#I would commission someone but I got no money to offer so I’ll just have to whip something up

[quojae]

-where taking photos of idols turns into more that you ever would have guessed-

f!reader, sunoo x reader, fan x idol, fluff, meet cute, kissing

a/n: hello loves 𖹭 i hope you enjoy this fic i tried my best to make it cute and fluffy but it definitely gets raw and intimate towards the end, happy reading o(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)o

wc: 11.3k

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you went to school for photography, photography had always been one of the loves of your life, you would see a scene and just have the urge to take a photo. although looking back, you almost regret getting your degree in it, people always say not to mix your passion and your work. you should have listened, photography is one of those professions where finding stable work feels like trying to catch lightning in a bottle. the industry is oversaturated, and the competition is fierce. jobs hard to score, and the pay is often inconsistent, making it hard to rely on it as a full-time career.

at the time, you were stuck working part-time at a mcdonald's in a rundown part of town. the job paid just enough to cover rent and bills, but the hours were long, the work was grueling, and the atmosphere was depressing. you had a camera, of course, but it felt more like a distant dream you once held as a naive college student than something real. that is, until one evening, when one of your coworkers - someone you didn’t really know that well - approached you with an unexpected proposition.

they had an idea - a suggestion so simple yet so completely outside the box that, at first, it felt almost too good to be true. you’d never considered anything like it before, it wasn’t a big corporate gig, or some trendy magazine cover shoot, or even a commissioned project for a local business. it wasn’t even a photoshoot in the typical sense, but that was exactly the point. it was something raw, something spontaneous, and - most importantly - a reason to use your camera again, reignite your childhood passion.

your coworker, the one you barely knew and could hardly remember the name of, was a fan of a particular idol. the idol wasn’t incredibly popular, they rarely made headlines but was a recognizable, familiar face, you had been interested in idol’s at one point but eventually had to abandon the hobby in favor of paying your bills. this idol was attending a private, high-profile event - an exclusive gathering with limited access - where fans rarely got the chance to meet them in person, let alone snap a photo. 

somehow, your coworker had managed to get tickets to this event, which in itself was a pretty rare feat, they had an idea: "why don’t you come with me as my plus one?" they asked casually, almost as if they were offering you a ticket to a normal night out. but then came the twist. "i’ll pay you for the photos you take while we’re there. you know, of the idol. if you’re up for it."

the offer caught you off guard. at first, you weren’t sure if you heard them correctly, pay you? to take photos? of an idol? you had spent years hustling to scrape by, working part-time jobs just to keep the lights on. you’d never even thought about something like this - photographing an idol for money on the spot. there was always official photos, and some fans took photos from their phones, but going into these events with a nice, high end camera taking candid photos of idols, the idea wasn't necessarily ground breaking, people have done it before, but it made your heart beat a bit faster.

the more you thought about it, though, the more it seemed to make sense. here was a chance to finally break out of the routine you’d been stuck in. you could do something different, something that didn’t involve working under fluorescent lights flipping burgers at mcdonald's. it wasn’t a perfect opportunity, but it was an opportunity. something real, something that could get you one step closer to doing what you loved for a living. 

sure, there was a risk. not getting good shots or you freezing up under the pressure. you weren’t sure, but then again, there wasn't anything to lose. it was a chance to take your photography out of the mundane and into the world of exclusive events, star power, and actual exposure - something you’d always dreamed about but never quite reached. 

you agreed, of course. you had to. the idea, while risky and untraditional, was too intriguing to pass up. it wasn’t the glamorous photoshoot you’d always imagined, but maybe this could be your shot. so, you packed your camera and tagged along, unsure of what to expect but knowing that this could be the break you needed. 

when you arrived at the event, the energy was electric—idols sitting at their tables ready to sign posters and chat with fans, photographers buzzing around, and security everywhere. you were just another face in the crowd, but with your camera in hand, you felt a strange sense of possibility. the idol you were there to photograph was charismatic, surrounded by an entourage, but the moment you snapped the first shot, it felt like the world had opened up in a way you hadn’t expected. 

sure enough, the photos you took that night were more than just decent, they were actually pretty great. the light was perfect, the atmosphere electric, and the idol looked natural in front of the camera, by the time the night ended, you had a batch of photos that would go on to be worth more than you had imagined. it was in that moment that you realized how little you had known about the potential of your work. you had been so focused on following the traditional paths, waiting for commissions, applying for jobs that never seemed to come through, that you’d never considered going outside the box.

your coworker was absolutely thrilled with the photos you took. they couldn’t believe how good they turned out, and the way the idol had looked so natural and approachable in each shot. the pictures weren’t just great, they were special. your coworker practically couldn’t stop talking about them. the excitement in their voice was contagious, and you could tell they were more than just happy with what you'd done; they were impressed. they handed over the agreed payment, which was far more than you expected for something that felt like a spur-of-the-moment gig. you’d never made that much from photography in one night, it felt like you were finally reaching your dreams, it felt like you were finally being acknowledged for your passion.

the real surprise came a few hours later, when your coworker posted the photos on their social media account. They tagged the idol, shared a few behind-the-scenes captions, and - just like that - the photos took off. almost immediately, the reactions started pouring in. fans of the idol who had been eagerly following the event began commenting on the post, captivated by the authenticity and energy you had managed to capture. the photos weren’t just snapshots - they were a window into a moment, and it felt like people were getting a glimpse behind the idols polished public persona.

at first, the comments were more along the lines of casual appreciation like, ‘my bby looks so cutee’ or ‘the lighting on these OMG.’ But as the hours went by, something bigger started to happen. fans were flooding the post, asking for more. a few commented on how they’d never seen the idol look so relaxed or how these photos felt so much more real than the usual, heavily edited promotional shots they were used to seeing. then came the requests: ‘i LiTERALLY NEED MORE RN’ or ‘can you post more pics like these… i love the style of these pics’ others tagged their friends, begging them to look how great their bias looks. then, more offers to purchase came through.

One day at work, you coworker was talking to themself “i mean, these are really good,” they said, scrolling through the growing number of comments. “i bet people would pay for these. like, seriously.” 

they were right. what had started as a casual favor to a coworker had quickly turned into something much bigger. the more your coworker engaged with the comments and shared the photos, the more requests started to come in - both from fans and even other photographers who wanted to know how you’d managed to capture such a raw, intimate vibe with the idol.

your coworker, now buzzing with new ideas, suggested something that would change the way you thought about your photography moving forward: “what if you could do this more often? go to events, take these candid shots, and sell them to fans? it’s like, exclusive content. i know so many people who would eat it up.” it was a wild idea, but as they continued to scroll through the endless stream of enthusiastic comments, you couldn’t deny it - there was something there. something more than just a one-time gig, and secretly you looked forward to going to another event to take photos. seeing the idols was breathtaking. at the time you had been so caught up in your camera you forgot where you were, who you were actually seeing. you could feel the happiness growing in your chest as you thought about that day.

that moment, when your photos started to go viral, you realized just how much potential there was in capturing these raw, behind-the-scenes glimpses of idol life, it wasnt that you wanted to stalk them home or anything, but being able to capture their raw emotions at events, the real them, excited you beyond belief. it wasn’t about posing for the camera, it wasn’t about perfection - it was about getting a fleeting, authentic moment and making it available to the people who longed for it. you had even longed for it yourself, and sharing it with others was such a great feeling.

the more you thought about it, the clearer it became, why not take this momentum and build something on your own? you didn’t need a fancy studio or a corporate client to make a living as a photographer. the fans had spoken loud and clear; they wanted real, behind-the-scenes moments, glimpses of their favorite idols captured in an authentic way. So, you decided to seize that demand, and to evolve your approach.

the first step was creating an online platform - a website, a social media page where you could post and sell your photos directly. it was a relatively simple concept, but it gave you control over your work. no middlemen, no agencies, no waiting around for a call back. just you, your camera, and the people who appreciated what you were capturing. the platform would allow fans to request specific photos they wanted, and you could price them fairly based on the level of access and the quality of the shot. 

you didn’t have to reinvent the wheel, there were plenty of online photography stores, but what made yours different was the personal, exclusive nature of the photos. the idea was to capture the moments that no one else was - candid shots, spontaneous interactions, and moments that felt intimate or unguarded. tt wasn’t about just selling any photo; it was about selling the photo, the one that told a story or showed a side of the idols their fans had never seen before.

the next step was gaining access to more events. you’d have to be creative, find ways into concerts, premieres, fan meet, maybe even award shows, or private parties where idols were likely to show up. this meant networking, finding connections, and sometimes even pulling a few favors, but you learned quickly that where there’s a will, there’s a way. whether it was through your coworkers, friends of friends, or even just by paying attention to social media and learning about events before they happened, you became skilled at getting your foot in the door.

once you were in, it was all about capturing those moments. you’d snap a few candid shots, focusing on moments where the idol was relaxed, in a natural environment. you’d also make sure to get a couple of highly polished, high-quality images to use as teasers. it was all about creating anticipation. you’d post a few shots on social media, teasing the full set of photos, and maybe even share a quick, behind-the-scenes video or an outtake to drum up interest. the goal was to make the fans feel like they were getting an inside look into the world of their favorite idol, something they couldn’t get anywhere else.

the best part? the fans responded just as they had before, eager, excited, and hungry for more. the teaser posts on social media would ignite the excitement, with fans commenting, sharing, and tagging others. requests would pour in, ‘he looks so hot here, i want moree’ or ‘i need the entire set or i might just break down’ the beauty of this model was that it wasn’t about a few one-off sales—it was about building a relationship with a community. as you gained more followers and more fans, it became a cycle. you would post teasers, people would request more, and you could offer them full, high-quality images for a fair price.

as time passed, your online platform began to grow. word of mouth spread, and more fans began reaching out. you found yourself getting access to bigger events, seeing familiar names pop up in your inbox, and even having idols or their teams inquire about using some of your shots for their own promotional purposes. each new photo was a stepping stone, each set you posted was not just a transaction, but an opportunity to connect with your audience and further build your brand.

being an idol fan yourself, this entire experience felt like a dream come true. you had spent so many years admiring these idols from afar, watching them shine in the spotlight, and now you were not only in the same rooms as them but capturing intimate moments of their lives through your lens. after being broke and not having any time to keep up with them, to being so close to them and actively in their world was incredible. the fact that you were interacting with the people you once looked up to - and even more incredibly, that they were appreciating your work - was surreal. it wasn’t just about taking photos anymore; it was about sharing the same energy, the same excitement, and being able to offer something special to other fans who shared that same passion. you were no longer just a passive admirer, you were now creating something that allowed others to connect with the idols you loved so much.

as your platform grew in visibility, so did your reputation. word spread quickly, and what started as a small side hustle became something much bigger. you became a recognized name in the idol photography world, known for your unique, authentic approach to capturing moments that no one else was able to. 

one of the benefits of your approach to this whole new life was the anonymity it afforded you. no one knew your face, and that made all the difference. you could attend high-profile events, interact with the idols, and enjoy the atmosphere without the pressure of being recognized or approached. you were able to experience these moments as both a fan and a professional, without the hassle of the typical fan interaction. there was no need for the autograph hunts or trying to get the perfect selfie; instead, you had the freedom to enjoy the event, capture meaningful moments, and leave without the distraction of unwanted attention. it was the ideal solution - living the dream of being close to the stars, but still having the privacy and space to appreciate it on your own terms. it felt like the perfect balance between work and passion, what you had always dreamed of.

✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

it was supposed to be a normal event, just a fan meet, nothing too fancy, nothing too extravagant. you’d been to these kinds of things before, but this time you had put a little more effort into your outfit. you reached into the back of your closet and pulled out a blouse that felt just right, simple but elegant. you paired it with a cute black pleated mini skirt that gave off just the right vibe, mature, yet playful and cool. you accessorized it with a delicate necklace and some minimalistic earrings, thinking you looked polished without being overdone. you felt good about it, maybe even a little proud. this was your chance to blend in with the crowd but still stand out, to look like you knew what you were doing, like you belonged here.

but, of course, it was just your luck that, within the first five minutes of arriving, disaster struck. you hadn’t even made it past the entrance when you bumped into someone - just a girl in a hurry, not really paying attention. in the blink of an eye, her coffee went flying, splashing all over your pristine white blouse. your stomach dropped. of course, the one thing you had worked so hard to get right - your outfit - was ruined. the girl immediately started apologizing, her face flushed with embarrassment, but you waved it off, trying to brush it off as no big deal. "it’s fine, really," you assured her, even though your mind was racing. you just needed to get to a bathroom, quickly, before the stain set in and ruined your entire day.

you made your way toward the restrooms, hoping to fix things up. but, as luck would have it, the first two bathrooms you found were packed with girls, all standing in front of the mirrors, touching up their makeup, chatting, or taking selfies. there was no space for you to even get close to a sink, let alone grab some paper towels and start trying to clean up the mess. the minutes ticked by, frustration mounting as you realized that every second you spent standing around, the stain was likely becoming more permanent. finally, when you thought things couldn’t get worse, you spotted an empty bathroom at the end of the hallway - an oasis in your streak of bad luck. no one was around, the door was open, and you rushed toward it with relief, thinking you might still salvage your blouse. 

in your rush to get inside and fix things, you completely missed the sign posted outside the door. a simple, overlooked word, mens. you didn’t even register it before you burst into the bathroom. you grabbed a handful of paper towels, dampened them with water, and began dabbing at the stain with the urgency of someone trying to undo a mistake. it was already too late - the coffee had soaked in, and now you could only hope to minimize the damage. You could feel your heart pounding, trying to keep calm as you worked, praying that no one would walk in and catch you in the middle of your panic. 

a toilet flushed behind you, its sound startlingly loud in the otherwise quiet bathroom. you were so absorbed in your task, desperately rubbing at the coffee stain with a damp paper towel, that you didn’t even register the sound at first. your focus was on nothing but trying to salvage your blouse, one dab at a time. the stain seemed to mock your efforts, refusing to lift. you were lost in the rhythm of it - dabbing, dabbing, dabbing - when suddenly, the sound of footsteps broke your concentration. a man’s shoes tapped lightly against the tile floor, and before you could react, he was standing next to you, casually washing his hands at the sink.

it wasn’t until he looked up at the mirror that you noticed him. his eyes locked onto your reflection, and a squeak - more of a startled gasp - escaped his mouth. the noise was enough to make your heart skip a beat, and without thinking, you whipped your head around to see what had caused the reaction. the instant you turned, your eyes locked with his, and your stomach dropped, and you realized, you’re in the wrong bathroom. your pulse spiked as your mind raced, the embarrassing realization dawning on you at the worst possible moment.

for a brief, breathless second, there was complete silence between the two of you. your eyes widened, and before you could stop yourself, you let out a shriek of your own - a high-pitched gasp of shock and embarrassment that echoed off the walls. the man froze, hands still hovering over the sink, clearly just as surprised as you were. the realization that you had just walked into a men’s bathroom, had been standing right next to him, not even noticing until now, it hit you all at once. your face drained of color, and a flush of mortification spread across your skin, from your neck to the tips of your ears. you wanted to sink through the floor, to disappear entirely, but all you could do was stand there, paralyzed in the awkwardness of the moment. 

the man, equally stunned, stared at you for a long, excruciating beat, before his face turned a shade of red that could rival yours. every fiber of your being screamed to just run out of the bathroom, but you were frozen in place, desperately trying to act like you weren’t a complete disaster. you slowly took a step back, hoping to salvage what was left of your dignity - and maybe just run away before you could cause any more damage.

"i-i’m sorry," you stammer out, your voice faltering as your face burns with embarrassment. "i was in such a hurry i didn’t realize..."

"it’s okay," he replies, still blushing as he glances down at your blouse, his eyes briefly lingering on the stain. "you, uh... look like you’re dealing with quite the mess there."

"yeah... today is just a disaster," you admit with a sigh, your frustration evident in your tone.

he gives you a sympathetic look, then hesitates for a second, as though considering the best way to help. "it probably won’t come out with just water at this point," he observes, his voice trailing off as if he’s thinking through the best solution. without warning, he unzips his hoodie and pulls it off, handing it to you with a slight, sheepish smile. "here, use this. it should cover up the stain," he says, his eyes crinkling into cute little crescents as he smiles at you.

you blink in surprise for a moment, caught off guard by his kindness. "thanks," you reply, your voice soft, and you quickly slip the hoodie on, zipping it up. it’s a little big on you, but it feels warm and comforting, and you can’t help but return his smile, feeling a small spark of connection in the midst of your awkward situation.

"hey," he says, his voice hesitating for a moment, like he’s unsure of how to proceed. "i know this is kind of random, but… could i get your number? or, like, your instagram or something?" he looks sheepish, clearly embarrassed about asking, and you can’t help but find his shyness endearing.

you smile, feeling the awkwardness melt a little. "sure," you say, your heart beating just a little faster. he passes you his phone, opening a new contact, and you quickly type in your name and number. your fingers move quickly, but it feels like time slows down as you finish and hand the phone back to him.

"so, your name’s y/n?" he says, his eyes bright as he glances at the screen. "it’s pretty." he smiles again, and you feel your cheeks heat up at the compliment.

"thanks," you reply, feeling a little giddy despite yourself. "well, anyway, it was fun meeting you." you let out a small laugh, trying to diffuse some of the lingering awkwardness between you two. "i’d better get going so i don’t miss the start," you add, raising your camera to gesture to the event outside. "i’ve got photos i need to take, and fans i have to feed."

he chuckles, nodding in agreement. "yeah, fans have been pretty starving for photos lately."

you hesitate for a moment, unsure whether to leave or say something else. you stand there, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, but decide to settle on something that feels right in the moment. slowly, you back toward the door, giving him an awkward wave and a smile. "text me," you say, the words leaving your mouth before you can overthink it.

he grins, his eyes still crinkling with amusement as you turn to leave. "i will."

as soon as the door closes behind you, you collapse against the nearest wall, your heart nearly pounding out of your chest. the rush of adrenaline, combined with the sheer mortification of walking into the wrong bathroom, has your pulse racing, but now there's something else, too. the encounter - the way he smiled at you, how effortlessly kind he was, the way your conversation flowed once the awkwardness wore off—it’s all a whirlwind in your mind. and then, there’s the fact that you’d just met the cutest guy you’ve seen in forever, and he’d asked for your number. your face feels like it's on fire, but there’s a grin spreading across your face anyway.

you squint up at the ceiling and slowly squat down into a little ball, clutching the wall for support as your heart continues to beat like a drum. the hoodie he’d given you smells faintly like him - fresh, with a hint of something sweet and comforting - and you close your eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to savor the feeling. the moment feels so surreal, so unreal, but you can’t help but feel like it’s the start of something unexpected.

for a moment, you allow yourself to daydream, imagining the possibilities. your heart is still racing, and it feels like it might actually burst from the excitement. you can hardly believe it - what are the odds? a mistake, a coffee stain, and suddenly you're having this perfect, bizarre, heart-thumping interaction with someone who, in any other situation, you might have never crossed paths with. if this keeps up, you might literally die from a heart attack - your heart can’t seem to slow down, and you can’t stop grinning like an idiot.

✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

sunoo collapses against the sink, heart pounding in his chest, face flushed from the unexpected encounter. at first, when he saw her - y/n - he had just assumed she was some overzealous fan trying to snap pictures of him in the bathroom, which, crazy as it sounded, had happened before. it was a wild situation to even think about, but it wasn’t totally unheard of. the thought that she might be after some candid shot of him in a vulnerable moment made his skin crawl. but then he had noticed something that completely threw him off: she wasn’t even looking at him. instead, she was fixated on something else—the stain on her shirt. there was no glimmer of recognition in her eyes, no sign that she had any clue who he was. the realization hit him in an instant—she wasn’t here for him at all.

the more he watched her, the more he saw her quietly trying to clean up the mess, the more he found himself charmed by her. when she realized she’d walked into the wrong bathroom, it was so obvious how mortified she was. her face turned the brightest shade of red, and she stammered out an apology, looking like she might just melt into the floor. it was almost adorable. instead of being embarrassed for himself, he couldn’t help but find her genuine discomfort endearing. and on top of that, the way she casually interacted with him - it was like she had no idea who he was. no fandom craziness, no over-the-top fan-girling. just... a normal conversation between two strangers. it was refreshing in a way he hadn’t expected.

on a sudden impulse, he’d asked for her number. it felt like the most natural thing in the world. how could he not? a stunning, confident girl who was totally his type had just wandered into his life by accident. dating someone while being an idol was looked down upon, but as long as he hid it well it would be fine, it wasn’t even like he was the first in the group to get a girlfriend. heeseung had had a girlfriend before, and the members had all been through their fair share of relationships. still, the thought of a girl not knowing who he was felt almost unreal. he hoped she wouldn’t find out and suddenly treat him like a celebrity, though. it would definitely complicate things.he hoped when she learned that he was part of enhypen, the group she was supposed to be taking photos for, things wouldn't get weird. he hoped she wouldn’t suddenly act awkward or distant. he just wanted to be seen as... well, just him, the real sunoo, and despite his usual confidence about his appearance, he found himself hoping she would find him attractive, something he had never worried about before. 

he sighed, running a hand through his hair, and stared at his reflection in the mirror. things had been going so well, but now the uncertainty was creeping in. would she text him back? would she even remember him the way he remembered her? maybe he was overthinking it. he was always so fixated on how he looked, how others saw him. but with her, it felt different. like it wasn't just about appearance, but about a genuine connection. the last thing he wanted was for that to get ruined by the whole idol thing. the thought of her walking away, thinking he was just another fan-chasing idol, made his stomach churn. but all he could do now was wait and hope.

✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

on your way to the main event, you spot a merch table tucked off to the side. surprisingly, the line is practically nonexistent—something that’s unheard of at events like this. on impulse, you decide to hop in the short line, intrigued by the merchandise on display. as you glance over the items, your eyes land on a pretty album titled simply ‘romance untold’. it looks cute, with soft, pastel-colored artwork and a sweet, romantic vibe. even though you have no idea what the idols look like yet, you feel a tug of curiosity. there’s something about the way the album is presented that draws you in. you’re sure you’ll fall in love with the group once you see them today, and it’ll be the perfect thing to flip through when you get home, a little memento of the day.

after making the quick purchase, you make your way into the main event space. you find a spot near the edge of the room, a nice angle where you can get some great shots of the idols. the excitement in the air is palpable, and the sea of eager fans around you buzzes with anticipation. you try to ignore the faint sense of discomfort as the crowd surges forward, pushing their way closer to the front. it’s always like this at big events - everyone wanting to be as close as possible, desperate for that connection with the stars they adore. you can’t help but feel a little bad for the boys, though. constantly surrounded by this intensity, always being viewed as more of a commodity than as people. of course, you know there are fans who genuinely care about their personalities, who want to see the candid moments behind the performance. but it’s hard to ignore the way others only see them for their fame. it must be exhausting, being unable to have a real, personal connection when you’re constantly on display.

the event officially kicks off when the boys walk on stage, and the crowd erupts in deafening screams, fans shrieking in excitement. you raise your camera instinctively, ready to catch the perfect shot. but as the boys make their way across the stage, your eyes widen in disbelief. standing right there, just a few feet in front of you, is the cute boy you met in the bathroom earlier. it’s him. the same boy, the one who had helped you with your coffee stain and awkwardly asked for your number. he’s up on stage now, dressed in a sleek stage outfit, his smile shining as the crowd goes wild for him. you freeze, your heart thumping as you realize the person you’d spoken to in such an unexpected, ordinary setting was a part of this incredibly popular group, standing in front of thousands of adoring fans. 

your fingers hover over the camera, caught between snapping a picture of him on stage and trying to process the surreal realization. he's an idol. you can't help but feel a mix of emotions, shock, excitement, and maybe even a little disbelief. everything from the moment you met him in the bathroom suddenly feels like it was all leading to this. and now, as you watch him interact with the crowd, you can’t help but wonder if he remembers you - or if your interaction was just one fleeting moment, lost in the sea of faces he meets every day. either way, you can't deny it - seeing him up there, doing what he loves, surrounded by the energy of his fans, makes him all the more captivating.

✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You get home to your small studio apartment that night with a jumble of feelings in your stomach, you really aren't sure how to feel about this whole situation. you can’t help but smile, remembering how he’d been so cute, but also completely sweet, offering you his hoodie as you stammered through an apology. for those few minutes, he was just a friendly, kind stranger who made you feel like a bit of a mess.

seeing him later on stage was like looking at an entirely different person. the easygoing, endearing guy you’d met in the bathroom had somehow transformed into a star everyone had come to see. the cheers, the eyes on him… it was like watching two different versions of the same person, both mesmerizing but worlds apart.

you wander to the tiny kitchen and pour yourself a glass of water, glancing at your camera where all those shots are stored - photos of the day, of him, some of his group mates too, but while at the event your camera couldn't help drifting to take more shots of him. you’ve always had an eye for capturing people in the in-between, those glimpses when they forget about the camera and just are, having those photos of him felt intimate and you almost didn't want to share them. 

you settle into an armchair by the window, watching the glow of the city outside. tomorrow, the photos will be waiting, and maybe when you look, you’ll find the boy from the bathroom shining through the idol on stage. for now, you close your eyes, feeling his kindness settle like a secret between you both.

✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

a notification on your phone startles you awake, and you realize you’d fallen asleep in your armchair while trying to detangle the events of the day. the screen casts a faint glow in the dim room, and you blink a few times, getting your bearings. ten pm. not too late, but late enough that you’d be dragging tomorrow. you pick up your phone and open the notification—a text from an unknown number. your heart skips, then flutters just a bit.

unknown: hey, it's late but i wanted to text you. i hope i didn’t freak you out too much when you saw me on stage today, and i’m sorry i didn’t say anything… it was just so nice meeting you without all the screaming, you know?

a smile spreads across your face as you read it. the way he texted was just like how he talked - a bit of a ramble, slightly scattered, but somehow so sweet. he was trying to explain himself, worried he might’ve left you confused, even a little hurt. but underneath the words was that same earnest charm you’d seen in his eyes back in the bathroom, that natural warmth he’d shown before you’d known who he really was.

you type back, fingers moving faster than your sleepy brain can keep up.

you: well, it was definitely a shock, but once i got over it, i think i actually managed to get some good photos haha

a pause, and then you bite your lip, feeling that tug of nervous excitement. he’d reached out - he hadn’t had to, but he did. part of you wants to say something clever, something that hints at how surreal the whole day has felt, but instead, you decide to let the moment be simple.

his next reply comes almost instantly.

unknown: can i see them sometime? the photos, i mean. it’d be fun to see your side of the day :)

another rush of warmth fills your chest. he wants to see your work. you quickly save his number, tapping in a name that feels right, even if it’s a little embarrassing: my cutie. maybe it’s cheesy, maybe even cringe, but it fits him somehow - the endearing guy behind the idol.

before you can think twice, you hit send.

you: absolutely! i’ll go easy on you and choose only the coolest shots… mostly.

my cutie: so merciful 😌 

you laugh, covering your mouth as if he could hear you from miles away. the way he teased you, with that same lightheartedness, made it easy to forget who he was. at this moment, he wasn’t an idol, a star, or even the guy in your photos. he was just someone who’d crossed your path in the most unexpected way.

you lean back, watching the messages pop up one by one, each more endearing than the last. it’s not long before the clock creeps past midnight, and you’re still talking—about everything and nothing. he tells you about the foods he misses from home, you tell him about the weirdest photoshoots you’ve done. eventually, his last text appears on the screen, the letters a bit more spaced out as though he’s getting sleepy too.

my cutie: hey, don’t think too much about today, alright? i liked meeting you… just you. i hope you can think of me like that, not all this other stuff. sleep well, my photographer :)

you stare at the screen, reading the words over and over, your eyes catching on the last two words, my photographer. Maybe you were reading into it, but your heart raced and a blush creeped up your face

you: sweet dreams..

✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

you woke up the next morning with a dull headache, the kind that reminded you you’d stayed up way too late. the soft morning light filtering through your curtains did little to ease the fog in your mind as you sat up and rubbed your temples. you really shouldn’t have stayed up so late. the night had been a blur of messages and thoughts, and now, in the quiet of the morning, it all felt almost surreal. your mind couldn’t help but wander back to the previous night, replaying the texts and wondering if it was all real. 

you grabbed your phone off the nightstand and unlocked it, scrolling through your messages. sure enough, there it was - your conversation with him, still fresh on the screen. your heart skipped a beat as your eyes scanned his words, and a flutter of giddiness spread through your chest. it was a feeling you hadn’t experienced in a long time, something light and warm that made you smile to yourself like you were holding onto a secret. 

you stretched and groaned softly, trying to shake off the lingering haze of sleep, but the thought of him made it hard to focus on anything else. after a few more minutes of half-hearted attempts to wake up, you started getting ready for the event you had scheduled today. normally, you'd feel excited to be at another idol meet, camera in hand, ready to catch those perfect moments. but today, something was different. you were a lot less excited about meeting the idols after meeting him. sunoo, with his sweet messages and even sweeter personality, had somehow made the whole idol experience feel less… important. how could you focus on anyone else when he was already occupying so much of your thoughts?

still, you pulled yourself together, slipping into your outfit and grabbing your gear. you left the house and made your way to the venue, your usual excitement returning as you walked through the crowds of fans, eager to capture the perfect moments for fans. you focused on your work as best you could, snapping photos with precision, but a part of your mind was always wandering back to the messages with him. your fingers hovered over your camera, your heart racing every time you thought of the next time you’d get to talk to him again. 

the day passed in a blur, each hour slipping by faster than the last. by the time you got home, you could barely keep your eyes open, but there was something more pressing than rest now, you needed to go through the photos. you decided to post a few teaser shots on your instagram, and checking your website to see if there were any new purchases. it was something you did every day, a small ritual, but today it felt like the least important thing on your mind. 

after a quick check of your sales, you set your phone down and settled onto the couch for a while. your excitement for the evening overtaking the exhaustion from the day, you picked up your phone again, your fingers itching to text him, to pick up where you left off. you couldn’t help but feel hopeful about the possibility of talking to him for hours, the way he made you laugh and made you feel seen - even if it was all still so new.

you jumped as the phone in your hand vibrated, the sudden buzz breaking the silence of the room. you glanced down, a smile tugging at your lips when you saw the name on the screen.

my cutie: hey, you free?

your heart fluttered. it was funny, you’d been just about to send him a message yourself, and now here he was, texting you first. you couldn't help but feel a little giddy at the thought.

you: yeah, what's up?

there was a short pause before his reply came through. you could almost imagine him typing, fingers hesitating over the keys, like he was still unsure.

my cutie: well, nothing really, just wanted to talk to you again…

your heart skipped a beat at his words. it was so simple, but the way he said it made you feel… special. he wanted to talk to you again. you smiled to yourself, feeling that warmth bubble up inside. 

you: that's fine with me haha, so how was your day?

there was a brief pause before he replied, and when his message came through, it felt so… gentle. his words were easy, like you were two old friends catching up after a long day.

my cutie: pretty good, actually. spent most of the day rehearsing, but it wasn’t too bad. honestly, it was nice to have a quiet day after all the craziness, and i kept thinking how nice it would be to talk to you again. so here i am. 😊

your heart skipped a beat. the way he said it was so sweet, and it made you feel like you were part of his day, something he looked forward to. you couldn’t help but smile as you typed your reply.

you: haha, glad! my day was pretty normal - took a bunch of photos, posted some stuff online… just the usual grind. but talking to you now is definitely the highlight of my day. 

you paused, then added another message

you: so, what did you get up to today besides being a super idol lol

a beat passed, and you could almost hear his laugh through the phone. when his reply came, it was exactly the kind of sweet, teasing tone you’d hoped for.

my cutie: oh, you know, just being a super idol... rehearsing, eating my weight in snacks, pretending to be a professional 😅 but honestly, i was kinda looking forward to this all day. 

you laughed, 

you: i bet the snacks were more important than rehearsal, at least they would be for me haha

my cutie: hey, snacks are an essential part of the idol lifestyle! gotta keep the energy up, right :)

you laughed out loud, feeling completely at ease now, like you’d known him far longer than you actually had. the conversation flowed easily between the two of you, natural and comfortable, and you found yourself getting lost in the rhythm of it. everything felt so normal despite everything that made this situation anything but.

you: i’m sure the snacks were well worth it. so, do you often just, like, have an evening off where you can do nothing?

my cutie: ha, you have no idea how rare that is. but, yeah, i get the occasional evening off. Although i usually just lay on the couch, eating snacks, and watching k dramas. sometimes i just need to forget for a bit. 

you: sounds pretty perfect, honestly. no better way to recharge.

there was a brief pause, and when his message came through, it was a little more thoughtful than the previous ones.

my cutie: yeah, it is. but honestly, talking to you like this is kinda the best recharge i’ve had in a while.

he quickly sent another message

my cutie: actually… i was wondering… how would you feel about meeting up sometime? we could, you know, hang out. maybe grab some food or something, just the two of us?

you blinked at the screen, your heart racing. it was such a simple invitation, yet it made your stomach flutter with excitement. He wanted to spend time with you, just the two of you. you quickly typed your reply, your fingers moving faster than you could think.

you: i’d love that. when were you thinking?

the reply came almost instantly, his message light and happy.

my cutie: how about this weekend? we can pick a spot, no pressure, just a nice, easy time together.

your heart skipped a beat at the idea of finally meeting him in person. it felt like everything was falling into place, and you couldn’t wait to share that moment with him.

you: that sounds perfect. i’m honestly so excited for it. 😊

my cutie: i’m really looking forward to it too. we can pick a spot, no pressure, just a nice, easy time together.

his words felt so relaxed and sweet, and the thought of a simple, carefree time together made your heart swell with affection.

you: can’t wait! talk soon, cutie. 😊

my cutie: talk soon! get some rest, okay? i’ll be thinking about you. 😌

You blush as you realize you called him a cutie over text. it wasn’t just a passing thought - no, you actually typed it out and sent it to him. You basically called him a cutie to his face, albeit through a screen, and now you're not sure if you're more embarrassed by the words or how quickly they slipped out.

✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

sunoo was lying on the couch, completely sprawled out, his legs draped lazily over the armrest as he kicked his feet and grinned at his phone. he felt like a teenage girl, the way he was giddily tapping away, heart fluttering with every message from y/n. it was all so… effortless. so natural. talking to her felt like slipping into a warm blanket, and no matter how many times they texted, it never felt boring or dull. she was just so perfect in his eyes, so easy to talk to. the way she made him feel special without even trying, how her words were like little sparks of joy that lit up his day... he couldn’t help but smile at the screen, his heart swelling in his chest.

the conversations were always light, casual - never forced, always just right. but beneath the surface, sunoo felt something more. every message, every response, was like a sweet little secret they shared, even if neither of them had said it out loud yet. he was starting to realize he was way too invested, maybe even falling for her without meaning to. it was becoming obvious to him, but he still hadn’t figured out how to make her see it. 

his heart skipped a beat when he thought back to last night - he’d worked up the courage to ask her to meet up this weekend. well, he hadn’t exactly called it a date - he didn’t want to scare her off - but he had definitely dropped enough hints, he felt his face heat up at the memory of how nervous he’d been.

as excited as he was, there was a wave of uncertainty. he was so down bad for her, so caught up in these feelings that he couldn’t quite control. the reality of it hit him in waves, especially when he realized just how badly he was falling for this perfect woman. he couldn’t help but feel like he was a little out of his depth.

it had been so quick, but it felt so right. every time he saw her name pop up on his phone, he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. and the best part was, she seemed just as genuine, just as real as when they first met, she always treated him like a real person, like he wasn't a global superstar, it was nice. and yet, there was still that little doubt gnawing at him. was she feeling the same way, or was he reading too much into their conversations? it didn’t help that his group members were starting to catch on. they’d tease him relentlessly, calling him out when he’d get all starry-eyed and distracted. 

sometimes, when they all gathered together, they’d look at him with knowing smirks, teasing him even more. but it wasn’t just his groupmates that were noticing. he couldn’t help it, he just stop thinking about her, couldn’t stop replaying their conversations in his head, imagining how things could unfold if they really took a step forward. it was terrifying and thrilling all at once.

and despite all that nervousness, that overwhelming feeling of uncertainty, sunoo couldn’t help but get even more excited. maybe it was reckless, maybe he should take it slow, but when it came to her, all he could think was what if… what if she felt the same way? 

✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

you woke up early on sunday, excitement buzzing in your chest. you knew today was the day. you wanted everything to be perfect - especially the way you looked. it was silly, you told yourself. you wanted him to like you for you, for the person you truly were, not just the way you looked. but still, there was that little part of you that wanted to catch his eye, make him think you were cute, maybe even a little alluring. just the thought of him noticing you in that way made your heart flutter.

you picked out a soft, fuzzy sweater that felt like a warm hug, paired it with a cute skirt and tights, something simple but put-together. it wasn’t over-the-top, just enough to feel confident, maybe even a little special. you took a few moments to do your makeup, just enough to highlight your features but not make it obvious. you wanted to look effortless, but also effortlessly cute. after a quick check in the mirror, you grabbed your bag, checked the time, and rushed out the door, heart racing with anticipation.

the coffee shop was just a short walk away, and you arrived a little earlier than you had planned. upon checking your phone, you realized you had arrived twenty minutes early. you smiled to yourself, relieved that you had plenty of time to settle in. you thought about grabbing a table to wait for him, maybe look over the menu or just check your messages, but when you walked in, your eyes immediately landed on him. 

there he was, sitting at a small table by the window, already looking at you with those warm eyes, a slight blush creeping up on his cheeks. just like the first day you saw him, he looked effortlessly cute - his hair a little messy in that endearing way, his smile soft and inviting. he’s already here? your heart skipped a beat as your own cheeks flushed, warmth spreading across your face. 

for a moment, you just stood there, taking in the sight of him, suddenly unsure of yourself. was he waiting for you? was he nervous too? but before you could think too much, your legs carried you toward the table. you smiled nervously, trying to keep your cool as you sat down across from him. you sat down across from sunoo, the nervous energy in the air palpable. there was a slight flush on his cheeks, the same adorable color you saw the first time you met him, and the way he smiled at you made your heart flutter. 

“hey,” you said softly, smiling as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “i’m glad you’re here.”

“me too,” sunoo replied, his voice a little breathless. he adjusted in his seat, fidgeting with his cup before looking back at you, his eyes soft. “i, uh… i hope i’m not making things awkward. i don’t really do this often, you know? go out on, um, dates…” he trailed off, clearly trying to sound casual, but you could tell he was a little nervous. it was endearing. the way his words came out, a little stilted and unsure, but with a warmth that made you feel safe.

you couldn’t help but smile, feeling your nerves settle a bit. “it’s okay,” you said gently, reaching for your drink. “i’m nervous too, honestly. but it’s nice, right? just getting to know each other in a quiet, relaxed place.”

sunoo nodded eagerly, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “yeah, i agree. i like this. it’s nice not having to worry about people... you know, staring at us, or... getting distracted.”

the way he said it, so simple, made you feel a sense of calm. the pressure was off. it was just the two of you. the conversation flowed easily after that, like old friends catching up. you talked about everything—the coffee shop, your favorite books, movies, random little things that made you laugh. time seemed to slow down, and the more you learned about him, the more you liked him. 

as the conversation continued, sunoo’s nervous energy seemed to settle, and he started to relax more, his gestures becoming a little more fluid. you noticed how his hands would gesture softly when he talked about something he loved, and how his eyes sparkled when he smiled at you. there was something magnetic about him, even in the small, intimate moments.

after a while, you both finished your drinks, and sunoo suggested moving on to the second part of the day. “so, i was thinking... do you want to go to the aquarium after this? i know it’s a little cliche, but i think it could be fun.” he looked at you with those wide, hopeful eyes, waiting for your response.

you smiled, feeling a wave of warmth fill your chest. “that sounds perfect. i love aquariums. it’s kind of romantic too, don’t you think? all those beautiful fish, soft lighting... it could be peaceful.”

sunoo’s face lit up. “yeah! exactly! i thought it might be nice, too.”

you both stood and walked out of the coffee shop together, the air crisp against your skin. sunoo seemed to walk a little closer to you now, and you couldn’t help but notice how your arms brushed occasionally. you could feel the electricity in the air—those small moments of closeness that made everything feel more meaningful.

when you arrived at the aquarium, the dim lighting and soothing sounds of water immediately set the tone. it was quieter here, peaceful. the gentle sway of the sea creatures and the soft glow of the tanks made everything feel almost dreamlike. as you strolled through the exhibits, you found yourselves walking slowly, side by side. sunoo kept glancing over at you, a soft smile on his face.

“this is nice,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “i’m glad we did this. it’s just… calm. and we can just… talk, you know? no pressure.”

you nodded, your heart swelling. “yeah, i feel the same. it’s nice to be able to take it slow. no rushing.”

there was a slight pause, the quiet around you only amplified by the soft bubbling of the water in the tanks. you stopped in front of a large tank filled with glowing jellyfish, their bodies floating gracefully. the soft light made everything feel even more serene. sunoo glanced at you and then at the jellyfish, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“i think i like that about you,” he said, his words a little hesitant but so genuine. “you make me feel like i can just be myself around you.”

you looked at him, surprised by the tenderness in his voice. your heart skipped a beat as you realized how much it meant to share this moment together, you responded softly, your gaze meeting his a slight smile on your lips, “i’m really glad i’m here, with you.”

sunoo’s expression softened, his eyes searching yours for a moment before his lips curled into a small, shy smile. “me too. i didn’t think it’d feel this… nice. i guess i was kind of nervous, but now…” he trailed off, taking a small step closer. “i don’t want this to end, you know?”

you could feel your breath catch at his words, and before you could stop yourself, you reached out gently, brushing your fingers against his hand. his eyes flickered down to your hand, then back to your face, a soft blush creeping up his neck. “i don’t either,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. “i like this. being with you.”

there was a moment of silence, the world around you fading into the background as you both stood there, just looking at each other. the soft glow of the aquarium illuminated his face, and for a second, you felt like you were the only two people in the world. everything felt so simple, yet so perfect.

sunoo took a deep breath, as if summoning the courage for something. “do you maybe… want to do this again sometime? i mean, not the aquarium. but… you know. like, a real date. with you.”

your heart skipped, and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “i’d like that,” you said softly, your voice filled with warmth. “i really would.”

sunoo smiled back, the shy, endearing boy you’d come to know so well, and for a moment, it felt like everything was falling perfectly into place. the date was everything you had hoped for - and more.

✩₊°.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

you left the aquarium, your mind still buzzing from the experience, but there was something else now - an undeniable tension in the air between you two. it felt different, almost electric. you couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but every time your hands brushed, it felt like something more than just a coincidence. 

then, as you walked side by side down the sidewalk, sunoo’s hand gently found its way into yours. the warmth of his fingers wrapping around yours made your heart skip a beat. you didn’t even have time to process the action before a blush crept up your cheeks. looking over at him, you noticed his cheeks were flushed too, and his eyes were slightly widened, almost like he was still surprised by his own boldness. it was the sweetest thing you’d ever seen.

the two of you continued walking, your steps a little slower, savoring the moment. when you reached a quieter part of the sidewalk, you stopped and turned to face him. sunoo paused too, his eyes searching yours with a hint of curiosity.

you felt your heart race, your mouth suddenly dry. "i was wondering..." you started, unsure of how to phrase it, the words coming out more nervously than you intended. "would you want to come over and watch a movie?" 

as the question left your mouth, you immediately felt heat rise in your face. it sounded so simple in your head, but now that it was out in the open, it felt much more vulnerable. “i-i’m just not sure i want today to end yet,” you mumbled, barely able to make eye contact, your blush deepening.

for a moment, the air seemed to hold its breath, and you were starting to feel like maybe you’d overstepped. but then you saw it—the way sunoo’s eyes softened, his lips curling into that familiar, shy smile you’d come to adore. he looked at you with a sense of warmth that made your heart flutter.

“honestly, i would love that,” he replied, his voice gentle, and there was something about the way he said it that made you feel like everything was falling into place.

your heart swelled with relief and excitement as you both continued holding hands, walking back to your place. the city lights around you were soft, casting a warm glow as you made your way to your apartment. it felt like the perfect end to a perfect day, and yet there was a sense of anticipation in the air, like something more was about to unfold.

once you got inside, the familiar comfort of your apartment seemed to settle around you. you slipped your shoes off and sank onto the couch, the soft cushions inviting you in. then, without really thinking about it, you moved a little closer to sunoo, leaning into him just enough to feel the warmth of his body against yours. you were suddenly aware of the way he tensed up a little, but it didn’t last long - he quickly relaxed into the position, and you could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest as he settled beside you. 

you could both feel the electricity of the moment, the growing closeness that you both had been dancing around all evening. your stomach fluttered with nerves, but it felt right. it felt like you were both figuring out what this was. you grabbed the remote, trying to distract yourself a movie. you chose one of the first films that popped up on the screen—something lighthearted, you thought. but as the opening credits rolled, you suddenly realized you had made a terrible mistake. you hadn't checked the rating, and it was definitely not the kind of movie you’d intended. the film was rated R, and as the characters in the movie started to get closer, you felt the heat rise in your face again.

you tried to keep your focus on the screen, but every time the camera panned to the characters, your eyes couldn’t help but dart over to sunoo. you caught him quickly glancing away, a nervous chuckle escaping him. his whole body was a little tense, like he was trying to avoid acknowledging the fact that you were both watching an incredibly intimate scene. 

the background noises from the movie only made things worse - moans and heated whispers. the tension between you two was palpable, like you could cut it with a knife. you were both blushing furiously, trying to ignore the scene unfolding, but it was impossible.

you tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a strangled cough. you grabbed the remote in a panic, fumbling with it as you quickly skipped ahead, fast-forwarding past the scene with a little too much force. but even as the steamy scene disappeared from the screen, the awkward energy lingered, and you both sat there, still feeling the weight of the moment.

for a long while, neither of you spoke. the movie played on, but it was clear that neither of you were really paying attention to it anymore. sunoo glanced over at you with a nervous smile, the soft lines of his face lit by the glow of the television screen. 

you couldn’t help but lean in closer, the pull between you two too strong to ignore. you knew you probably shouldn’t, considering that whatever was going on between you was still undefined, and maybe rushing it wasn’t the smartest thing to do. but in that moment, it didn’t matter. the space between you seemed to shrink with each passing second, and you just couldn’t hold back anymore. 

you glanced up at sunoo, and the warmth in his eyes made your heart flutter. there was a quiet intensity there, a longing that mirrored your own, and in that look, you found something you hadn’t expected - he wanted this too. 

without thinking, you shifted, positioning yourself so you were now facing him, your body comfortably nestled in his lap. he clearly hadn’t expected the sudden move, and you could feel his breath hitch in surprise, but there was no tension, no hesitation. he relaxed almost immediately, his hands gently settling on your waist, as though he was silently saying, it’s okay, I want this too.

you paused for a moment, just taking him in. sunoo wasn’t bulky, not like other guys you had met, but he was slender and graceful, his body still holding the quiet strength of someone who took care of himself. his frame felt right against yours, and his face - so beautiful, so expressive - made your heart race. there was something about him, something that made every word feel softer and every movement feel like it meant something more. 

his eyes flickered to your lips and back up to your eyes, a silent invitation, and without even thinking, you leaned in slightly. in a moment of shared understanding, he closed the distance between you two, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was gentle. his lips were soft and warm, the touch sweet. everything about the kiss was tender, but you could feel the undercurrent of desire in it. it was like he was pouring everything into that moment - the way he pulled you closer, his hands now gently resting on the curve of your back, holding you to him as if you might slip away. it was a sweet, almost perfect kiss, just like him - full of emotion, but soft, full of warmth and affection, like he was telling you everything he couldn't quite say with words. you broke the kiss, your faces still inches apart, both of you breathing a little faster, hearts racing. the air between you was thick with unspoken words, but there was an understanding. whatever this was between you - however undefined or new - it was real.

he broke the silence with a simple sentence “i don't want to go on anymore dates that might not be dates,” he said with a laugh, “i really want to go out with you for real, i’m in love with you.”

you smile, your heart still racing, “me too, i'm in love with you too.”

