#a nice clean(ish) drawing

[deoidesign]

Sketching

[ollylotl]

a dream of home

[foxaoxarts]

BEE KISS TOMORR- *dead* /j

If anyone wants to watch me drawing this like a little victorian child then the timelapse is below the cut 🤣

(FLICKER WARNING. It's all through out so be careful!👍 )

[koobiie]

bestowing my highest honor as an artist to ffxv (drawing the characters in fun outfits)

thoughts under the cut

RREAAAGHHHH SO EXCITED TO BE DONE WITH THIS!!!!! it took me forevarrrr but i soldiered through as an act of love. now excuse me. yap time

OKAY SO the concept behind this was originally specific fashion subcultures for everyone!l ike noct emo ignis dark academia etc. but then decided i didnt want to pigeonhole it all and just freestyled outfits i thought would look nice on everyone

noct - i do think noct would still be emo-ish but also opt for comfy baggy stuff a lot. something you could just fall asleep in on the spot. note the details of bass pro shop shirt (of course) XV necklace, little moon + stars accents, carbuncle + fish keychains. i also wanted his metal band logo shirt to spell LUCIS but i forgor some letters but its not very readable anyways

ignis - ignit ooohghh ignos ignaurs. sorry i made him serve so much cunt it will happen again. i drew him first cause that kind of inspired this whole thing i love him so bad if i didnt draw it id explode. not much detail to note except his collar pins are like his double blade thingies

luna - lunaaa the concept was “clean girl aesthetic” idk if that happened but im actually really happy with how it came out! might be my favorite of the bunch just because she looks so pretty and happy. your honor she should have been able to just be a normal girl and just. chill

prompto - prompotoooo i had trouble picking his vibe!!! my first thought was techwear?? because weeheeeehee he loves tech and well... you know... but then i realized i didnt really like the look of anything i saw + it was so bulky and dark and serious for him! ending up going with some more youthful and baggy. i was considering something more loud and colorful but ended up not going with it. i feel like in canon he'd be too nervous to have such a flashy fit and would want to just look "cool" to fit in with the boys lol. itty bitty details here - chocobo keychain, pompompurin and bi miku buttons, and his lanyard is kings knight themed! i also thought it was funny to write LUCIS on his shirt like you know those shirts that just say BROOKLYN or TOKYO or SAN FRANCISCO and thats it. thats what its like

gladio - okay i know this is going to sound like a lie but im not horny for gladio like at all, hes my least favorite, i think he's just alright. but also i KNOW in my heart of hearts that he would LOVE being a leather daddy and so i had to make it happen. main detail to note here is that his tank top has the motifs of a cup noodle! i didnt know what else to add cause you know.. hes the cup noodle guy.. but also i didnt want it to be so in your face about it with a big as logo so kept it subtle!

(side note the leather daddy gave me an idea for a post where its like noct and prom go to a gay bar all nervous but then they run into gladio and its like "p: GLADIO YOURE GAY?" "n: nevermind that PLEASE dont tell ignis we snuck out" and then ignis walks up and theyre all like WHAT THE FUCK!!!! caption would be "the gang finds out theyre all bisexual." probably wont draw it but i think its very funny lol)

iris - iris my sweetheart.... definitely leaned into the scene vibes here and also that one image of the blonde emo anime girl. details here - of course the moogle big ass backpack and keychain (can you tell i love keychains), but also her buttons are an iris (the flower) and also a crown with hearts (haha symbolism)

anyways oh god i didnt mean to write an essay down here. usually i keep this in the tags but this time i just had Too Much To Say. can you tell i put a lot of thought and love into this . anwyays. *walks off into the sunset and fuckig dies*

[junabuggy]

Okayy so I’ve done something similar but I wanted to see it from someone else but it’s Creepy pasta room head canons !!! I don’t mind who you do but I would love to see Jack’s most of all !! Thank you <3

Creepypasta room headcanons

A/n: At the beach rn with family.. sighhh I hate the beach (._.) BUT I LOVE THIS REQUEST !!! LMK IF YALL WANR A PART TWO (^_-)☆

Includes: Jeff, Ej, Toby, BP and Nina :333

Warnings: None

「 ✦ Jeff ✦ 」

🔪✮ MESSY ASS ROOM and it does NOT smell all that great tbh 😭😭

🔪✮ Has zero shame about it too, you come to hang out in his room he'll just kick stuff to the side and shove stuff off the bed casually.

🔪✮ Posters all over the walls, most of them are of bands he enjoys (He stole most of them 💀)

🔪✮ Jeff has a knife collection so he has a little setup for them :3

🔪✮ ALSO!!!! Side headcanon he fucking loves MSI (The song "This Hurts" by them is literally him chat)

🔪✮ There's a window in his room by his bed that you can use to get to the roof of the manor, it's actually got a pretty damn good view too

🔪✮ Has a mini fridge in his room beside his bed that has drinks in it

🔪✮ Mostly energy drinks and Pepsi with like, a singular water that'll never get drank.

🔪✮ Probably doesn't have sheets on his bed.. the mattress is full of mysterious stains

🔪✮ Musty BEAST (I love him)

「 ✦ Eyeless Jack ✦ 」

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 Jacks room doesn't smell all that great either.. he keeps all his organs to munch on and such in there.

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 There really isn't much there tbh, just the essentials to have in a bedroom.

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 A bed, a wardrobe, chair and a desk with an old computer on it..

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 Oh and a few shelves with one big window that he usually keeps closed ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ)

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 His flooring is a grey-ish carpet and his walls are painted black

👁️‍🗨️𖤐 Kinda boring, ik 😭

「 ✦ Toby ✦ 」

🪓☆ Chaotically clean room, bro is a maximalist to the extreme (^o^)

🪓☆ ‼️‼️ He yearns to collect ‼️‼️

🪓☆ there's a few shelves with trinkets he's collected over the years on them (≧ω≦)

🪓☆ Posters, banners, stickers, drawings and records littered eevveryywhere on the walls and ceiling of his room (maybe this is just projecting because thats witterly my room ☝️)

🪓☆ Has the glow in the dark star stickers on his ceiling for sure

🪓☆ His room is MUCH bigger than the other proxies, has everything he needs and more

🪓☆ I mean, he has a little couch in there that has a big stuffed animal on it and a bug blanket (His hyperfixation is bugs, if you couldn't tell /silly 🪲🪲 )

🪓☆ He spends a shit ton of time in his room because it's genuinely super cool

🪓☆ Has a Tv mounted on his wall in the corner !!

