of the treat tower, lips sponging down the length of his hand to noisily suck on the melted stream of ice cream that had rippled across his knuckles. 

You sighed. Jeongguk grinned mint green, “Tastes like freedom.”

“My summer job says otherwise.” The bookstore wasn’t a fun place of employment during the school year let alone when three fourths of the student body was gone. 

Jeongguk dabbed at the corner of his lips with a napkin, a sharp contrast to the way he’d been barbarically gnawing his way through the ice cream, “So does my summer tutoring. A lesser of two evils.”

“I suppose…”

“At least we can drink on Wednesday’s now and only feel slightly guilty.”

“You don’t drink.”

“I drink a little—” 

“Is this your way of asking me to come over for beer tonight?”

He grinned sheepishly, “Doesn’t have to be for beer. Hoseok moved back home yesterday. I’m extra alone.”

You eyed his prize possession, his camera, encased snugly inside it’s over the shoulder case that Jeongguk kept within grasp on the tiny cafe table shared between the two of you. He followed your gaze, a careful hand coming to rest on the strap even though he knew you respected his comfort enough not to touch it. 

“So, what, you talk me into following your wandering ass around the park for hours to take pictures and now you want me to hole up in your apartment and watch whatever terrible nature documentary you’ve found on Netflix?”

Jeongguk mumbled around another chunk of the treat in his palm, unaffected because he knew you were going to show up at his apartment regardless of invitation, “I bought us ice cream, didn’t I?”

You grumbled your thanks into your deviation of attention, pulling your phone to your eyes as you jabbed another spoonful of sundae into your cheeks. Jeongguk continued to happily munch while you scrolled through one social media and then the other, finally landing on Facebook with a disgruntled roll of your eyes the second the first post appeared. 

“What?”

“Facebook.”

“Did Yoongi post another Area 51 meme?”

You scrolled to the next post just to confirm that yes, sadly, before scrolling back up to the original source of your offending scoff. You eyed the generic smile plastered on the lips of the girl you’d went to high school with, the same as the generic caption on the generic set of pictures she’d taken of her dog and someone’s baby, advertising a brand new photography business, one she’d be doing on the side with no prices listed and simply a shoot me a text to book an appointment!, a service exclusive to those who knew her and who would pay her a little extra because of that connection and a business page created exclusively for a business that would be forgotten by the end of the summer. 

Your lips parted to explain, unfortunate in absently scrolling past Yoongi’s string of laughing emojis at whatever Area 51 meme his conspiracy theorist group chat had sent him that morning, before you were pausing. Thumb freezing, lips parted in a perfect circle, eyes the only thing moving as they swept upward. 

Jeongguk watched you like you were seconds away from shedding a shell or sprouting a second head or both, ice cream sticking to the pout of his bottom lip and a new melted stream lipping into the stretch between his thumb and index finger. He didn’t follow your gaze when it jerked from him to his camera bag, watching as your entire being lit like the thing you were sprouting wasn’t a second head but instead a hovering light bulb. 

“You know what we should do?”

“...go to the park and take pictures of the playground equipment in obscure angles that strangely turn out to be aesthetically pleasing?”

“Close,” Your nail dug into your screen until you were at the top post again, flipping your phone over while you continued to study the zippers wrapped to the width of Jeongguk’s camera bag. When he’d squinted at the screen for what you deemed necessary to get the gist of the post, you continued, “We should open a photography business.”

Jeongguk squinted, “A what now?”

“A photography business. You take the pictures, I edit them. Foolproof way to earn extra cash.”

“In order to have a photography business we have to have something to photograph…”

“I bet we can get Yoongi to pay us twenty bucks to take pictures of his dog.”

“It’s almost not worth the twenty—”

“Okay, forty dollars,” You shrugged, reaching out with your own clean but crumpled napkin to dab at the excess ice cream on his hand, “I’m sure there’s some of our friends back home who need pictures of their baby. Or their cousin’s baby. Or their little brother’s senior pictures—” You blinked at the confused round of his doe eyes, “—what could it hurt to try?”

After a second of silence and swatting your hand away to lick at the dried ice cream instead, “...well we’ll need examples.”

“Good thing we were just about to go to the park—” You gestured toward his camera bag, “—and that thing is virtually attached to you.”

Jeongguk gradually began to loosen, “You want to do this right now?” 

You stood then, binning your virtually untouched sundae before reaching out for his mostly eaten treat. He shoved the last of the cone between his cheeks instead of handing it to you, puffed cheeks innocent as he handed you his mass of crumpled napkins to throw away instead before you were taking both his hands to pull him up. 

“What better time than now?” You grinned when he cocked an eyebrow, still holding onto your hands, “C’mon. You can help me edit them tonight.”

Skeptical, “Okay…”

Jeongguk dropped one of your hands to reach for his camera, shrugging it messily over his shoulders while you squeezed the remaining appendage in your grasp, teasing, “Don’t act like you weren’t going to take a ton of pictures of me, anyway.”

You weren’t immune to the soft blush that spread outward from the center of his cheeks, chin dropping as he shouldered his way out of the nearby door, holding it open for you and when you skipped through he grumbled, “Shut up.”

You were fresh off a playful argument about whether he could arrange your hair into a halo of hearts around your head when it happened. 

“Not possible,” You dismissed, a disguised threat as you glared up at him from your seated place on the grass. He stepped closer and you held up a steady palm, “Do not touch me or my hair.”

Jeongguk whined, fingers wrapped around his lens as he crouched, twirling and snapping a picture of your indignation. “At least lay down for me? The flowers look nice…”

“These are weeds—”

“Please?”

You obliged because the stars in his eyes told you to, falling backwards to the plush earth with an arm tucked behind your neck and a hefty sigh. He’d stepped between your legs, one foot at your knees and one at your hip as he craned, tongue in cheek in concentration until he mumbled, “I still think the hearts would look cool.”

“I thought you were good at this whole photography thing.”

You retracted into yourself before he could grab you, a shriek of laughter tumbling out of your lips even before his fingers curled into your sides and you flailed an absent foot at his stature squatted over you, chanting I’m sorry, stop! until Jeongguk relented to a messy sitting position next to you in a soft cloud of grass clippings and dust, camera plopped in his lap as he glared at you. 

You rolled until you were perched on your elbows, reaching out your previously assaulting foot to prod the light denim on his thighs. When he cocked an eyebrow, you tried, “Any good ones?”

Without missing a beat, he hummed, “As good as we can get with that face of yours.”

“Hey!—” 

The tiniest of smiles pressed the ghost of a dimple in Jeongguk’s cheek and he tossed his head, “Come here.”

An awkward waddle over and you were pressed into his side, cheek on his arm as he scrolled through the shots on the digital screen. It was something about his ability to capture shots at just the right moment in just the right lighting with just the right angle that elicited a feeling of fond within you, that even if you didn’t particularly like the squash of your chin between your neck or the way the wind had curled the material of your shirt around your torso, it was still a glimpse into how Jeongguk saw the world, saw you. A strange fuzziness bubbled to the tips of your fingers as he continued to scroll through his lens to what he perceived as your beauty, focused more on the gradual smile that grew higher on his teeth as he flipped past candid shots of you telling him off to staged shots of you perched on a park bench looking as skeptical as you could about the barking squirrel perched just out of frame above you. 

“Good, don’t you think?” His fond faced you, further melting the numbness on the edge of your appendages to the entirety of your stature. 

You relaxed into his so that your nod brushed against his bicep, afraid of what your face would say if you met his gaze and you mumbled, “Told you we didn’t need heart hair.”

“Hush,” Jeongguk’s screen went black as he set it gently on the cross of his ankles, leaning on his palms to accommodate your stature better, “Do you think we got plenty of examples?”

You continued to stare at his blank screen, skin warm on the fabric covering his arm and suddenly it happened when you blurted, “Let me take some of you.”

A possessive hand curled to obscure your view of the blank preview screen, shoulders jumping as he tried to laugh it off, “No, that’s okay.”

Chin on his shoulder, you dared to look at him and utter, “What? I’ll edit them. I mean, I know your face looks like that but that’s the beauty of technology.”

“My joke,” Jeongguk’s neck craned backward to observe you, smile flustered like the pink that had overtaken more of his cheeks, “...why do you want to?”

You shrugged, “You always take pictures of me. I just thought we could change it up—” You swallowed, “You know. For our business.”

“Ah, marketing technique, huh,” Slowly, he uncovered the device, flicking it back to life with a seasoned thumb as he was stretching it to place it softly on your thigh, “Okay, boss. Where do you want me?”

You’d used a camera before but something so expensive to the price tag but priceless to the wary man before you made it an extra weight in your palms, fumbling at first to get anything that wasn’t blurry. One of your first clear shots was after you’d shoved on broad shoulders until he was seated on a wooden bench, awkward and small at first until you sighed with the camera at your hip. 

The exasperated relax that sighed from your lips opened up a new realm that had the strange bubbles from earlier lodging into the base of your throat when Jeongguk reclined, both arms framing the back of the bench and his legs flopped open, that slight crinkle to one edge of his nose still present until you slowly rose the camera and it erased into something effortlessly smug. 

“I can’t...I can’t get it to focus.” For two reasons now.

Jeongguk nodded in seeming understanding and you had a hunch he didn’t entirely understand why but he patted the spot next to his thigh on the bench nonetheless. “Come here. Rest your elbow on this and then try. It’ll stabilize it a little bit more…”

You startled yourself and him when you bypassed the bench for his thigh, digging your elbow into the taut muscle as you pulled the camera to your face, catching his surprise first and then the slow smirk that melted back into his features, chin tilting as you got a few more shots before pulling your touch away. 

The next set of shots was you frantically ordering him to stay like a dog until you’d jogged the proper distance away (Don’t trip! Watch my camera!) and motioned for him to walk to you. It was rigid at first, just as before, a little too fast and his face was on the edge of bursting into audible giggles. You continued to back away, holding up a palm for him to pause again and then you shouted, “Relax!” louder than before and more important. 

There was an easy gait to his walk now, feet crossing as they stepped in front of each other, one hand finding the front pocket of his jeans as the oversized hang of his striped blue shirt crinkled at his thin waist. One hand dared to fluff at his hair, gaze going out to the occupants of the park rather than the desolate intersection to his other side and you couldn’t help but giggle at the unsure smile that crossed his lips immediately after the action. 

Jeongguk settled for an easy saunter after that, one hand in his pocket, both in, both out, until you were tired of the clench of his jaw and you called over the raise of his device to the lower half of your face, “Hey! Are those yellow converse you’re wearing?”

He frowned at first, “What’s wrong with my yellow converse?” before breaking into a gentle grin, one that started at the crinkles around his eyes and traveled into the wide pull of his teeth as the easy swing of his steps stumbled into his louder laughter and you continued to click away all the same until he set his sights on you. Hunched back, rolled shoulders, arms comically splayed out behind him as he darted for you, a squeak of surprise leaving your lips and before you could think to hold onto his camera and run, he was on you, arms around your waist to direct his giggles directly over your ear. 

The excitement died with gentle sways in the center of the sidewalk. Jeongguk continued to hold your hips as he pulled away, quieter now, “Do you think we have enough now?”

“Plenty,” You held his camera out to him until his grip was secure on it, prodding your index finger to the center of his chest, “Did you want to take anymore? I know you originally wanted to come because you had some ideas for your portfolio…”

He beamed, slightly apologetic in the slant of it on his lips, “It’s okay, we have all summer. I’m...kind of hungry anyway.”

“We just had ice cream!”

“We’ve been here for four hours.”

You eyed the time on your phone and then the dip of the sun behind some wisped clouds in the horizon. “Oh.”

“You’ll come with me another day, though?”

You patted Jeongguk’s chest instead of prodding it. “Of course, Guk.”

He plopped in beside you, two paper plates balanced between his long fingers and the curve of his wrist, each piled high in fresh slices of pizza. One plate was deposited to the coffee table beyond the sway of your ankles, the latter pulled over his thighs to begin happily munching at the toppings while you continued to hack at the keys on your laptop. 

“Any progress?” Jeongguk leaned closer with grease stained lips, “Making us look good?”

You hummed, dragging your finger over your touchpad. Another notch down on contrast, another notch up on the chosen filter, some color correction, and lessening of shadows to compensate for the natural lighting. 

“Trying my best. And…” You navigated to save the image on the screen, one of Jeongguk walking toward you with a hand in his pocket and an easy expression adorning his otherwise tentative features. “I’m done!”

He pouted, grease stained finger trailing to the screen, “You cut off my shoes.”

“I blame your camera,” You exited out of the program, pulling up your internet browser instead. You paused, the cursor blinking on the search engine and you turned to observe the fish of Jeongguk’s lips as he gnawed on another bite of pizza dough, “...do you really want me to post some of these?”

He dusted his fingers on the edge of his joggers, leaning closer until his cheek was smooshed against the crook of your elbow. “I mean, what can it hurt.”