[wirewitchviolet]

Twitter is dead. Get off it. This is an intervention.

So, back in... what was it, November? Elon Musk was forced via legal action to make good on a boisterous offer to buy Twitter. At the time, the reaction of literally everyone I know was roughly “oh damn, that’s the end of this place, that idiot’s going to kill the whole site. Where are we bailing to?” I feel like if there was a clear answer to that, maybe people would really have done it, but... a dozen people came out of the woodwork with really hastily thrown-together Twitter clones which all had weird quirks that one could be leery of, regarding security mostly, and thanks to choice paralysis, the general consensus seemed to shift to “watching this idiot try to speedrun killing this website is comedy gold, I’m going to ride this sinking ship to the bottom of the ocean, then deal with ditching it.”

The problem though is, that already happened. I guess people thought the metaphorical ocean was maybe deeper than it is, but that site really is on the bottom of it, and it really is time to move on.

Clearly, there’s some benchmarks people were waiting to see that just aren’t ever going to happen. A lot of people really expected there’d be a point where they’d just try to load up the site and get a 404 page because the servers are all permanently disconnected. Mostly people figured this would happen because Musk would realize that the site is absolutely bleeding cash like there’s no tomorrow and there’s no way it’ll stabilize again, but that’s not going to happen. He didn’t buy it to make money, he bought it to pressure bootlickers to pretend they think he’s cool, and that’s totally been working out for him. It’s costing him an absurd amount of money, but he has basically infinite money and doesn’t care.

Some people also thought this might happen because, well, he immediately fired like most of the staff and started randomly deleting huge chunks of load-bearing code and breaking contracts and not paying rent and stuff but.. yeah somehow that didn’t do the trick. A skeleton crew is mostly keeping the lights on. A lot of stuff keeps breaking temporarily but it’s held together with duct tape and someone seems to be restraining Musk from finishing the job. It’s as broken as it’s getting.

I’ve seen goalpost moving like “I’ll drop the site when it gets to the point where marginalized people are getting banned en masse and it’s just wall to wall nazi propaganda. That happened already. In November. Countless leftists, many celebrities, got taken out like day one. I got knocked off literally for the crime of being trans within the first week or so, as did a ton of other people. These are all bans that can’t be repealed. You’re hanging out in an online country club that doesn’t allow in a bunch of “undesirables” and that’s you actively propping up white supremacy if we’re really being honest about it.

I’ve seen the argument made that freelance writers and artists “need to be on twitter” in order to get commissions, and there’s a few ways to approach this one. First, do you really? Have you not reached a point in your creative career where there’s regular clients who hit you up, and don’t need to see you actively posting on Twitter to remember you exist? Do you not get any work from anywhere else? If it has traditionally been just Twitter, ARE you still getting work there? Because they don’t let you post off-site links to promote your stuff anymore, and they murdered all the discovery algorithms to instead promote far right conspiracy theorists and weird Musk sycophants to everyone instead of people whose stuff they might be interested in.

If though we live in a world where with all that being said, and all the massive bleeding of users we’ve already seen, you still want to insist that Twitter is the only place in your field one can get work offers though, then in sticking with it for that reason, you ARE kind of uh, you know, actively benefiting from your status as someone the open bigot running the place doesn’t have it out for? Again, would you join the whites-only country club? Would you apply to work at the business that refuses to hire any women or queer people? Some of us out here are literally facing homelessness because we ALSO rely entirely on commissions, and we aren’t allowed to be on that site, so, the longer that site remains the place you get commissions from, we can’t find work. Please hasten it’s fall for our sake.

Setting that aside though, there’s also the moral argument that you really should not be supporting what is quite plainly at this point a site maintained by nazis, explicitly to cater to other nazis. Like, the easy joke here is that the people who previously ran Twitter were cryptofascists, while the guy running it now is instead a crypto fascist. This of course ignoring the powers that be at Twitter also going all in on that, remember the hexagons? But seriously, with no investors to keep happy and no interest in keeping advertisers happy, Musk and the policies of the site both official and unofficial are just... full on mask-off nazi stuff now. Everyone who’s ever been kicked off the site (which traditionally had a bar of like, actually personally trying to have someone killed or personally threatening a celebrity) is back. There’s some stated transphobic policies on the books, Musk is personally posting a bunch of weird George Soros crap and hardcore propaganda like “nearly all crimes are commited by black people” and hardcore anti-vax stuff, and not only is none of this going anywhere it’s being actively pushed into everyone’s feeds constantly. You’re basically hanging out on a mirror of Gab, and your very presence there is feeding it, not financially per se (I mean, what income Twitter does have IS still advertising based, which in turn directly translates active users to dollars, but again, Musk has basically infinite money), but like, the nazis don’t just hang out on Gab is they need the attention of non-nazis and the legitimacy of hanging out in the same spaces.

So far this is me making moral arguments, but also, like... are you getting anything at all out of being on that site these days? I’m banned but private windows are a thing, and there’s still people I care about who adamantly refused to just like, be present on Discord or something so I can check in, so I do glance at people’s feeds now and then, and literally all I have seen from ANYONE in the past uh... 7 months from anyone on Twitter is just people’s live reactions to the site dying, the owner being an idiot, and having nazis shoved in their faces.

In the before time, one of the things that arguably made it worth having a presence on that site was people setting up a bunch of automated accounts to like, give weather reports and such (which you can just look up on a dedicated weather site/an app on your phone you don’t even need to open by the way) and stuff like those accounts that post a cute picture of a cat/wolf/fox/skink/whatever every hour on the hour. Those are all dead now I believe, because the idiot in charge heard someone saying that hated “bots” and thought people meant actual automated accounts, not the fascists shilling crypto and shrieking at marginalized people from their hundreds of burner accounts.

The thing though, that I’ve heard from quite a lot of people, is that not only did those feeds go poof (also anyone who hasn’t logged in in a month- dead friends, old joke accounts, etc.) but if you look for a replacement by just searching the site for say, “dog” or “cat,” because it is now a site by and for nazis, you get domestic animal snuff film gifs. The sort of thing nazis pack all their favored haunts with to deter people whose souls aren’t dead from looking at what they’re posting. I saw a lot of that stuff back in the day helping get other dedicated nazi sites offline, and that crap’s been haunting my dreams since. Why the hell are you there still?

You could jump ship and flee to some mastodon instance or whatever else is out there, or hell, you could also just... not. People had web presences before freaking Twitter. I’m just posting stuff on Tumblr here. I’m on some forums with people I’ve known for years. I’ve got Discord for live conversations (although wow, it’s really looking like it’s time to scout out the next thing there), there’s e-mail to randomly shout at people. You don’t need a doom scroll site replacement, honest.

And like, I get it. You don’t want to just be trickling out one by one. You want some oomphf, some momentum. So here’s the plan, share this around: You post whatever “here’s where to find me” stuff you need to now-ish. Then you wait... about 3 weeks. Then the date is going to be 6/9. You wait for the date to roll over, you make a single post where you just say “nice” and then you never touch the site again.

Oh and meanwhile, hey, again, I really do live off commissions, and I’ve had a hard time getting new ones since... well some former clients decided to not work with trans women anymore apparently, really, so I kinda need to beg for money to live, if you want to maybe toss some my way? Also there’s a new Zelda game out and that weird Bayonetta prequel thing, and I’m literally putting every single cent I can get my hands on towards paying my rent and utilities (the government’s covering groceries). I can’t even afford one of those streaming services. So uh, anyone feel like maybe doing the wishlist thing?

[earthnashes]

I got very longwinded so I put the rest under the Read More. But TL;DR of this post:

-Once my current queue is done, I will be taking an indefinite hiatus from accepting commissions. There will be exceptions in the form of sporadic specials and Patreon-exclusive slot openings.

-There will be a “final hurrah” special I will very likely hold for maybe a month before that hiatus comes into play. Will be the final time I will accept commissions before hiatus.

-Hiatus will be spent focused on personal projects, overall art improvement, and content creation. I miss making headcanons as often as I did, man. ;w;

-Hiatus will, at most, last for the rest of 2023. More likely, though, it’ll last for a few months, but regular commissions will return with certainty uwu

So ye! :)

But if you want the long version...

This week is Deload week for training before my PR tests, which means I am taking a recovery period from weightlifting before I go back to hit them goal numbers hard as I can. And with it comes a coincidental introspective on my career as a freelance artist so far.

When May rolls around, it’d be 4 years since I quit my day job and took on commissions as my official primary means of income, and making my art my near entire source of income. I’ve definitely taken commissions long before that, but it was very much both amateur and part-time for the most part with my focus being elsewhere: either on school, or a job.

4 years of being able to independently live on my own thanks to the support I receive from everyone is more than I can ask for. But it is also a decent amount of time to be drawing for others!

Lemme counter that though by saying I’m not actually sad or upset about it or like. Need any sort of condolences or anything of that sort. Quite the contrary; I love doing commissions! Money is a factor in it, yeah, I’d be a fucking liar if it wasn’t; I have to eat and pay those pesky bills to make art. But a large part of why I love commissions is because I very much enjoy drawing for people. To me, being given a commission is being given the permission and trust to handle a small fragment of the person with care. I’m given a glimpse into who the person is, what they like, what stories they have to tell. So I try to give them my best foot forward and produce a piece they’ll enjoy. I personally find the entire process of creating for others very sweet and fun and it makes me happy that I’m allowed the honor of drawing for someone. :)

But through a lot of trial and error I’ve also come to remember how much I enjoy drawing for myself too, and how much I miss it. I don’t really draw for myself much anymore. I don’t really have the time to, mainly, but that’s largely my own doing. Past rookie stumbles biting me in the ass, living and learning. ;w; But I’m only bringing it up now because I am finally getting fucking close to finishing the queue I have, and with it comes the decision of taking an indefinite hiatus away from taking commissions.

The hiatus will at minimum be a couple of months, but I’m hoping I’ll be able to take it for the rest of the year. Got a lot of plannin’ to do if I intend on taking it that long! One such thing is doing a “last hurrah” special. The commissions will have to be simple and small so I don’t like, destroy myself in the process, but the idea is to take as many simplistic commissions as I can before I go into hiatus. It’ll be the official final time I’ll accept orders on mass before it’ll become very sporadic at best, at least until I bring the hiatus to an end.

Another is finally making an official store front for merch. Already have ideas of what I’d offer; most of them will be small and relatively cheap, and others would be like P2U designs and refs you could use for OCs ;w;

Lastly is more time spent on energy toward my Patreon and streaming; more early access, more character requests, more comics, so on and so forth. uwu

---

But ye! In closing, I’m just lettin’ my brain do the big think and I wanted to let ya’ll know the basic going’s on. As such, as you can imagine I will likely not be terribly active with art posting for the next few weeks ;w; I’ll still be around if you have questions and what not, but ye! Sorry for talking you ear off, and if you made it this far, you should treat yourself no cap. Thank you so much everyone, I’ll talk to ya soon! owo

[majoringinsarcasm]

Venting on my blog about a tweet I deleted like six years ago that I wanted to vent about but not Talk About

Still in fact bitter about the reaction to a tweet I made years ago saying I wish fanfic writers could make money the same way fandom artists do

People were Not Kind about that and I ended up deleting the tweet. But I think what annoys me the most is that they assumed, probably bc of conversations before my time about fair use and copywriter, which one person rudely told me about so don’t worry I know, is that I wasn’t talking about big commercial sales. I didn’t mean putting it on Amazon or Etsy. I literally meant “if you give me ten dollars and DM me your prompt I’ll write your fic prompt for you”.

Like. Yes copywriter. Yes laws. Yes keeping fanfic safe and legal to write. But this was like 2018/2019 and I was so terribly insecure and was trying to think of an easy job I could have bc life and my aforementioned insecurities it this time “what if I’m too stupid to work a relationship job”. And I know artists fandom or big professionals don’t get work easily. I was under no impression ppl offering art commissions were making bank.

What I saw were people who had a skill and a community who Might pay for it for a personal drawing. I expressed my I guess frustration at the lack of that sort of thing for writers because fanfic can often feel. Lonely and like ppl consume it passively but somehow also Expect Others to provide it perfectly to their taste and if someone Does A Bad One they should be shamed or mocked or whatever

I didn’t want to ruin fandom. I was 20 and saw ppl who could draw offering to do so for money and went hey my only skill is writing maybe I could do that

The person who I say was rude also pointed out “artists who make chants and stuff have also gotten in trouble see see” and I’m like

But people still do it.

Please do not misunderstand me. I know there’s a grey area of making stickers and charms and prints of IPs you don’t own. I’m Not Stupid. It all depends on what you make and if the company sees it and then if they bother to make you take it down. It’s a lot of variables. But people still did it! They do it to this day! I’m currently trying to got up my art game so I can do it even if it’s just for me and not for sale

Zines! With fanfic inside of them! That get shared around the community have become so popular!

It was upsetting not because of the legal issues but the assumption that I was trying to Ruin things. That I was Stupid and was going to take everyone down with me. The fact that I was thinking small scale wondering if my followers liked my stuff enough that they would pay for a personal and specific fanfic that was tailored to them, and I was met with a lot of angry people who in saying what was Goofy information in the worst way possible.

“Hey that might sound nice but here’s the history of why we don’t do that” would’ve been just as informative rather than “you stupid idiot if you sell fanfic you’ll ruin it for all of us NEVER TALK ABOUT SELLING FANFIC. Artists also get in trouble the people who are doing shit at public conventions yeah they’ve gotten in trouble they still do it but it’s a risk. Fuck you”

And now I have several zines. With a least four fanfics inside of them created for the zine. That were sold For Money. Not all of which went to charity! For profit zines with copywriter characters being depicted in unofficial art AND fanfic

Again I want to get good at art to make cute shit. I want to make a personal zine bc it’s the closest I’ll get to a proper book bc I don’t yet feel I’m skilled enough to make original characters and worlds and stick to them.

Just makes me sad to think about past me who was feeling down and thought hey fandom likes similar things maybe this could work out. And to be so horribly misunderstood. Because I’m sorry if people can sell Link and Zelda and Ace Attorney and Sonic at PUBLIC CONS I could at least advertise probably underpriced fanfic commissions back in 2018 on my less then 300 follower account

[trickstarbrave]

I know you're not open for commissions, but any idea when you might be?

Not atm

To be honest when I was open for commissions it really stressed me out. Art was no longer fun or a source of stress relief I could express myself with, but instead something to make money. If I wasn’t getting comms I felt bad. If I was getting comms I felt bad because I was constantly fretting if I was doing a good job or not capturing what someone wanted. And then if I wanted to draw a picture for myself I felt immense guilt over not working on comms first and quickly got very burnt out. I’m sure there is a work-life balance I could try and make but bc of it I also haven’t been eager to get back into commissions and try it out while the rest of my life is already very stressful 😬

Also if I did open then I’d make them really expensive. Like some of my pictures take hours and hours to render and I feel I’ve built up a lot of skill so I wouldn’t wanna charge like. Federal minimum wage. Sketches would prob be 45-60 depending on complexity. Flats colored sketches around 90. Basic shading for like a headshot around 200. Complex dramatic lighting or very detailed pieces like this?

It’s prob gonna run anywhere from 500-800 depending on size and complexity.

And I understand these prices are way out of most people’s budgets. Very few people wanna cough up 60 bucks for a sketch or are ready to drop hundreds of dollars on a colored illustration. It just takes me so damn long on top of having another full time job that if you asked me to do it for money this is what I’d have to charge. Several days of skilled work would have to be equivalent to several days of work at my full time job.

But I also know opening commissions with these prices will likely scare people away from my art entirely or inevitability trigger people complaining to me about how my art is too expensive and not worth the price and “I can get this for cheaper elsewhere/use an AI” while calling me a dirty rich capitalist and I don’t wanna deal with that either tbh

So I dunno when I’ll actually endure all of these to open commissions for people. I could honestly use the money but it’s stressful essentially picking up a second job. Especially one like commissions. Even if I really needed the money I doubt I’d get many commissions at prices that are even worth drawing for so <:v I suppose it’s anyone’s guess.

Tl;dr: I’m very easily stressed by commissions and I’d charge an arm and a leg for them. I know not everyone would be able to afford it and I don’t wanna deal with the hassle atm of justifying it or searching for commissioners so I just don’t offer them rn nor do I know when I will. Maybe in the future but only time will tell honestly

[cognitiveleague]

Hey, y’all! I’m even broker than usual, so fuck it. A… commissions post of sorts? But for random shit I’m good at, organized loosely from most practical to most deranged.

So let’s get to it! In case this post makes it to someone outside of my mutuals, hi, I’m Ket (she/her), and my wife Thyme (they/them) and I are veteran Tumblrinas of many a year. We live with our two beautiful, incredibly stupid cats, Tabitha and Umbra.

I wrote a whole thing here about how hard we work (well, not the cats) and the reasons why we’re still struggling, because that’s how I Need Money posts usually go, and then I deleted it, because honestly, we’re pretty much all having a bad time under late-stage capitalism, and beyond not wanting to guilt trip anyone, I don’t want to waste anyone’s empathy on all the exhausting details when so many of us are already so tired and so overextended emotionally and/or financially.

Tl;dr - Late stage capitalism sucks for us (as it does for many), no money in bank, week until payday, need money because existing is expensive.

What I can offer in exchange for money if anyone’s interested: under the cut to save space on your dash!

-Translation: Japanese to English, English to Japanese, French to English (but not vice versa at this time unless you’re willing to accept that the end result may be pretty clunky and stilted), could probably drag my wife in if anybody wants Swedish to English or vice versa? Pricing variable depending on amount and complexity of text involved, can provide a somewhat-negotiable estimate on request.

-Informal consultation on (US) health insurance: My day job involves dealing with my workplace’s patients’ health insurance companies. I have an active vendetta against all private healthcare companies and detailed knowledge of how they work, and am personally invested in helping as many people as possible not get screwed by them, so honestly, if I had time and didn’t need money, I’d do this one for free. I’d probably have to draw up some type of waiver / information privacy policy for it, like you’d have to sign for any sort of financial advisor who gets paid for it, but if there’s interest I totally will. I can look at your healthcare plan options and tell you which one would make the most sense to pick, or advise on the best plan of action for making your existing bullshit insurance company fix something they screwed up, for example. Pay what it’s worth to you.

-Editing: I’ve got years if not decades of experience with fiction and academic writing, and a sharp eye for detail. I’m also experienced with writing letters and emails in a business context. Got something that needs a once-over for errors? I can help! I am also happy to just straight-up write letters or emails for any context, or really just about anything that isn’t academic writing (which I can still help revise or edit, but if you want someone to write your whole damn paper for you, find someone willing to do it.) As with translation, pricing depends on amount and complexity of text, can provide an estimate if you tell me what you want.

-Short-form poetry: I said what I said, and you know, I’m not even embarrassed somehow. Pay what you will, and you can have your very own bespoke haiku (in Japanese and-or English) for any occasion and/or theme you want. Hell, if you want, and if “what you will” covers at least enough for materials and postage, I’ll clear off the coffee table, dust off the calligraphy set, personally cry tears of frustration from my own eyeballs for you as I try to remember how to grind my own ink, and mail you a physical copy.

-Assorted Renfaire Bitch Skills: I did fencing and reenacting until I busted my leg, and have for many years worked weekends at a clothes shop at my local renfaire during the season when it runs. Also my Tolkien and Shakespeare and golden age of piracy phases just never went away. Want practical advice on writing or choreographing m a swordfighting scene? Want a shitpost (or anything else) translated from 20th-21st century English to period-accurate Tudor-era English? Want me to design a medieval-to-renaissance-inspired outfit for you or your OC with whatever level of accuracy or inaccuracy you want? Want me to write a scathing diss sonnet for someone your party’s bard hates? ALL THIS AND MORE CAN BE YOURS - I pray you, seek out with all haste my DMs

-Assorted Renfaire Butch Skills: Autocorrect was really pushing for this one, and I’ll grant it this win. As above, but I’ll tie my hair back and wear a doublet.

-Cat pics: Self explanatory. I will send you photos of our beautiful, brainless cats to brighten your day. Pay what you will, and I will decide how many stupid cat pictures it is worth.

Send me a DM if you want to engage my services for any of the above, and we can talk what kind of price would be fair! Reblogs appreciated, too 💕

[whats-a-plot]

Meet Honey and Fizzle, my vampire and underworld hunter sibling pair.

"Well, do you know where the Hunter is, or not?"

Honey sighed loudly, snapping her book shut. He'd stormed in, interrupted her reading session with the local kids, and was now demanding to know where Fizzle was? The audacity.

She took a deep breath. If the children saw her throw the book at the upperworld mage, they'd be scared. Instead, she politely ushered them from the room, up the stairs, and out onto the street for someone else to take care of.

"So what if I do?" she snapped the moment the door closed. Her eyes unconsciously flickered towards the ceiling for a moment.

Of course she knew where her brother was. At this exact moment, he was on the roof of this building, setting up his traveling observatory. Well, that's what she assumed he was doing.  If she could see the rooftop right then, she'd find him asleep on the concrete, a book about astrological divination methods open on his chest.

The man before her crossed his arms. Honey couldn't quite tell if he was truly frustrated or if he was trying to be intimidating.

"Look, child, I need this taken care of, and taken care of discreetly. If you can't find him, I'll go somewhere else," he demanded.

In disbelief, Honey pushed her glasses farther up the bridge of her nose. "Child?" she repeated.  She hated hearing that term so much at this point that she could feel rage bubbling up from somewhere inside. "I'm nearly your age."

"I'm quite flattered you think I'm so y—"

"I'm thirty-four, and a respected researcher. If you won't treat me as such, I most certainly do not know anything about the Hunter you seek, and neither does anyone else in this part of town."

The vampire's outburst had clearly caught the man off guard. This girl, who barely looked to be sixteen, was only five years shy of his age? Still, no matter if she was lying or not, she was the only lead he'd found to actually get in contact with the reclusive Hunter of the underworld.

He would pacify her, just to get what he felt he deserved.

"Apologies, miss. You just look so young. I did not mean any insult."

For a moment, Honey considered telling him to get out. There was no doubt in her mind that he was like every other upperworlder that had come seeking Fizzle: desperate to kill, and not have the blood on his own hands. They made up the majority of his violent commissions. His change in tone and feigned apology would have no effect on her, but the money he was digging out of his wallet would.

"Please," he begged. "I've heard that money talks down here in this hell. I'm willing to pay whatever it takes to get rid of that bastard."

Honey took the money he offered and counted it. There was enough in her hands for both hers and Fizzle's groceries for the next week. Content with his offer, she crossed the room to her land-line phone and began dialing.

One ring. Nothing. That wasn't unusual.

Two rings. Still nothing. When her brother was setting up, sometimes he left his phone in his bag.

Three rings. What was he doing up there?

Four rings.

Honey had just taken the receiver away from her ear when she heard the other end pick up.

"Mm? Hello?" the voice on the other end asked, husky from sleep.

"What were you doing, making me wait like that?"