🪓☆ Oh and he has a guitar in his room that he l can't play, he just thinks it looks cool o_O

「 ✦ Bloody Painter ✦ 」

🎨꩜ VERY CLEAN ROOM. AND VERY PARTICULAR ON HOW HE KEEPS THINGS.

🎨꩜ Don't mess with any of his shit without permission first and you'll be fine 🙏

🎨꩜ Has some of the normal (Ones that he doesn't use blood in, he keeps those safe.) paintings, drawings and sketches he's made on his wall behind his easel in the corner of his room :33

🎨꩜ I also think he likes to write!! So maybe some poetry is on his wall as well in that little corner ^_^

🎨꩜ Almost the entirety of his back wall is window which he loves

🎨꩜ HAS PLANTS !!!! 🌱🪴

🎨꩜ Has a nice desk to draw on with a comfortable chair. Theres a nice smelling candle on it with a few books and a lamp (●＾o＾●)

🎨꩜ Also owns the most??? Comfortable?? Blankets?? EVER????? Amazing textures, NO SHERPA <(｀^´)>

🎨꩜ Has a drawer thingy dedicated to his art supplies (Which is also very organized, btw)

🎨꩜ HE HAS A RECORD PLAYER. YOU CANNOT CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE.

「 ✦ Nina ✦ 」

🪱ᰔ SHES A SCENE GIRL!!! ROOM IS SCENE!!!

🪱ᰔ Like holy shit it's so colourful ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) 

🪱ᰔ LOTS and LOTS of homemade stuff stuck on her walls along with various other things, there's stuff everywhere

🪱ᰔ Now you already know she owns a gir blanket and a gir backpack, like cmon (灬ºωº灬)♡

🪱ᰔ Collection of stuffed animals !! Some on her bed and some in a hanging net in the corner above her bed

🪱ᰔ Has LED lights and there's no windows in her room

🪱ᰔ Has a nice desk with a computer on it and trinkets, her keyboard lights up rainbow ☆´∀｀☆

🪱ᰔ Her wardrobe and closet are FULL. She has like, so many cool clothes, belts and accessories

🪱ᰔ Convinced slender to let her paint her walls funky and cool !!

🪱ᰔ Soooo her walls are purple and she painted on with a smaller paint brush cheetah print all over them :3 (She's an icon and I love her dearly)

𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 ◟( ˃̶͈◡ ˂̶͈ )◞

ᯓ★ 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐲

[1mlostnow]

Okayyy I wanna do another notes thing bc it was fun last time 😝 small reach for each goal bc some of them I actually need to do.

Uhm please keep reblogs 10 and below, but no limit on comments or tags :3

So far ->

10 - I actually finish that spn episode (I never did..I tried though)

20 - I’ll try to post more on @1mfoundnow (poetry and writing…if you wanna see that, yk)

50 - I rehearse in the mornings before camp as well as at camp

100 - I sleep before midnight AND have real meals with my meds, not just half an apple

200 - I deal with *that* corner in my room

300 - weekly laundry, not just when the baskets full

400 - Bowie makeup cuz I wanna feel pretty in the guy way

500 - talk to my mom about binders

600 - I write a short fic (house md ocs :))

700 - I get up to five driving hours this week (already at three ish I’m starting drivers ed a bit late)

800 - I drive to camp next week (or the week after, depending on the timing of this)

900 - I write all of the poems that I’ve had ideas for but never followed through on. And share progress/rough drafts/accept feedback

1000 - i bake brownies :))

1500 - actually announce open commissions, though idk if they can be called that bc they’re free

2000 - find my style this year

2500 - I finish 3 long books and 2 short by November (been in a super bad reading slump)

3000…. Idk ! Give me more goals! Some ideas pertaining to..idk reading, writing, drawing, full meals, fixed sleep schedule, band/band camp, cleaning, self care, mental health, or something completely different!!!!! I doubt we’ll reach this point but it’s nice to have an idea of stuff I need to do.

[alaskasmonsters]

Hola! Congratulations on 1k followers! The 2nd part of your Gojo writing was 🤌🤌🤌 chef's kiss!

If it's not taken could I please request a sanji drabble for the angst prompt "You're hands are shaking"? Idk why but I think that would be sooo suiting ^~^ if not that's obviously totally fine! Thank you so much, have a nice day, mwah!

𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌 (sanji)

pairing: sanji x gn!reader

content: fluff, angst-ish, trembling hands possibly caused by distress/anxiety (not disclosed), established relationship

a/n: uHm?!? no one is as surprised as me for posting this i literally just sat down and wrote this like an hour ago or sth i am being so fr? idk what has come over me. anon?? idk if you’re still here and ik it’s been a year like lITERALLY but?? hope you like it?? ig?? anyways sanji is the loml and i think he is so cuute and he has lots of trauma to work through.

☁️1k follower event (open)

Your eyes softened as they fell upon Sanji's frame, slightly hunched over the sink, shoulders rounded as he leaned forwards slightly to wash the dishes. You hadn't noticed before, too caught up in your irritation with him as a person (Sanji sometimes did that to you) and with his earlier persistance during the physical altercation you have had with another pirate crew to throw himself in front of you whenever someone dared as much as look in your direction.

He was so overprotective sometimes and it annoyed you. It also led to you scolding him about it and throwing petty retords at him whenever the opportunity presented itself, which you had been about to do before you noticed that something was off.

The words died on your lips then, and your irritation disappeared as quickly as it had taken hold of your body before.

"Sanji," you called softly, eyebrows bunching together as you narrow your eyes slightly in an attempt to take a closer look at his hands.

He didn't react and that was weird, because Sanji always reacted to you calling his name or attempting to draw his attention to you in any other way. Usually he perked up like a fucking dog whenever you just entered a room.

You took a step closer, frowning as calling his name again didn't show any differeng result. Carefully you reach out and grab his wrist and almost recoiled by how violently he flinched from your sudden touch and the way his unfocused eyes snapped towards you.

When he saw it was only you his body relaxed again.

“Y/n…”

“Your hands are shaking.”

He stared at you for a moment, not understanding or comprehending your words before he blinked quickly, eyes darting down to his hands and the trembling plate he was holding and that he had been attempting to clean for the past 5 minutes.

“Oh, yeah I…” He trailed off, leaving the rest of the sentence empty.

You sighed softly and reached out to take the plate and the sponge from him, softly nudging him with your hip to step back and let you take over. He did, watching you with his hands still half raised in the air, looking disoriented.