You began to type then, slow in entering the cursed Facebook and you chatted as you typed, “Should we create an official page for the business and everything?”

“Absolutely we should,” Jeongguk made grabby hands at your laptop until you relented and let him pull it into the awkward curl of his lap. His eyebrows furrowed at the first post on your feed, the same Yoongi Area 51 meme that continued to fester in your feed because Taehyung couldn’t and wouldn’t stop commenting on it and his tongue sandwiched in his molars with further confusion, doe eyes scanning down the length of the screen until the tip of your nail pointed him in the right direction. 

Jeongguk hesitated again on the first question. Name. 

“Uh…”

“I got it,” You leaned your head against his, softly, “Dare to Begin…” 

Dare to begin a new semester that neither of you knew if you could properly pay for. Dare to begin a summer of trying to figure out how to pay for that semester. Dare to begin a new semester by some miracle and then what (figure it out when you get there, survive) with a major you adored and a major he did because photography wasn’t a viable career option. Dare to begin a friendship with someone who photographed the world like the beauty he saw it in but photographed you like he was in love with the world because you existed in it. 

Dare to begin a new business on Facebook, of all things.

He wrinkled his nose, “I was just going to go with Flash Fiends or something.”

“Oh, come on,” You reasoned your prior thoughts to something that wouldn’t cause suspicion of your sentiments, “Dare to begin, like weddings? They’re beginning their journey with us. Senior pictures? Beginning a journey. Baby pictures? Again...beginning a long life journey—”

“You’re serious about this?” Jeongguk had already typed Flash Fiends in the name box and you squeaked in indignation. 

“I guess not,” Suddenly bashful, “I just thought it was creative…”

“It is,” You blinked and he’d navigated through three other windows before he was typing dare to begin with Flash Fiends as the opening line in the description box. He hacked away some more, a generic description and you equally agreed to put prices in the album with the pictures of the two of you. Another jam of his pinky into the enter key and he lifted up off your side to hand you your laptop back. “There! Okay, now do your thing.”

Doing your thing included dragging all the files into an album, adding searchable hashtags, making the post public, choosing to set the last photo of Jeongguk you’d edited as the cover photo. A couple more clicks to make the post, navigating to share it onto your profile and dropping a tag of his profile and, “My thing is done.”

He took your laptop from you to replace it with the extra plate of pizza, sliding the remote into his hand in the same movement and flicking on the television. “Now,” He gestured solemnly to the litter of devices in front of you, both your phones and the still open laptop, “We wait.”

You remembered two of the share notifications before you dozed off underneath the cozy puff of Jeongguk’s duvet and the heavy weight of his arm draped across your waist. One from Yoongi, an oh so serious I’m going to help my friends! share that included the obligatory you’re very talented, Guk-ah! I’d love to have you shoot Holly one day...comment. One from Taehyung, a less than serious share that included a string of laughing emojis solely on the image of Jeongguk lounging seriously on the wooden park bench. 

The notification you most definitely did not remember was the email from Kim Enterprises titled internship inquiry. 

You crawled from Jeongguk’s embrace to snatch your laptop, afraid to pull the email up on the tiny screen of your phone in fear you were reading it wrong. The light off the screen roused him from his sleep before your suddenly-not-tired-anymore gasp did. 

“What? What’s wrong?” He misjudged the search of his hand for you, gently sliding across your cheek instead of your arm like he’d been aiming but you barely flinched, covering your lips with both hands instead. 

“This can’t be real,” The words muffled through your fingers before they were in action again, highlighting the email address and jamming it into the search engine. 

“I’m not following you…”

“To be honest,” You clicked on the first result of the search, another gasp raw in your throat when the website, that website, emerged, “Me either.”

“B-Bloom?” Jeongguk squinted at the screen, turning your laptop towards the sleep still coating the fringe stuck in his eyelashes, “What is Bloom?” 

“A magazine. An extremely popular magazine.”

He brushed your fingers out of the way to navigate back to the tab with your email on it, squinting at the address, “Why did an extremely popular magazine email you?”

“Let me read this email to you, Guk.”

“I can read—”

“Greetings owner of Flash Fiends. We were extremely intrigued by the contents of your recent business inquiry not for the service at hand but rather the individual seen in some of the photos. The social media entity tagged him as Jeon Jeongguk, and if that is the identity of this individual, we’d be interested in signing him—” You paused, swallowing half your tongue and holding a singular finger up as you inhaled audible through your nose, “—for a summer modeling internship in the interest of some of our newest summer spreads, paid of course. If that is something that would be of interest to you, please reply to this email with an updated resume and we will be in touch. Thank you again, and we look forward to hearing from you. Park Jimin, Department Head of Kim fucking Enterprises and Bloom fucking Inc.”

There was a passing moment of silence, some shifting as Jeongguk fell back into the sheets with his pillow curled in his bare arm and he mumbled, “I told you Flash Fiends was an incredible name.”

“Jeongguk! Did you hear me?” 

He hummed, “I saw it, too.”

“And? They want to pay you! This is the perfect opportunity to earn the money you need for next semester!”

When he was silent for a frightening second, you shut your laptop and shucked it to the floor, turning until you were facing him. You’d barely settled when a tiny, forced smile was dimpling into his cheeks. “I’m not going without you,” He tried to provide and you frowned. 

“Uhm, yes you absolutely are.”

“I’m not a model, babe.”

“You’re entirely more attractive than you give yourself credit for,” You blinked at him, soft fingers subconsciously reaching to stroke wavy tresses from his gaze, “Come on. What could it hurt to try?”

“You said that about the photography business idea, too, and now look where we are,” He flushed under your touch between his eyebrows, “Besides, are you going to run that alone if I leave?”

You bypassed his sarcasm, “We’re in a place where you could get that money you need for next semester. One step closer to graduation. And all you’d have to do is pose for some pictures. They’ll probably pay for your housing and shit too—”

“Okay, but I’m still not going without you,” You waited on Jeongguk to exhale through his nose, considering something over the top of your head before elaborating, “...if I’m going to try this, you’re going with me. Just like the photography business.” Just like everything. 

“You need a resume first.”

“And you need some sort of skill that goes hand in hand with a famous model—” He beamed, “—like yours truly.”

“Fuck off—”

“You could be my assistant.”

“Fuck off twice.” 

“What about my stylist?” Jeongguk let the suggestion hang in the air for a second before teasing, “Your eyeliner looks half decent sometimes.”

“And does any part of you genuinely think I want to go with you at this point—”

“We also need someone to fake these resumes for us—” His features wrinkled up, “—can we get arrested for that? Should I apologize to my FBI agent now?”

You ignored him, instead saying simply, “Taehyung.”

The software engineer blinked at you past artificial blue, the light coating the dyed grey locks that parted in all the right places around the circumference of his head, baggy flannel wrapped around his knuckles that drummed absently into his desk. 

“So...you were serious about that Facebook post?”

“Not really, but—” You exchanged a glance with Jeongguk, “—now we kind of are.”

Taehyung spun slowly in his desk chair, making one full rotation until he pondered, “So, let me get this straight. You want me to fake resumes for the two of you so that you can get a paid internship at Bloom, aka, one of the biggest fashion magazines in the country, because they somehow, through the power of the internet, found your half-joking, half-serious photoshoot and want to sign the amateur model that is Jeon Jeongguk.”

Jeongguk exchanged a glance with you this time, “Correct.”

The older boy blinked, once, twice, four times before shrugging, pushing sleeves up to his elbows as he dug bare heels into the floor, dragging himself closer to the computer to begin hacking away. The blue light turned white and he mumbled, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Twenty minutes later you were sitting across from Taehyung at his tiny dining table with a manila folder in hand containing two pieces of paper, stapled together neatly in the corner, and printed with thick ink you were almost afraid to touch. The man across from you sucked noisily on coffee from a Pikachu themed mug, taking a massive bite from a chocolate energy bar in the same movement and he spoke through the crumbs gathering on the corners of his lips, “I think you’ll find those sufficient.”

You ignored Jeongguk’s flat out whine at the contents of his papers, gleeing, “Oh, good thinking, Tae. I’ll absolutely take credit for RM’s cheekbones in the Seoul music video.”

“Wait—” Jeongguk placed his hand on your arm until he could drag your fake resume close enough to scan it. Another whine, high pitched and through slanted eyebrows and pouted lips, “—why do you get to be attached to Namjoon?”

“Your crush is showing.”

“At least yours doesn’t say you were a former foot model!” 

You couldn’t suppress the snort in your throat, gently prying the wrinkled papers from Jeongguk’s death grip to confirm that Taehyung did, in fact, write that Jeongguk had an impressive track record of modeling for various small shoe companies with posters plastered in every massive mall on the south side of the country. 

“Why—” 

“Because you can’t see your face, dumbass,” Taehyung finished the bar in hand in two bites, shucking the wrapper into a pile of various other trash on the edge of his dining table, “It’s easier to fake if they do check references. What do you think they’re going to do, pull your socks off to check?”

“There’s approximately a million other parts of my body that aren’t my face.”

“Not quite a million…”

“Anyway,” You flattened both your resumes to the table, tapping on the section that said references with a singular reference, “What is this phone number?”

“Mine,” Another energy bar had materialized from somewhere and the wrapper was loudly crinkling in Taehyung palm as he shrugged into another bite, “I’m your manager now.”

“There’s no way this is going to work.”

“This will work,” He took another swig from his mug and when something like a belch rumbled in his throat you figured out that it wasn’t coffee but something carbonated, “What? Do you not have any trust in me?”

You fiddled in the backseat of the cab, the seat belt too tight on your shoulder and digging into that spot on your neck the more you shifted. You tore your gawking gaze away from the city skyline trailing along outside the window to Jeongguk prodding at his thigh with your index finger. 

“You think they’ve called Taehyung yet?”

“If they haven’t yet they’re probably not going to,” His chin swiveled from the window to look at you, gently taking the nervous tap of your hand into his palm and holding it in his lap, “They’ve already said we’re in. We’re already here. It’s okay.”

You were silent through another stop sign and the anger of honking traffic over the soft radio before you uttered, “So Taehyung must be some kind of wizard, then.”

Jeongguk’s palm caught on the back of the driver’s seat when the brakes slammed again, offering you another gentle smile as his thumb swiped over your knuckles, “Evidently.”

“We’re here,” The driver informed you over the ambiance of unmoving traffic and screeching tires, holding out an expectant hand for Jeongguk to jam a wad of cash into before he was pulling you out onto the sidewalk after him. 

Backpacks on and suitcases barely lifted over the lip of the trunk of the cab before he was speeding away off the curb in a rare moment of serenity on the street. Your easy going shrug in Jeongguk’s direction was short lived until you turned toward the building in question, your building for the next few months, nonchalant turning to ice even as summer heat burned through the fabric of the hoodie you’d adorned since five am that morning at the airport. 

A skyscraper was the easiest way to explain it in layman's terms, towering endless stories high so it almost appeared to curve and sway into the flecks of clouds skimming through the blue sky. It seemed to be made entirely of windows, tinted enough and if you squinted, covered in elegant curtains or outlined with towering succulents in molted clay pots. The front door was sliding glass, accented in gold like the name plate jutting out in an awning over a massive outdoor rug with the same name and logo etched in a shag of the same hue. The longer you gaped, the more people entered or exited through the very glass doors, ingraining the soft mechanical hum they made into the forefront of your conscious along with the polished leather shoes and designer purses and singular wedding bands that likely costs more than you would pay in tuition for four years combined. 

“This can’t be it,” You panicked from Jeongguk’s arm again, finding it to dig your fingernails into and turn back onto the street, frantically trying to catch sight of your long gone taxi driver but the street had filled in your moment of disbelief and all shades of yellow and orange began to look the same. “Surely we told him the wrong address.”

“Babe,” He didn’t move his arm so as not to startle you, wincing the further your nails curled into his skin but gentle in his call nonetheless, “Baby, hey—” His eyes trekked the jump of your throat as you swallowed, finally meeting his eye contact, “—let’s just go inside. The worst they can tell us is no.”

They didn’t tell you no but the look from the receptionist told you to be self conscious of the joggers shrunk just above your ankles and the tattered edges of the hoodie curled around your knuckles that curled your skin anemic into the handle of your suitcase while Jeongguk easily chatted through her questions and paperwork, confirming that yes, you were the guests of Kim Enterprise. When you uttered purple to his under the breath pick a color inquiry, you didn’t expect it to be for a spiraling wrist band with a shiny metal key attached to one end, an end that pressed into the pulse point on your wrist. He turned from the desk, a folder in hand and a matching blue band on his wrist, one he shook at you so that the key twisted softly underneath the massive crystal chandelier taunting the space above the front desk. 