"Hon-Bun, calm down. I was just taking a nap." Honey could hear the rustle of a book, and Fizzle groaned. "I think I got a sunburn."

"Serves you right," she huffed. Collecting herself, she put on her best professional persona and announced, "You have a visitor."

Fizzle groaned again. "What kind of visitor?"

Honey glanced over her shoulder. Choosing her words carefully, she said, "Dangerous game."

"Those university mages never get tired of ripping each other's throats out, do they." The words may have formed a question, but his tone was flat. Honey could hear his echoing footsteps, meaning he'd returned inside the building to find the elevator to her lab. This was confirmed when he added, "Ah, I'll be there shortly."

She didn't wait to see if he had more to say before she hung up and turned back to her brother's newest client.

"It would appear he's interested," she informed him. "Interested" was a far stretch, but she knew Fizzle would feign interest if it got him paid more.

The man nodded, taking a seat in her reading nook without permission. Formally educated mages always acted like this, thinking they owned the place just because they'd been to one of those damned schools, but they were the ones coming crawling to her lovable baby brother who had never had a day of training in his life.

The elevator dinged, and the moment the doors opened, Fizzle waltzed out, grabbing Honey by the shoulders and swinging her around, much to her dismay. To her, this was not the time to treat her like his sister, but like a colleague. He gave her a kiss on the forehead with a smile before approaching the man.

"So, this is the fabled Hunter of the Underground?" the man asked, still seated. "I was expecting someone more...terrifying."

"Is it the hair?" Fizzle asked no one, running his fingers through messy turquoise green hair. "It was supposed to be midnight blue."

"No, it's..." The man trailed off.

"Oh! Is it the outfit? I wanted to be comfy today. Don't worry, I won't be wearing this while hunting. Eh? No? Is it the glasses? Or is it because I'm not as tall as you were imagining? Five-ten's not short, you know. Hmm, not that either? Maybe it's--"

"I was expecting someone with more bulk," the man interjected.

Fizzle looked down at himself, then at his arms, and whined "That's it? I know I'm not built like I go to the gym everyday or anything, but I'm not exactly scrawny. I've got the muscle I need to do what I need."

In the blink of an eye, Fizzle's entire demeanor changed.  Conversing with this man had turned just as annoying to him as it had Honey. Upperworlders never changed. They never gave those in the underground communities the credit they deserved.  So what if he didn't look like the cartoonishly muscled image of a Hunter this guy was picturing? He obviously knew what he was doing, or he wouldn't have enough reputation for the man before him to find him when looking for someone to do his dirty work. "Enough chit-chat. What exactly do you want me to do and how much are you willing to pay?"

Swallowing hard, the man produced an envelope. Inside was an image of his rival, a fellow mage who was up for the same promotion within the ranks of the institution they were at, several detailed lists of places he'd be and when, and a deposit of half the amount he was willing to pay.

"Wow, you came prepared. Must have a real hard-on for that position, huh?"

"H-how'd you know it was for a position?" the man asked, and Honey wondered just where the demanding man who had interrupted her reading session had gone. Surely her goofball of a brother wasn't that intimidating.

"It almost always is," Fizzle replied, counting the deposit. "This'll do for half the amount, but I don't need the lists of places to find him. That's what the stars are for."

[frankhightower]

Reminders don’t work

On Sunday, June 4, I will post my last reminder for this commission opening. Quite simply, I’ve run out of ideas for how to organize my “products” logically, and don’t want to just repost the same thing twice because it would feel like spamming. This doesn’t mean I’ll stop taking commissions (I do need the money after all for basic things like groceries) I just won’t be advertising it in this way.

I only sold 1 commission with these reminders and it was when I posted the first one. It is clear that, while the reminders do indeed get the offer in front of more people’s eyes, they don’t get more sales. I saw something similar with the original YCH that spurred the price sheet: after the first week or so, reminders just didn’t do anything.

Was it the algorithm?

Believe it or not, The Algorithm/s has/have been very good with the reminders, averaging 30 views on FA, 519 on DA, and 213 on Twitter (all of them doubling that number for two days… and they were different two days on each platform!) while the original full price sheet got three times as much! I got a total of 20 likes across all platforms and 10 retweets/reblogs (Tumblr doesn’t count views but it does count that!) The numbers are probably similar for platforms that don’t track views.

Did I do it wrong?

With total views in the order of 14,000 (which is astronomical for me!) and likes being one or two thousandths of that (they are normally one or two hundredths), the obvious answer is people literally didn’t like the price sheet. However, the finished Special Passenger YCH exceeded that “normal”, so it’s obviously not the station motif that’s a problem. People just don’t hit “like” on a price sheet as often (yes, I went and looked at other peoples’).

Were the prices too high? This was indirectly tested by the Pokémon offer, which not only is half priced, but half priced with respect to my old prices – in effect, prices are a third of what I’m asking for regular commissions now. Two people asked for Pokémon but it was clear from the beginning it wasn’t going to materialize before the end of the month, when I needed the money.

Did I post at the wrong time? I specifically tried every possible time of day, every possible day of the week, for when to upload the reminders. If there was someone that only logged in, say, Tuesdays at lunch, I got him covered.

Was the price sheet too complicated? That is part of what the reminders tested. Even when reduced to just one or two options, there appeared to be no interest (in buying, that is. Remember they did get likes and retweets and one even got a comment just praising it!)

Was I selling the wrong thing? The only thing the price sheet rules out, really, is headshots, but the purpose of a headshot is to get cheaper art, which I did provide avenues for. I’ve already shown I’m willing to do most “furry specialties”, and I think anyone who has been following me knows it already.

So what did go wrong?

Quite simply, it’s a bad time of year to open commissions. I basically opened on the day of final exams; people simply haven’t been online as much since then. The fact that there’s been not one, not two, but three large conventions since then, doesn’t help: a lot of my would-be customers are also convention-goers, and they will have, of course, spent all their money at the convention!

I also opened right after Mother’s Day (another occasion to spend all your money) and late in the month (people who collect paychecks only at the end of the month will have spent their last one and be waiting on the next one)      

I may also simply not have the followers: while I have 350 on twitter and 211 on FA, 62 on DA, and 21 on tumblr, there is considerable overlap (which, let’s be honest, I encourage). There is probably only 400 followers total among all (haven’t actually counted, but the last time I did, years ago, that was the degree of overlap there was). Marketing theory says that means I can expect an average 4 sales a month. The size drive made 7 sales in one month. If there was only 1 sale in May, the average is maintained.

So what do we do now?

I have often mentioned how I need to do ref sheets for my characters (and failed), and part of the reason is to learn to make refsheets, period.

I’m going to reactivate my “dead” socials (Instagram, Facebook, YouTube) in hopes of reaching people only on those platforms.

I’m going to post the remaining Pokémon. You may have noticed some of the Pokémon sketches in the reminders could not be found anywhere else on Tumblr, that’s because I’d been waiting to make sure they appeared in order.

I need to do more YCHs. I’ve been thinking about this a long time. I have an idea for a pride month YCH I hope to show you soon

I think I need to be clearer about my situation. I’ll be posting more about it from now on.

[lou-bonfightme]

Locked Out of Love || [Genelous]

@genevieve-davenport

Para 700 words. Lou helps someone out with an apartment problem

Most of Lou’s days were slow and boring. He barely had any commissions to work on. There was never enough to do. He had even taken to cleaning the apartment when he was bored enough, which was abhorrent but which he couldn’t stop doing anyway. Despite not caring about this apartment at all, he did take pride in having a tidy space. And having a teenager who tended to throw her things wherever she wanted meant that there was always something to clean. He had begun to understand how Nounou felt—though, he still couldn’t imagine the tedium of simply doing this every day, day in and day out.

He felt restless but he wasn’t about to complain. There were plenty of people in his life who would be entirely too smug about the results of his latest manic episode. And he did not so easily admit defeat to anyone, especially not his family. Besides, he could convince himself that it was nice. Relaxing leisurely with no responsibilities and, of course, being with Opal.

Though, even that had started to strain. They’d had their first fight after dinner at the Lyons’ cabin. Lou had demanded that Opal start acting more like an adult instead of an immature child and she had spat all sorts of horrible things at him, just like she’d done her parents. The only difference had been that she had felt some semblance of regret around the matter. Of course, she had not apologized, he hadn’t expected her to. But, she had curled up close to him the next day, resting her head on his shoulder in what he assumed was the closest thing he was going to get.

Which was fine with him. He didn’t need an apology. He had never grown up with them. Moving on was just as well. In his opinion, it made things much easier. Discussing mistakes, admitting wrongdoing. These things did not come naturally to him. Simply moving on? Now that came naturally indeed.

Still--he wondered, sometimes, now when he watched Opal reading her books or painting or singing around the house...what had gone so wrong and could he help fix it? It was a surprisingly selfless thought for someone who was rather selfish but...he didn’t believe that Belle and Hades deserved the kind of pain that Opal was trying to cause them.

He’d convinced Hades to let him take Opal to Paris, just overnight, to try and soften her up somewhat. If Hades said no, it would only make things worse, he had reasoned. And he was quite sure he was right.

So, here they were: packing for Paris, when there was a knock at the door. The music had muffled any sounds outside the apartment, so Lou had no idea who it could possibly be. He was not used to strange knocks that came with living in an apartment complex. It was still strange to him and he wasn’t sleeping well. He could hear everything on the hall. The people above him. Sometimes even those below him. It gave him headaches and he often found himself retreating to the bedroom in the dark to escape a migraine. The whole thing was almost a repeat of Paris and he regretted giving his cottage to Sophie. However, the money that he got from that arrangement was steady and necessary. Besides, the cottage was too close to other things he would rather avoid. A migraine was preferable.

“I’ll get it!” Opal chirped, turning the music off from her phone.

“I will get it,” Lou cut across her, heading down the hallway. She pouted her lip at him but went back to folding the shirt that was in her hands.

Crossing to the door, Lou opened it to reveal Genevieve. His neighbor from down the hall. He had seen her a few times since their first meeting. They’d exchanged the sort of pleasantries that neighbors were supposed to exchange, but it had not moved passed that.

At first, he was surprised to see her at the door. It took him a moment to remember that he had offered to help her if she ever needed anything.

“Bon soir, Genevieve. May I help you?”

[outfit] [opal’s outfit]

[amorgansgal]

Sweet as Sugar - Part One

RDR2 Modern AU - Arthur finds a strange message on his phone and realises he's been signed up to a Sugar Daddy/Sugar Baby website. Does he respond to your message or forget it even happened?

Warnings: Sugar Daddy/Sugar baby relationship, customers being dicks.

‘Shit,’ you thought. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’

You stared at your payslip, your heart was beating furiously in your chest and, while you had managed to stop crying earlier, your eyes felt itchy and sore. You got stiffed on tips from time to time (and that already would send you into a rage at the best of time), but this was absolutely top-notch level shit. A large tabletop had given you a huge tip, then later decided to call the restaurant and ask for it back. It felt somehow worse than when you saw a pathetic dollar left on the table or ‘Sorry, I’m broke’ scribbled on the receipt.

Your manager had been nice and sympathetic enough on the phone, but there wasn’t much they could do other than offer you more hours. You tossed your phone aside and lay back down on the bed. What the hell were you going to do. Rent was due in two weeks and you knew you wouldn’t have enough money to cover bills, food and rent. Maybe you could live off rice for over a month, but you would undoubtedly be in debt.

You thought about asking your parents to cover the costs just for the time being, but the idea already made you feel sick. Doubtless your mother would again insist that you ask for a job at your cousin’s company, but last time you had worked there you were basically treated like a slave. Working all strange hours, being called at two or three in the morning, because your cousin needed someone to open the store at five and barely getting a pittance! Also, you didn’t need your mother berating you for deciding to pursue art either!

There was a tentative knock on the door. You looked up as Mary-Beth cautiously opened the door with a cup of tea in her hands. ‘Can I come in?’

You tried to answer her, but your voice came out as a scratchy tight squeak. You coughed, then said, ‘Sure.’

She passed you the cup and you gratefully took a sip. The sweet, sharp taste of peppermint warmed you. ‘Sorry, I kind of overhead everything that happened when you were calling your manager.’

You let out a low groan and rested your forehead against the warm ceramic of the cup. ‘I don’t know what to do. I can’t ask my parents for more money, they already lent me some ages ago and I don’t want to work at my cousin’s. For all the customers are a pain, I like my job!’

‘Didn’t you want to be an artist though?’ Mary-Beth asked, tucking her legs underneath her as she sat on the bed.

‘Yes, but that doesn’t exactly pay the bills. Hell, even if I take commissions again, I’d probably only get maybe one or two, and it’s not enough to cover everything.’

You both fell silent for a moment. Mary-Beth was playing with a coil of her curly, brown hair. She wrapped it around her finger and tugged it, her brow furrowed thoughtfully. You gazed around your small bedroom, trying to figure if there was anything worth selling.

‘I could-’ Mary-Beth began to say.

‘No, I know what you’re going to say, and that’s not fair. You work stupidly hard. I’ll figure this out.’

Mary-Beth sighed. ‘Ok, but I know you’re a good housemate and a better friend, so if you do need help I’m sure we could all put in a little donation for you.’

‘Look, I appreciate it, but I don’t want to do that to you all. It isn’t fair.’

‘And I don’t want you to leave or end up in so much debt you… I don’t know, end up in jail!’

You snorted slightly at that. ‘I’m sure it won’t come to that.’

She gave you a soft smile and then a hug, before getting up from the bed. ‘Ok, but if you do need help you let me know. Tilly, Karen and I won’t let you end up begging or on the streets!’

You nodded and gave her a small, tight smile in return, then took another sip of the hot, sweet tea. ‘Thank you, and thank you for the tea.’ You tapped your nails against the cup. ‘Guess I could open up commissions again. Every little helps!’

Mary-Beth had just placed her hand on the door, when she suddenly froze and turned to you. You frowned in puzzlement and raised an eyebrow. You weren’t sure how to read her facial expression, she looked both delighted and terrified by the idea that had apparently popped into her head!

‘What?’ you asked suspiciously.

‘Look, I know it didn’t quite work out last time-’

‘Just tell me what you’ve got on your mind.’

‘Well, you know that Sugar Daddy app you were-’

‘No! No. Absolutely not.’

‘I know you had that awful date-’

‘Yes, awful is the word for it. I had to sit there listening to him blather on about cryptocurrencies and stock exchanges! I don’t think he even asked me one question about myself.’ You sighed. ‘I get it, that’s the point. I’m just there to be paid and look pretty, so he doesn’t have to go to therapy, but all I got out of that was a mediocre bottle of wine and an “expensive, designer” bag that turned out to be a fake!’

‘I know, I know, but maybe you could find one that would be willing to give you a bit of cash or pay you decently for some art or something like that! You wouldn’t have to do it forever, just until you got paid.’

You pursed your lips, considering the idea. As much as you didn’t want to consider it. Sugar daddies were like any form of dating really, there were good apples and bad apples. Last time though you had been comfortable enough to not worry about the financial aspect so much. You just quite liked being well treated and some of the men had been lovely to spend time with. And admittedly you did have a thing for older men, that was true whether or not you were in a sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship.

‘Just a thought,’ Mary-Beth said as she slipped out the room.

Perhaps… perhaps you could just take a quick look at the site. Just a quick look wouldn’t hurt. Just to see who was on there, maybe some of your previous flames would consider it. Or as Mary-Beth suggested you could offer to paint their house or yacht or dog just to earn a little more cash. Then you wouldn’t have to go through the whole debacle of actually being a sugar baby.

You reinstalled the app and then opened it. You flicked through it quickly, there were evidently some new faces but you needed to scroll down to you previous matches - assuming they were still there!

You were just about to when you suddenly saw a new profile and quite honestly the man pictured took your breath away. He was leaning against a white fence, his blue checked shirt unbuttoned, his golden hair just touched his collar. You bit your lip. Usually, men with long hair weren’t your thing, but it suited him. His gaze was intense and seemed to study you. He had incredibly beautiful sea-green eyes.

‘How the hell did you end up on a site like this?’ you muttered. You couldn’t believe he would be here on a sugar daddy site, surely this guy had plenty of women who would be interested in him regardless of any freebies thrown in! But then maybe it was his kink or something.

You paused for a moment. This was a dumb idea. It was smarter to go back to your old acquaintances and see if they would help you out. There wouldn’t be any need to build up a relationship. And yet… This man was something else! You tapped onto his profile and opened up the message centre.

‘The hell is this?’ Arthur growled, staring at the notification in the corner of his phone. It had a little jelly bean that changed colour rapidly. The message read: ‘You’ve got a message from a sugar baby, open up Daddy!’

He turned the phone to John, who frowned as he read it, then snorted with laughter. ‘Why do you think that has anything to do with me?’ John put down the axe he was holding. They had been clearing out a new plot of land, both to get some more wood for fencing and Arthur’s stove, and to make sure the new trees had room to grow.

‘Pretty sure you were the last one to use my phone.’ Arthur glowered at John, who rolled his eyes.

‘I used it to call Abigail. I hardly had time to make a profile for… Mr Arthur-Big boy-Cowboy-Morgan!’ John read the name on the profile and snorted. ‘Nice choice, Arthur. Real subtle!’

‘Shut up,’ Arthur muttered. He looked back down at the phone. The notification had changed its message to the picture of a beautiful, young woman. Arthur blinked hard on seeing the picture. That had to just be an ad, some model the app’s company had hired to tempt people into thinking everyone looked like that!

His finger hovered over the app, thinking about uninstalling it, but then how had it got onto his phone in the first place? Arthur sighed and shook his head. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. Better to delete it and forget all about it. But then… he had been single for a long time and he had seemingly tried every and all dating apps without much luck!

‘You just goin’ to stand there staring at the phone or actually help me with this?’ John called out.

‘Yeah, just give me a minute!

He quickly opened the app.

Hi Arthur… or should I call you by your full name? I can’t say I’ve ever seen you on this app or anyone like you. I like the pictures of your dog. He’s cute!

Do you live in Blackwater or outside the city? I guessed maybe the latter because it looks like you live on a ranch. Sorry, if that’s too many questions, I get curious and end up chatting too much!

You didn’t sound like a bot, but then he wasn’t going to get his hopes up. He clicked onto your profile. You were stunningly pretty, with a beautiful smile and warm eyes. He scrolled through your hobbies, the fuzzy feeling in his chest growing as he saw you liked drawing/painting, reading and hiking. He looked at your pictures, there were some nice selfies, a few of you on a hiking trail by the looks of things and then one that made him stop and stare. It was a self-portrait, done in pencil, a slight frown on your features as though you were trying your best to capture your appearance. Underneath you had tagged it with: ‘Not my best, but I try!’

This was stupid, he thought. This was the dumbest thing he had ever thought about doing. He didn’t even know the first thing about being a sugar daddy, well apart from the basics. But what would you expect from him? What would he be expected to give you, assuming he had to give you something of material value? What would you give to him? Was it just companionship, someone to look pretty out on a date and gaze at him in wide eyed wonder as he talked about himself? Or would you do anything further? How did it all work-?

‘Hey there, you two, how goes th’ work?’ Sean’s jovial voice carried over and when Arthur looked up at him, he suddenly remembered how Sean had asked if he could check his emails on Arthur’s phone. Perhaps Arthur should’ve considered that odd at the time, but he had been a bit too trusting.

‘Hey Arthur!’ Sean grinned at him, then took in the other man’s expression. ‘Ah!’

‘AH! Indeed!’ Arthur grumbled. He turned his phone towards Sean. ‘Checkin’ yer emails were you?’

‘Now, now, Arthur. I can explain!’

‘Can you?’ asked John.

‘Yes. I was jus’ thinkin’, well it’s been a while for Arthur. So I thought, let him try somethin’ new, somethin’ excitin’!’

‘You god damn fool, I don’ know the first thing about being a sugar daddy!’

‘Well, I can’t imagine it’s too complicated!’ Sean eagerly reached for the phone, though Arthur snatched it out of reach. ‘Aw c’mon, English! Yer had any luck with the ladies then!’

‘NO!’ Arthur snarled. ‘I don’t need luck and I don’t need yer help getting’ lucky.’

He shoved the phone back into his pocket and stormed off over to John, intending to finish the work rather than hearing Sean jabber away.

‘If it helps, just think of it like charity! Like yer givin’ to some poor, unfortunate miss who needs a couple of dollars!’

Arthur scowled and began to pick up the fence posts. John raised his eyebrows ever so slightly, but even he knew to keep his mouth shut when Arthur looked like that!

[stcries-a]

Now the question is, am I gonna have enough motivation to make a decent looking promo for the new blog.

Okay u know what, imma do some more essay writing but later on? I might just start the remaking process.

[superhero--imagines]

A/N: Sorry, but this has been living in my brain rent free too, my commission info is here

* Honey if you’re tall with a big butt-

* You’ve got his heart the second he lays eyes on you

* Like everything he is and everything he will be -

* Baby you can have it all if you’ll agree to be his

* If you’re not tall with a big butt, well don’t worry Yuuji’s still going to adore you it just takes a little time

* It’s not so much because he doesn’t think your smoking hot or anything-

* It’s just, well, Yuji’s kinda dumb

* So anyone outside of his immediate go-to type, it just doesn’t register in his brain

* You can bet your ass he’ll say dumb crap like-

* “Friends can hold hands right?”

* Or

* “Friends kiss sometimes, no big deal!”

* But don’t worry babe, it might take a little while, but eventually he’ll notice all these feelings he’s been categorizing as “friendly” feelings and “positive” feelings are actually Romantic feelings

* Once he finally figures it out, you won’t have to wait long-

* “Oi, (Y/N/N), want to be my lover?”

* Like seriously, not even a second after he has this ‘monumental’ realization

* After that things are pretty easy between you two

* It’s not like much has changed, he’s still your friend, and he doesn’t act any different-

* You guys were holding hands and, apparently, kissing before you were officially dating

* It’s not even that he’s greedy with the way he touches you or anything-

* I think the only thing that does change is that Yuji makes an effort to spend more time with you

* “Oi, wanna go to Shibuya this weekend? There’s a Taiyaki store I’m dying to go too”

* He makes an effort to spend time with you even when he’s not around, like sending you texts and voicemails when he’s away

* Part of the reason he’s so insistent on spending as much time with you as possible is probably because he’s not sure how much time he has left

* I think, Yuji is a really simple guy who sees the good in everyone, so he’s also kind of attracted to anyone given the right circumstances

* But I think, he especially wants someone compassionate

* Someone who will hold him during depressive episodes where he’ll wonder- what if I hadn’t joined the occult club? What if he had played track like everyone wanted? What if he had just minded his own business

* What if Megumi hadn’t followed him to the hospital that day, how different would his life be right now

* And it’s the same regret and remorse that fuels his cursed energy, but for some reason it feels like it’s magnified right now

* It feels like he might drown in this despair

* During those days you just hold him, whispering good things about the world.

* Soft things that’ll help him right now-

* Something to give him hope

* “Hot tea on a cold day” you whisper

* “The feeling of basking in sunlight after a cloudy day”

* There’s a moment of silence as you think of something else to say

* “The smell of rain, and fresh cut grass” he’ll mumble back, and you grin

* “Getting Taiyaki in Shibuya with someone you love” you reply with a grin

* “With ice cream filling and boba?”

* You laugh, what a weird combination

* “Anything you want”

* Yuji’s not the one that’s hard to get along with tbh, the one you have trouble with is Sukuna

* “You know you’ll never save him, I don’t know why you’re trying so hard”

* You would hit Sukuna if it didn’t mean slapping Yuji’s cheek too

* “Shut up what do you know”

* Honestly Yuuji’s a little surprised at the hatred Sukuna shows you

* “Shouldn’t you be happy they’re around?”