You finished the plate and the rest of the dishes in silence, giving him a moment to come back to himself. When you dried your hands he was still standing right behind you, looking at you, so you took the towel you had just used and turned back to him. Carefully, you grasped one of his hands and started drying it.

"You're an idiot."

Sanji grimaced at your remark.

“You don’t have to-“

“I want to.” You interrupted him, causing him to shut his mouth again. “I’ll dry your hands and then I’ll help you sit down.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sanji, you’ll sit down and you will sit until your hands stop shaking.” You peered up at him, pinning him with your gaze as you squeezed his hands. “Cool?”

He nodded, not wanting to argue with you. Instead he just lowered his head, shoulders relaxing as he let out a sigh. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you mumbled and lifted his hands up to your lips to leave a kiss on the back of each of them.

His lips twitched, smiling softly at that.

[meruz]

it's been a while since the last time i piled up all my sketchbooks so here's all the ones I could find from the last uhhh 6 years ish. since graduating art school lol!!

scattered thoughts below the cut

it's harder for me to use a sketchbook consistently as a working artist... in school I would sketch a lot aimlessly in class/lectures etc but nowadays it feels like everything I sketch is with an end goal in mind for work or some other project. if I want to draw """for fun"" I really have to find and allot time for it which can feel silly lol. I do a lot of sketching on public transport now.

I didn't take pics of the interiors but I think its kind of interesting that i feel like the heights of having a nice looking sketchbook interior for me peaked in college. in art school, people often ask to look at your sketchbook so I really filled pages and made sure they looked nice. there's also a lot of energy in those pages... in contrast my highschool sketchbooks and post-college sketchbooks are pretty ugly on the inside because I'm really the only one looking at them lol. my sketchbooks now are especially ugly because i dont even care about the drawings being good. i think in highschool i tried to make every drawing as good as possible because I was really struggling to improve just basic drawing skill and in art school i tried to make the page at least as nice as possible. now its all about ideas and iteration, i just keep making bad drawings and keep flipping the page.

EDIT. also last time I piled up all my sketchbooks i divided them into sections for each year of art school which kind of felt like chapters of my life.. if i had to divide these into sections its a little less clean but its probably something like this

[sovereignjojoz]

hi! i really enjoyed your headcanons about the Bucci gang and reader with a scary but nice Stand. would it be okay if i request that same thing for Josuke, Okuyasu, Rohan, and Jotaro? :D

Scary but sweet stand: part 4 edition.

Pairings: Josuke x reader, Okuyasu x reader, Rohan x reader + Jotaro x reader

Notes - I’m so sorry this request took so long anon! I’ve had writers block for a while. Hope you like it🤍

Higashikata Josuke

He jumped back and covered his eyes, your stand literally looked like something out of his nightmares.

Unfiltered, he blurted out, “the heck is that thing!”

If you become saddened by his reaction, he immediately changes his tune and puts on a lopsided grin (as best he can), he doesn’t wanna make his s/o sad.

But even so for the first few times he meets your stand he’s going to keep his distance until he gets over his wariness.

But believe you me once he’s over it there’s no separating him and your stand, like when it hovers over him he’ll become a chatterbox even though the stand can’t verbally response.

“I know! But then you won’t believe what Okuyasu did next, the idiot-”

He might punch someone if they insult your stand.

And I can’t get it out of my head that crazy diamond would love to play fight with your stand all the time.

And chase your stand around too.

Definitely has tried to play fight your stand.

Honestly your stand definitely squished cd’s cheeks in a scolding manner at some point, it’s just obsessed.

Oh, and if it wasn’t obvious before if you ever get injured the first one by your side is cd, ready to heal you.

Nijimura Okuyasu

Initial reaction: run.

He doesn’t mean to! It’s just he’s never seen a stand of the sought and he didn’t know to react so his first reaction was flight.

He definitely ran straight to Josuke’s house and Josuke gave him a look like: wtf is up with you.

After he apologises and depending on how mad you are he might take you to Tonio’s as an apology.

But when he finally warms up to your stand, he really warms up to your stand.

Like almost to the level that they’re inseparable.

He’ll use the hand to erase the distance between you guys if he thinks your too far away.

And he likes to try and scare your stand too to see the reaction it will bring out.

Probably tries to prank it too like by throwing water on it only to get scared after it reacts.

Tried to hug it a ton.

Honestly just a new bestie for him.

Kishibe Rohan

When he first met your stand, he couldn’t really hide his emotions very well.

His throat constricted and he let out a strangled gasp, just taking a long look between you and it.

He really didn’t understand, you were muse like material so what was that! Why did you manifest such a stand.

He doesn’t really sugarcoat so he might be a bit blunt!

He loves you, but not your stand (at first) so when it tries to come into contact with him he’ll dodge.

After a while though he see’s it’s not that bad and best believe if his actions are making you sad he’ll stop his diva-ish act.

He’ll pat it’s head and stuff and say thank you for all the additional acts it does.

I feel like an activity he’d like to do with your stand is clean for some reason, he likes that it’s silent and gets the job done (better than you too, he might even tell ya that!)

He loves drawing you however every one word in a while he might draw your stand too, sometimes when he thinks fondly of it, or to get character inspo since it’s so unique looking.

other times he’ll just leave a drawing around the house of it and notices how your stand jumps for joy.

Overall he does quite like your stand, but he likes you more.

Jotaro Kujo

He grimaces. Hard.

But he tries to keep a straight face and a neutral reaction as best he can, he’s seen weird stands before but yours is something he never would have even thought of.

Star platinum on the other hand mirrors his true expression.

He’s gonna act like your stand doesn’t exist for a good while as a result until your stand starts doing nice little things for him like readjusting his hat.

He’ll still act unbothered however he might give a nod of appreciation.

However one day your stand wasn’t how wrong around him like usual and immediately he noticed something was off.

He supposed he had gotten rather used to your stand assisting him he hadn’t truly approached it’s value.

Definitely see’s that your stands value in battle which makes him come to like it a lot more.

So the next time your stand was there he pat it’s back in an effort to show his appreciation.

Honestly though your stand just looks to star platinum to see his feelings and is quite pleasantly surprised to see they’re mostly positive.

Oh! And your stand most definitely plays catch with star when there’s time.

And probably also plays with it’s hair.

[r0b0s-robos]

DCA HARPY AU

FLIGHTLESS

PLOT |

• Reader was once a harpy, bonded for life to Sun and Moon. Reader dies unexpectedly by a dragon and gets reborn as a human (100-ish years later) in a village quite a distance away.