“We’re on the tenth floor,” He seemed entirely too at ease in the drape of his oversized crew neck and baggy joggers over open-toed sandals amongst luxuries like a jar of pens perched on the edge of the front counter you commended him for grabbing because the shiny ballpoints seemed to be carved of the same, close-to-real gold accented every inch of the building. He flicked his head again, soft bangs bouncing, and you were left to stumble after his stature until his advancements had to pause for a tall man in a matching tracksuit walking a happy looking doberman from the direction that you smelled chlorine. 

“Does this place have a pool?” You whispered with your hands braced between his shoulder blades, waiting until the man was out of sight to navigate for the elevators. 

Jeongguk waited until he stabbed the button, stepping back to jostle the folder in hand to squint at one of the pages. “Looks like it—” His eyes glinted for a second, “—and a full gym!”

He continued chattering about the amenities while you stepped onto the elevator, listing off the various delivery services that would come to the front lobby versus the ones that would bring it to your door, only pausing through a rant about what the in house cafe coffee cost when you jammed the key on your wrist into the lock of the apartment, your apartment, and pushed the door open. 

Jeongguk mirrored your panicked thoughts from earlier when he let go of the handle of his suitcase, causing the lopsided storage to tumble to the hardwood below. He articulated it next, “This can’t be it. There has to be a mistake. We’re in the wrong apartment or something—”

“Guk,” You comforted him with a hand on his hip, “Our keys wouldn’t have worked if this wasn’t the right place. They wouldn’t have called us by name at the front desk…”

You followed the awe of his gaze as it tilted upward and in swivel, taking in the muted caramel hardwood glossed underneath fluffy white rugs and hues of blue leather furniture, similar wood color to the floor marking that of the cabinets and tables nailed to walls or pushed into corners, accent pieces and fake flowers doused in blacks and whites sprinkled throughout the various nooks. The windows you’d noticed from the street stretched out in the opposite direction from where you’d came in, allowing you a view not of the street but through the city, a birds eye view through buildings taller and shorter than your own, some close enough to theoretically touch and others just an unworldly as they would be from ground level. Thin black curtains swayed from gold accented rods, a result of the white ceiling fan and the chill of air conditioning seeping out through various vents pressed into the crown molding of the rippled ceiling. A staircase marked the far corner, spiraling upward into an open concept hallway that disappeared into another handful of doors, the wood a slightly darker shade than that on the floor but the railing coated in a curved gold metal. 

He swayed next to you and when he shuffled forward, you registered that he’d stepped out of his sandals, picking his feet up like prolonged contact would dirty the immaculate condition. He’d no much as peeked around the corner, the curve of broad shoulders a sliver in your peripheral, when a noise of surprise came high pitched from him. 

You peeled off your tennis shoes by the heels, taking long steps until you were behind him. In the kitchen, an open concept room marked onto by the black marble bar that made an L shape to the hum of shining appliances. 

“The lights are motioned censored,” Jeongguk provided at a breath and the two of you were still enough in silence that they flicked off. You moved to test his theory, flailing a hand out and frosted globes curled into the ceiling in threes illuminated once more. 

You stepped around him, hardwood trailing into slick white tile and you nearly stumbled into the edge of the countertop when you tried to step for the neatly folded triangle of paper perched in the center next to a bowl of fresh fruit. You plucked it into your grasp, not without dislodging a yellow apple that rolled a few paces across the specks of silver shining through in the countertop, using your thumb to smooth out the creases to squint at the printed type. 

“What the fuck are we doing?” Jeongguk uttered finally, still rooted in place but slumped against the wall. 

You flipped the paper over, “Apparently heading to the agency for a meeting with Park Jimin.”

His eyes closed, feet shuffling until his entire back was pressed into the wall, “I knew that. They said that in the confirmation email. I meant—”

“—we can figure out what to do with this place when we get back. We need to get ready,” You glanced at him, “I mean, you can go in our airport clothes but I’d rather...not.”

“Right…” Jeongguk squinted, eyes trailing over your shoulder to the nestled staircase as he pushed himself up off the wall, “You think the bedrooms are up there?”

You frowned, “Why not just change down here?”

“On account of giant ass windows and thin curtains I don’t entirely trust yet,” His voice echoed to you no matter where he ventured into the house, going first to snatch his fallen suitcase and then secondly making his way for the ascend. 

You almost tripped trying to collect your own bag, heaving by the time you caught his stature on the stairs and he turned to you with an amused cock of his eyebrow. “Coming with?”

“Don’t leave me down there alone,” You countered, shoving at his waist, “Too big for me to be by myself. This makes my dorm look like a thimble.”

Jeongguk laughed, a soft sound as his feet hit the next level, glancing down each hallway and then at you. It was an unspoken race until your coiled muscles jumped the opposite direction, meandering into bedrooms at each end of the upper level. You heard his cackles grow louder from within the first door your reached and your conscious had just began to affirm the same thing he yelled to you, “These are fucking huge too!”

A massive queen bed with a white duvet and two white blankets neatly folded at the end, two white wicker rocking chairs, a white throw rug peeking out from underneath the bed frame, white tile in an en suite bathroom like that in the kitchen cut off where the slightly darker wood floor began. 

You dropped your suitcase unceremoniously in the threshold, picking your feet like Jeongguk had been before as you dug into the top pouch of the bag to retrieve a different outfit. Three splashes of water to your cheeks and a struggle with a jean button confirmed you were very much still alive and you dared to wander out into the hallway after a fight with an automatic sink faucet. 

There was one more bedroom half the size of the one you’d claimed on your side of the hall, one you inspected with a quiet hum, dragging the door shut behind you as your sweeping steps brought you back outside. The false sense of serenity your anxious mind had calmed you into immediately erased when there was a figure standing at the head of the stairs, forcing a scream from your lips. 

“It’s me—” But it didn’t look like Jeongguk, not the Jeongguk you were used to anyway. Neatly pressed black slacks falling neatly around his ankles, a black baggy top that curled into his elbows with vertical blue stripes cutting down the surface of the fabric, the material tugged and cinched with a thin belt at the point of his thin waist, new jewelry curled over his exposed wrists and collarbones and fingers, hair slightly damp and parted effortlessly. 

“What the fuck?” You barked. 

He glanced down at his shirt, picking at one of the loose buttons and then finally deciding to do it up, a muted, “Does this look okay?” catching in his throat when you rushed for him, catching his wrists and quickly undoing his previous action. He was flushed harsh at the neck when you glanced up at him, sheepish in the smile that crossed the own heat flaming through your stature. 

“Yes,” You affirmed, “You look great, but…”

“But—” 

“Aren’t I supposed to do your hair?” 

Jeongguk blinked at the pink in his cheeks worsened. “Yeah, I was thinking…” He seemed to wince but you knew it as embarrassment, “Maybe you could curl it for me some time? More of a wave than what’s naturally there...you know.”

You eyed one of the wispy strands that swayed out over the top of his ear, not included in the wet swipe of his brush through his tresses. 

“What do I look like?” You teased, grabbing his wrist to tug him down the stairs two at a time, “Your stylist?”

“Jeon Jeongguk and…” The man behind the counter trailed off, reading your name a bit quieter from the front of a blue file folder with a raised eyebrow. You nodded with a smile nonetheless, nudging Jeongguk who was still fixated on an oak tree sized fern resting in front of the sleek wall beyond the counter. 

“Perfect,” His chair clicked across the plastic mat underneath the wheels, head disappearing into a file cabinet before returning with two laynards. He passed them across the desk, blank ID badges encased in thick plastic sleeves that would earn you clearance. “Your headshot will accompany the ID—” He was addressing Jeongguk point blank, “—once you take an appropriate one. Company protocol.” 

Jeongguk passed you one lanyard, untangling his absently and he inquired softly, “...when will those be taken?”

The man frowned, “In just a few moments? Were you not aware?”

“I thought we had a meeting scheduled with Park Jimin,” You drew the man’s attention to you, stretching the lanyard around your neck. 

“Oh, you do,” He smiled, “His meeting is running late, so we’re going to send you to the studio first.”

“We weren’t prepared for a shoot…” Jeongguk tucked his own badge over his neck. 

The man willingly addressed you this time, smile tight lipped as an obnoxious office phone began to ring behind him, “Well, I’m sure your extremely talented stylist will be able to make you presentable from the shoulders up, yes?”

You swallowed, “Absolutely.”

“Perfect. The studio is down the hall to the left. Follow the signs posted on the wall,” More plastic wheels clicking across the floor and the ringing silenced as he placed the speaker against his shoulder, “Now if you’ll excuse me. Hello, Kim Enterprises—”

“Hey,” Jeongguk nudged you as you trailed down the mentioned hallway, squinting at an array of plastic signs drilled in a row on the wall. He tripped when you abruptly turned, pointing to direct him instead but he just nudged you again, “You can try out the whole curling my hair thing a bit sooner than expected.”

You dared to glance away from the scattered map in your brain to the shag of his locks of his eyebrows, ones that had already begun to dry and scrunch into soft waves. “Yeah,” You nodded, nudging him in the direction of the arrow for headshot studio, “Maybe.”

There was a woman stationed outside one of the open doorways, absently scrolling through her phone and she jerked when you approached, pocketing her phone in a messy fumble. “Ah, hello!” She greeted, and you rushed for the plastic at your chest to flip it over to display your name. “You must be the new duo...Jeongguk and—” She squinted at your name, uttering it too. “—perfect!” Soft curls bounced around her shoulders and when she turned you were knocked backward by the overwhelming smell of vanilla, but it faded like her figure into the room. “If you’ll follow me…”

The room opened into rows of empty makeup counters, bright lights burning hot over the top of walls half coated in mirrors. A few of the chairs were pulled out, like they’d been used earlier in the day, and some spare makeup bags were left sprawled with the products rolled onto the white counters. The woman was standing in a far corner at a clean counter aside from a neatly packaged makeup bag, a hair dryer, and a curling iron with the cord wrapped neatly around it’s head. 

“I think you’ll find this sufficient,” She chirped in reference to the items at the table. She pulled out the chair, just for extra measure. “If not, there are extra of everything in the cabinet on the far side of the room. If the skin tone is not correct, your welcome to any of the others, as well. This bag is yours for the duration of your stay so I recommend keeping it stocked so you do not waste time before shoots.”

“Other than that, have fun!” Her hand centered between Jeongguk’s shoulder blades, pushing until he followed her unspoken lead and collapsed into the chair. “Come across the hall when you’re prepared. I’ll notify our photographer of your arrival.”

He stared at you through the mirror until she’d slipped out of the room and then some, finally uttering slow and gentle, “Uh. So, what are you going to do to me?”

You decided to place your fingers in his hair to calm yourself in the slightest, fluttering the strands in both palms, and even your teasing was absent, “I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to fix this—” 

“Should you start with makeup?”

Both your gazes absently trailed to the rolled up black bag and your gradual nod came before your steps trailed to the opposite side of his chair. “I’m not going to do much…” You rambled while you discarded a liquid foundation that was a shade too light for Jeongguk for a powder one that appeared to match. “You don’t need it…”

You shook some of the substance into a tray, marveling at a clean powder brush before jabbing the soft end into the pile of dust curled in your palm. Your nose wrinkled when you moved for him, using your free hand to nudge his bangs out of the way before your internal monolog told you fuck it and the same stabbing motion became the end of the brush into the center of Jeongguk’s nose. 

He spluttered and you panicked when the fallout of the clumped dust spread below to the black fabric of his shirt. “That how you do it, huh?” He spoke through powdered stained lips and you frowned, spreading it up and over his cheekbones. 

“Close enough,” You finished evening out the powder before dropping the brush, reaching to dust at his shirt instead. He let you, waiting until you’d dulled the color into soft, barely there blots along the surface of his chest and watching with rapt attention as you straightened, settling curled fists onto your hips with a huff. 

“I think that’s enough makeup.”

“It’s just powder.”

“Exactly. You can’t even tell it’s there—” Jeongguk gestured to the drying and fraying mop on his head before sanctioning his hands underneath his thighs again, like you’d bite him if he moved while you worked, “—now fix my hair.”

You unraveled the cord, plugging it into the row of outlets lining the far wall before stretching the warming end of the iron toward Jeongguk’s face so quick he ducked, an attempt to loosen the perpetual frown that was carving a discolored circle into your bottom lip from the harsh suction of your teeth into the plush substance. When it didn’t work, he rounded his lips and blew upward so that the section of hair you feathered into your fingers fluttered out of your grasp. You cracked a smile then, dropping the curling iron to your side and you cocked an eyebrow at him. 

“Behave.”

He giggled, a soft sound that matched the crinkle of his powdered covered nose and his hands went back to being stiff underneath his legs. “Yes, ma’am.”

If it weren’t hard enough teaching yourself to curl short strands of hair on someone else, it was worse that the someone was Jeongguk, wide eyes coated in celestial bodies peering quietly up at you, a soft encouragement paired with tender giggles when you cursed. You nudged at the last strand, waving it over the tip of his right ear and you leaned back against the counter to inspect your work. 