* For one because you’re around there’s been more *clears throat* romantic incidents, which of course always leave Yuji in a pretty vulnerable state

* He’s only an orgasm away from having Sukuna take over tbh

* And besides-

* You’re his weakness

* They say the sun is 92 million miles away, but he swears his sun is walking in front of him on the in Shibuya, his hand held firmly in yours

* If anything ever happened to you-

* He wouldn’t be able to live with himself, he wouldn’t be able to go on anymore.

* And that’s when the curse that lives inside him wins

* So he really doesn’t get why Sukuna’s acting like this is the worst thing to ever happen to him

* Sukuna opens an eye on Yuji’s cheek

* “I hate their kind most of all, even more than Jujutsu Sorcerers” he grumbles

* He really does hate you-

* He hates that you’re kind

* He saw your type all the time at his harem, some lowly thing relatives had sold off for money and honor-

* Or a prize from a nation he conquered

* Some dumb creature that thought you would get a reward for sacrificing yourself

* Truly idiotic

* The worst part is he’s starting to like those little fantasy’s you spin for Yuji

* He can feel the sunlight warning his skin after a cold day

* He can taste the heavy condensation of the steam that wafts off of his cup of tea, brushing against his face. The heat in direct contrast to the cold winter air

* And it hurts him to know he probably won’t feel like that again, not for a long time

* Not with you helping Yuji work through his negative feelings like you do

* So he hates you

* He hides his contempt in general, it only leaks out through an occasional insult

* “Where’s your kindness now?” He’ll jeer when you’re having a bad day

* Only for Yuuji to smack his cheek to get him to shut up

* “Ah, don’t pay any attention to him. He’s just grumpy”

* For the most part it’s nothing you can’t handle

* Really you kind of forget he’s there most of the time, until one day you see Sukuna pop out and take a bite of your Taiyaki as you hold it out to Yuji who said he wanted to taste the flavor

* “Oi that was mine!” Yuji screeches, slapping his own face while Sukuna smiles from his hand

* “You just like torturing me don’t you?” He weeps, and you offer him sympathetic pats on the back, giving him another bit of your Taiyaki

* He continues on about how Sukuna just loves to torment him, and honestly why can’t they get along when they share a body

* But your mind is elsewhere

* The next time Sikuna see’s you is when Yuji’s sleeping, the damn brat snores so loud he’s considering throttling him just to get some peace and quiet

* That’s when he hears the door creak, seeing you curling inside around it, a plastic bag in hand

* Great, the perfect end to the perfect day

* “The brats sleeping” Sukuna grumbles from Yuji’s hand-

* He would have spoken from his face but the only thing more annoying than having to deal with Yuji’s snores is having to hear the lovey-dovey crap tumble from his lips when he talks to you

* He figures you’ll leave, or maybe curl up against Yuji on the bed but instead you kneel down, your hand dipping into the plastic bag

* “I’m not here for him,” you start pulling out a Taiyaki.

* “You wanted one right?” That’s why he took a bite, because he wanted to try it too

* Though, annoying Yuji was probably an added bonus

* You hold up the Taiyaki to Sukuna’s ‘mouth’

* And he’s overcome with emotion

* It’s not like he hasn’t had concubines from his harem feed him a great number of things before -

* Like he hasn’t ever felt the tender act from one of his many lovers -

* So he hates that you’re the one that’s bringing out all these emotions in him

* And as he takes a bite from the Taiyaki he finally admits it-

* If you were in his harem, a moronic kind fool like you were one of his lovers

* You would be his favorite

* And that’s why he hates you so much

* Because just like Yuji, you’re his weakness

* “It’s not the same flavor” he mumbles

* “Sorry I couldn’t get the ice cream, it would have melted on the way here-“

* Sukuna wouldn’t have minded one bit licking the cream from your fingers, maybe he would even catch that embarrassed face you always make with the damn brat

* “So I got you a custard one, and a chocolate one, and on the off chance you weren’t in the mood for something sweet I got you a curry filled one too”

* You stumble, hand flying into the bag to pull out the other two, holding them up to him

* And despite himself, Sukuna finds the sight quite...cute

* “Well, I suppose these offerings will do for now wench” And his words are harsh, but you smile like the kindhearted fool you are.

* And that’s how Yuji starts getting pestered for “just five minutes alone with their baby”

* “Scared I’ll show them a better time than you can?” Sukuna grins

* Of course he is! Sukuna had a literal harem of lovers. Who knows what kinds of techniques he knows

* But Yuji’s pride won’t let him admit it

* Yuji scoffs

* “I’d rather die again then let you come anywhere near them”

* It’s kind like you’ve got two boyfriends

* One pink haired one that’s the literal personification of sunshine

* And another, more dark and sadistic one

* And it’s sort of a funky little relationship

* But it’s yours

* “I wouldn’t trade you for anything in the world” you whisper.

* Your lips brushing against his

* Yuji wouldn’t trade you for anything either

* He loves you ❤️

[tuffmallowinteractive]

Hello from a Dev in Need holy moly update: OMG thank you so much! You guys have more than helped out and I did not know it would happen so fast!!

Thank you all so much! It has only been two hours and the 500 goal has been met and then surpassed and then doubled! I am so humbled right now and yes I did cry- I ain’t shamed to say it! I’ll be taking this extra funding and putting it towards moving the hell out of here. We are still on our grind and I am still doing everything I can to complete the stories I love and hope you will come to love as well! I have a whole other post planned and I will throw it out in the morning. For now I have to thank all the people who donated and all the folks who reached out with well wishes and positive energy because I thank you all so much!!! Thank you again! 

I’ve been staring at this screen for a good while now. 

And I don’t know... man. I don’t know. 

That’s the thing. I feel like the last two years have been hard on everyone. Everyone. I’m no exception. I’m no one special. Each and everyone of us has lost something or someone. We’ve all struggled and tried our best and we’ve worked with what we’ve got. A lot of us have experienced a quality of life they weren’t used to, and in most cases didn’t deserve. 

And yes, I’m nobody special in that regard. But I am someone going through that. 

In October, the rental ban lifted in my state. A lot of landlords decided to make money back that they did not get from tenants on hard times during the ban by selling their properties. I was paid up until the next month when my landlord hit me with an eviction notice and raised the rent by $200. Since my lease was up it was either meet that demand or try to find a home and move which my family had not planned for. Well we scrapped up the funds in short notice and paid the rent. That’s when the landlord let me know he would not be renewing my lease, but instead the 30 day eviction notice and if I was late, he’d just file for eviction the next day. So we planned to do just that for a couple of months while we figured out a game plan. Eventually we decided we’d try for a January move and began packing our things. My son and I decided our Christmas would just have to come once we found and secured a stable place. And that’s fine.

But then my son got sick and an insurance bill hit us out of left field, and now we find ourselves back in the red at the crucial moment. We’re still down about $500 and I honestly don’t think we’ll make it in time. Rent’s due on the 7th. I’ve put everything on hold to deal with this. Those that know me well know I’ve not really been able to have time to access my pc let alone work on my projects- two of which are already at the finish line if I could only have the much needed time to work on them. 

We’re still working. I’m still working. We take turns packing and working. We’re trying to come up with the money for this and of course to find a better place. (Hopefully without an eviction making it more difficult) I try to stay connected with everyone via Discord so they know I’ve not fallen off the face of the earth and the games I promised are still very much under way and at the center of my heart. 

I just... I’m just I don’t know. I could offer commissions if ppl are interested. I could host a Kofi 30 day challenge. Though the challenge would have to be starting January. I have no idea what I could give in return that would make it worth while to invest in, but I’m most certainly willing if it means my little family and me won’t be evicted this Christmas. 

Hey. I’m not good at this. This is killing my pride. But I’m nobody so special that my pride is worth more than my home and my family. So if you can help at all, drop a line. This dev would surely appreciate it. 

UPDATE: This goal has been met and I just want to thank everyone who reposted and liked this post and just thank you because every form of kindness and even positive energy counts and I just love you all so much!

[itsamejin]

easy || jungkook angst/fluff

Summary: Date you, win a bet, get his rent paid off. Sounds promising enough, right? Jungkook should’ve known that his ambitions would end in disaster, but even if he did, that still wouldn’t have stopped him from pursuing you.

Warning: cursing, crude humor, fuckboy talk

Genre: college!au, fuckboy!au, bet!trope, angst, fluff

Pairing: Jungkook x female!reader

Premise: In which Jungkook accepts a bet from Taehyung to date the first girl that walks into the lecture hall and realizes that he bit off more than he could chew when starts to catch feelings. Now, he has to suffer the consequences of being an idiot.

Commission Request: @altus-gens​

Word Count: 9,203 words

—

It's not like Jungkook planned to be one of the most sought after person in Yonsei University, but it somehow turned out to be that way. Truthfully, he basks in it, loves that so many people idolize him for doing the bare minimum. He was handsome after all and had a level of charm that surpassed the need to have a good personality. 

He got into such a prestigious school through an athletic scholarship for Taekwondo, managed to convince his professors to pass him when he put in minimal effort, and there was no shortage of girls to call when he was feeling lonely for a night. He was the stereotypical 'it' boy on campus and maybe if he was a little bit smarter, he'd have a better choice of friends than the six idiots he always hangs around with.

"How about this," Taehyung starts, gum in his mouth, "the first girl who walks in, you have to successfully get in her pants."

Jungkook rolls his eyes. They were in a damn lecture hall and yet Taehyung had no shame bringing up sex. Typical.

“This again, bro?” Hoseok sighed. “Aren’t you sick of bribing us to do weird shit for you?”

Taehyung smirked.

“Not at all, actually.”

"For how much?" Namjoon cut in, probably curious for the price point Taehyung would arrange this time. He was fired from his job just a week ago and could really use the money. "I'll do it if it’s enough to pay for my rent this month."

Taehyung scoffs, although knowing full well he could pay for all of the boys’ tuitions combined if he wanted to. He was the resident rich bachelor on campus after all.

"I'll pay it for a full year and your utility bills too if you're really down," Taehyung flaunts. "You just gotta have proof you actually managed to do it."

"Dude that's gross," Seokjin chimes in, "No one wants to send you proof of us doing it with a random girl."

Taehyung shakes his head.

"No, no, no," he says, clicking his tongue. "I phrased it incorrectly. I’m not a fucking pervert."

“You got us fooled,” Jimin mutters. 

Taehyung leans in closer to the six boys and even Jungkook finds himself getting intrigued. Admittedly, he was a little curious considering he hasn't had a proper meal in weeks. He could really use having some extra cash for food without worrying about rent.

"You have to date the girl for like three months," Taehyung says seriously, "and I'll consider that as enough proof that you managed to actually do it since I know you guys are too horny to wait any longer than that to fuck."

They all look at Taehyung in disgust, Jimin even opting to hit him in the back of the head for being so vulgar. To be fair, they were all thinking of accepting Taehyung's bet regardless. It's not like they were new to leading girls on anyway.

"You gotta pay me more than that to fuck just any girl," Yoongi says, yawning in the process. He seemed the least likely to take up Taehyung's offer, but he was still game depending on the person.

"Then how would you feel," Taehyung starts, "if I told you guys that I could get you priority registration for next quarter."

The boys, even the ones who weren't interested, were now listening to Taehyung's every word.

"You mean," Hoseok gulps, "I could finally get that fucking Organic Chemistry class I need to get out of this hell hole?!"

Taehyung shrugs, an ominous smile on his face.

"Just the perk of having parents who have connections," Taehyung replies. “I’ll only accept one of you guys to do it though. I don’t wanna have you all fucking the same girl- that’d be weird.”

Hoseok rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what’s weird about this,” he grumbles.

“So are you guys in or not?” Taehyung asks, his patience growing thin.

He lays back on his chair, a smoldering look on his face when they all nod. They were desperate for money after all.

"The next girl that walks in will be the subject of this bet and whoever calls dibs on her first will be the one to woo her,” he says with a stretch of his arms. “Good luck boys.”

They all turned to look at the door and Jungkook watches silently as guy after guy walks into the lecture hall. No girl yet. 

Jungkook was hoping, from the bottom of his heart, that no familiar faces would walk in. If he had to deal with a past fling, he’d have to back out immediately. He never dealt with exes very well.

The guys are at the edge of their seats, praying for a cute girl to walk through that didn’t already know about their horrible reputation. They were looking for an easy target, someone that could fall for their charms almost immediately.

And then, you walk in. You were clad in sweats with earphones on, rushing toward the front row seats of the lecture hall. You were chatting with your friends, yawning several times throughout your conversation with them. Jungkook couldn’t help but smirk. There was nothing special about you to point out, in fact, you were just like everyone else. Strangely enough, he found that the most intriguing part about you.

"Nope, nope, nope," Jimin shakes his head repeatedly. "Can't, won't, never will. Sorry, Tae."

They all stare at him in confusion.

"What the fuck, what's wrong with her?" Yoongi asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Jimin faces away from you, not wanting to look at you any longer.

"No, nothing," there seems to be a blush forming on his face. He was hiding something.

“Bullshit,” Taehyung furrows his brows. “Bro, if she’s crazy and one of us gets our dick bitten off, we’re all blaming you, so spit it out.”

Jimin just sighs.

"She's been giving me Professor Kwon’s notes for the past few weeks,” he starts, much to the confusion of his friends. “Her name is [Y/N]. It'll be really mean if I go after her, especially since she and I are kind of friends. Plus, I really need to pass this class. I failed last quarter..."

The boys groan. Jimin was no fun.

"She's not my type so I don't think I could really get into it either," Seokjin states, no longer interested in the prize after Jimin’s confession. He’s been banking off of your notes from him too. 

"Aren’t we all old enough to know not to mess with people’s feelings?" Hoseok sighs.

They roll their eyes at Hoseok’s statement. Who was he trying to fool with the nice guy act? He probably fooled around with girls just as much as the other guys did.

"Yeah, I’m backing out," Yoongi agrees, "and she hates me so there's that."

They all look at him questioningly and he puts his hands up in the air from their gazes.

"What? I just realized who she’s talking to down there.”

He pointed at a girl discreetly, but no one seemed to recognize her.

“Her friend and I dated,” Yoongi continues, “and I broke up with her over text and blocked her without letting her respond. That whole friend group is pretty much pissed at me. I'd rather not have to deal with them again."

The guys look disapprovingly at him. Breaking up over text was harsh, but probably not the worst thing Yoongi has done to his exes.

"You're actually a piece of shit," Namjoon sighs. "I really do need my rent paid though..."

Jungkook nods in agreement. It's been almost impossible to balance Taekwondo practices, college papers, and working a part-time job all at once. If he could somehow find a way to quit his job for a while and get priority registration for classes, then he doesn't mind getting his hands a little dirty in the process. Plus, you were cute enough and he's sure you weren't too difficult to befriend as long as he doesn't mention Yoongi in any conversations.

"I'm in," Jungkook chides, finally saying something after such a long period of silence.

They all look at him with disbelief in their eyes. Jungkook was never the one to partake in Taehyung's bets. In fact, he was the one usually ridiculing them for participating. He must have been really desperate if he was willing to do it.

"I mean, it's all yours if you want," Namjoon replies, "I don't wanna turn it into a competition.”

“Don’t worry dude,” Jungkook fist bumps Namjoon, “I’ll quit my job and refer you for it.”

They nod at each other as if they were on the same wavelength. 

“I knew I could rely on you,” Namjoon says, faking tears from his eyes. The boys groan in response.

“Alright,” Taehyung claps his hands. “In exchange for providing me some mindless entertainment and going out with [Y/N], you will get your rent paid for the rest of the year and get early registration for next quarter. Sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me.”

Jimin shakes his head.

“I don’t know about this, guys...”

Jungkook doesn’t hear him and instead takes one last look at you. You catch him in the corner of your eye and you can’t help but feel flustered at his serious expression. 

“Should be easy enough,” he mutters to himself and turns his gaze back onto his friend.

“So we have a deal?” Taehyung asks.

He smirks, shaking the outreached hand Taehyung held out for him. He steals another glance at you and he finds you staring right back. He gives you a wink.

“Deal.”

—

Jungkook slid into the seat next to yours in the campus canteen, his eyes filled with determination. His posture was laid-back, but it was a little too obvious that he was trying to act like he didn’t care.

“Hi,” he greets you in a breathy tone- girls loved it when he spoke with his breathy tone.

“Hi?”

You’d been sensing that someone was staring at you during the lecture, but you thought that was just the paranoia that came from being near such an intimidating group of guys. Turns out, you should always trust your instincts.

Jungkook had a boyish grin on his face that made you want to smile back but also stare at him in disgust.

“I heard you help Jimin with Professor Kwon’s notes,” he whispers mischievously. “I’m struggling myself, actually...”

Not really, but you know. This was the easiest tactic to approach you- tackle your similarities. You nod understandingly at his words, not quite getting that he was flirting with you.

“Yeah I can send you the Google Drive folder,” you comply, taking your phone out. “But you can’t let Professor Kwon know or else he’ll flip out. He doesn’t want people to have the notes for some odd reason...”

You trail off but Jungkook just scoffs. You seemed clueless.

“That’s not what I necessarily meant,” he says, a little shy this time. “I need a tutor.”

You furrow your brows at him.

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to pay me for that,” you say seriously. The last time you offered to tutor someone for free, they ended up blaming you for their failing grade and screaming about it all over social media. You needed money to compensate for that emotional trauma. “Microeconomics is hard to teach.”

“Well thankfully I’m a good student,” Jungkook teases. You stare at him with a deadpan face.

“You wouldn’t need my help if you were a good student,” you say blankly, standing up from your seat. “My hourly rate is 20,000 Won. Take it or leave it.”

Jungkook’s eye twitched. He had to spend his money to get Taehyung’s money? Well, the payout would be worth it in the end anyway. He reaches out a hand to you.

“If you’d have me,” he says cheekily, looking up at you. You take his hand in yours and maybe for a second you felt your heart skip a beat, but that was soon over when you let go of him.

“You have sweaty hands,” you say straightforwardly. You wipe your hand on your shirt and he coughs awkwardly at how unresponsive you truly were. Didn’t Jimin say you were a nice person? 

You take your barely-touched lunch tray and walk away from his pensive figure.

“Wait, can I get your number?” he yells. You don’t look back.

“Alright, whatever,” he mumbles to himself. “I’ll just ask Jimin, I guess.”

Without even a second glance, you disappear from his sight. He sits back on his chair, heaving out a deep sigh. Sure, this wasn’t the first girl that didn’t care much for his advances, but you didn’t even crack a smile or anything. This is going to be harder than he thought...

—

“She hates me,” Jungkook whines to Seokjin as they walked down the university halls to their next shared class. “Yesterday, I went up to her to get her number and I left with a fucking debt. Does that make any sense?”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have taken on the bet,” Seokjin yawned. “Namjoon would have wooed her with his poetry by now or some shit.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m sure she’s interested in a dude who can’t even put on a hat without causing an earthquake.”

Seokjin smacked him on the back.

“At least he’d have the guts to say no to having a fucking tutor,” Seokjin replies. “You dug your own grave, man. Now roll around in it.”

“Do you want me to succeed or not?” 

“I want you to not be a fucking dumbass, Jungkook,” Seokjin sighs. “Do you really wanna make your reputation worse than it already is?”

Just as Jungkook was about to reply, he catches a glimpse of you walking farther ahead in the university courtyard. You were a bit far but he’s sure he could make it if he hurries. He smacks the binder he held in his right hand onto Seokjin’s chest.

“Yo, can you cover for me,” he asks hastily and Seokjin stares at him with a concerned gaze. He watches as Jungkook takes off his backpack and leaves it on the ground. Jungkook looked about ready to break out in a sprint.

“What the fuck, why?” Seokjin questions.

“Just tell the TA I’m out for a bit,” he says in response, already running ahead to catch up to you. “I’m winning this fucking bet or I’ll die trying.”

Jin stands still, mouth agape. Jungkook really left him with his backpack and binder just to talk to you. He shakes his head. ‘I need to make new friends,’ he thought to himself, picking up the discarded backpack and walking in the direction of the class Jungkook was planning to be late to.

You were walking with your earphones on, not noticing someone sprinting at you in record speed. You only turn your music off when Jungkook stops in front of you, his hands on his knees. He was panting heavily.

“Hey,” he says through deep breaths. You nod at him awkwardly.

“Why are you running?”

“I wanted to... catch up to you... and I thought... you were closer... but the run here... took... fucking... forever,” he says breathlessly. “Water. I need water.”

You take out a bottle from your tote bag hastily, handing it to him. He took it into his hands, grazing your fingers a bit. As he was about to start chugging it, you halted him.

“Waterfall,” you say curtly- you were still planning to drink out of it later after all. 

He nods in response, a drop of sweat cascading the side of his neck. After he was done, there was practically no water left anyway. ‘I’m gonna have to refill it myself,’ you thought begrudgingly. You stuff it back into your bag and wait until his breaths become more even.

“A bit out of shape, huh?”

He scoffs and gives you a glare, clearly offended.

“I actually have a Taekwondo scholarship, you know that? I just wasn’t warmed up and I’m naturally sweaty so it’s not like-”

You laugh a little.

“I’m joking,” you say, a smile adorning your face. He feels his face turn red and he can’t help but purse his lips out of embarrassment. Jeon Jungkook couldn’t take a fucking joke.

“O-oh,” he says shyly, avoiding your gaze. Why was he acting more like an idiot than usual? You hear the chiming bells of the university tower and stare at your phone to check the time.

“Don’t you have a class?” you ask him. His eyes widen and soon he was dashing off again. He turns around mid-run, jogging backward to face you.

“My number is 06-1313-9197,” he yells, loud enough for the other late students in the courtyard to hear. Most of them roll their eyes, knowing that Jungkook was flirting with another girl yet again. You’re embarrassed by the amount of attention he’s getting, but punch his number on your phone anyway.

“Text me,” he shouts. “I’ll always respond to you.”

Now it was your turn to be flustered.

—

"That’s wrong,” you say, reaching over to Jungkook’s notebook and marking a large ‘X’ on his paper. “You’re not supposed to apply that function for this problem...”

Jungkook stared at you with a tired face. He didn’t think he was too bad at the mathematical aspect of Microeconomics, but it seemed like it was your life’s mission to make him look like an idiot. Of course, you caught every mistake that he made- even the ones he made on purpose just to see if you were really paying attention to his work and not bamboozling him.

“My bad,” he mutters, copying down the same problem on a different sheet of paper. He didn’t even get a chance to make a move on you today- not like he could make any big developments in the campus library anyway.

“Is it like this?” he asks, tilting his notebook to face you. You take a hard look at it and nod.

“Yeah, just make sure you know the difference between these two formulas, or else you’ll mess up on the midterm,” you say thoughtfully.

This was your fourth or fifth tutoring session by now? Truth be told he wasn’t really counting. Each moment he spent with you kind of blended together and he didn’t quite know if that was a bad thing or not.

“You know you’re not even struggling,” you say, your nose buried deep in your textbook. “It’s not like you’re completely clueless like Jimin. It seems like you’re wasting money on stuff you already know.”

Jungkook laughs heartily, getting shushed by the people around him. He really was stupid, wasn’t he?

“Yeah, well, it was just an excuse to hang out with the pretty girl in class, you know?” he says as nonchalantly as he could. You stare at him for a second and he swears he feels his body freeze over. If looks could kill...

You just shook your head with a click of your tongue and got back to reading.

“The pretty girl in class is most definitely not me,” you grumble. “If you wanted, I could’ve given you Soobin’s number without all the added hassle of you trying to come talk to me-”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Jungkook stops you from saying anything else. He looked worriedly at your face. “I don’t even know who the hell Soobin is, why would I want her number?”

You look at him and finally, you chuckle. ‘She really does have a nice smile,’ Jungkook thought to himself. It would be nice if he could make you laugh more often and not just on rare occasions like this.