• Reader grows up to be the village trader. They go out on behalf of the village to trade goods and bring new things like magical items to the small village. They also love to draw and while drawing they see a harpy nest that *looks* abandoned and starts to draw it because harpies are relatively rare to encounter.

• They know that it's said that harpies are the most vicious mythical creature that live near the village. Unlike a dragon, who will give its prey a quick and painless death, harpies often eat their prey while it's still alive, warm, and conscious.

About Sun & Moon:

• Sun has been grieving your loss since the day you first died. He always looks sad and has unkempt feathers. Despite his appearance, he honestly is fairing much better than Moon.

• Moon is inconsolable. He spends most days in the nest surrounded by what was once your feathers. While Sun often finds energy to hunt, Moon only eats when pestered enough.

• Sun and Moon find out that Reader died by a dragon. A storm kept Reader from returning to the nest and instead found safety from the storm in a cave. The dragon that lived there was incredibly hungry and territorial.

• Sun and Moon do what any grieving harpy would. They slay the dragon viciously, digging into it as it still breathes. The rage and heartache feels as though it will be everlasting and this is the only immediate cure. (When ur a human you find their nest is still adorned with bones of a large beast).

• Moon would be based off a screech owl and harpy eagle, Sun either a crowned eagle or a mix of golden eagle and harpy eagle

• Upon meeting, Sun especially is very clingy. he believes full-heartedly that you are the one that they lost. Moon does as well, but you are so, so very fragile now. You are so delicate. (To them, at least. To you and ur village ur pretty much a badass lmao). But he can't allow himself to be close only to lose you again. His resolve doesn't last long.

About Reader:

• Reader is well-respected in their village by all except a few handfuls of older members who dislike the magical forest where Reader lives. (The village itself was attacked by harpies 100 years prior. May or may not have smth to do w/ Sun and Moon).

• Reader’s home is kind of like a homestead. But since its in the magical forest they had to make it a treehouse to avoid ground predators during the night. It’s very nice and everything is mostly made by them. They possess some magic, but they only really use it for cooking or protection.

• I imagine that when they meet Sun and Moon (and after the relationship has developed a bit. At least past them, fearing that they’ll be harmed). That they allow Sun and Moon to build some nest in the rafters of their house.

Scenes:

• Sun feeling particularly guilty because he looked so unkempt for your reunion. He apologizes the best way he knows how. But you don't speak the same language. And all you know is that he's upset that he's dirty. So you take him to a waterfall and clean his feathers. Your fingers running along his back as you dislodge sticks and leaves. He helps where he can, but mostly he sinks into the water and just pleads for this to not be a dream.

• Moon would have a similar situation with the reader. Tho his involves his attempts at gifting them things. Food at first. Then anything that shines or sparkles. He creates necklaces of jewels that rival those found on the rich upper-class of the inner kingdom. Reader appreciate the gifts, but cannot wear the jewelry because it would cause others to ask questions or attempt to rob them when they travel. Moon and Sun initially believe it is because you find none of their gifts good enough to adorn upon yourself. Moon grieves all over again. You comfort him, and give him a gift of your own. A ribbon, endowed with protection to wear around his ankle. (You give this to Sun, as well ofc).

Funny thought to end my rambling on:

• Imagine Reader trying to sleep but they keep hearing knocking and skittering on their roof and when they look outside the window they just see a pair of giant red owl eyes. At first they would be scared. But after two weeks they start ignoring the knocking and tapping around their house so they can just (attempt) to get a good night's rest w/o the inescapable “bird cuddle pile” and since the harpies feathers are insulated, poor reader always feels a little cooked at night.

[sloanesallow]

twenty

Sebastian is forgetting something.... (I wrote this in one go, mostly because I forgot at the last moment that I head-canon Sebastian's birthday as being today (ish, it's now past midnight), November 8th. Yes, I made him a triple Scorpio. He's more fun that way.) Sebastian Sallow x F!MC (Siobhan Sloane) Tags: Sappy. A crumb of sadness. >1k words [Ao3] | [Wattpad] | [Tumblr Masterlist]

Sebastian is still working at his makeshift desk on Level Two when the clock strikes midnight. He pays the chiming bells little attention, scribbling away with his quill to finish the stack of reports his goblin supervisors at Gringots want handed over in the morning. Not so long ago, he would scoff at the suggestion of having a goblin as a boss, but Sebastian has come a long way since fifth year and knows how privileged he is to have the position he does. There are still eight more long months left in his internship, but by next summer, he will be a fully-trained curse breaker, ready for a proper field assignment.

He's mid quill-stroke when his ears prick up at the sound of shuffling in the nearby corridor. It's too late for it to be another Ministry employee, and Bigsby the elf has already made his cleaning rounds for the evening. Sebastian furrows his brows, listening as he hears the mystery person knock on the other doors in the hall. Too curious to ignore, he strides over to poke his head out, but when he opens the door he's surprised to see Sloane.

"Girlfriend?" he chirps in surprise, the first word that bounces through his brain and out his mouth.

Sloane suppresses a giggle, her lips curling up in a small smile as she nods. Sebastian steps aside, allowing her to enter the disorganized storage closet the Aurors have repurposed for him to use as an office. He stares at her, blinking several times in disbelief, wondering if he's slipped into some kind of sleep-deprived hallucination.

"What're you doing here?" he asks, grasping her hand and breathing a sigh of relief at the warmth he feels. "Why aren't you in Marseille?"

"Hello to you too, Sebastian," she quips, squeezing his hand as she laces their fingers. "I wanted to surprise you, but you weren't home. Ominis suggested you'd be here, says you're always here."

"Not always," he retorts, eyes still darting across her face and body to identify any subtle changes since he saw her last. It's been one month and thirteen days, and Sloane knows he's been counting. Her hair is a fraction longer, tied in a loose braid that he itches to undo with his fingers.

"It's midnight," she says back and he sheepishly grins. Sloane looks at him pointedly in the way that tells him there's something else, but his mind draws a blank.

"What?"

"Really?"

"Really...what?"

Sloane frowns and Sebastian feels his heart flutter with panic. Lack of sleep is all fun and games until it causes memory loss. He scratches the stubble on his jaw, struggling to recall if he's done anything foolish (more foolish than usual), or forgotten something important. Their anniversary isn't for another few months...unless he's slipped into an errant time experiment from Level Nine.

"Have you truly forgotten?" His girlfriend decides to put him out of his misery, replacing his hand with her own as she cups the side of his face, thumb sweeping across his cheek. "Sebastian, it's your birthday."