It was his expression that faltered you now, an absent fondness that stared deep into your gaze when you met the very things that could rival any planetarium and you stuttered, “I-I think I’m done?”

“It looks good,” Jeongguk leaned forward to confirm, squinting at himself in the mirror, fixing a few strands to his liking and then he added a bit slower, “We can practice…”

A squeak left your lips and you went to cover your face because we can practice meant it wasn’t that good, but you weren’t allowed to wallow in it for long when two hands wrapped around your wrists, prying your cover away and drawing you closer until you were all but leaning over Jeongguk. 

“It’s okay,” More absent swiping to your knuckles and the freckle on the center of his bottom lip prominent when dimples pressed into his cheeks, “Ready?”

You let yourself smile, “You’re the model here, Guk.”

His headshots developed instantly and were sprawled in massive print sizes on the grain of Jimin’s desk, a glaring documentation of Jeongguk’s first professional shoot, your first time curling his hair, and the endearing little smile he allowed to adorn a sliver of his teeth. But even if you found it endearing, Park Jimin’s cross expression seemed to suggest the opposite. 

“Are these the ones you chose?” He mused, dragging a finger across the thing white space framing one of the photos. It was a pre-teeth smile, pulled lip dimpling the freckle on his chin, nose a second away from wrinkling at you flipping him off behind the scenes. 

Jeongguk considered his affirmation as a failure and it showed in the way it slid off his tongue, “...yes?”

Another handful of heartbeats into Jimin’s silence and Jeongguk uttered, “I mean...uh. T-they probably would look a little better if you’d adjust your umbrella lights. Or, you know, purchase new ones. They seem to be out of date. And are worsening the contrast—”

A second longer and Jimin shrugged, effectively cutting off Jeongguk’s rambles, and he gripped the edge of the photograph instead, sliding it into a neat pile with the others. They were quickly slipped into a folder, one he passed aside to make room for intertwined fingers in the center of his desk. 

“They’ll suffice for now,” Thin eyes studied you fully now, disregarding the hunch of Jeongguk’s shoulders in the chair next to you, snake like black peering out from beyond bleached blonde fringe, “...can I ask who you are?”

“His stylist.”

“Name?” You uttered it and Jimin nodded, leaning back into the plush back of his chair. “So is there a reason you’re here…?”

“I think I’ll need to know about Jeongguk’s future endeavors here if I’m going to, essentially, be responsible for his look—” You ignored the dry texture cracking at your tongue on the roof of your mouth with each new syllable, all the moisture instead clamming your palms that roughed out of sight on your thighs, “—don’t you think?”

He seemed impressed with that answer, two hands threading at the nape of his neck to let plush lips quirk with the raise of one eyebrow. “I think you may be correct,” Jimin drawled slowly, “You may stay.”

You bit down the sarcastic thanks for the permission because he was done targeting you, testing you, instead focusing his attention back on Jeongguk. The man fell forward again, dragging his chair closer with two hands between the languid part of his thighs before they transferred to rest on the round, plastic arms. 

“It’s a relatively simple internship. We already have you booked for some very specific shoots for our advertisements and the main magazine alike. I’ll email you a calendar, but for now—” Fluffy blonde locks disappeared from view before he resurfaced with a highlighted piece of paper in hand, slapping it the table and pushing it until it fluttered at Jeongguk. “—you’ll see your shoots highlighted in pink. Anything else you need to attend is in yellow. Meetings, check ins, things of that nature.”

Jeongguk still seemed like a fish out of water so you leaned toward him and questioned, “And the green color?”

“Retreats, bonding opportunities. Things of that nature,” Something genuine sparked in the smile on Jimin’s face as he glanced at you, “Seokjin is very into the team aspect of our company. You’re welcome to any of them, assuming you have the time between other schedules.”

Jeongguk still hadn’t spoke, drilling a hole into the paper, so Jimin took the social cue to inquire, “Any other questions?”

You were about to wonder about the glaring pink and yellow overlap for the Monday of the upcoming work week when Jeongguk spoke, firm and assuring as he glanced up. 

“I understand I’m here for modeling, but I’m extremely interested in photography. Independent and contracted, studio and otherwise. The times between schedules, would I be able to shadow some of your techs? Just for...the experience?”

Jimin barely faltered at the hopeful fidget of Jeongguk’s fingers in his lap, “I don’t believe we have the opening nor the time for that kind of request. I’ll check for you, but I wouldn’t count on anything.”

Translation, don’t ask questions, do what you’re here for. 

“So,” Jimin was still chatting as he pushed himself off his chair, back arching into a stretch, “We’ll see you Monday morning for the cover shoot?”

You froze into standing, the hand you were about to offer to Jeongguk consulting the chair you perched in as a vice as your knuckles bled anemic into your bone, “Excuse me...the what?”

“The cover shoot,” Jimin blinked as though that should be common knowledge to two rookie interns, “Seokjin recruited you with this concept in mind. You’ll be on the front cover of the next issue of Bloom.” 

More silence that Jimin was unaware to, moving around the side of his desk to make it to a row of towering file cabinets in the corner. He had the folder of Jeongguk’s headshots in hand, filtering it with careful thumbs even when you uttered a half octave softer, “Can we know what the concept is?”

Jimin smiled, the answer obvious as the mentioned cabinet rebounded audibly into a magnet placed on the inside of black metal. 

“They’ll be happy to explain it to you in your pre-shoot meeting Monday.”

“What if we’re doing all this—” Jeongguk winced for the fifteenth time when you lowered the curling wand to another strand of black, “—and it’s a shoot for my feet.”

You resisted the urge to accidentally let the edge of the iron graze his cheek in the unwind from the soft wave of his tress. You shifted where you perched on the marble, letting your thighs fall further apart for his waist to lean against the edge of the counter. With a hand on his shoulder, you pushed until his eyes trained on you, slightly sheepish, slightly shameless, entirely endearing and you sighed at the last attribute. 

“You think they’d put a whole ass foot on the cover of Bloom?” When he whined, you reached for another, untouched piece of hair, twisting and pressing it to the heat, “Nothing else. Just a foot. Maybe some scandalous ankle—”

Jeongguk pinched your thigh, “You’re mean.”

“This meanie can let you style your own hair and look like that on a magazine that everyone on campus is definitely going to see,” You ducked until he met your gaze again, serious despite the upward curve of your lips, “How mean am I now?”

“You’re not,” He grumbled, glancing off to the side, “You’re the best.”

“Thought so,” You let the curling iron teeter to its stand on the counter, bracing your hands on either side of you to inspect your work, “I...think we’re done.”

You resisted the urge to scream when Jeongguk ruffled searching fingers through the front, letting the styled strands fluff outward in the carefully done part you’d established with a complementary pen you’d found in a drawer in the kitchen. He arm fell limply to his side, latter tucked firmly in the unzipped pocket of his joggers and he looked at you from the winced corners of his eyes, “Does it look okay?”

You were gentle in pinched his chin between your thumb and index finger, turning his head so doe eyes were peering at your from the center of their endearing glory, but your lips fished and you hummed in Park Jimin fashion, “I mean, it’s still your face, but from what I have to work with—”

“That’s still my joke and it’s not funny anymore.”

You surprised Jeongguk and yourself when you used your grip on him to lean forward, feathering your lips to the center of his cheek, drawing a natural shade into the artificial blush you’d rubbed in light doses to his skin. “You look great, Guk,” To amend the tingle lingering on your lips, you added, “Only be, like, three-fourths as nervous as you were before.”

He disappeared from between your legs and was six steps up the spiral staircase to retrieve his bag when he managed to choke out a less than threatening, “I’ll leave your ass here alone.”

You hopped down from the counter, shuffling through the apartment to retrieve your key still stuck to its spiraling purple bracelet next to your phone that set on a charger attached to an extension cord (fatal flaw of the millions invested in the apartment: outlets placed in inept locations) when you heard two footsteps behind you, a descend on the staircase, and then a long pause. 

And then, “...do you think I should change shoes just in case it is of my feet—”

You were lost on one end of a long conference table while eight experienced professionals chattered on the likes of composition and aesthetics and ambiance and the vision of the newest issue, a list of words that meant similar but different things in the digital world with the manipulation of graphics at the tips of your fingers and you were more entertained with the aesthetic of the swirl of auburn color bubbling upward in your coffee when you stirred it with the tiny black straw. You were seemingly forgotten among the bustle that ended the meeting, a cattle like usher toward the singular door when the room was barely filled anyway and you found yourself hopeless in a room three times the size of the previous one with equipment you didn’t understand, more terminology you couldn’t grasp, and an entire missing Jeongguk. 

The woman from your check in was back, bringing you your makeup back with a disapproving tut, ushering you with the heel of her palm on the small of your back toward a tiny collection of tables in the corner of the studio, a shortened version of the one you’d been in the day before, and you found it all but occupied by a new set of strangers. 

You nudged the roll of your bag into the only empty spot, turning in time with the soft hush that met the other individuals milling about your general vicinity and you squinted because oh god, what now? 

Words like alluring, sensual, lithe could all be replaced with much simpler adjectives, one in particular that struck bluntly at the forefront of your conscious, one you wished to express to the various shoot executives mulling over a concept they could easily direct in a hands on fashion without needing a briefing. You’d thought that into the swirl of your coffee and you assumed the cloud of cream that had surfaced, breaking into various puzzle pieces outward toward the rim of the cup agreed with you. 

You understood why the bolded letters of various synonyms taking up a bullet point list on two pages of an outline, a waste of space and trees, was needed because your crude, one bullet wasn’t enough to encompass the entirety of Jeongguk’s being as he made his way toward you. 

All eyes were trained on the rookie subject of the shoot but he was focused on you, a soft excuse me to the woman standing in front of you as he shouldered around her to tower over you. It was Jeongguk, your Jeongguk, but you felt some fraction of what everyone else did with him that close looking like that. 

Tight jeans ripped in strategic places hugging taut thighs, cuffs buttoned loosely on relaxed knuckles, a sheer black shirt coated in metallic specks tucked neatly at the cinch of his lithe waist and secured in an equal V to the dip of defined collarbones. His hair was like you’d left it but frayed from the heat and softening from the lack of product, parting more on one side than the other and flopping into his eyes that blinked curiously at you. 

“Hey...hello—” Jeongguk snapped his fingers, waving his hand so you felt the brush of his palm on your nose, “—did you hear me?”

The neanderthal corner of your conscious had enough sensibility to not utter what you wanted, instead bypassing his inquiry to all but shout, “Where are your other clothes?”

“They’re...in the dressing room? With my other things?” Someone yelled something you didn’t quite catch but the slide of Jeongguk’s palm down your elbow suggested he did, “Look, they sent me to you for a last minute check. Do I fit whatever concept they were talking about?”

Your subtly was forgotten, buried by the singular word that continued to expand into your thoughts, likely dilating your pupils the same way and the culprit of the saliva that pooled back by your molars. 

Graphic design didn’t mean you were above putting size seventy-two Comic Sans font onto a document to print and plaster everywhere but even Comic Sans wasn’t worthy of whatever the concept was Jeongguk embodied. Nonetheless, you let the muted scream in your throbbing head takeover. 

“You look sexy, Guk.”

He flushed at his neck first, traveling around to dip into his chest but it didn’t crack at the clench of his jaw this time, something lingering in the flash of black in his irises and his throat jumped, fingers curling over your arm and you briefly forgot where you were until someone’s stature was intentionally bumping into Jeongguk’s side, breaking his grasp on you to shove him in the opposite direction. 

“Shooting in five.” You felt like you were underwater, coherent enough only to register you can’t see lightening under the sea (the flash of a camera) and you were fairly certain you’d been pitched off the edge of Atlantis when you came to enough to realize the prior five was up and they’d created a makeshift “wall” (a piece of plywood coated in white plastic) for Jeongguk (the, very sexy, “model”) to lounge against with his hands shoved into his pockets. 

Part of Jeongguk’s shirt had come untucked from his belt, fluttering at the apex of his thigh, and it made your fingers itch to fix it until words of encouragement from the photographers elicited him to lift the arm on that side, palm smoothing down the back of his head until he found comfort in threading long digits into wavy tendrils. The sensible part of your brain moved to fire the necessary neurons to be annoyed that he’d just touched his hair again, hair you’d practiced on all weekend, burning yourself four times and the sheets of the unoccupied bedroom of the apartment once. 

But the feral cloud in your conscious won and you chose to focus on the sliver of his waist that appeared instead. 

You continued to eye it as he approached you again, sensibility pouting when you didn’t acknowledge that his sweat had smeared some of his carefully applied eyeliner or the lackluster gloss left on his lips wrapped around the ribbed edge of a water bottle, by passing all of those things in favor of his neck as it jumped and gulped. 