“You’re saying you don’t know Yoongi’s ex?” you tease slightly. You were finally letting your guard down with him and Jungkook smirked. One wall down, another million more to go.

“Bold of you to assume that I know any of Yoongi’s exes,” he says and you scoff. “He’s an asshole when it comes to dating.”

You roll your eyes.

“Isn’t that your whole friend group?”

He pouts. You knew of his reputation after all. Jungkook thought he could get away playing a nice boy act, but it didn't seem possible considering your knowledge of him. A little white lie couldn’t hurt in the end.

“Not me,” he replies. “I choose my relationships pretty carefully.”

You take a glance at him before jotting down a few more words in your notebook.

“Well,” you start off, a little shy to admit what you were about to say, “I guess we both have that in common.”

He tilts his head rather cutely out of confusion.

“What do you mean?”

You cough awkwardly, adjusting yourself on one of the library’s notoriously squeaky seats.

“I’ve never really had a boyfriend before,” you say quietly. His eyes bulge out from their sockets.

“You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not,” you say, a hint of amusement in your voice.

“Like, you’ve never been on a date or what?”

“I have,” you say hesitantly. “I’ve been on a few but they just never led into anything serious. I was pretty focused on studying in high school so there weren’t really any opportunities to get involved with someone. Plus, the guys who pursued me weren’t very... attractive.”

Jungkook laughs loudly again, much to the dismay of the other students in the library. He liked that you didn’t beat around the bush- it was easier to talk to you that way.

“And me?” he asks teasingly, laying his head on his arm that was atop the desk. He looks up at you with that boyish grin of his that gave you small butterflies in your stomach. You stare back at him, but only for a second. You ignore his watchful gaze and continue to flip through your textbook, trying to find the passage you last read. He keeps his eyes locked on you and you just couldn’t resist.

“What about you?” you ask, feigning ignorance.

“Am I attractive?” he replies as bluntly as he could. You stop your movements and he chuckles.

“You’re... cute,” you settle on that word. Cute. It was safe enough to not be misinterpreted too much. He sits up straight with a satisfied smirk. He takes his pen and draws a heart on the side of your notebook. He winks at you when you stare back at him, puzzled by his actions.

“You are too.”

—

“Tell me you’re lying,” Soobin whines disappointingly, shaking your shoulders. You were trying to eat lunch undisturbed in one of the campus cafes but your two friends seem hell-bent on making you suffer. “There’s no way you’re friends with Jungkook.”

You sigh, attempting to rid yourself of Soobin’s grasp but to no avail.

“He’s an asshole, [Y/N],” Gaeun sighs disappointingly. “I thought you were a feminist, why the fuck do you even tolerate him?”

You glare at her for a split second before going back to prying Soobin off you.

“Jungkook has no respect for women or himself. It shows in how many shitty friends he has,” Soobin chants, still clearly bitter that Yoongi dumped her.

You shake your head, rolling your shoulders back when she finally lets go of you.

“Jungkook’s not even as bad as you guys describe him,” you reply. “He’s actually been really sweet.”

The girls take a glance at each other and burst in a fit of laughter.

“You must be out of your damn mind,” Gaeun cries. You cower slightly at their words. It’s not like you said anything that controversial, did you?

Soobin slaps Gaeun on the shoulder when she realizes how your face had soured. It wasn’t right to judge you for your choice of friends so harshly, no matter how horrid said person was.

“As long as it doesn’t go past friends,” she says soothingly, but that only made you feel worse.

“Why?” you ask a little hesitantly. “Does Jungkook sleep around?”

Gaeun nods, a worrying glimpse in her eyes.

“He's not exactly the type to kiss and stay...”

You nod understandingly. You weren’t too clueless to believe Jungkook when he said he was “careful” on who he dated. As long as you knew the boundaries that came with being his tutor, everything should be fine... right?

“Don’t worry guys,” you say with determination. “I’m not the type to get played-”

“Of course you are!” Gaeun sighed. “Guys gravitate towards girls like you who lack experience. Jungkook’s a fucking weirdo, of course, he’s gonna try and-”

“[Y/N]!” a shout from across the cafe screams. That distracted you from the various insults Gaeun was spewing from her mouth. You get that she was being critical of Jungkook, but did she have to speak ill of you too?

You look around and catch Jungkook waving frantically at you. He stops at your table and takes a mere glance at your friends before setting his focus on you. 

“Do you have time to help me out today? One of the papers for my writing class-”

“You tutor him in writing now, too?!” Soobin exclaimed, mouth agape. “[Y/N], what the fuck.”

You try to ignore your friend’s overreaction, a little disheartened when Jungkook looked hurt at their words. He had started to shy away from them as if he didn’t feel welcomed.

“Nevermind, I’ll just ask you later-”

“Actually,” you say standing up. “I’m free now.”

The two girls look back and forth between you and Jungkook, noticing the stars in your eyes when you looked at him. They did not like the thought of you two together at all.

“But [Y/N]-” 

You ignored their words and start to walk away, hoping Jungkook would come catch up to you. You didn’t quite know why their insistence on him being a bad person had made your blood boil. It wasn’t like you weren’t aware of his flirtatious tendencies, but hearing from your friends that you shouldn’t pursue a guy that you liked-

You stopped in your tracks and feel heat climb up your face. Like.

No way you admitted that just now. There’s no possible way you actually like-

“Hey, wait up,” Jungkook pants, his hand touching your shoulder. “Why do you walk so fast for-”

He sees your shocked face and turns you towards him, his hands on your shoulder similar to how Soobin had shaken you just earlier. Except this time, it felt comforting. It made your whole body feel warm as if you were coated with a weighted blanket. Was he always this gorgeous?

“What’s wrong?” he asks, inspecting your face closely. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“N-nothing,” you swipe his hands away and rush out the door of the cafe. He smirks at how flustered you look, maybe he did have an effect on you after all.

Jungkook takes a last glimpse at the two girls who sat in their seats, staring at him disapprovingly. He raised an eyebrow at them and shoved his hands in the pocket of his jeans, following after you. ‘They’ll try to get in the way,’ Jungkook thought to himself, ‘but they’re already too late.’

The girls clenched their fist out of annoyance. He was definitely trying to get on their nerves.

“There’s something strange about what’s happening,” Gaeun mutters.

“They’re up to something,” Soobin agrees. “I don’t trust him at all.”

—

It’s been a week since you last spoke to your friends, not really wanting to read the messages they bombarded you with about how you should stay for away from Jungkook. It was hard to take any of their advice seriously when they were just badmouthing him without reason. They based all their opinions on him from rumors around the school and Soobin always felt the need to compare him to Yoongi even though they both had very different personalities. Well, at least to you they seemed very different.

Frankly, you were sick of their nagging and just turned off notifications from that group chat altogether. Instead of sitting next to them during Microeconomics, you opted to sit with Jungkook in the back of the lecture hall instead of at the front with them. Jungkook had abandoned his own rowdy friend group to sit with you and flashed them quick smirks and winks whenever they’d stare at him. 

Slowly, Jungkook had started to become a constant in your day to day life. You walked to class with him, ate with him, played video games with him. It was sort of strange how used to you were of his presence, like you had known him your whole life. Jungkook snaps you out of your thoughts when he starts humming a little tune.

He draws a heart in the corner of your notes- which you find he has a habit of doing whenever he wanted to say something stupid.

“I don’t get what he’s saying,” he pouts cutely. “It’s like he’s speaking a foreign language.”

You shake your head, not paying him any mind.

“Well maybe if you actually paid attention,” you mutter softly. He scoots closer to you and you feel yourself stiffen.

“But you’re tutoring me later on anyway,” he says teasingly. “I get more bang for my buck if I know less.”

“Bang for my buck,” you scoff. “Who even says that anymore?”

He points at himself nonchalantly and you can’t help but crack a smile as you continue to focus on the professor’s words. You don’t even cower under his gaze like you usually do when he stares at you with those puppy dog eyes.

“What do you want?” you ask, finally caving when Professor Kwon adjusted something in his PowerPoint slides. He smiles.

“I want to hold your hand,” Jungkook replies and you could feel your palms clam up. His flirtatious comments increased as time passed and you didn’t really quite know whether he was just teasing you or if he was genuinely interested in you. You weren’t very good at taking a hint.

“I’m writing right now...” you reply, slightly skipping a beat in your note-taking. He really was the ultimate distraction, wasn’t he?

Jungkook pouts sadly, but you can tell an idea pops up in his mind when his eyes start to glimmer. He sits his hand on your thigh and you jolt back from the touch of his hand on the material of your jeans. He pulls away slightly, scared that he had made you uncomfortable.

“I just want to put my arm around you,” he asks innocently. “Are you okay with that?”

You calm yourself down and nod. For goodness sake, you weren’t a child- why did a hand on your thigh make you so nervous for?!

“Yeah,” you say, a little more confident despite your nerves. “Go ahead.”

He smiles softly at you and connects his hand to your waist, pulling you a little closer to him. It was comforting, not at all meant to be more than just a public display of affection. He finds himself getting lost in the lecture along with you, his hand playing with a loose thread on your shirt through it all. He didn’t even look at his friends who were teasing him on the other side of the class or your own friends shooting daggers into his being.

At that moment, it was you, him, and Professor Kwon giving out a lecture that had half of the students already asleep. He smiled at how diligently you worked and how your breath would quicken when Professor Kwon switched the slides without a warning. It was the little idiosyncrasies like this that caught his attention, the kind of things that made him wonder where you’d been all his life.

The smile on Jungkook’s face disappeared when he came to that realization.

Fuck.

—

Jungkook rolls around the grass while you sit on the picnic blanket you two had set up. Midterms were over and grades would soon be announced. He wanted a much-needed distraction from the monotony of constant studying and you had suggested a small picnic in a nearby park. Of course, he agreed. 

“We’re free,” he groans. “Finally free.”

Jungkook stares hungrily at the assortment of food you had laid out for the two of you. He tries to reach a hand out to grab a bottle of lemonade but ultimately fails in the end. You giggle at his silliness, popping a grape in your mouth.

“You’re welcome by the way,” you say jokingly. “Don’t think you could’ve done it without me.”

He sits up to face you, bowing deeply as if you were a traditional empress.

“Thank you,” he says, imitating a Joseon accent. He was watching far too many historical dramas recently.

“You’re embarrassing me,” you say, attempting to straighten him out. “Sit up.”

He complies, only after a few pulls from you, with a toothy grin on his face.

“Seriously, I don’t think I could have gone through the first few weeks of Professor Kwon’s class without your notes,” he sighs, opening his mouth to signal that he wanted to be fed. You roll your eyes but placed a grape between his teeth anyway.

“You have hands, you should know how to use them,” you mumble shyly.

You move to take another grape for yourself, but he grabs your wrist before you could. He intertwines his fingers into yours.

“Why should I when my hands are holding yours~,” he says in a sing-song voice. It made you want to throw up at how cheesy he was, but you couldn’t help but laugh along as he cringed at his own words. When was it so normal for him to hold your hands like this?

“You can’t go one sentence without flirting, can you?” you sigh, feigning annoyance.

“Not when it comes to you,” he replies, but you could feel sincerity laced between his laughter. “I can’t resist flirting when it makes you all giggly like this.”

You purse your lips to prevent yourself from smiling too brightly. Jungkook and you were somewhat past the point of being just friends by now, but you were too much of a coward to label what you had with him. What if there was a chance that he was just leading you on?

Jungkook saw your furrowed brows. He rubbed circles on your hands with his thumbs to ease you.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asks softly, about to let go.

“No-” you say a little too quickly, clasping him closer to you. Your faces were inches apart now, much nearer than they were before.

“D-don’t,” you attempt to say but you’re tongue tangled as you looked at his lips. He certainly does have nice lips...

“Don’t what?” he asks in a lowly voice. You start to look around you- anywhere that wasn’t him. The park was relatively empty but it still felt embarrassing to say anything too loud.

“D-don’t let me go,” you say, your eyes on the picnic blanket rather than on him. His gaze was too intense to look at. Jungkook feels his heart clench. You were cute, too cute. 

He shouldn’t be feeling this attached to you, but he couldn’t help it. Everything you did, every word that came out of your mouth- it had him wanting more from you than he could possibly handle. It was dangerous to feel this way.

“Why don’t you want me to let you go?” he asks nervously. He too was anxious for the answer. If you were to confess to Jungkook right now, he’d get the first part of the bet done, but there’d be no turning back after your confession. He would have to lie to you from now on. 

Jungkook closed his eyes, chanting to himself that it’s okay to like you for a little while, just as long as he doesn’t get too attached in the end. He needed the money, he really did.

“Because,” you start off with a sigh, staring at him now with glossy eyes. “I like you.”

Jungkook feels like he could do ten backflips in one go and it wouldn’t even drain him of energy. The smile on his face was huge, his eyes curling into that half-moon shape that made you swoon. 

Jungkook was relieved and if the boys asked, it was because he’d only have to date you for three months. He’d die before he’d admit to them that he caught feelings because Taehyung, as generous as he was with his bets, would never give Jungkook the money unless he cleanly broke up with you. It was one of his unspoken rules.

“I like you too.”

You smile at him and he can’t help but pull you close, his lips hovering over yours.

“Can I?”

You nod.

His lips graze yours slightly but he pushes a bit closer when he feels you lean into his touch. He kisses you again, and again, and again, but you pull away when his tongue had started to prod at your lips. Your face was flushed,  embarrassed to be doing this in such a public place.

“Maybe later?” you say, panting slightly. He gives you a cheeky grin and nods.

“At my place?” he asks with a wink.

You hesitate, letting go of his arms, twiddling with your fingers. You wanted to set clear labels on what your relationship was. You didn't want to accidentally get caught up in a friends-with-benefits situation and be all shocked when Jungkook ends up breaking your heart.

“So we’re dating now, right?” you ask cautiously, looking at him with a worried glint in your eyes. 

Jungkook’s mouth opens to speak but no words come out. He thinks a little harder about the whole situation... He was getting good grades, spending some quality time with a girl he’s clearly attracted to, and having his rent paid off all in one? He was killing three birds with one stone. It shouldn’t be too big of a problem to catch feelings for now, right? It’s not like any of his relationships lasted longer than a couple of months anyway.

He nods, cupping your face lightly.

“Yeah,” he hesitates. “We’re dating.”

Jungkook wasn’t aware, as he gives you another light peck, that it wasn’t possible to have his cake and eat it too.

—

It happens naturally. You coming in and out of his apartment that he shared with his friends, you tangling your legs with his underneath the sheets of his bed. It was hard to imagine a life where you didn’t wake up with him by your side. You were so wrapped up in his touch, so wrapped up in the sweet words he would whisper into your ears, that you spent most of your time with him. 

You weren’t really up to date with your friends anymore and he didn’t really hang out with his either. Jungkook shared an apartment with Seokjin and Hoseok, and so the only contact he had with the other boys was when they visited those two. He should’ve known to take you back home when all the boys bombarded into his living room, where you sat with him watching TV. 

“The lovebirds are at it again,” Taehyung coos, a mysterious glint in his eyes. “The honeymoon stage hasn’t passed quite yet, has it?”

Jungkook chucks one of the sofa’s throw pillows at his friend, obviously annoyed. What the fuck did Taehyung think he was doing?

“Quit it,” he mutters. You were sitting next to Jungkook, his arm around your shoulder protectively

“Why?” Yoongi yawns. “Anyone can see how incredibly in love you two are.”

You didn’t quite like the smirk he gave the two of you. This didn’t feel like regular teasing... it felt like he knew something that you weren't aware of. It made you curl your toes out of fear.

“Guys,” Jimin says calmly. “Stop it.”

The boys shrug their shoulders as if they said nothing wrong.

“We’re just pointing out how cute they are together,” Taehyung noted, “It’s not like we’re lying to her or anything-”

“Yeah, or leading her on or anything like that-”

“I think I should go,” you say hurriedly, uncomfortable at how tense the atmosphere was. Jungkook was clenching his fists, about ready to start a fight any second. Knowing his strength, you didn’t want anyone to walk around with a bruised eye because you couldn’t handle a few jokes- if that’s what Taehyung and Yoongi think they’re making. Harmless jokes.

“I’ll take you home,” Jungkook announces, standing up with you. Namjoon pulls him down back on the couch.

“Let someone else take her,” he says sternly. “We need to talk.”

Jungkook was about to protest until you spoke up.

“I can get home by myself just fine.”

“Hoseok and I can take you,” Seokjin insists, pulling the unassuming man up with him. “We don’t mind.”

Hoseok gives you a lopsided smile and you return an equally awkward one.

“Okay, that’s settled,” you say, clapping your hands. You walk over to Jungkook. “I’ll text you later okay?”

He nods, grabbing your hand and kissing it lightly. Yoongi scoffs and Taehyung glares at Jungkook. The dirty glances they were giving each other... You didn’t like it at all.

“Let me know when you get home, okay?”

“Okay.”

—

The walk to your apartment was unnecessarily awkward, Hoseok and Seokjin were talking too much and you talked too little. You tried to respond to their every quip, but you weren’t in the mood for chatting after that whole mess.

“You okay, [Y/N]?” Hoseok asks worriedly. “Don’t think too much about what those idiots said back there, they’re like that all the time.”

You nod, keeping your eyes on the ground. There was something chipping away at the back of your mind, something you wanted to get out of your chest.

“Would you say Jungkook and Yoongi act similarly?” you hesitate to say, “like with relationships?”

The two boys exchanged nervous glances at each other.

“Well, it depends,” Seokjin starts, choosing his words specifically. “What about relationships specifically?”

“Does he...,” you start off, not knowing the right phrase without sounding too harsh, “play around with girls? Like how Yoongi played around with Soobin?”

Hoseok looked at you with a raised brow.

“Who’s Soobin?” he asks before getting punched in the arm by Seokjin. “What the fuck bro!”

Seokjin clears his throat.

“What Hoseok meant to say,” he starts, glaring at his friend a little too harshly, “is that Yoongi never really introduces us to his girlfriends. You, on the other hand, are one of the few girls Jungkook actually took the time to invite over.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok chimes in. “He’s not exactly the most chivalrous, but he wouldn’t ghost someone like Yoongi did.”

Somehow their words weren’t enough to satisfy you. There was still something off in the conversation that transpired between the three boys- as if they were all keeping something from you. You stopped abruptly in front of your apartment complex, finally making eye-contact with the two boys.

“Do you think...” you start, a slight quiver in your voice, “that Jungkook is cheating on me?”

The two boys let out a deep breath that you didn’t even notice they were holding and laughed joyously together. They cackled as if what you said was the funniest thing they had ever heard in their life. Seokjin wipes a stray tear from his eye.

“Y-you think Jungkook’s cheating on you?!”

You nod, a little embarrassed at their reaction. Hoseok shakes his head, sighing out of his laughter.

“Trust me,” Hoseok starts, his breath evening out. “Jungkook would never cheat on you.”

You start to giggle along with them until a serious look suddenly takes over Seokjin’s features. He faces you fully.

“But listen [Y/N],” he starts. “If Jungkook hurts you, just know that he does love you. Like, undeniably. He does.”

“And we’re not just saying that as his friends either,” Hoseok continues. “We know how he’s like and we can tell that he really does like you.”

You smile at the two, feeling a small sense of comfort at their words.

“Thank you, guys. I mean it.”

They pat you on the back.

“Anything for Jungkook’s girlfriend.”

—

You walk through the campus cafeteria, eyes searching for a free table that you can sit alone in. Jungkook had Taekwondo practice so there would be no lovey-dovey feeding time with him. 

He’s been a lot tenser since the living room incident (which was already a week ago) and it seemed like he got more agitated as the days passed. Not towards you directly, but he’d always mutter slight insults whenever Yoongi or Taehyung passed by. It made you worried that you had done something to possibly drive a wrench into their relationship without even knowing it.

‘Whatever,’ you thought, ‘I’ll talk about it with him when he comes over later.’

You aren’t able to find a seat, though, when you feel dainty fingers wrap around  your elbow to pull you back lightly.

“[Y/N],” Gaeun says in a low voice. “We need to talk.”

It wasn’t like you had been ignoring them deliberately, though that was definitely the case at the start. You just couldn’t find the time to really hang out with them as much as you used to since you were with Jungkook most of the time. It was like that too when Gaeun and Soobin were in relationships, so you never really felt bad about doing it yourself.

“Yeah sure. I miss you guys,” you smile at her, but she doesn’t return it back.

“Come with me.”

Gaeun leads you to a table near the back of the room, where Soobin was sat up against the wall with her own tray of food. You sit down in front of her and Gaeun takes the seat next to Soobin.

“Good, you’re here,” Soobin says, apprehension laced in her voice. “We need to talk about Jungkook.”

You roll your eyes.

“Not this again-”

“[Y/N],” Gaeun warns. “Listen.”

You keep quiet, a little intimidated of how scary their expressions were.

“It’s all a bet,” Soobin says sternly.

You furrow your brows at her. She tends to speak vaguely when you needed her to be specific the most.

“What?”

“It’s a bet, [Y/N],” Gaeun repeats for her. “Jungkook’s only dating you because Taehyung said he’d pay his rent off if he did.”

You clench your fist on the table. How could they sit there and spew lies so easily?

“What are you guys-”

“Those dicks do this all the time,” Soobin rambles. “They play stupid games with girls just to fucking break their hearts later on and-”

“I don’t believe you,” you say confidently. “Jungkook would never do that to me. Besides-”

Gaeun didn’t even wait until you stopped talking to play a recording on her phone. The voices were familiar enough to recognize.

“So you’re telling me that Jungkook’s just fucking around with [Y/N] because he wants priority registration? You have to be fucking joking...”

You could tell from the sound of the person’s voice that it was Soobin. It sounded like she was putting on her clothes.

“Of course not. He’s doing it for priority registration and his rent getting paid for the rest of the year. I’m not joking when I say Tae goes big with his bets. He likes to flex his money on us like that.”

Your jaw drops at the sound of the man’s voice. It was Yoongi. You were sure of it.

“And you guys don’t feel bad? Like at all?”

“Why should we? Jungkook’s planning to break up with her next week anyway so she doesn’t catch feelings for too long. It’s not like they were gonna last past the three-month deal...”

Gaeun paused the recording when she sees you bite your lip so harshly that blood starts to surface. This didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel real.

“I hooked up with him last weekend,” Soobin admits, shame written all over her face. “He was spewing stuff about Jungkook spending all his time with you and not really hanging out with the boys like he used to.”

“You still hook up with Yoongi? After all he did to you?” you ask, not meaning to come off aggressive but undoubtedly did.

“Look,” Gauen starts, taking the heat off of Soobin. “She was just drunk and looking to have fun. I was with her that night and I was talking to Namjoon. He...”

Gaeun trailed off, but you were sick of it. Sick of being kept in the dark from something you should’ve known all along.

“What?”

“H-he told me that all the boys were getting tired of him playing around with you,” she says, twiddling with her fingers. “He’s supposed to break up with you today. Some of the guys think he’s just prolonging it to fuck with you and they’re getting really annoyed-”

You bite back the tears threatening to spill over any minute now.

“Hoseok and Seokjin told me to trust Jungkook. They said he wouldn’t hurt me-”

“Did they also tell you that their rent gets paid too if Jungkook pulled through with the bet?” Soobin replies angrily. “Because they live together, don’t they?”

You open your mouth but no sound comes out- just a small whimper. Your lips start to quiver and you bite your lip again to calm yourself down. When you had collected your thoughts, you glared up at the two girls.

“And you didn’t tell me this earlier?”

Soobin scoffed.

“You were fucking ignoring us too, how were we supposed to tell you?”

“Still it wouldn’t have killed you to-”

“Don’t take your anger out on us,” Gaeun warns, her finger pointing at you. “Jungkook is the one to blame. We told you from the start that he was bad news.”