He straightens in alarm, eyes wide in realization. Midnight. Wednesday, the eighth of November. His birthday. More significantly, his twentieth birthday. A nice, round number—the true start of adulthood. Sebastian gulps, and wonders if the knot in his stomach is existential dread.

His thoughts drift, and he can't help but feel guilty for not remembering—it isn't just his birthday. Perhaps that's why it's slipped his mind; there's not much of a reason to celebrate getting older when he's still estranged from his twin. It's been years since he saw her last, and even longer since they welcomed a birthday together. The ache in his chest lingers, even as Sloane presses up on her toes to press a soft kiss to his lips.

"I didn't want you to be alone, not today," she whispers, looping her arms around his shoulders when he moves to encircle her in a tight embrace. Sloane may be the only person, besides Ominis, who knows and understands the specific kind of pain this day might bring.

"I'm sorry," she adds and he quietly hushes her, stopping her apology short. It might've been nice to remain blissfully ignorant, but eventually, he'd remember and feel even worse about forgetting later on. For a long moment, he just holds her, thinking for what must be the millionth time about how damn lucky he is to have Sloane in his life, how wonderful it is to love and be loved in return.

"You're here," he breathes, kissing her temple, and then her forehead and nose before smiling against her lips. "I'm so happy you're here."

"Me too."

"For how long?" he murmurs between little kisses, savoring the sensation, knowing he'll miss it when she has to leave again. Stupid Marseille, he thinks, there are plants in England, too. "Do we have time to—"

Sebastian's stomach interrupts his suggestion with a loud gurgle that makes Sloane snicker, her nose crinkling in the way he adores. She playfully scolds him, fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck. "When's the last time you ate?"

"Uhh..." he shrugs and steals another peck. "Kisses will suffice."

"Sebastian!" she laughs, not bothering to squirm away. "You need to eat!"

"I agree!" he scoops her up, waggling his eyebrows before latching onto to patch of skin on her neck that makes her mewl. "I'll start with you."

[luveline]

maybe for zombie Steve au, there’s some sort of emergency at the college so there’s like a lockdown ish but Steve & reader get split up & then have an emotional reunion? 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

thank you so much for your request! I took a smide of inspo from scenes of twd (specifically when the prison fence gets it shit rocked) steve zombie!au ♥︎ fem!reader 5k words

"And you…" You pause, tongue sticking out as you struggle to tuck your shirt into your jeans. "You smoked?" 

Steve laughs where he's shrugging into his own jeans. You're both very late. 

"Everyone smoked junior year." 

"I didn't." 

"No, of course you didn't," he says, laughing more. It's a nice sound to hear so early in the morning. You can almost pretend you're well-rested. 

"I didn't," you say emphatically, leaning against the wall by the door to slip on your sneakers. 

It doesn't matter if you're telling the truth, Steve clearly doesn't believe you. He mirrors your actions and puts on his own pair of sneakers. They were white, once upon a time, but now they're a gritty grey. You stand tall in unison and pull open the door.

"Wait," Steve says. 

He brushes your hair out of your face, looking over each of your features casually before his fingers dip down to your belt. You startle on instinct, though he's only fixing the mess you'd made of your tucked shirt. His fingers push under your belt methodically, efficiently. In less than a minute he's done. 

Neither of you bother with a jacket. Steve pockets the keys and the door locks behind you, the two of you half jogging out of Little Hawkins to the front of the building. 

"I'll be at the north fence all day, okay, so if you need me, come and find me. You're–" 

"In the pantry where I always am," you say, "and I'll be fine, so you don't let anything bite you and I'll see you at dinner." 

"Wait, wait, wait," Steve says, catching your wrist before you can part ways. 

He pulls you in by the arm until he can grab your shoulders. He does altogether too much looking, eyes raking over your face, your neck. He meets your eyes, cups your cheek in both hands. 

"I love you," he says quickly, "I love you," —he kisses you wonky, lips way too close to your nose, "I love you. See you at dinner." 

He's sick in the head. He doesn't give you any time to answer or bestow the heaping of affection he deserves, simply splits and power walks away from you.

You sigh, wringing your hands together. "Steve! I– I love you too!" 

He turns around, his smile ridiculously big, and waves at you. You wave back. 

He races out of view. You try not to make eye contact with the people milling around outside of the dorm building and pick up the pace, running down the street to the cafeteria building. 

The town hall is alive in the mornings, and class is in session, more kids than you'd ever expected to see again in your lifetime all bundled up in one room. You think it's nice, the way they teach them here. They don't bother with algebra or arithmetic, though Sammy the 'teacher' offers tutoring to anybody who wants it, they just draw and play and talk about emotional wellbeing. Sometimes there are survival classes, but they don't really talk about geeks. They show the kids what wild flora is edible, or how to wrap a cut. You think it's probably more for routine than actual teaching. 

"Hi, Sammy," you say. 

She smiles, and you're horrified as she says, "Hi, baby. Class, say good morning." 

All the kids say good morning to you. You flush with heat from top to bottom. Their cute little faces beaming up at you is an instant disarming. 

"Hi, kids," you say, waving. 

Hands holding crayons and pencils wave back at you. 

You make your way into the kitchen, which is a huge industrial affair connected to an otherwise small cafeteria. Maybelle and Pauline are already inside cleaning up the leftover breakfast and preparing for community dinner. 

Breakfast is specifically for the people inside the community who can't manage to make it themselves, the disabled, the injured, the elderly, but dinner is for everybody. 

"Sorry I'm late," you say. 

"Hun, we don't care," Maybelle says. 

"Did you want breakfast?" Pauline asks. "I'm gonna wrap this up otherwise. Somebody's gonna eat it."  

It sounds like a threat. You take some of the breakfast they've set aside, which isn't a breakfast food at all, just boxed mac and cheese that tastes slightly stale. You barely notice it anymore, though the texture gives you the heebies. 

You move into the pantry and check everything still there, the easiest and most useless part of your job. Then, Maybelle and Pauline try to put together a meal that's both cost effective (the cost being the energy expended to retrieve the food, and the likelihood that this food will be seen again) and not disgusting. Oftentimes they have to make a bunch of different stuff that doesn't go together, but it's better than nothing. You like this a whole lot more than if they just gave everybody a can a day and said there's your lot. 

You mark down the things they've taken. You mark down things you might need in Hopper's next supply rub. It's a super cushy job, the kind that isn't strictly necessary, but there are a lot of people in the community and the majority are willing to do what needs to be done. They ran out of jobs quickly, and you're sure Hopper had felt a little sorry for you, so here you are. You're not like Steve. You're not a survivor. You're lucky. 