Jeongguk pulled off the water bottle with a labored breath and the only thing familiar in his stature was the slight slouch toward you, gentle fingers brushing past your wrist to grip the table behind you and lean into it. 

“Good?” He breathed, heat off his aura suffocating you and you wondered is the bottom of the ocean hot? too.

“Y-yeah. Yeah! Talented. Brilliant. Incredible. Amazing. Show stopping—”

He laughed and that was sexy too, shrugging into another languid gulp of water, pointed in stretching his neck out and he held the open bottle toward you until you took it. “As good as that Vine, huh?” His teeth appeared into the teasing smile that whipped away from you as he sauntered for the array of computer monitors in the corner displaying his shots. 

You fumed.

“That’s a Lady Gaga quote, dumbass.” 

Your knees, crossed albeit, were digging into the side of Jimin’s thigh and for a table to be so small in a quaint corner of a bustling rooftop restaurant, it garnered well over the decibels needed to make other patrons glance your way when a round of applause waved through the group. 

It was Jimin who had elicited the reaction with the piece of paper in his hand, firm and glossy and making that distinct flop noise when he’d untucked it from it’s folder pocket and maybe if you didn’t have to crane from your position next to him to see the image splayed out over the front, your knees wouldn’t be invading his space. He didn’t seem to care, wearing a charming smile that flashed over the top of your head to the man most affected by the various interest levels of stares gathered from around the general vicinity of the restaurant. 

There was a chunk of steak still stabbed through the throngs of Jeongguk’s discarded fork, meticulously cut by his focus that so desperately tried to evade the situation at any given opportunity. You noticed the pink in it before the pink spreading outward on his cheeks, framing the grateful smile he gave as acknowledgement before bowing his head at the audible emissions of praise.

“Quite the cover photo,” Jimin was still speaking, on the tail end of his reveal speech. He pulled the photo away to glance at it again, “And for an amateur on their first job as well. Phenomenal, truly.”

You touched Jeongguk’s thigh and it was the strength he needed to utter his thanks, soft at first and then louder as he addressed the other occupants at the table, “Thank you. It...it means a lot—” He turned and you followed his gaze to the one individual at the table who you’d yet to hear speak, seated at the head of the table opposite Jeongguk, wearing a black waistcoat and an easy smile to petal shaped lips. 

“—and thank you, Mr. Kim, for this incredible opportunity. I-I...we—” He glanced at you for permission to include you in his speech and you squeezed his thigh in encouragement, “—we wouldn’t be here without you.”

Seokjin bowed his head in a similar fashion to Jeongguk, dropped the cloth napkin scrunched in his palm to hold that hand up in solace, “You’re very welcome but please, call me Seokjin. Before you ask, my father wasn’t Mr. Kim, I just don’t want to be called that.”

Jeongguk didn’t know whether to laugh and he wasn’t the only one so Seokjin tried to amend further, “Formality is outdated. Am I right?”

Someone, a marketing tech for the specific cover shoot, murmured quietly to sate the CEO, “Correct, Seokjin.”

Other customers had gone back to their previous dinner table discussions, returning the restaurant to the dull roar of before, and your table was no exception to the seemingly mundaneness. Ice cubes against frosted glass, the click of cutlery into glass plating, an occupied silence filled with content chewing and thoughtful swallows. 

Questions to proceed the cover shoot reveal. 

“What exactly were you doing before this? I understand you’re still in university?”

Jeongguk didn’t have to lie on that question because Taehyung hadn’t lied on your resumes. Or your cheat sheets, depending on who was asking. You’d forced him to sit on the floor in the living room of the apartment and recite back any and everything contained on the email attachment Taehyung had begrudgingly sent you again, from the way your name and phone numbers were ordered on the header to the exact digits, a forward and back recitation of Taehyung’s phone number (a series you’d, unfortunately, never forget). 

“Yes, I’m going to school for, uhm...chemistry,” He winced because that also wasn’t a lie. Unfortunately. 

You kept quiet because they hadn’t asked you. On guard. On call, maybe. Eager to recite your major and list of minors like you were at a family barbecue with cousins who refused to talk to you for three years. 

An impressed murmur rounded the table in a wave. “Chemistry...What will you do with that?”

Like clockwork. “Med school, possibly. Maybe teaching. Not sure yet.”

“And your modeling experience—” Now into the flashcards once stacked in the need to review pile, “—who did you say you were signed with?”

“Ah…” His knife hit in a resounding rebound through the slab of meat he was attempting to dice into another tiny cube, “Well I wasn’t really signed, I just—”

“You weren’t signed?” 

You swallowed because it wasn’t Seokjin who’d ask the question but the smile on his lips had wilted into the furrow of his eyebrows, two elbows hitting the table as his fingers clasped in front of him. 

“The company has changed names since then,” Jeongguk jammed the cube into his cheeks but chewing didn’t let him off the hook as ambient dinner noises paused in wait of his answer, “It’s been a while…”

“Your resume says you’ve had published billboards up until last year. Were you not signed then?”

“It’s been a while since I originally signed. I had that contract for five years time and the company changed possession three times in that period. Who knows what it’s called now, you know?”

Safe. 

Your on call button beeping eagerly in the forefront of your conscious gradually flickered until it was off because your lie wouldn’t be as easy. You couldn’t produce a selfie or even a fake contact that would ring to rap superstar Kim Namjoon. Even Taehyung wasn’t that good. 

“Your manager, agent, whatever you have—” It was Jimin who asked this time, curious, “—would we know him?”

“Kim Taehyung,” Jeongguk offered up the name with little hesitation and you almost choked on a clump of parmesan tickling at your throat. The cheese convinced you there were a million Kim Taehyung’s in the world, the name not your eccentric, software engineer group project partner who’d once recited the HTML of the university’s financial aid office web page to you by memory and you managed to swallow down a gulp of your ice water, cube included, with minimal tears pooling due to your choke. “He’s our manager.”

The introduction of our caused eyes to fall upon you and blinked through the bleary tears remaining in makeup coated ducts. Some of the product smeared into your eyes then, worsening the tears of pain, but no one addressed you still. You just nodded to ensure they didn’t. 

The end of the meal meant goodbyes and goodbyes meant brief instances of small talk with each individual at the table. For you, they were limited to thank you for the meal. For Jeongguk, it was a sentence or two more, ones you were in earshot of. 

Seokjin came last, a soft hug wrapped around your shoulders that was awkward in the way that he patted at your arm. It was a firmer hand he reached for Jeongguk a firm shake in the middle of two broad statures as he stared directly through the haphazard fringe stringing into Jeongguk’s lashes. 

“Congratulations,” Another firm shake that traveled up into a pat on Jeongguk’s shoulder, “I look forward to seeing more of your work.”

You trailed Jeongguk’s pointed trek through the front door of the apartment building, taking three strides to his normal one and you tried to slow him with a tempting, “Should we go get ice cream? We should go get ice cream.”

He was slowest when in front of the elevator, jamming his middle finger into the up button. “Why should we go get ice cream?”

“To celebrate?” Your toe caught on the small gap between the ground floor and the elevator, “They seemed to really enjoy it—”

“I’d rather just go to bed,” It was harsh in delivery but his eyes softened and his chin tilted down toward you, “...if that’s okay. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” You affirmed and as an afterthought you teased, “Beauty sleep for the superstar.”

His smile was a ghost on the dimples in his cheeks, eyes downcast so his eyelashes shadowed on his cheekbones and his head dipped away from you to stride down the hall, staying that way as he fiddled with the blue spiral on his wrist and pushed into the apartment. 

Jeongguk was with you in peeling off your shoes onto a makeshift welcome mat, a plastic takeout bag from the Thai food you’d gotten the second night, before affirming again, less harsh and almost tentative, not to ask but that you’d say no and he wouldn’t get to complete his request. 

“...it’s okay if I go to bed? If I leave you alone down here?”

“Yeah,” You reached to touch his wrist, feathering your fingers over his knuckles, “Maybe I’ll figure out the TV so you don’t have to do it for me every time.”

He tried to smile. It didn’t fool but you let him go anyway, watching mute as he ascended the stairs, sluggish and slow like his fingers fiddling at the buttons of his creased button up. 

“Jeongguk—” He looked at you now, fingers braced on the railing, shoulders slumped as he turned, “—take your makeup off.”

“Thank you, baby,” A soft murmur that echoed in the silence of the house, “Good night…”

You tried the television twice and gave up on the third time’s the charm, trekking the route Jeongguk had made up the stairs but turning the opposite direction for your room. You saved the shower for the morning, pocketing your jewelry in an empty pouch of your suitcase, swiping a baggy t-shirt off the floor that smelled like your roommate, washed your face in the facet you’d mastered in three weeks time, tucked yourself underneath cool sheets, raising your phone to your face where it was attached to a looping extension cord plugged into yet another inopportune outlet on the far side of the bed. 

A makeup tutorial that was less of a tutorial and more of a demonstration of the guru’s skill set elicited the sleep in your eyes and you’d nearly dozed off when another light peeked from your peripheral, one that startled you to lock your phone and squint. 

It was Jeongguk, body language like you’d left him but pajamas on in place of his dress clothes with a blanket sanctioned over one shoulder and dragging against the ground like his sluggish footsteps. A pillow was clutched in his latter arm, squished against his chest with his chin resting on the plush surface, forming a natural pout on the purse of his lips and the wrinkle of his nose. 

“Hey,” You didn’t question, the initial startle of your heart morphing into something fond and heavy in your ears that caused you to spread your arms, “Come on.”

Mindless shuffling was domestically mundane, tugging apart the made side of the bed, replacing the pillows with his, tucking the duvet at his waist and his blanket over his shoulders, shifting further into the warmth to let him drape a hand to your hip, contact, while you propped yourself up on the curve of your arm. 

“You okay?” You thumbed soft strands of his fringe between your thumb and index finger and when he didn’t jerk away, you went to stroking the tresses between the spaces in your digits. It was wet, shower fresh, not dry enough to curl yet. 

Jeongguk grumbled, voice muffled and raspy into his pillow that he mushed his cheek further into, “Just couldn’t sleep, is all. Your bed is comfier.”

You ignored the way his fingers fist further into your shirt at your hip. Carefully, you nodded, “You sure that’s all?”

He hummed again, a mixture of hesitation affirmation and the reaction to your nails scraping into his scalp. You repeated the motion just to hear him mewl and feel him relax, melted shoulders shifted until he was close enough to wrap an arm around the small of your back. 

“The shoot turned out really well, huh?” Jeongguk snorted, the breath fanning against your neck and you frowned, “I mean, it’s really cool. That you’re going to be on the cover. Looking like that—” 

“I guess.”

You went to scrunching his hair at the back of his head between your palm, “The other things we’ve been working on since...they’ll turn out great too. Who knows, maybe you can erase the foot modeling for something legitimate and credible.”

Jeongguk’s hair ruffled in your grasp when he adjusted his cheek on the pillow, pulling away from your chest to be eye level. 

“You know something?”

You let your hand flop out of his hair to the pillow, “What?”

“I haven’t taken a single picture since we’ve been here. I haven’t even thought about touching my camera.”

“I hate it,” He continued, blunt with his nose crinkled at the bridge, “I miss it…”

“We have a day off in a few days. Maybe we could go exploring with it—”

“—and I can’t believe I’m saying this but I miss school. I miss being at university,” Jeongguk blinked, a prolonged blink that scrunched at more parts of his face, “Okay, I don’t miss that. I...I don’t know what I miss. It’s...something. Mostly photography probably but I think it’s just…”

“...I think it’s just knowing. I miss knowing. As in having at least a sense of what I’m doing. Where I’m going. What I want to do.”

Your features softened into something grim, nodding when he glanced at you. His laugh was bitter as he held your eye contact, “In short, I hate this. I, frankly, hate that you convinced me to do this. I...I can’t wait to go home.”

“I’m sorry, Guk, I didn’t—”

“It’s not your fault,” He breathed in, holding it, eyes closing, “Please don’t apologize. It’s been like this for a while. Me not...knowing.”

“I thought you were right. Money can fix a lot of things, like paying off my loans and tuition. But paying my tuition means I’m stuck in an unspoken contract of sorts with a major I hate that’ll propel me toward a career I’m unsure of but already hate, anyway.”

“The only thing I’m sure of is my camera,” Jeongguk shrugged, eyes open and wide and starred in natural celestials and a shimmer of tears, “and I don’t even want to touch that anymore.”

“I mean I do, but I don’t...you know?” His voice broke then, a glisten falling to his cheek now as a tear finally lipped over and you cooed, rushing forward to intercept him back into your embrace. 

“What’ll make it better?” You held him with two arms around his neck, cheek pressed into the damp strands at the crown of his head. 

“Don’t know. Leaving probably. But...I’m not going to do that. It’d make me feel worse. Quitting, you know.”