You pursed your lips and Gaeun put her finger down, feeling guilty that she lashed out on you when obviously you were just processing the information.

“Hey, I’m sorry-”

“Why me?” you ask with teary eyes. “What did I even do to them to deserve this?” 

They glance over at each other for a long while before Soobin breaks the silence. You had the right to know, but at the same time, they knew it would break you.

“It’s a sick game that they play where they just choose someone randomly...” Soobin starts off gently handing off the next few words to Gaeun, “and you were just the first girl to walk into Professor Kwon’s lecture hall. He thought you’d be...”

“Easy,” Soobin finished.

Just as they predicted, you had burst out in tears.

—

Jungkook opens the door to your apartment, using the spare key you had given him a month earlier since he tended to visit often. It was more convenient that way. 

He was freshly out of his Taekwondo garb, still sweaty, but otherwise clean from taking a shower at the campus gym. He found it strange at how dark the room was, but he knew you were on the couch from the noticeable lump of a blanket on it.

All Jungkook wanted was to cuddle with you and fall asleep in your arms after such a harrowing day. Lord knows he needs your warmth right now.

He smiled as he made his way towards you, but stops in his tracks when you sit up from where you laid. He couldn’t quite see you in the darkness so he walked to the light switch to turn the lights on. His heart broke at the sight of you.

Tears stained your cheeks, your eyes red and puffy from all the crying. You looked a mess and his blood boiled at the thought of someone hurting you. 

“What happened?” he asked, rushing over to you and cupping your face in his hands. You push him away.

“You don’t have to act anymore,” you say softly. “I can handle it.”

He looks at you with furrowed brows.

“What are you talking about-”

“I get that you really need the money,” you say through bated breaths, “I get that financially, it would have really helped, but did you really have to hurt me to do that?”

Jungkook’s breathing stopped. Everything was happening too quickly, his world crashing down when you uttered those words. He knew what this meant, knew that now you would see past his lies. Jungkook couldn’t have you finding out this way. 

He kneeled in front of you, attempting to wipe away the tears from your eyes but you push him off.

“[Y/N] no-”

“It could’ve been anyone,” you whimper, trying to look up at the ceiling to prevent any more tears from falling down. “Anyone could’ve walked through that door and you would’ve been okay with it.”

“That’s not true-” he interjects but you stop him.

“A-and you flirted with me all the time ‘cause you knew that I wasn’t used to it,” you say, your voice quivering. “You took advantage of me.”

Jungkook shakes his head rapidly, eyes pleading for you to let him speak. It hurt seeing you refuse to even look at him, to have your eyes so filled with sadness because of what he did to you. He fucked up, he fucked up so bad.

“No, you have to listen-”

“They told me not to trust you,” you whimper somberly. “They told me and I didn’t believe them because I... I was delusional or something. I thought that someone like you could actually like someone like me-”

His heart broke. It wasn’t you that didn’t deserve him. It was him. All him.

“Please don’t say that-”

“Did you come here to seal the deal? To finally break up with me?” you ask sadly. “Are you happy you’ll get the classes you want next quarter, Jungkook?”

He clenches his teeth. Jungkook knows you’re mad, knows you have a right to be, but it feels like he’s being cornered by you. Why won’t you give him the chance to speak?

“[Y/N], no,” he says sternly, “You have to trust me when I say that it went past just a bet. I like you. Genuinely, I like you.”

There was no point in lying any longer. You deserved to know the truth, but he needed you to know all of it- not just the information your friends cherry-picked to fit their narrative. He tried to speak again, but you wouldn’t let him.

“How could you,” you whimper. “How could someone be so cruel?”

Jungkook’s heart breaks at the words. He should’ve seen this coming. How could he delude himself into thinking he’d be okay if you find out- that he’d be fine seeing you heartbroken? He was disgusted with himself.

“I’m sorry [Y/N],” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head, your vision getting blurry from the tears. He clasps your hands in his, knowing that it used to soothe you whenever you felt worried over something, but you just wailed harder at his touch. He didn’t know what to do, he didn't even know where to start.

“Stop pretending like you care,” you cry. “Please. It hurts.”

“It was a bet,” he admits and he breaths through the words to prevent himself from getting too emotional, “but I promise that my feelings are genuine. You have to trust me.”

“Trust you?” you ask crudely.

You stare at him, slowing your breaths to ease the crying. There was a certain emptiness in your gaze and it scared him. It was awfully frightening having you looking at him with a certain animosity that was not there before. Like he was a stranger.

“I can’t do that anymore, Jungkook,” you say softly, “because I hate you.”

—

A/N: Gasp A double update?! Say it isn’t so... I had so much fun writing this!!! Probably one of my favorite fics I’ve written in a while because I love this trope. How do y’all feel about Jungkook? Forgive or forget? Let me know!! Thank you @altus-gens​ for requesting this story, I hope you like it :)

Please leave any comment, critiques, or just random thoughts about my story! I’m planning my murder mystery series rn and I’m so excited (I might... do an album giveaway along with it...) I really love the direction I’m taking this blog in and I hope you guys are excited for the stories to come~~ 

buy me a coffee?

[orange-waterfalls]

I Call This One: Bold & Brash!

The egos x artist! gn! reader

ty @pokemonpunqueen for the request!

A/N: I’ve decided that I’m gonna write for the egos when I can’t think of anything else or I need practice writing lmao. I mean I was doing that before? But I didn’t know it? listen it’s fine it’ll be fine but FOR NOW I thiiiink I’m gonna take requests. Just a few. I’ll stop when I think it gets too much. This is exactly what it says. I focused on like drawing/painting for “artist”, with some references to animation thrown in there. I did Darkiplier, Wilford, Yancy, Illinois, Google, Eric, and a Host thrown in there bc I love him and I miss him

Word count is 1.5k

Enjoy

Egos x artist!reader

Darkiplier

He’ll want to commission art from you

He makes comments about how Mark is a narcissist but also he’s a narcissist.

Oh look, Dark’s asking you for another picture. What does he want? He wants you to draw him? Again? For the fifth time this fucking month? Wonderful.

He likes looking at how you make art of him, be it stylistic or realistic

He will hang them up all over the fucking house so pace yourself

He’s fine if you draw anybody else

Except Mark. Never Mark. How can he tell, you ask? No fucking clue, but he does

Gets a bit worried that you won’t make enough money to live comfortably

Just because not everyone needs a fucking MANSION-

Will always buy things for you if you ask

Likes to be able to support your job or hobby

Sugar daddy? I mean maybe

Makes sure you eat, sleep, drink water, survive--

Leaves snacks for you at your desk for when you don’t want a meal.

Carries you to bed if you fall asleep at a desk

Recommends you wear comfy clothes at all times so you can fall asleep wherever

A bit of an enabler, he’s doing his best tho

If you take commissions don’t be surprised if he threatens to kill someone when they don’t pay or are rude to you

He loves you, that’s all

Wilford

Fucking elated

Draw him!!! Please!!!! Please draw him!!!!! He has coin!!!!! He can pay!!!!!

Ecstatic if you actually draw him like he’ll giggle for an hour straight just looking

Secretly commissions more art from you

So also sugar daddy

It’s always something so obvious so you know it’s him anyways

He likes bright colors and eyestrain for some reason

If you make that, he just. Stares at it. Unblinking. You have to snap him out of it (im not projecting what do you mean)

Gets extremely worried about you not taking care of yourself

Gets someone to fucking babysit you when he’s gone so you take care of yourself

When you get greatly offended by this he settles for texting you reminders

And when you ignore those he texts more

Don’t be surprised if you get spammed by several people and an alarm starts to play from somewhere in the house

You’re gonna be healthy whether you like it or not, asshole

Drags you to bed aggressively

He WILL NOT drug your food with melatonin because that’s illegal. B U T-

He’s a little confused, but he got the spirit

Will advertise your art to anyone and everyone and also on his show and threatens the audience with a gun

AGAIN, a little confused. he just wuvs u so much 

Yancy

I mean technically he’s kind of an artist too so he appreciates your skill and creativity

He’s very nosy and likes to look over your shoulder while you work

If you don’t like him doing that, he still does it, just more secretively

Likes to work in the same room as you. 

That is if you don’t mind constant singing or tap dancing in the background

He shows off your art to anyone and everyone and gets mad if they don’t immediately say it’s fantastic

May or may not have stabbed someone over it, you’ll never know

If you show him something you’re working on, he’ll show you something he’s working on in return

The law of equivalent exchange

You tell him you can make MONEY from things like art and dancing and he goes apeshit he gets so fucking excited

If you’re like an animator and offer to animate his dancing he might actually cry

He’ll deny it constantly every day until he dies

If you make things traditionally he hangs them on the wall Everywhere

You might run out of room

By which i mean you will run out of room as soon as possible

Will never tell you a drawing is bad ever unless it’s like Really Bad which it never will be in his eyes

He loves anything and everything you do u are so precious

You have a permanent support system within the man

Google

Used to see art as pointless

Then comprehended the chemical release it causes in the brain and thought that was fine

Then saw you get really mad with something you were working on and got confused again?

If art no make good chemical, why art?

He still doesn’t understand, but that’s ok

You tried to get him to make something once

He just. Kinda. Made a buncha ones and zeroes

You still framed it and hung in on the wall and he got embarrassed

If he could blush, he would

If you draw him he looks like he doesn’t care but it’s at that point he decides he would die for you

Primary objective: answer questions as quickly as possible. Secondary objective: make u happy. Tertiary objective is to destroy mankind

If you draw bing that will disappear IMMEDIATELY you have BETRAYED him

If you ask for a color palette recommendation he Always says the google colors. Always.

You might’ve thought he was going for an rgby type of thing. But then you realize.

He is in charge of your financing. He will tell you the most efficient ways to make money as an artist and you follow then

He is also in charge of making sure you FUCKING EAT A MEAL

“But isn’t an objective to destroy mankind?” shut up he’s not happy about it either

Despite his best efforts he loves you and that ain’t gonna change

Illinois

Doesn’t fully understand

He needs to be outside at all times and cannot stay in one place

And you’re like??? Required to stay still???? For prolonged amounts of time????? Disgusting. Anyway, whatcha workin’ on?

He might ask you to try and teach him

If you do try he gives up almost immediately

Sometimes you just get so into it that you forget to do basic things and he gets upset

(i.e. eating, sleeping, living, etc.)

He gets worried about you

He is a hypocrite bc he does the same

He will drag you to bed, motherfucker

Honestly he might lock your shit somewhere until you fucking take care of yourself. it’s like a hostage situation god

“Where the fuck did you put it” “I have no clue what you mean. I might know if you eat your dinner, though”

Asshole (affectionate)

Sometimes you like make faces when you try to draw a person and it’s hilarious and cute to him

He looks at your drawings the moment you walk away but acts like he doesn’t care

He cares a lot

Will support you no matter what but will also tell you without hesitation if he thinks something looks shit

Listen he’s out of line but he’s right

Eric

Loves you a lot and will support anything and everything you choose to do or make

Drawing? Awesome! Painting? Wonderful! Animation? Superb!

He often wants to buy you supplies or something but he does not know what anything is

Fuck is a chalk pencil???? What are gel pens vs normal pens?????? Watercolor????? What the fuck are you saying??????????

Will subtly drop hints that you could,,,, draw him,,,,, maybe,,,,, if u wanna 

And by subtly I mean he starts to ask and then starts crying

If you draw him he will cry again he loves u so much 

If he ever were to get a tattoo it’d be something u drew. Nothing else is as important to him at the moment

He enjoys photography and film, and likes to try and bond with you over artistic things

I mean. Some things overlap.

You could talk about a single drawing for hours and he’d listen intently the whole time

Don’t ask him for feedback, it’s always some version of “it’s perfect and I love you”

Even if he hates it

Which,,,,, he might hate it sometimes

He’s not a good reviewer. 2/10, very biased

He likes to take photos when you’re in the zone

If you tell him to delete them he will

While secretly making one his home screen

Host

Hey, he gets it

He writes, he understands the hyperfocus

Sometimes he wouldn’t move from his chair for a day because he was busy writing a script

That being said, you probably have to be the one to get him to take care of himself

Or you have to take turns

Otherwise you’re both gonna fucking die

He asks you to describe your art to him and tries to picture it.

He’ll tell you if he thinks it probably looks good or bad

You shouldn’t take it to heart because he can’t see it

He is a bastard sometimes

“Well, what do you think?” “I think it looks fantastic” “Thanks, babe” “...” “... you think you’re fucking funny, don’t you”

He asks if you can draw him sometimes

No, he won’t see it, but he’ll appreciate the sentiment if you do

He will ask for your opinion on his scripts sometimes

If you say it’s bad he gets really defensive

You work in the same room a lot of the time and forget the other is there

One of you has to preemptively order food or like set a timer so you can goddamn Survive

You’ll be fine

[dorminchu]

Insult to Injury: The Director’s Cut — Chapter 05 [Revised]

(Chapter revised as of 02/17/23)

Commissioned illustration(s) by cavalieredispade, who can be found on tumblr & instagram.

 — ACT II —

“From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them, and that is eternity.” ― Edvard Munch

V: НО НА МЯГКИХ ПОСТЕЛЯХ НЕ УЗНАЛ Я ПОКОЯ ПОТОМУ ЧТО ВО СНЕ ЭТА ПТИЦА КРИЧАЛА

Eyes on the pale green wall ahead. The doctor and a few nurses crowded around the boy two beds away. Still unconscious. He squared his shoulders and resisted the impulse to rub his forearm. Shirt torn at the collar. Spattered with blood, as was the towel across his lap. His clothes and bookbag were all inherited. Donations from benevolent outsiders. He tongued around for a loose tooth. Just a busted lip. Could be worse.

“Keep an eye on this one,” the head nurse said to the junior. “I’ll speak with the doctor about the other boy.”

Eleven years shuffling between state-run boarding institutions and public school taught Safin how to be his own man. That a lack of parents was also a loss of insurance, and the way to survive was becoming obedient and invisible. So he didn’t get slapped around or humiliated as much as kids who weren’t so observant. Some adults didn’t need an excuse to enact cruelty. Most were just doing what they thought was right. They employed older, bigger kids without scruples as proxies for discipline.

A lot of kids had one living parent but nothing to do with each other. The kids who tried to leave got rounded up into a truck and taken to psikhushka, sharing meals and cells with adults too hostile or hopeless to rehabilitate. Kids who were dosed with aminazine as babies to help them sleep, now they were dealing with liver problems and disappearing to internat. Soon another kid took their place. Everything was done for a good reason.

At fifteen, Bronev was old enough to join a technical institute. Unteachable in a classroom but cunning and ruthless enough to do the bidding of the staff in return for preferential treatment. He’d have a bright future on the streets as a runner for firearms or heroin. He also had a knack for picking out the smaller, weaker kids the adults had no time for, and giving them attention and praise. Pretty soon, these kids would do anything to stay friends.

Safin had no immediate loyalties to anyone. But he kept on good terms with Bronev by stealing for him. He was smaller for his age, and his face accentuated a boyish appearance he could not outgrow. So he could be eleven or eight years old, which helped when imploring strangers for money or pickpocketing.

Kids who cooperated received a cut of the money. Bronev usually had a couple of impressionable boys at his heels, ready to do whatever he asked. There were also a small handful of kids who showed up to school with bruises. They’d flinch if Bronev said hello. No one was going to stick his neck out.

Bronev would rap him on the back of the head with his knuckles, but he would also accompany him to and from school and the dyet dom for protection.

Earlier today, he requested Safin to steal some power tools from the school’s hardware storage. Safin couldn't say, why don’t you find someone else, because Bronev would wait up for him in an empty classroom or abandoned dorm room with a couple friends and they’d get even. So he said, “The stuff in there is not worth much.”

“Yeah, but there’s good money in selling used car parts. The tools in there, we can use them. Or sell them.”

“Those guys on the black market aren’t interested in dealing with anyone but each other,” Safin said. “The school will notice equipment is gone. It’s not worth the trouble.”

Bronev insisted he had always looked out for him, and this wasn’t fair. But if Safin was serious about turning down this offer, he had to pay up somehow. “What about that book?”

The one possession Safin could call his own, purchased with his cut of pocket money. The culmination of visiting the school’s library for a year, transcribing diagrams from older textbooks and their entries in Ukrainian and Russian. “It’s not for sale.”

Bronev pointed out it was purchased with someone else’s money. So really, the book was not his. He should do the right thing and hand it over to the adults, and apologise for his wrongdoing. Or there could be serious consequences. If Safin yielded he could never make up for his mistake. He’d gotten in a handful of fights, usually outnumbered or overpowered. He only won by fighting cheap.

It wasn’t personal. It wasn’t about the money either.

By the time they were brought to infirmary, Safin didn’t feel a thing. The head nurse grabbed his arm and steered him to an empty bed and had him sit. All he could taste was blood. A younger nurse was there to restrain him if need-be. While the head nurse dressed his wounds he didn’t flinch, or make a sound. He glanced at the younger nurse, who recoiled slightly but said nothing. Most adults did not flinch.

The orphanage director came down to discuss the situation with the doctor. As Bronev was still unconscious, the director asked Safin about what happened. Safin explained he had been coerced for weeks, and simply defended himself.

“And what can you tell me about this?” The notebook. The orphanage director thumbed through a few entries.

Abrus precatorius. Native to Asia and Australia. A single seed contains abrin which can be crushed into yellow-white powder, dissolved in water or ingested. Effects are similar to ricin. No antidote.

Digitalis. Native to Europe, west Asia, northwestern Africa. Formerly used to treat epilepsy and other seizure disorders. Intoxication can induce headache, gastrointestinal disturbances, cardiac arrhythmias. No antidote.

Eucalyptus. Native to Australia. Leaves and bark are poisonous. Handling them can cause skin redness, irritation, and burning. Ingestion; nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, coma. The oil is extremely toxic if ingested.

Ricinus communis, found in the waste left over from processing castor beans into oil. Induces respiratory distress, fever, nausea, pulmonary edema.

Safin said, “I've always been curious about the flora outside of Russia. I figured it would be useful to teach others what to avoid.”

The director and doctor deemed him troubled, but educatable. Safin got shipped to a boarding school in Serafimovka, in the Urals. Boys who stole cars or got into violent altercations. He could still take vocational training at fifteen. There was a Pedagogical Technical Directorate several hours northeast of Moscow.

He was afforded a tutor and a rigid schedule. He sat with his back to walls during meals, or at-rest, always with a door in-sight. He made acquaintances, but preferred to work alone. His ruthless tendencies curbed without a need for demonstration.

At fifteen, he applied for and transferred over to Suvorov Military Academy in Kazan, where he spent the next three years with his sights on border security.

Out of all the instructors, his favourite was Tovarisch Colonel. The drab military coat buttoned to her throat accentuated her squarish face. Auburn hair secured in a tight bun. She addressed all the students by surname and responded only to correct military address. Rumours passed down about her previous military service, as well as the bloody smock and low camp-stool in her office, kept on display.

His lack of words must first imply stupidity. This was disproved by his knowledge of floriology, toxicology. Then she would order him to take documents to other instructors. He did not say a word, simply jumped at the chance to make himself useful.

She told him once, “I am not interested in a prodigy, nor an abject failure. The best soldier appears average. Unremarkable. He appears to make a mistake, but it is entirely of his own volition.” More gradually, she began posing harmless inquiries. Needling out details from his childhood. “Yes, I can see now that they mistreated you. Anyone would be angry.” Building an invisible foundation of trust. “With your aptitude,” she said, “it would be a shame to let your talents go to waste in a technical institute.”

By 1996 Russia’s armed forces were less than one-third they reached at the height of the Cold War. A semi-annual draft policy was complicated by evasions and desertion. Junior officers subjected to violent hazing and poor management. With a seemingly endless supply of negative press and infrastructural flaws laid bare by glasnost, there was no shame in considering alternatives. One day, Tovarisch Colonel called him into her office. On her desk was a dossier. “Read through this.”

Safin took a seat. He opened the dossier, staring down at the name in blocky Cyrillic. He did not say a word.

“Many years ago,” the Colonel said, “I knew your father. He worked for FSB, and his wife an informant.”

Safin blinked. He shook his head as if to clear it. “My father is dead.”

The Colonel nodded. “You were placed into the State's care but you were never alone. Your rescue from a life rotting away in internat at eleven. Your diagnosis of oligophrenia, imbued upon you as any orphan, was corrected at fourteen. This was no mistake.”

“He’s dead,” Safin said. Anger disguising the greater pain of possibility. “He's never contacted me in my life.”

“He could not risk exposing his identity,” said the Colonel tartly. “But that is beside the point.”

Safin stood up, putting distance between himself and the desk. “I did nothing to warrant this.”

The Colonel's eyes flashed. She did not stand from her chair, or raise her voice, despite the capability. “You have been treated unfairly for most of your life. This does not make you unique or exceptional. The State has nurtured you where your own family abandoned you. It is not easy to accept. But you must understand, the State has been generous enough to put you on this path, and it is only right you return that generosity. You will sit,” the Colonel said, “and you will listen.”

Safin walked back slowly. Took his seat. Staring at the dossier, he must never forget this face. He would steel his efforts to survive and prepare until the day they would meet. Radinovich would explain everything. Then he could die.

“Your assignment is a matter of utmost secrecy. You will follow my orders without question or delay.”

“Yes, Colonel.”

He took an early morning flight from Kazan to Antalya, touching down in Munich and continuing by train. With seventy-two hours to complete the assignment he was catching sleep in shifts. From Berlin Ostbahnhof to Attnang-Puchheim, he was confined to the window seat.

Shrugged awake, the bright blue sky leaving sunspots. He winced. “We’ll be arriving soon,” said the Colonel without looking at him. “Be ready.” With a shared eye colour and nationality, they passed for aunt and nephew.

Walking into Hotel Seevilla by midday, he noted the activity around the reception, the multicoloured brochures on display. No one struck up conversation besides the concierge, who described a few basic travel plans, then a dinner special at the restaurant on Wednesdays.

Safin paused. “Just looking. Thanks.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets. Back home he was just another student among hundreds. Out of country, he caught a lot of second glances but no overt questions. Just wait until they figured out he wasn’t here for the culinary event on Wednesday.

Attendant behind the desk motioned him over. He handed over his passport. Durmaz Vadim Radinovich, seventeen. Russian. Could pass for fifteen or his early twenties.

The phone on the wall rang. The attendant excused herself to engage in a brief, one-sided conversation, frowning at Safin's passport. When she hung up, her smile was a little stiff. She stole a glance down the antehall that Safin didn’t miss. She apologised for the delay, before placing the key into his palm. Rooms were up the staircase on his right.

Safin nodded. “Thank you.”

There was a small alcove between the restaurant and reception. Safin took up a spot by the bookcase. Alone, save for a man in a double-breasted suit and dotted blue tie. Probably in his early thirties. This man looked up at Safin, who nodded curtly. Then the man said, “Est-ce que vous skiez?”

Safin could read French from a newspaper headline, but his conversational skills were not as fluent. “Non.”

“Moi non plus. C’était un des passe-temps de mon père. Il était ce qu’on peut appeler un survivaliste. Il m’a inscrit, moi et mon jeune frère, à la Rote Teufel quand nous étions petits garçons. J’ai abandonné au bout d’un mois, je n’avais pas l’aptitude physique. Mon frère excellait. Il m’écrivait du Tyrol presque toutes les semaines. Mère était inquiète qu’il se fasse tuer, mais d’une manière ou d’une autre, il a toujours réussi à tromper la mort.”

During this diatribe the man walked over as if they were lifelong friends. Safin kept his expression neutral. Sooner or later the man would get tired of talking to a wall. It was unnecessary to stand so close.