You sit down after a while, no use pretending you have anything left to do, left side pressed to the side of the industrial oven. 

"You know, we used to live in Mississippi?" Pauline asks you. 

"What?" you ask. 

"Mm-hm, we were only in Michigan for vacation, if you can believe it. We had a good time." 

"Before, the uh, the apocalypse," Maybelle says with a tittering laugh. "We were hiking in the Porcupine Mountains when some dude tried to bite me. We thought he had rabies." 

The room smells like jarred pasta bake, a rich, garlic-thick smell that threatens to make your eyes droop. In the cafeteria, through the open shutters, you can hear the kids singing. Sammy hates nursery rhymes, so they learn the words of old songs by Louis Armstrong. Today, they're a discordant, too fast chorus of What a Wonderful World. It's a racket.  

But no matter how loud the kids sings, they can't cover the reverberations of a gunshot. 

A hush falls in the kitchen.

You stand up. You aren't panicked, exactly. More like you've stepped into a heavy overcoat, trepidation a weight that settles like a second skin. You move to stand by the sink with Maybelle. She pushes it open, and the three of you stare outside. 

Trees rustle in the wind. The kids descend into giggles as Matthew, one of the rare teenagers who deigns to join in, busts out a Louis Armstrong impression, his voice deep and bending. The oven hums. 

The second gunshot sounds. After that, you can't count them. 

Maybelle slams the window closed and twists the handle down to lock it. 

Your heart beats. None of you know what to say. Your pulse bumps, and bumps, and bumps. 

"Lock the doors," Maybelle says. "Lock the windows. Just in case." 

Gunfire comes fast and ferocious as a sudden downpour, popping in the near distance. Your footsteps clip over the linoleum floor, firm rubber soles like an elastic band as you bound into the cafeteria and meet Sammy's eyes. 

The kids are perturbingly quiet. 

"I'm gonna lock the doors," you say tentatively. 

Dread fills her face. "Okay. Alright." 

You fizz around the room, locking the front and side entrances one after another. You're thinking so many things at once that you can't seem to focus on any, and instead your attention is drawn to the inconsequential. How cold the metal on the door's emergency push bars are. The colouring books on the floor. 

You're standing in front of the last door with shaking hands as it gets thrown open. You gasp and scrabble backwards, hands in front of your chest to protect yourself. 

It's Joyce. Breathless, red in the face Joyce. 

"Lock the kids in the kitchen," she says. "The north fence has a leak. They're getting in." 

—

Steve is not having the good day he thought he'd be getting. 

You'd been exceptionally pretty this morning, tired eyed and disorientated but adorable through and through. You and Steve have fallen into a routine, and you talk so much it's a surprise your throats aren't sore. There's so much to say and never enough time to say it; you've taken to trading stories in the morning while you get dressed. Today was Steve's turn. He'd told you all about his birthday party during junior year, how his dad had almost killed him because somebody left a hole in the wall, and how he still can't eat Dunkin' Donuts without feeling queasy. You'd asked him when the last time he actually got to eat a donut was, and it hadn't been sad, like you might expect. 

He'd said, "I don't need any extra sweetness, are you kidding? Got all my sugar right here." 

You'd laughed at him (not with him) and nearly choked on toothpaste. 

That's a perfect morning for Steve. That's as good as they get. It might be silly, but he'd felt damn good, and foolishly tricked himself into thinking the rest of the day might be similarly great. 

"You're a fool, Harrington," he mutters to himself. 

"What was that?" 

Steve looks up. Jonathan and Christopher are staring at him. 

"He's going crazy," Christopher says. "Best take him out to the back shed." 

"Funny." Steve kicks the dirt in front of him. "So bored I'm talking to myself," he admits. 

"It could be worse," Jonathan says. "We could be on latrine duty." 

Steve would rather not think about latrine duty. God bless the communal bathroom in Little Hawkins. 

The day is breezy but surprisingly warm, not a cloud in the sky. The sun bears down and heats Steve's skin in waves. He likely should've stopped for his jacket this morning, but he'd been super late. He doesn't want a citation. Another citation. 

This is the slowest day they've ever seen on fence duty. Usually the general hubbub of the community catches the attention of a handful of geeks, and fence duty stabs them through the brain with lethally modified crowbars. It's gross, but it's necessary. It keeps you safe. Yet today they haven't seen a single undead. 

"Maybe they're dying," Christopher says. 

"They're already dead," Jonathan says. 

"How do you know? You felt for a pulse?" 

"They decompose," Jonathan says, laughing softly. "They're corpses." 

"I'm just saying." Christopher shrugs. 

Steve ignores them both without malice, staring through the section of chain link fence he's standing in front of and out into the streets. The north side of The College faces the surrounding town. From here, he can see a pharmacist's building, a sandwich shop, and a small veterinary clinic. Shells of cars long dismantled line the road. Natural works to reclaim them slowly, tires threaded with long grass. A few days ago, a deer ran straight up to the fence and stared at him. He promised you he'd come and find you next time, even though you hadn't really minded. He wants you to see it. There's more out there than just geeks and bad people. 

He shivers and fiddles with the holster on his hip, checking for the tenth time in as many minutes that the gun held within has the safety mechanism on. He really doesn't wanna shoot himself in the foot. That would majorly suck, though, he thinks, you'd look after him. That might make it worth it. 

Not that he'd shoot himself in the foot for your attention, that would be totally backwards. But he thinks you'd look cute as a nurse, with the little hat— 

"Do you hear that?" Jonathan asks. 

Steve pulls away from his questionable thoughts and turns to see his kind of friend. Jonathan stands with his nose to the fence, straight brown hair curling at the bottom of his neck. He needs a trim, but who is Steve to judge? 

"Hear what?" Steve asks. 

Though you can see the town through the gaps, the fences are blanketed by trees. Old trees with thick trunks, the kind that protesters would chain themselves to if the government ever suggested cutting them down. The ground around them is more dirt than grass, like the packed earth under the fence and Steve's shoes.

He assumes Jonathan's talking about the creaking of a thousand branches in the wind. Brown and orange leaves fall in droves, crinkly and scratchy as they litter the floor. 

"I can't hear anything," Steve says. 

"It sounds like a car engine," Jonathan says. 

Steve cannot agree. Now that the world is silent, car engines sound like jet planes. They shake the ground. There are no vibrations to be felt, but… there is something. 

"I'm gonna walk the perimeter," Steve says. A creeping unease takes shape over his shoulders like the winding suffocation of a python. He can feel the pressure of it against his throat. 