“What can I do? Anything? I already made you come here…”

Jeongguk pulled away from the damp spot he’d rounded on the collar of your shirt and the base of your throat, cheeks blotchy and tearful and he scolded, “I told you not to worry about it. I’m the hot mess.”

“Yeah, but you’re my best friend,” You thumbed at his cheek, collecting the drying tears, “My hot mess.”

You didn’t expect Jeongguk’s strawberry tulip bud lips to taste like salt the first time you kissed but you cleared the culprit of the taste with your thumbs while he pressed desperate affections into the seam of your mouth, holding you tight to him at the waist. You let him because you wanted it too but took his lull for a breath to cup his face, still working at clearing the fresh wave of tears on his cheeks while you hushed, “Not now.”

“M’sorry,” He apologized this time, a messy blubber through your tender touch, “I didn’t—I didn’t want to do it like this.” 

“If I don’t get to apologize, neither do you,” You kissed his nose in lieu of his lips, “You can kiss me all the time once you figure you out.”

Jeongguk sniffled, “Be careful. That’s incentive.”

“Maybe that’s why I said it,” You kissed his eyelid in tandem with another swipe underneath it and you mirrored the action on the opposite side, “And you never answered me. What can I do?”

He smiled when he noisily advertised the snot in his nostrils this time, squeezing your hips, “Just be you. You’re the last thing I photographed.”

“You’ll always be the thing I photograph.”

You were halfway through waving a strand of his hair down the battery powered wand in your hand, an online purchase with your second intern check. It was a seasoned movement now, easier with his hair that had grown without cut since you’d been in the city. It was an advertisement shoot, a casual look that would be perched above bar codes and brand affiliates on the back page of the magazine. 

“Crouch for me,” You paired it with a light smack to his shoulder, catching attention where it had wandered to a loose strand on the baggy t-shirt draped over his stature. Jeongguk was purposeful in being awkward, bending at the waist and the knees and he dramatically sat a hand on his thigh, cocking a hip out and sticking his tongue out at you. 

“Better?”

“I can’t stand you—”

“Is it their break?” 

You managed to maneuver your surprise into the jerk of the curling wand away so it didn’t burn Jeongguk, both of you glancing toward the new presence in the room. It was a frantic looking intern from the front desk, one that came and went on an odd schedule you couldn’t quite pinpoint but he looked two seconds away from tearing his hair out at the roots anyway. When the photographer nor the set manager didn’t respond, he took it as an affirmation, forward in grabbing Jeongguk’s arm to tug and motioning you with his free appendage. 

“I guess it is now,” You exchanged a glance with Jeongguk when the intern scoffed, not letting go of the larger man before him until you were halfway down the hallway and an abrupt turn to another later. 

“You’re needed with one of the head executives.”

The cover shoot magazine was set to go in print within the next few days and urgent around the studio meant they went about airbrushing the static in Jeongguk’s curled hair a different way and were seeking approval of the talent. You assumed Jimin was about to tutt in disapproval when you couldn’t see the smudge his stocky finger was gesturing to on the life sized image plastered across the center of his desk. 

But you turned past the sign indicating his office and you almost parted your mouth to gently correct the frazzled twenty-something, help him out for something that was bound to be corrected anyway, but he paused in front of an office, that office, one with a name plate bigger than the rest and the only one displaying the company logo in tandem. 

“Seokjin requested to see you personally,” The intern knocked but didn’t look inside, just propped the door open and gestured, “In you go.”

An excuse was on the tip of your tongue and you ran into Jeongguk on the way to express it but the intern had already coaxed at Jeongguk’s larger stature and you both were shoved into a shut room before your brain could even process that I have to use the bathroom on the first floor because that’s the only soap I’m not allergic to wasn’t a viable excuse. 

“Hello,” The sheer size of Seokjin’s size seemed to swallow his broad shoulders even in the tight hug of a navy suit jacket to the definition of his shape but the enormity contrasted to the warmth in his voice, smile, and eyes as all gestured for the open chairs turned inward toward his desk. “Please, have a seat.”

He shuffled at two specific sets of papers as you tripped over Jeongguk’s ankles for the same chair, catching and narrowly avoiding a spill of an empty piece of furniture. You settled as the horror set in of what sets of papers Seokjin held, stapled leaves taken from the same blue file folders you’d been greeted with on day one. 

You were useless in noticing you’d left your ID badge in the studio, too. 

“I ran your references, out of curiosity…” Seokjin bent the papers in hand at the thumb, “Tell me about Kim Taehyung.”

“That’s our manager,” A robotic answer spoke in monotone, Jeongguk’s blank gaze on the turtle paperweight perched on the edge of Seokjin’s desk suggesting the same type of mechanical movement. 

“Your manager is a member of two seperate government watch lists for hacking low level search engines?”

Your eyes bulged and you forgot your role, “He is?” 

“I don’t know,” Seokjin smiled gently, “but he probably should be if he isn’t. He’s not very subtle about it. Between him and the conspiracy theorist…”

“Yoongi,” You breathed, “Yeah...probably.”

“You—” He shuffled deeper into his array of papers, plucking one specific piece out to slide across the desk at Jeongguk. You recognized it as a screenshot of his online portfolio, the chosen album one of fresh summer wildflowers (weeds, you’d informed him behind the scenes) from the summer prior, “—you’re very talented.”

“And you…” This time a screenshot of your commissions profile, various examples of your work scattering the black and white screen cap, “You have an eye for design. My layout team could learn a thing or two from you.”

“I checked with your university and don’t worry, not your grades. I don’t care about those numbers frankly…” He tapped on something on the top paper in his pile, “Your majors. You didn’t lie about those. Graphic design, that suits your passions, from what I can tell at least.”

You nodded. 

“But chemistry?” Seokjin blinked, “I can’t imagine that fulfills you in the slightest. You said you plan to be a doctor?”

“I don’t know,” Jeongguk answered, quick and honest and for once he didn’t slump into the answer. “You’re right. It doesn’t.”

“Can I let you in on some cheesy but true advice?”

More nodding, this time from both. 

“It’s not worth it if it doesn’t fulfill you. Certainly not something so far in left field from what you clearly love to do. I said I didn’t care about grades but…” Seokjin cocked his head, a knowing smile on his lips, “Those grades don’t match someone who's passionate about their field.”

“I’m going to have to pull the cover shoot, for obvious reasons. I’ll have to send you home as well, with the rest of your internship pay, of course.”

You rushed to deny that in the same sentence that Jeongguk did, apologetic and hot at the neck when Seokjin held up a hand. 

“You get the pay on one condition. You go home and do something with it. Something something, not just continue on with that boring chemistry degree.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I told you to call me Seokjin but I’m going to change that, too—” Seokjin stood, rounding his desk for a handshake that Jeongguk rushed to straighten and intercept, “—call me Jin when you book your first photography gig, alright? Even if it’s just your conspiracy theorist friend and his fried chicken looking poodle.”

Jeongguk laughed, loud and unabashed and you were the first person he directed his joy at, only causing your elation to grow tenfold in your heart. 

“You too, after you design the new McDonald’s logo or something. I’m getting pretty tired of those golden arches…”

You thumbed at the tassel dangling off the graduation cap flopped top down on the edge of Jeongguk’s mattress. It fit Jeongguk’s head better than yours, so you brought it over for him to borrow so that the fight in the bookstore was one less stress his graduation checklist had to suffer from. 

“Taunting me with that?” Jeongguk’s neck hinged over the side of the bed, blinking backward at you. 

You glared, breaking away from the yellow fringe to crouch in front of his face, squishing his cheeks together to plant a chaste kiss on the exaggerated pout of his lips. One of many you’d planted on him after he’d met with his advisor to change his track from chemistry to digital imaging, adding an extra summer semester onto his graduation while he watched you take your leatherbound diploma in only muted jealousy from beyond the lens of his obnoxious camera obscuring the view of a dad in a Hawaiin shirt and sandals. 

Your headshot, the original one you’d taken messily after burning your arm and testing eyeliner thickness over the same mark, was framed in his room but not hung, leaning against the wall where he’d nailed a hanger but couldn’t get the cheap balsa wood to center. You pointed to it, “Taunting me with that?” 

“No,” He reached for you, grabby hands until you stepped into his embrace, allowing him to pull you down onto his bed, “I think you look cute.”

“I think you’re a sap.”

“I think I’m allowed to be considering you’re moving next week.”

“You’re renting a space in my bed in eight weeks,” You sat up to poke his nose, “We both lose.”

Jeongguk pouted, “Hey.”

You just grinned, “Hey, what?”

“That was the best part of that internship,” He marveled, blissful as his eyes shut, “Living together.”

“Oh yeah? Not the whole introspective finding myself thing?”

“Nope—” The fullness of his teeth shined even as his eyelashes stayed glued, “—the whole getting to cuddle the secret love of my life thing.”

“It wasn’t that secret.”

“It was.”

“Hmm, okay,” You folded your arms at your chest to prop yourself up on his stomach, “Speaking of secrets. Have you checked your phone?”

“Did Yoongi add us to another group chat?” 

You snorted, “Check your phone.”

You huffed when Jeongguk used the top of your head to hold his phone, thumb flexing against your forehead as it scrolled, and you giggled when all his motions, breathing included, gradually stalled. 

“Did Taehyung figure out how to hack email addresses too?” When you didn’t respond, Jeongguk peered at you underneath his thumb, “Ha-ha, very funny.”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I got another email from Jin.”

“Oh, that,” You grinned, “Yeah, I do know about that.”

He grumbled, thumb moving into action again as he clicked around, opening the email and enlarging the font to read. 

“Jeongguk. I’m happy to hear you’re graduating soon and in something you seem to enjoy! It just so happens that we have an opening here in our photography department and we’re seeking someone with your exact credentials. I’ve reviewed your updated profile and can’t say I’m anything less that thoroughly impressed. If you can provide me with an updated, and legitimate, resume, the spot will be yours upon graduation.”

“Thanks for not spending my money on booze,” Jeongguk added with a laugh, “Seokjin (Or Jin. Just not sir. Or Mr. Kim).” 

“Really?” You rewarded his face with a kiss to his chin, moving the affections up his cheek as he marveled, “They really want to hire me?”

“They really want to hire you. For real, this time.”

“But...but wait—” He stopped you with the heel of his palm into the center of your forehead and you huffed, “We...we just got things figured out. And I’m going to have to move closer to the company…”

You did your best to plaster indignation onto your features, “You really think you’re going to get away with leaving your stylist here?”

Jeongguk’s eyes bulged, hopeful but not following, “...what?”

“Grab my phone for me.”

He happily obliged in dipping his hand into the back pocket of your jeans, handing you the device with a smile but deeply concerned, singular, eyebrow. You huffed, fumbling at the screen of your phone until you pulled up your own email, one you’d received two weeks ago and you enlarged the font to hand to Jeongguk. 

He frowned through his intense scanning before whining, “Is this why you wouldn’t tell me anything about your job offer?”

“Yes.”

“...did he hire you to run the design department?”

“Not yet but I am working there.”

“...so we’re not getting that apartment back home?”

“Nope.”

“...are we still moving in together?”

“Absolutely.”

An extra silence and you could feel the gears churning behind his skull in the rapid thrum of his heart at your palm, “...back to the previous apartment?”

“I don’t think that’s available anymore but no. I asked for something a bit more our taste.”

“So we can buy real welcome mats this time?” Jeongguk propped himself up on his elbows, curling his stature so you were drawn closer to his face and he happily rubbed his nose to yours.

“You didn’t like our bachelor pad chic decor?”

He ignored you, “And can we build IKEA tables together? Oh, what about name our apartment, you know, like people name their cars—”

[ellewritesathing]

So Close - S.S. XXXIX

Summary: The universe has a funny way of putting the things you want right in front of you, but just out of reach. Stiles and Y/N have been best friends ever since Scott brought him home, but when Stiles realizes that he might want to be something other than best friends, she leaves to go to some fancy private school up North. Now that she’s back though … maybe he’s got a shot? A Teen Wolf AU in which the reader has always been so close to Stiles and yet so far.

Masterlist   Prev. | Part 39

Word-count: 2.6k+

A/N: guess who straight up forgot what day of the week it was but a day late is better than never right?? hope you guys like it!! 💕 (also i couldn’t find the gif i wanted to use so have some alpha!scott)

Though it had only been a few days, you’d been staying at Stiles’ house ever since he and Scott had gotten into their fight. Melissa was hardly impressed with the decision, but she relented when Noah got hurt and she realized that he'd be staying alone if it wasn't for you. Part of the deal you'd struck, however, was that you’d check in with her every day. Seeing as how you needed some new clothes and the Stilinski's washing machine was busted, you decided to make it a house call. 

Melissa didn’t seem to be at home, but you could tell that Scott was there thanks to your fancy new werewolf skills. You tiptoed up to his room and stood in the doorway while he attempted to pin photos and post-it notes to a new corkboard. He was using the same red yarn that Stiles used on his conspiracy boards. 