“Puis un jour, il y a eu une avalanche à Kitzbühel. Mon frère est rentré mais pas mon père. J’ai toujours pensé que c’était un peu fortuit.” The man glanced at Safin. “Je suis désolé. Je ne voulais pas m’imposer.”

Safin, out of patience, said, “Ich bin nicht interessiert.”

The man paused. “Your German is quite good. Where did you learn?”

English as poised as his French. Safin followed suit. “School.”

“Ah, I see. You’re a transfer student?”

Safin looked down the hall at the passersby. No sign of the Colonel. “I’m waiting for my aunt.”

“That’s peculiar! I happen to be waiting for someone as well.”

Safin said nothing. The Austrian's mouth turned up at one corner. Offering his hand with a good-natured chuckle. “Where are my manners? Heinrich Stockmann.” They shook. Stockmann’s eyes and tone were diffident. “You must be Gostan's boy.”

Safin's hackles raised. Stockmann was watching him closely. He hadn’t told him he was a transfer student. Who the hell was this guy?

“Durmaz!”

Safin stood a little straighter.

“Hello, Rosa!” said Stockmann brightly. “I’ve just been talking to your charge. Nice young man.” He clapped Safin lightly on the shoulder; Safin glanced at him, irritated.

The Colonel did not smile. “Herr Stockmann.”

Stockmann took his hand away with a resigned smile. “I understand, you are busy.” He caught Safin’s eye and winked. “Best of luck with your studies.”

As Stockmann walked down the antehall down into the restaurant, the Colonel motioned to him. “Follow me.” Down the road, they discussed the route about Lake Altaussee. “Leave before sunrise. Take Puchen until you reach the cabin. When you’re done, don’t linger. There is a hill to the west. Climb until you reach the lot at Loser-Panoramastraße. The driver will take you to the train station. You should be back home in four days.”

Safin was looking back down the road. “How’s security?”

“We’ve taken care of that. The civilians shouldn’t ask questions.”

Returning to his room. Standard, sparsely furnished. He had a view across lake. Suitcase at the foot of the bed contained a CSA vz. 58 Carbine with a side-folding stock. In the closet—white parka, snow pants and black boots. Bulletproof vest to be worn over his shirt. In its own carved oak box, a porcelain mask.

Safin took the time to assemble and disassemble the rifle. Everything in working order. He glanced briefly at the mask, scowled. A woman’s face upturned in a smile. It wouldn’t protect him from the elements. Craftmanship he’d seen approximated in print. Then his attention caught on a small scrap of paper. Must have fallen out of the box. Safin bent down and picked it up.

Colour photograph of a man and woman. You could make out the golden chevrons on each shoulder of his suit and the sharp lines in his face. The woman was probably in her late twenties. Neither of them smiled. On the back of the photograph was the following message:

König forgets his dues. Adelheld sends her regards to Blanchard. Relay this message.

He puzzled over this for a while. Slept on it. Geared up and left before daybreak. Minutes down the road, his face was prickling. The parka was warmer than his own jacket.

No one else on the trail. The lake undisturbed, a frozen pane of glass. By the time he got to the cabin the sun was just creeping past the mountain range on the horizon. He walked up the front steps, rifle at the ready, knocked three times and stepped back.

Footsteps on the other side. The door opened and he saw nothing. Looking down at a girl, Safin hesitated.

The Colonel never said anything about a kid.

“Are you Blanshar?” 

The girl responded in French. She went to close the door. He stopped her with his arm, one gloved hand resting on the jamb. She had to crane her neck to look him in the eyes. Woman’s voice called from inside, also in French.

“What did she say?” The girl said nothing. Her eyes shifting to the rifle slung around his shoulder. “Blanshar,” Safin insisted, switching from Russian to English, “Is here? You know her?”

The girl’s expression blank. Safin shouldered his way over the threshold and she made no attempt to stop him. Smell of stale tobacco came to him first. In front of him, a hall leading further into the house and a flight of wooden stairs.

He found the mark reclining on the sofa. Same face in the photograph, gaunt with age. Scent of stale bile and bleach. Her eyes flickered to him, nostrils flaring. “What the hell is this?”

Safin relayed the message.

She offered a few empty, condescending threats to his life. He studied the bottle on the table, the glass partway full. Her husband was not around often. At gunpoint, she didn’t cringe, beg for mercy on her daughter’s behalf. She didn’t ask why, just looked at him with a strange half-smile.

Two shots.

Through the curtained window on the wall behind them, miles of unbroken snow reflecting sunlight. The air now tinted by a fine red mist. Pooling blood edged the soles of his boots.

Turning to leave, the girl was still huddled against the wall, one hand shoved in her coat pocket.

She hadn’t seen his face. Why waste the bullet?

From her coat she drew a handgun; he instinctively reached for his rifle. Her first shot grazed his jaw below the ear, shattering the mask. Unloading the clip into his chest only staggered him. The firing stopped. Front door bashed against the wall.

She was running towards the lake. Operating on fear, not logic. If she died, so did his future career. Her smaller legs could not carry her fast enough. Safin stopped a foot from the bank, next to the dory. He barked, “Stoy!”

She looked back, and her footing slipped. With a short scream she tumbled, landing flat on her ass. Safin took a slow step onto the ice, then another. The ice creaked but did not give.

“Reste loin de moi!”

The girl levelled the gun at him, hands flushed from cold. Safin pushed the rifle behind him, spat a mouthful of blood and said, “Ich werde dich nicht verletzen.”

The girl’s aim faltered. “Du verstehst mich? Da war ein Fehler.” He approached until he could see the whites of her eyes, and offered his hand. “Ich gehe mit dir. Niemand wird dir weh tun.”

She was looking at his face, where his eyes should be under the painted mask. She lowered the gun. Rather than take his hand she crawled on her stomach towards the bank. Once she was back on solid ground she got to her feet, glanced over at him. “Du sollten nicht auf dem Eis stehen.”

“Warum hast du es dann gemacht?”

She gave him a look like he was being obtuse on purpose. “Warum kümmert dich das?”

Safin was only a foot or so from the bank. Ice beneath his boots giving way to crisp snow. The girl trailed behind.

“Pourquoi tu fais ça?” Safin ignored her. A white-hot pain throbbing in his jaw. Her bootsteps crunched faster to keep pace. “Mon père ne prendra pas à la légère une attaque contre sa famille. Une fois qu’il aura découvert ce qui s’est passé, il vous suivra. Vous feriez mieux d’avoir des amis qui vous protégeront si vous ne souhaitez pas que ce soit fini pour vous—”

“You know,” coming to a full stop, turning to address her, “for a girl who just lost her mother, you talk a lot of shit.”

The girl looked as if she’d been slapped. Safin continued toward the cabin. “You think I’m scared?” Her English pristine next to his. No doubt she’d gone to all the best schools. “Do you know who my father is?”

Easy to talk when your dad could pay off the whole town. The authorities would overlook the bullet holes in the walls and furniture, the foreign kid with a military rifle, the hotel within walking distance, and call it suicide.

Tiny shards of porcelain embedded into flesh. Blood pooling under his tongue, into the back of his throat. Pausing to spit—she averted her eyes—he said, “You should ask yourself who wants you dead. Then you can be angry.”

They came up to the front of the house. The girl was idling by the steps, staring at the front door, still clutching the handgun. Safin stood there in the cold, blood running down his jaw.

“Hey.” Turning with a flinch, terror resurfaced behind her wide, blue eyes. He paused. “It’s not personal.”

Shouldering the rifle, moving towards the trees, out of sight. Up the hill, where the unmarked black vehicle idling. The Colonel barely looked at him as he opened the door, took a seat. “Who injured you?”

“I was taken by surprise. It’s no matter.”

She slowed around a turn. “I trust you took care of it.”

“I was instructed to shoot the woman.” His jaw grit through the throbbing pain in his jaw and sternum. “Not her child.”

“Were you seen?”

Safin paused. “No.”

The Colonel’s eyes were difficult to read. “Then, there is no trouble. Leave the rifle and the mask here. You have time to fix your face.”

⁂

Along with other of the military aristocracy, Safin was not subject to the fierce competition between officers to place in military academy. After seven years training, he never had to see a day of service in-the-field. An executive agent at twenty five.

For his last mission he took a ferry to Severo-Kurilsk, debriefing on the way. The target was a former senior officer in the FSB’s Criminalistics Institute. Specialising in poisons, he went on to found his own pharmaceutical institute. Before the dissolution of the USSR, this officer planned to shift from state-sponsored biological weapon programs to government-funded research. He had not been seen since the 1980s. Intelligence suggested he was running a facility out of the Kuril Islands under a different name.

Tracking down the target in a small, unassuming house several miles away from Severo-Kurilsk. Coniferous trees across the horizon. A bitter winter dissolved into spring. Nothing else besides an old wood shed, full of industrial canisters of herbicide that hadn’t been in-use for decades. The scratches on the floor and disturbance of dust would suggest it had been recently vacated of other belongings.

Safin checked the house. The front door was ajar. There were signs of recent activity in the kitchen. A kettle off the burner full of stale water. The radio was on.

He walked into the living area. There was a man seated at the table, slumped on his arms. “Radinovich?”

No response. Safin came close enough to notice the blood pooling from the back of his head, starting to coagulate. The silenced Makarov pistol behind the chair.

Safin had no time to allow his emotions to catch up. He checked the bookcase—various books on plants, historical books, all USSR-era. An unassuming life in exile. Self-sufficient.

The bedroom, spare. No pictures or furnishings apart from a trunk, not unlike the tumbochka at the foot of Safin's childhood bed, only larger. Documents. A photograph of a man and woman, two boys and a girl. The woman’s eyes matched his own. The man, about as tall as him now. Strong posture that had declined slightly with age.

Safin continued reading through reports, newspaper clippings. Shortly after giving birth to a third son, the officer disappeared. His wife was detained. Under interrogation, she confessed that this officer planned to defect from Russia with his family. In return for her loyalty, the government promised immunity. A few months later the wife, two sons and daughter were found deceased in their own home in Kazan. Max Zorin, a doctor and close friend of the Safin family, claimed food poisoning. The child was taken into the care of the state.

Yet there were letters of correspondence between Gostan and various military officials. The maternity ward and baby house, the correctional school. Safin’s hands shook so badly he almost dropped the papers. Twenty six years spent preparing to demand an answer. He had no defense against this.

The door to the bedroom moved wider. Pistol nudged the back of his head. “Stand up.”

Safin was marched outside back into the cold. Two men in FSB uniform stood by the shed. The butt of the pistol struck Safin's head, compelling him to kneel. The can of herbicide lay waiting.

⁂

The first night in the Zurich safehouse, he woke to a tingling in his feet. Moonlight limned through curtains. He’d always been a light sleeper. Ever since his military discharge, he had to be mindful. Always kept a fresh pair of socks close at hand. Well-fit shoes by the bedside. He could not walk barefoot without crippling sensitivity.

He could lie awake for an hour or several but the result was the same. He listened to her pace advancing, receding, across the length of the opulent bedroom. Then he did what he was apt to do when he couldn't sleep.

The kettle was clean on the outside. White mineral deposits around the lid, on the bottom and inside of the pot, denoting use of tap water. Unsurprising, but easily remedied. Check cabinets for distilled vinegar and baking soda. Combine one part water with one part distilled vinegar. Denomination will vary depending on the size of the kettle. Boil this mixture in your pot for five to ten minutes, allow it to cool and then pour the mixture out. Combine 60 mL baking soda with a full pot of fresh warm water and allow the mixture to sit. After ten minutes, pour out the baking soda and water mixture, rinse and allow the pot to dry completely before replacing the lid.

All of this to be undone by the successive tenant, but Safin did not mind. This habit as emotionless and automatic to him as assembling a rifle. He did not drink out of anything without inspecting it first.

It had been an undemanding week, putting together the itinerary, handling White's daughter. Not the pompous spawn of a bureaucrat he'd come to expect. She didn't test the limits of her confinement, or ask too many questions. No damning proclivities. Her presence in SPECTRE's affairs bordered on inconsequential.

The incident in Conakry necessitated direct intervention—everything else could be accomplished by proxy. Blofeld insisted that White’s daughter was a special case, requiring the attention of someone more familiar. So each night, he was compelled to relive her death of innocence. The grief stuck in her throat. Her hiccupy breaths easing into shuddering acceptance. Contritions in muffled French.

Tonight the safehouse was quiet. He circled back from Madeleine’s room to the kitchen. Digital clock on the microwave oven read 05:58. Primo stood at a distance, eying the kettle on the counter. “You’re offering her tea?”

The brew was cold. Safin had neglected to drink any himself. “She had a rough night. It won’t get easier in Norway.” Setting the box of ammo on the counter, Safin eliminated all traces. Emptying the cold tea into the sink, he rinsed them individually before turning off the water.

“What’s this?” Primo was holding the box of Speer JHP.

“From her luggage.”

Primo set it down. “You don't trust her?”

“I shot her mother when she was a child. I don’t expect forgiveness.” Safin turned off the water. “What she does with the information is of no interest to me.”

Primo’s silence spoke for him.

A little while later, the lighter footsteps came down the hall. Madeleine, bundled in a dark coat that stifled her finer features, had already handed off her suitcase to Primo. They were alone in the room. Without looking at Safin directly, she said, “I understand you cannot tell me very much about what I’m walking into. But without my father for consul, all I have is you. What can you tell me about this position in Norway?”

“You will be operating out of a private clinic. That's all I know.”

Her mouth drew thin. She put her hands into her pockets, but avoided looking at him. “I’ve never taken a life. I used to think only monsters could separate their emotion from intention.” She’d noticed the ammo on the counter. She swallowed dryly. “To enact my own perception of vengeance, I’d go against what I stand for as a doctor.”

“Why keep the gun?”

“Because I’m not naïve.” Her eyes flitted over at Safin. “How long did you know who I was?”

“Since Conakry.”

“And what did you think then?”

He turned to look at her directly. The ten year-old clutching her father's gun. The twenty-eight year-old, too exhausted to weep, would still pry him apart at the ribs for even a hint of closure.

“Nothing.”

Transitioning away from the impassive mountain range to the station in Genève. The sky turning steadily to halcyon. Madeleine did not sleep on the way to the airport. Her attention kept flitting around, habitual. Hands in her pockets tensed into fists, or on her knees. On the train, tilting her head in the direction of the window, she did not rest against it. Sunlight on her face brought out the emotion trapped behind her eyes.

A life fraught with survivor’s guilt. Besides the truth, the next mercy he could offer was euthanasia. She asked for nothing on the plane as he took the aisle seat beside her.

Soon enough he'd be back to his assignment. The chemical attacks in West Africa had nothing to do with SPECTRE. The current theory from SPECTRE’s intelligence suggested a prototype bio-weapon the current SIS wanted to keep under-wraps. Still a convenient excuse for SPECTRE to implement itself without definite alliances, offering counterfeit pharmaceuticals for a disease without cure.

The WHO was doing everything possible to convince the rest of the world that this situation was under control. Due to safety concerns, the harbour had to be be shut down. Most of the patients that passed through MSF’s hands were mineworkers or participated in mining infrastructure. Since the breakout did not originate in Conakry, and whatever the MSF had been injecting the afflicted with was ultimately deemed ineffective, the news couldn't detract forever. Various members of the MSF team were coming forward about their experiences.

The workers and their families promised compensation. Little could be done without the issue of government and military intervention. Public interest wasn’t going to affect much on its own. The insurgents had outlived their purpose. Now they would be crushed against the government's forces without need for a third party to meddle. Whatever funds were scrounged up and donated could be rerouted in the interest of SPECTRE reclaiming the mines inside of a year.

There were no true allies in this business. Only different means of righting the same wrong.

Madeleine's head draped onto his shoulder, breathing evenly. Safin did not turn to look. She had suffered enough.

Her lodgings had been settled beforehand with the forenom running the aparthotel complex. A small but ostentatious flat close to the city. A half-hour away from where she would work. Madeleine walked around the room, did not sit down or touch anything. Safin remained on the threshold. “If there is a problem,” he said, “the man to speak with is Kęstutis.”

“I don’t suppose this person will also tear apart the room?”

“It shouldn’t come to that.” He paused. “Where is your mother buried?”

Her eyes snapped to him. As if he would claim it was a sick joke at her expense. A test of her emotional fortitude. But he let the silence build until at last she said, “Döbling Cemetery, in Vienna.”

Safin nodded. “My father’s ashes were scattered over Okhotsk. We weren’t close.” She returned his silence in lieu of her condolences. He said, “Good luck, Dr. Swann.”

No lingering sentimentality. He simply turned and left.

⁂

Three months after the Oslo operation he paid a visit to Vienna. During the meetings at the Palladio Cadenza in Rome, each time he looked Mr. White in the eye he saw the girl’s face. The wife, unmourned.

Once an ambitious teenager, creating his own language of coded messages in bouquets, which his fellow suvorovtsy called “thoughtful,” first, then “sure, just like a serial killer” when pressed for acceptance. After brooding over his notes he kept running into complications. Cultural disparities between symbolism and colour. Maintenance costs. A level of ingenuity lost on those who attended the funeral, and saw only hydrangeas.

At thirty four, he deliberated for a while in the florist before settling on an even-numbered bouquet of white roses — devotion, silence, reverence for the dead.

Drab, civilian clothes. Heavy coat, gloves, balaclava. The elements no longer an inconvenience but a reminder of what he once took for granted. Civilians caught a glimpse of the pitted skin around his eyes, his ragged voice. The trembling in his hands subdued into control.

He stopped in at the help desk and asked for the name Blanchard. According to the staff there was no record of anyone with that last name. He asked to look at the records and was told they could not give out this information. Perhaps someone else had taken the spot. After the lease ran out on the grave, the person could have given up the right to an individual headstone. Erased from existence, just as Vadim Durmaz.

Safin apologised for the misunderstanding. He walked outside, flushed from cold.

“Come to pay your respects?” Mr. White stood a few feet away by an unremarkable headstone. Safin said nothing. White gestured to the bouquet. “That’s a handsome arrangement. A friend of yours?”

“There was a mistake,” said Safin.

Mr. White stopped. All of a sudden, his eyes were sharper, his tone less friendly. “How did you find this place?”

“I asked where she was buried,” Safin said hoarsely.

White studied him carefully while keeping his tone light, “I haven’t been here in fifteen years. My daughter was more sentimental, if you can fathom it. Used to order flowers while she was going to university.” He offered Safin a tense smile. “She stopped sending them after the lease ran out.”

Safin said nothing.

“You know, she’s doing well for herself. I was in Norway for her birthday, and she invited me for lunch. She’s always been proud—but she started talking about her mother. Told me she’s figured out what happened.” White’s voice hardened. “It’s not complex. The marriage was failing, so I did what was necessary to keep my family safe. It doesn’t matter how high up you are. Sooner or later, every man has got to to cut his losses. But, she’s always had difficulty understanding this.”

“She cries out in her sleep,” said Safin, “but she never tells you why, does she?”

White went very still. The next moment, disarming Safin of the bouquet and striking him on the head in a manner more insulting than harmful. “You son of a bitch!” White thrust it at his feet and grabbed Safin by the collar. Safin, taking air into his lungs, wheezing on the exhale, did not flinch. “You’ve got some goddamn nerve, coming here after what you did,” said White through gritted teeth, “so the least you can do is explain yourself.”

“To pay respects,” Safin rasped. “And because one of your friends killed my family. The Cipher. Was it incidental? Or intentional?”

White’s expression shifted from icy rage into controlled indifference. He released Safin, and adjusted his hat. Turned away, as if to compose himself.

“Back in the eighties,” said White, “I used to deal with a man named Gostan Safin. He worked in the FSB’s Criminalistics Department. Got into some disagreement with his client, so they picked off the rest of his family just as we cut him a deal to get out of Russia.” White paused. “The last I heard of him was at his funeral in 2004.” His expression hardened. “You’ve got the same eye for poisons. But I had nothing to do with your family’s death.”

Petals scattering into the snow and stuck to Safin’s jacket. White said, “We may work for the same man, Lucifer, but he doesn’t forgive these aberrations.” His voice was flat, calm. A level of compartmentalization mastered over a lifetime. “I’ve surrendered my company to petty criminals who think that trafficking women and children is the future. I can live without my daughter’s forgiveness. But I cannot protect her.”

“What are you proposing?”

Under the gloomy light, White’s age became stark. His eyes lowered to the flowers in the snow as he said, “See to it she doesn’t suffer the same fate as her mother.”

Wow, that was a lot of work. So, let's break it down!

Safin's fake passport (surname, first name, patronymic) and his conversations with the Colonel correspond to Russian form of address. To my understanding, he might refer to her in private/among peers by surname, and in conversation either by first name and patronymic, or military address. Subordinates address superiors using only tovarisch and rank: ‘tovarisch Senior Lieutenant,’ ‘tovarisch Colonel’. Higher-ups address subordinates by military rank and surname, and Klebb is referred to as Comrade Colonel in the novel From Russia With Love.

Several of the Russian terms were adopted from this joint report from Human Rights Watch on Russian orphanages. Also some further reading on the military school in Kazan.

A big thank-you to Anja_Petterson and sesyeuxocean for additional input/corrections with German and French translations respectively, re: the hotel lobby & confrontation on the ice.

Information on Safin’s rifle was taken from this very helpful article. In Madeleine’s case, I looked into the different models of the Beretta manufactured during the 1990s.

Lines from the flashback in chronological order:

“Est-ce que vous skiez?” Do you ski?

“Non.” No.

“Moi non plus. C’était un des passe-temps de mon père. Il était ce qu’on peut appeler un survivaliste. Il m’a inscrit, moi et mon jeune frère, à la Rote Teufel quand nous étions petits garçons. J’ai abandonné au bout d’un mois, je n’avais pas l’aptitude physique. Mon frère excellait. Il m’écrivait du Tyrol presque toutes les semaines. Mère était inquiète qu’il se fasse tuer, mais d’une manière ou d’une autre, il a toujours réussi à tromper la mort.”

Neither do I. It was my father’s hobby. He was what you would call a survivalist. He enrolled me and my younger brother into the Rote Teufel when we were boys. I dropped out after a month, I didn’t have the physical aptitude. My brother excelled. He would write to me from Tirol every week or so. Mother used to worry he would get himself killed, but somehow he always managed to cheat death.

“Puis un jour, il y a eu une avalanche à Kitzbühel. Mon frère est rentré mais pas mon père. J’ai toujours pensé que c’était un peu fortuit.”

Then one day, there was an avalanche in Kitzbühel. My brother came home but my father did not. I always thought it was a little serendipitous.

“Je suis désolé. Je ne voulais pas m’imposer.” I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to impose myself.

“Ich bin nicht interessiert.” I'm not interested.

“Ty govorish' po-nemetski, kak shkol'nik.” You speak German like a schoolboy.

“Ernst, fils de pute—” Ernst, you son of a bitch—

“Stoy!” Stop!

“Reste loin de moi!” Stay away from me!

“Ich werde dich nicht verletzen.” I won’t hurt you.

“Du verstehst mich? Da war ein Fehler.” You understand me? There was a mistake.

“Ich gehe mit dir. Niemand wird dir weh tun.” I go with you. Nobody will hurt you.

“Du sollten nicht auf dem Eis stehen.” You shouldn’t be standing on the ice.

“Warum hast du es dann gemacht?” Then why did you do it?

“Warum kümmert dich das?” Why do you care?

“Pourquoi tu fais ça?” Why are you doing this?

“Mon père ne prendra pas à la légère une attaque contre sa famille. Une fois qu’il aura découvert ce qui s’est passé, il vous suivra. Vous feriez mieux d’avoir des amis qui vous protégeront si vous ne souhaitez pas que ce soit fini pour vous.”

My father will not take an attack on his family lightly. Once he finds out what happened, he will follow you. You better have friends who will protect you if you don’t want this to be over for you.