It's nothing, he thinks to himself. 

Sections of street flash between the trees. Tree, empty street. Tree, empty street. Each tree blocks the sun, and goosebumps erupt over his skin, the hairs on his arms standing up with each footstep into the dimness. Steve pulls his crowbar close to his chest. 

I'm paranoid, he promises himself, even as the strange sound Jonathan had heard begins to rise. He knows what it is, he knows, but he doesn't want to know. The wet suck of meat being pulled off the bone, and the dry rattle of lungs that won't fill. He lets the sun kiss his cold face for a moment, and then he stops behind the cover of a huge sycamore tree and leans, carefully, slowly, to the left. 

The sun hasn't warmed the sparse grass. Each blade is frosted into spikes. The leaf litter has turned to mulch, disturbed and churned by the body splayed open atop it. Blood emulsifies the dirt, a black mud that covers the hands, arms, knees, and mouths of a sizable herd. 

Steve flinches backward, covers his nose to shield himself from the stink, and swiftly presses stiff fingers over his mouth to stop himself chucking up. 

There must be fifty or more geeks huddled there, fighting for scraps of ligament, falling over chunks of inedible veel.

Steve wants to retreat quietly. His hands have other ideas. 

He drops the crowbar, fumbling for it with every centimetre it falls, and ends up knocking it a couple feet away with a horrified gasp. 

The fences are hammered into the ground so they can't be moved, but there aren't many fence posts between sections. Flimsy chain link is all that separates Steve and the herd. 

They look up. They start to move. 

Hands reach for him, hands force themselves through the holes of the fence, skin peeling back over muscle like the delicate rind of a pear. He watches in horror as the herd congregates, as the herd leans its collective weight against what's basically chicken wire, as dessicated flesh shaves off of their dead bodies, as the fence begins to bend. 

The geeks use each other like ladder, pulling and climbing, heaped like jenga tiles until a gnarled hand closes over the top of the fence. 

He wants to run. He needs to stay. He needs to separate them, he needs to thin the weight. He scrambles to take up his crowbar again, taking a step forward, but the tattle tale sound of metal scratching against metal squeals in his ear, and he leaps backward as the fence tips forward.

He should scream. 

He trips as he grabs the crowbar, palm aching as it smashes into the ground. He barely touches the floor, pushing himself back up and using his momentum to sprint toward the rendezvous point. 

"Jonathan!" he shouts, his voice strained. "They're over the fence. Section twenty one is coming down!" The fence has already come down, but Steve isn't thinking straight. 

Jonathan barely looks at Steve. He only needs one glance before he's looking past him. Steve looks back, too, and then he keeps on sprinting.

Jonathan unholsters his gun. Christopher does the same. 

Behind Steve, across the stretch of the college campus, a wave of geeks snap their gored maws. Steve runs harder than he's ever ran before, faster than he's ever moved, even faster than that night in the woods with you, scroungers on your tail, laughing and cussing, their flashlights shining at your heels like the beam of a prison guardhouse. 

Steve vaults himself over an overgrown hedge and right into the centre of the campus. There aren't many people out, but any at all is too many. 

"Get inside!" he shouts without explanation, shoes sliding over stone as he leaps for the civil defence siren nestled against the gym building. "Get inside! There are geeks inside the fence!" 

Jeremy and Dustin had jerry-rigged the broken siren months ago for situations like this to only play for two seconds. Not long enough to attract anything that isn't already here. Steve slams his hand into the button and stares up at it in a petrified awe as the siren begins to cry, one long and wailing wave of sound that careers over the community. 

It might be his imagination, but he thinks that the silence after it stops is imbued with impending doom. One empty, fragile moment, before the shouting begins, and the following pop of gunfire is impossible to ignore. 

He thinks of you in the kitchen across the quad. He thinks of running to you, of hiding you somewhere nobody will ever get to you. 

He runs back the way he came. 

—

All these little faces in disarray. You huddle amongst the youngest ones and try your best to keep them quiet, whispering a story as the sound of gunshots cracking over asphalt rivets the quiet. 

"Me and Steve, we saw all kinds of fish. We saw carp, and salmon, and koi fish in the lake. They looked like huge, gorgeous goldfish, they had–" everyone jumps as something close by takes a hit, a fence perhaps, split apart— "these huge black eyes and these popping mouths. You know how fish pop their lips together?" 

You look around the circle and beg one of them to answer. If Sammy weren't such a wicked shot she would've stayed and handled this a hell of a lot better than you are.

"I know," says one of the youngest girls. She can't be six years olds. 

"Yeah? How do they do it?" 

She starts to pop her lips. You grin despite your welling panic and nod encouragingly. You'd clap if your hands weren't full of smaller hands. 

"Yeah, like that! They were swimming so close to us, I could see their gills." 

Your story isn't true, but it is distracting. You hold their attention for as long as you can. Pauline stands in the doorway, eyes flitting between the three entrances to the cafeteria, and Maybelle haunts the sink, hiding just behind the other overhead spray to try and find out what's going on. The storm siren hasn't sounded again, and Hopper hasn't come around to tell you it's safe. 

It might never be safe again.

You swallow down the urge to scream and squeeze the tiny fingers curled over your palm. They belong to a little boy, white and brown-haired with pretty hooded eyes. He looks like Steve. 

You could've sworn, just before the siren, that you'd heard him yelling, but you'd raced to the sink and looked out and hadn't seen him. 

You can't help thinking about it. About everything — he could die. He could already be dead. Joyce swore she hadn't seen him, and had only managed to speak to Christopher, who'd split off to alert the older group. She said Jonthan was holding off a group of geeks. She couldn't stay, determined to go help him. 

So if Christopher was looking for Hopper, and Jonathan was by himself at the north fence, where was Steve? Where exactly was the leak? 

You lean forward toward the kids and whisper, "Does anyone else have a story? From a vacation?" 

"We went to Niagara Falls, once," Becky says. 

"You did? What was it like, huh? Was the waterfall really loud?" 

Becky starts to tell her story. You try to listen. You can't think of anything at all besides Steve, though your priority is keeping everybody here safe, your brain won't stop. You can't shake the feeling that you'll lose him, and it's a bright red branding behind your eyes. You're gonna lose him.

This can't be happening. 

It's been a month since Connor, an ex-member of The College with delusions of grandeur, dragged you underdressed and freezing through miles of forest with your wrists bound, wondering if you'd ever see Steve again. A month of nightmares and hot flashes and reaching out for Steve in the dark. 