The only problem was that Scott attached one of the strings to his jacket as well as at least five other pins. As soon as he tugged on the yarn, every photo and post-it note came clattering down. He let out a sigh and threw the piece of yarn towards the ground. 

“It’s easier to stick the details to the photos before you pin them up,” you said. “Once you've pinned everything up, you can connect them with yarn.” 

Scott seemed surprised to see you as he turned around. Maybe his senses were slipping. “Thanks,” he said uncertainly, sliding some of the fallen papers behind him with his foot. 

“Stiles has perfected the art of the conspiracy board over the years,” you said as you pushed yourself off of the door jam and started heading towards your room. “Maybe you should ask him about it sometime.”

“Y/N, wait!” Scott called after you. You stopped in the hallway and turned back to look at him. He looked kind of pathetic as he stood there with the remnants of his would-be board around him. “Is he- you know, how is he?” 

“His dad is still in the hospital so not great,” you said. It came out snippier than you meant it to. You let out a sigh and shook your head as you walked over to him. “How could you do that to him, Scott? You left him.” 

“I thought he killed someone.” 

“He did kill someone. In self-defense.” You got close enough to him and poked his chest as you finished. “And he needed you to be there for him.” 

Scott didn’t mean to yell, but he did anyway. “How was I supposed to do that when he didn’t even tell me about it?” He took a breath and looked away for a second, trying very hard to regain his cool. “Sorry, I- I didn’t mean to-” 

“I know,” you said quietly. You wrapped your arms around yourself and tried to think of how to say what you needed to. “Look, Scott … He’s mad because you didn’t believe him from the start. He said we shouldn’t trust Theo and you dismissed him as being paranoid. Then this happened, and Stiles was so scared that you would kick him out completely that- that he didn’t tell you.” 

“I know.” 

“I know you know.” You took a breath and uncrossed your arms to put a hand on his arm. “You’re making a good effort. Just don’t give up on him again, okay? He’ll come around.”

Scott dropped his gaze and nodded a few times. A memory flashed in your mind from just after you'd returned to Beacon Hills when Scott was comforting you thought you'd ruined your relationship with Stiles. Scott snapped you back to the present after a few seconds. “And what about you?” 

That caught you off guard. You frowned slightly as you thought about it. “If you couldn’t forgive Stiles for self-defense, I was scared about what you’d do when I did something worse,” you said slowly. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ve seen me out there; it’s only a matter of time. For me and Malia both.” 

“Malia?” Scott asked. “What does Malia have to do with any of this?” 

“You seriously haven’t noticed?” you asked, rolling your eyes when he said he didn’t. “She’s been hunting her mom down since she found out her name from Peter. I’m pretty sure she’s gonna kill her.”

“And you didn’t say anything?” Scott asked, starting to lose his cool again. 

“Scott, not everyone has a family like ours," you said. "Especially not the Hales. Plus, I mean, the Desert Wolf kills people. If Malia wants to kill hee, that's not really my business.” 

“But she’s still a person! You can’t just-” Scott took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew he needed to stay calm or you'd leave. “Okay. But we … we’re okay?”

You gave him a small smile and squeezed his arm before letting go. “We’re getting there, Scotty.”

“I can work with that,” Scott said with his goofy, hopeful grin.

In a weird kind of peace offering, you started helping Scott set his board up. The two of you didn’t talk very much as you did, but it was nice to be alone with him for a little while, even if what you were doing was pretty morbid. When he reached to pin up the last photo, Scott winced and lowered his arm before he got the chance. 

You reached out to steady him, looking down at where his wound was. “That’s taking a pretty long time to heal.”

“Yeah, I know,” Scott exhaled. He put the photo on his desk very gently. “I think it’s because it’s from Liam. Because we’re not … you know.” 

“I know,” you said quietly, still holding onto him. “You need some help cleaning it up?”

Scott took a breath and winced at how much his chest moved. “No, I can handle it. Do you wanna get your stuff and I’ll drop you off at Stiles’ house?” 

No. You wanted to help your brother. Instead you just gave him a weak smile and pulled your hand away. “Sure. Yell if you need any help.”

Scott promised he would but you doubted that he’d follow through with it, so you kept an ear out for any surprises. The sounds of Scott struggling to clean his wounds weren’t that surprising, but Stiles coming over to ask for Scott's help was. Scott agreed immediately, like you knew he would, and the two of them were off before you knew it. 

Though it was a little disheartening that Stiles hadn’t picked you to be his werewolf partner in crime, you were relieved that they were both making an effort to patch up. You followed them anyway, just in case, but you kept your distance so they wouldn’t spot you. 

They were investigating what happened at the relay station with Hayden, her sister, and the new chimera at the relay station. You listened closely to what was going on inside and waited maybe five minutes before following them down when they found a secret tunnel underground. 

Following them without them noticing was harder down in the tunnels - everything echoed off the walls - but you managed to stay hidden until they were attacked. 

Seeing Tracy alive and trying to kill your friends was as bizarre an experience as seeing her dead body, but not any more bizarre than punching your formerly-dead classmate Josh in the mouth. You wondered if the others felt like this after you died. 

Josh’s electricity made your heart race but you still managed to slam him against the wall and Scott shoved Tracy’s claws between Josh’s shoulder blades a second later. You sliced Tracy with your claws as you let go of Josh and she collapsed to the ground a few feet away from where Stiles lay paralyzed. You pressed the sole of your shoe into her back to keep her on the ground and looked up at Scott for advice on how to handle it. 

Scott was shining his alpha eyes at a spot along the pipes. He let out a low growl and Corey materialized a second later, very much still afraid of him. 

“Okay!” Theo called out from the shadows. Your heel dug further into Tracy's back as you turned to face where he stepped out from another part of the tunnels. “Maybe they’re not ready to take on an Alpha just yet.” You threw one of your knives at him and he looked minorly inconvenienced as he dodged it. “Though I didn’t expect you to have help. Or to smell fear.” 

Tracy started moving under your foot and you started pushing her further down when Scott shook his head at you. Reluctantly, you took your foot off her back and took a step back. Tracy got to her feet without taking her eyes off you. 

“He has fangs!” Corey argued. You had to admit, sending cute little Corey after Scott seemed idiotic.

“What did you do to them?” you asked Theo. 

Theo gave you a nauseating smile. “Jealous of the newer model?” 

“What did you do?” Scott repeated. 

“I found some new friends,” Theo said as he looked back over at Scott. “I don’t take rejection very well.”

“Haven’t you had a lifetime of practice?” you asked. Tracy and Corey picked up Josh and you held a hand out and stepped in front of them. Sure, he just tried to kill your brother but you were still protective over him. “Where are you taking him?” 

“Somewhere where he's not gonna get stabbed in the back,” Tracy said venomously. “You got a problem with that?” 

“No,” Scott answered for you. “Get out of here.”

You moved out of their way so they could leave, but you didn’t say anything until you were sure that they were long gone. You took a deep breath and returned your focus to Theo, who was dangerously close to Stiles. 

“Hey, Theo,” Stiles said with fake enthusiasm from where he lay paralyzed. 

“Stiles,” Theo said. He lifted his foot and smashed the floor in front of Stiles, the part of the floor with Latin written on it in Mercury, but it was too close to him for you to be comfortable. Theo sighed and walked closer to you and Scott. “You’re going to leave here thinking that you need to worry about me.” He circled you and Scott as he spoke. “But you’re wrong. We’re actually on the same side.”

You looked over at Scott for a second and he looked just as distrusting as you did for once. 

“But that thing …” Theo said as he came to a stop, looking up at the ceiling. “That’s what we need to worry about. Your pack and mine.” You scoffed under your breath. His pack. “Now, we’re gonna go back to school and pretend like we’re normal teenagers, but at night, we’re going to be fighting for our lives.”

“What is it?” Stiles asked.

“It’s not a chimera,” Theo said. 

“But it’s just a kid underneath,” Scott argued, always noble. “Someone like us.”

Theo tilted his head and gave Scott one of his secretive smiles. “Not anymore.” He started turning again and walked off into the darkness after his new pack of chimeras. 

You took a deep breath and let out a long exhale as you put your head in your hands for a moment. “Well, shit, guys. That sounds awful.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Stiles said as he looked you up and down (which looked very interesting considering his collapsed position on the floor). “What are you doing here, by the way?” 

“Hi, babe, good to see you too,” you teased as you crouched down in front of him. You moved some hair out of his face and smiled at him. “I came to make sure neither of you killed one another. Can I sit you up?”

Stiles let out a sigh and rolled his eyes to the best of his paralyzed abilities. He looked ready to say something sarcastic before deciding against it. “Yes, please.”

You smiled at him and looped his arm around your shoulder while Scott took Stiles’ other arm. The two of you dragged him to a wall and propped him up, Scott sitting on his one side and you on his other. As Scott settled in, you picked up Stiles’ hand and moved it into yours. 

“He knew what it meant and I can’t even remember the words,” Scott said after a while. 

“Damnatio Memoriae,” Stiles said. Scott looked at him a little incredulously and it made you smile. Of course, Stiles remembered the ominous Latin writing. “It means the condemnation of memory. I think it also means that whatever the Dread Doctors created, whatever this last chimera really is ... it’s not something new. It’s something old. Really old.”

“So they didn’t create a new creature,” Scott said slowly. 

“They resurrected one,” you said, turning so you look at both of them clearly. “Like how Theo resurrected the others.” 

“Not exactly, but …” Stiles took a deep breath. “Yeah.” 

“That sounds bad,” you said quietly.

“Really bad.” Scott waited a minute and then pressed his index and middle fingers to the dirt and drew a circle, the beginning of his pack symbol. “We need help,” he said. “If Theo’s got his own pack now then we need ours. We have to get the others back.”

“The others?” Stiles repeated. “You mean Kira who’s currently battling a homicidal fox spirit inside of her, Malia who isn’t even speaking to us, Lydia who’s stuck in Eichen House, and Liam who almost killed you?” 

“Also known as our best friends,” Scott said. 

You snorted and Stiles pulled a face at you, which only made you laugh harder. It felt wrong to laugh in these tunnels. “And how do you plan on getting the gang back together?” you asked.

“One by one,” Scott said. His eyes flicked from Stiles to the incomplete pack boob in the dust.

“You’re not seriously going to make me do it,” Stiles said, frowning at the dirt on the floor.

“You’re part of the pack, right?” Scott asked. 

“Here,” you said as you moved to grab Stiles' other hand. You held two of his fingers in your hand. “Just until you get your feeling back.”

Stiles took a reluctant breath but nodded anyway for you to do it. You moved his hand to make a bigger circle around Scott’s and held in a laugh at how exasperated he looked. You bumped his arm and smiled at him. 

“Let’s get out here,” you said. “This place gives me the creeps.” 

Both Stiles and Scott laughed, but Scott got to his feet and offered you a hand up. You let him help you up, and then you each took one of Stiles’ arms and pulled him to his feet. 

The two of you supported most of Stiles’ weight while you walked, but it wasn’t much of a burden to your superhuman strength. You couldn’t say the same for Scott though - the smell of his blood got stronger the closer you got to the exit - but at least Stiles was regaining some feeling by then. 

You helped Stiles into the passenger seat of the Jeep and buckled him in before pressing a kiss to his forehead. “See you at home, okay?” 

“Okay,” Stiles said with a smile. “Thanks for looking after me. I know it’s not the easiest job.” 

“Yeah, but it’s the only job I care about,” you said softly. You were going to kiss him when you heard Scott squirming around as he tried to get into the driver’s seat. You sighed and looked over at him. 

“Sorry, the seat is like really squeaky,” he said awkwardly. “I know you guys were having a moment.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Yeah, emphasis on ‘were.’”

You laughed again while Scott stammered out ten thousand apologies and Stiles gave him a hard time. There was still a long way to go, but this was a start. And this was enough.

Tagged: @ietss​  @used-avocado​

[xenophanatic]

Hot Take on Elite Season 2 - PART 1/2

I was going to make this a ‘Short Review’ but I feel like this won’t be short. 

Quick Feelings on Season 1. What I enjoyed about the first season was the at the end the three main characters (Samuel, Nadia, Christian) have all changed. Goofy Christian has betrayed his best friend for entrance into higher society - and is filled with guilt, Nadia is broadening her horizon - not being homophobic or narrow-minded - and stands up in front of her dad, while Samuel has lost his naivety and humbleness to become a vengeful badass. 

First up, Christian breaks within the first minutes (wanting to confess) and is then promptly shipped away - I’m guessing this is because the actor needed to leave. But I want to focus on three points.. 

Murder Mystery: Main Focus Samuel

There is so much hate for Samuel’s character in the fandom. I kind of get it, cause he was wimpy in the last season. However, I thought they would make his shift drastic. I expected him to have a crazy conspiracy board with red strings connecting student’s year book photos and playing mind games with everyone. 

He has been lied to by everyone; the girl who he lost his virginity to, and was in love with, was pregnant with his brother’s child - oh and she was murdered. So you can see this character hating everyone at this school and wanting to see them burn. I expected DARK Samuel, what we got was more was more Samuel 2.0. 

WHAT HAPPENED: So, he believes Carla knows something about what happened and he plans to get close to her. Rebecca (new character) doesn’t think he has the skill to pull it off. Carla obviously knows what is up and this leads to both of the being FBuddies - oh but Samuel catches feelings and believes Carla couldn’t possible know anything. This is very Season 1 Samuel, head over heels for a pretty rich girl. Later we see that Carla has also caught feelings for Samuel. Though I (surprisingly) did end up liking the two together, i thought it was forced. When the started to let their guard down - it was actually nice. Still and Lu and Samuel shipper though. 

EXPECTATIONS: It would have been interesting to see Samuel just manipulate Carla with a disregard to her feelings, and everyone else telling him he’s going too far. It would be cool to see Carla thinking she could use her body to shut him up, but then truly let her guard down only to find out he was just playing her. Have Samuel set this master plan where he is manipulating everyone. Have him play on the ‘poor boy’ act and get people thinking he is not a problem, but really he is just lying and playing them. He says it’s to save Nano, but really he’s just angry at Marina for not choosing him and then dying - aka no closure. If he would have been ‘good enough’ than, this wouldn’t have happened. Maybe have the end with Carla, how she actually was real with him and he realises that he became like those he hated. 

POSITIVES: Saying that, I did enjoying two things - Rebecca having feelings for damaged Samuel, and Guzman and Samuel’s friendship at the end. 

Additional Characters: Flowers in Valerio’s Attic

Before I start talking about him, the other new characters. I did like Rebecca, though she had only a handful of scenes, I enjoyed her character. I liked her morals - she stopped her mother from saying Cayetana’s a cleaner -. I liked her relationship with others - omar and nadia - and there was this very human moment with her when she dressed as a princess to be more appealing to Samuel, but then changed when she realised that there was no point. She knew who she was and that he didn’t want that - so F him. 

Cayetana was a cliched story line that reminded me of a less sympathetic Feriha from Adını Feriha Koydum. That would actually have been better, if she saw how the school treated the scholarship kids and let everyone assume that she was rich. Though I understand that she kind of played a big part in the last episode and will most likely play a bigger part next season - her character was... ehh....

Now... 

Okay, when the whole Flowers in the Attic thing happened with Lu and Valerio and he responded ‘HALF siblings!’, I prayed that there was a ‘lost in translation’ thing happening with my subtitles and really the meant ‘step’. Nope. Half siblings. This was weird and uncomfortable. Here are some quotes that were written to make us side with Valerio? This section is filled with sarcasm. 

“It’s not like we’re planning to have kids.” -Yeah, cause that’s the only issue we are having.

“You can’t blame someone for how they feel,” that’s something a pedo would say. 

“Have you ever loved someone but couldn’t be with them because of society,” - No, it’s not society - it is also illegal. 

Grossness aside... I liked Valerio’s character. HERE ME OUT! The story is creepy, but the ending paid off. 

This is how I see it, the show never out right says it, so I’m extracting all this. I feel like this happened early on (before the beginning of Elite). Valerio is prob the black sheep and none of his parents care about him, only his sister. Lu is angry at Guzman or something and sneaks into Valerio’s room. Valerio, having only been cared for by Lu, thinks this is true love. However, she shuts him down later, and he thinks it’s because of society. 

What I’m saying is that Valerio is a messed up character who most likely had a bad childhood and found refuge in Lu. What I liked in the end was that he sees who she who truly was. She was laughing at him in front of her dad, not standing up for him. It was like she fell from a pedestal and then he saw her as a sibling. It was good. The actor did an amazing job with every emotion and scene. Can’t wait to see him in the next season - with a new love interest and not Nadia, please. 

PART 2 will discuss Nadia’s character and her relationship with Guzman

[theskydoesgreatthingsnow]

Yeah the left is not always great at seeing extremely blatant conspiracy theories when they’re from the left. There is no difference between this pereidolia and thinking Nickelodeon wants to normalize gays through sponge bob cause Steven Hillenbergs wife was briefly on the board of planned parenthood. I Heart Radio blacklisted the Dixie Chicks in 2003, before Bain was involved. Bain still owned I heart in 2016 when music got super fucking depressing cause of the Trump Election.

In my estimation, the cautiously inoffensive, stripped down and rustic, melancholic but driving, predominantly crusty white guys who look like they were born rich but fell on hard times genre has more to do with a few catchy and fresh flagships of the genre, and a reaction the the early 2000s black eyed peas era and, oh yeah, the Great Recession. But I’m no Mumfordologist.

Bain is Evil, and it’s dealings with IHR are evidence: the company was driven to bankruptcy by the billions of dollars of debt that came as part of the leveraged buy out. Basically Bain got a big loan to buy IHR using IHR’s assets as collateral (making the company on the hook for its own purchase) then slashed jobs and sold off channels, and IHR was the only one responsible for the financial fallout. To be fair, it was in tremendous debt to start and Bain only made it worse. This was a smart way for Bain to maximize profit under the current material and legal structure of society. It also blows.

The conservative tendencies of radio is driven by conservative audiences, rich owners, cautious mass marketing. the legacy of segregation in American radio stations, companies economic interests, rush Limbaugh, the assassination of Alan Berg, and more vast and varied mishegas than Mitt Romney.

Remember: conspiracy isn’t the cork board of a thousand tangentially related items, that’s just life. it’s the red string leading to a single menacing source. When you see someone pulling out the red string and saying “the enemy we hate already is behind this, I just can’t tell you how exactly” lace up your pumped up kicks and run.

[lidoshka]

The conspiracy coarkboard

Me: *chilling out with a frozen coffee: @sheithbigmeme: starts Me: fuck that was today??

++++

And to think he started this day looking forward to seeing Keith.

Last movement they got a message from Keith, he needed to cross-reference some information with the castle archives and so he would be making a visit.

Ever since Keith left for the blades, there have been an empty space around the castle where Keith used to be, conversations where Lance of Pidge stopped for a second waiting for a witty or sarcastic remark that never came, people not using the training room at certain hours because those hours used to be Keith’s.

In Shiro’s case, the absence felt worse, there was a piece inside himself that was missing and he suspected he’d not feel whole again until he had Keith in front of him again. Shiro felt this lack of Keith every minute. He felt the loss when he was turning to his right and not finding his confidante, in the sleepless nights spent in the observatory without someone to talk to, and in the missing warm hand on his shoulder.

So when Keith’s ship landed and he immediately locked himself in one of the private rooms on the library with strict instructions not to be disturbed, Shiro was more than disappointed. He had so many things to say to Keith, so much of his feelings to confess...

In hindsight, he should have suspected Keith and his knack for throwing curveballs at him and his plans.

Keith showed in his room in the middle of the night cycle, for a few seconds Shiro thought he was dreaming, but his dreams had never been able to make justice to the beauty that was Keith.

“Keith!" he said as he jumped from the bed. “You’re here.”

“I’m here” god, his voice was deeper now.  He was still dressed in his blade uniform, allowing Shiro to see Keith’s lean musculature, “I have so much to tell you” Keith whispered.

God, having Keith's purple eyes on him made his heart beat faster.

“Me too” he said, happy that for once his dreams and his desires where in alignment.

“Not here”, said Keith as he took a step backwards and away from Shiro's arm, “someone can hear us”

“Then where? “

"Come” said Keith as he grabbed Shiro’s hand and pulled him into the hallway, away from the sleeping quarters and then all the way up to the Black Lion’s hangar.

“Here? Are you sure?” While he had thought about having an intimate moment together locked away in the lion’s cockpit once or twice he hand never actually dared imagine a scenario, it felt a little disrespectful since the lions have self-awareness.

“It’s the perfect place, no one can find us here.” Keith said as Black lowered her jaw.

“God Keith, are we making out or hiding a body" he joked, but the look Keith gave him was so dark that he aborted his laugh.

Keith dragged Shiro up the lion’s mouth and into the storage room and Shiro really wished he had stayed asleep.

Back on earth, Keith had a board with all the information he gathered about the energy readings and the blue lion. It had photos and newspaper clips and post it notes and even treads of yarn all over. Lance and Pidge called it a conspiracy board, and Shiro agreed with them, even though back then he was quite impressed with it. A visual aid to help him understand everything Keith had done and seen while Shiro was imprisoned. How Keith had cut newspaper articles that doubted the Garrisson’s stance about “pilot error” and how he mapped entire areas of the Arizona dessert. It was a fond memory for Shiro.

Now? Not so much.

“Keith, what’s all this?” he asked as he stared at Keith’s work. There were photos of Shiro –actual photos printed in paper- oh Shiro’s undercut and some closeups of Shiro’s eyes.

Meanwhile Keith was looking at him with an odd expression as he gripped his hands, “listen to me," he started, "this is something important that might change the way you see things," why was Keith talking like he was a nurse talking to a terminal patient?  "but I want you to know I’m going to help you and it’s going to be alright”

It was a conspiracy board.

About him.

And somehow Keith even got red yarn to string around the many colored papers; he couldn’t read the papers fully, but a few of them had a bigger font and said things like “Prosopagnosia,” “common signs of Capgras delusion,” “Systemic pH Changes and possible changes in Human Brain patterns” and “behavior altering parasites”  “you didn’t answer my question” he heard himself whisper.

“You’re not him” Keith said as he stared right at him, “you’re not Shiro. My Shiro”

“Excuse me?”

“I think Shiro’s body disintegrated in the battle against Zarkon, and you’re what’s left of his subconscious.”

“I’m- what? Keith, what are you talking about?” Shiro shook his head. There was a black hole in his stomach at it was becoming denser. What in the world? was this a prank? had Keith finally reached the limit of hours without sleep? this was not how he imagined a lover's getaway.

Apparently asking was all Keith needed and he took off. What followed was a 40-minute presentation about how the current Black paladin couldn’t be the same person who left for Kerberos. It ranged between how Shiro’s eyelashes were a different shape, how Shiro’s hair when he was captured had been way too long in contrast to the time he had been missing, how his scars had been removed –even though they had all assumed the glara has placed Shiro in some form of healing pod— and how his current demeanor was different that how Shiro used to behave.

“You must have noticed something odd” Keith said.

Right. Because that’s the logical hypothesis to make when you’re missing time.

“And you think this all points to me being a spy—“

“A sleeper agent: a spy knows what’s going on and is actively deceiving people around him and you don’t have the lying skills necessary to be spy. You’re a decoy to stops us from looking for the real Shiro at best, or a sleeper agent at worst.” Keith said and he leaned forwards, squinting at Shiro’s eyes, “do you hear other voices inside your head beside your own?"

“What? No I—"

“Do you have blackout periods during the day?”

“N—I—sometimes…”

“Aha.” There was a tilt on inflection on Keith’s voice, like Shiro’s lapses were suddenly the last evidence he need to confirm this… whatever it was.

Then Keith continued with the next section of his board, in which he addressed how the black lion had been hesitant to take him back, how the lights of the cockpit weren’t as bright as before and how silent Black had been recently.

And now Shiro was beginning to have his doubts, because while he could excuse Keith’s rambling as stress and maybe a lack of sleep, he had felt that hesitance in the black lion. Every time he moved the controls he felt a resistance that was impossible to ignore, like Black was reluctant to work with him but had to.

It made him feel inadequate. Like he had come back with something missing.

Shiro took a deep breath and let it go slowly, then he took another one.

“Ok,” said Shiro as he lifted his hands and pulled at his hair. “Ok, say you are right about” he waved his left hand at the board, “all this. But I’m still standing here, so if I’m not Shiro, then who am I? and where’s the ‘real’ Shiro?”

And the lion’s lights turned brighter. Now he could feel it too. It was Shiro, or something that felt like Shiro, permeating the whole room.

And Shiro –can he even call himself that?—began to cry.

Keith paused mid-explanation about how he suspected his arm—Shiro’s arm had been used to clone a body (god only know why the galra wanted that) to look at him.

“Hey… hey,” Keith said as he kneeled in from of him and cupped his faced between his hands, “just because you’re not the original Shiro doesn’t mean you’re not him, or at least a part of him.”

And then Keith kissed him.

“I love you, I love ever part of you two.” Keith smiled at him, the same soft smile he remembered, even though he had just spent the last hour twisting everything he knew and his sense of self. “Don’t worry, we will figure it out. I’ll help you find any of your missing parts.”

Really what else was there to do but dumbly nod?

 ---

Notes: I have no idea how people write humor without somehow ending up with something halfway serious, but suddenly I have more respect for every author out there.

:P