You'd thought, if you died, if Connor killed you, that it would ruin Steve's life. He'd waste it looking for you. You'd thought that was the worst feeling in the world, knowing you'd leave him behind.

You hadn't understood what this part felt like. How Steve must've felt, wondering if you were dead. How he must've argued with himself as you do now. 

Steve hadn't hesitated. Robin mentioned it once, casual but earnest. Steve tore the place apart looking for you. He assembled a search party and went looking for you on a hunch. Steve says he's lucky they chose the right direction. You know it's more than that. You know you're the lucky one. 

He knew you were in danger, and he came to get you. 

"Maybelle," you say, standing up. "I'm gonna need a knife." 

— 

Steve isn't sure what the fuck they're doing. Hopper shouts instructions but they're confusing and nobody knows what's happening. Geek gore drips down his arm and he prays he doesn't have any broken skin as he ploughs the sharp of the crowbar deep into a grey mottled eye socket. 

It shucks out, the geek's body collapsing in a heap at his feet. Tens more stagger forward.

"Everyone should be inside, but that doesn't mean everyone is inside!" Hopper shouts, his booming voice echoing over the din of shots and slick stabbing. "We need to contain them. Joyce, Jonathan, I need you back here. Bernier, Taylor, McCoy, push for the fence! We need to get it back up and standing before this gets worse. Harrington!" 

Steve pierces the skull of an approaching geek like an eggshell, springing back before a second can tear a chunk out of him. "What?" he yells. 

"You should circle back to the quad, make sure there aren't any stragglers."

"Joyce already secured–" 

"It's up to you, kid." 

Steve appreciates what Hopper's doing. Everyone knows you and Steve are unhealthily dependent on one another right now considering the circumstances, and he'll admit that his heart wants literally nothing more than to be where you are. He thinks of you locked up in the kitchen with all this happening outside and hates it, but as long as you stay where you are, that's as safe as you can be. 

He doesn't bother saying yes or no, throwing himself back into the throng. 

It's the ultimate workout. Sweat stings his eyes, his brain pounds behind them. He has to stay vigilant and he has to be fast. He cuts down geeks with a practised agility, Bernier on one side, Taylor the other. They force their way to the fence, and soon there's a small army of survivors behind them, bullets burning his eardrum to the right. 

When the fence is finally in view again, they buckle down. 

It's a huge struggle. Hopper and Livingstone front a team of five of the older guys with a replacement fence on their literal shoulders. The woods are teaming with geeks who must have heard the gunfire and the siren. They cut down the old fence behind Steve and the youngers. The new one gets thrown up just as Steve spears a geek through the ear, hammers whacking into frozen earth with a sound like a car crash.

"Harrington, inside the perimeter!" 

Steve eyes an imminent geek but does as Hopper commands, weaselling through the single gap they've left behind. They finish the inner hammering and Hopper and Livingstone set about chaining the sections back together. 

Steve backs away from the fence and tries to catch his breath. He leans back and brushes the hair out of his eyes, chest heaving, eyes shuttering closed in relied. They survived it. They did exactly what they were supposed to do in this situation and the plan worked. 

Somebody takes the crowbar from his hand and he lets them, scrubbing both hands through his hair, scalp cool with sweat as a gale of wind blows. He looks up, and the sky has darkened, that rare morning sunshine nowhere to be seen. 

He opens his eyes. Christopher is sitting a ways away looking queasy. Joyce is hugging the life out of Jonathan, kissing his cheek, hand in his hair. Bernier and Taylor are stabbing the new wave of geeks. Steve isn't worried, there aren't a quarter as many as there had been. 

The smell is barbaric. 

"Don't relax too quickly, kid," Hopper says, "we still gotta round up the bodies." 

Steve laughs morosely, secretly pleased when Hopper pats him on the shoulder. His back fucking hurts and he stinks of gore and zombie gunk. Dead material somehow slimy and dry as bark at once, Steve wants a shower, and a hug from you, in that specific order. 

"You okay?" Jonathan asks him, squinting. There's blood splattered against his forehead. 

"They had to do this today?" Steve asks. "This is my favourite shirt. I'm never gonna get the guts out–" 

A scream splits the air. 

"The quad," Hopper announces. "Taylor, Bernier, keep going. Everyone else, with me." 

His blood ice in his veins, Steve runs with the rest of the group. He realises he's left his crowbar with Taylor and grimaces, pulling the gun from his holster and knocking off the safety mechanism. Steve isn't good with a gun. He only ever used one right at the start, when he hadn't known that sound to a geek is like a porch light to moths. That, and he'd run out of ammo. 

"Oh, goddammit." 

There's a crowd of geeks they must've missed around the side of the town hall. Hopper immediately starts yelling at a young teenager screaming in front of the gym to get back inside. 

Steve's okay, his heart's fine, and then he sees you. You're wrist deep in brains, surrounded by bodies and coated in a black spray of blood. It's in your hair, your eyebrows, all over your cheek and your shoulder. 

He nearly wrenches Livingstone off of his feet as he bursts forward to help you, gun raised and poised. He shoots and drives forward. One geek, two. Three, five, he loses count. He gets so close he can hear your panting breath, not panicked but struggling to keep going. 

"Fucker," he says, one geek left between you and safety. 

You scramble to the side. Steve shoots it point black in the back of the head. It falls down slow, and then it thunks against your shoes. 

You reach for him on automatic as you pull your feet from under him, treading over the soft of the geeks shoulders and into Steve's waiting arms. He holds the gun away from you to click on the safety, shoving it back into his borrowed holster. 

"You're okay?" you ask loudly. 

"I'm fine, what are you doing out here? You should've stayed inside the pantry." 

"Says who?" you ask, squeezing him so tightly he feels his skin bruising in the shapes of your arms. 

"Says everyone!" he shouts, squeezing you back just as hard. 

You catch your breath together. His hands rove over your back, checking and rechecking that you're real and you're not hurt. He pushes you away from him to check your front properly, hand on your face, your arms. 

"I'm fine," you say, "I'm perfect." 

"You have more blood on you than the rest of us put together." 

You hum unhappily. "I think I got a fresh one in the artery. It sprayed like a fountain, it was–" You sigh, stroking a loose curl of dirtied hair from his eyes. "It was disgusting." 

He wants to kiss you, but he's normal, and you're both plastered in blood. He's less normal as he wraps his forearm behind your head and forces your face into his neck, groaning in an exhaustive relief. Your warm breath against his skin is everything he could ever ask for. 

"Stay inside, next time," he murmurs. 

"Not a chance." 

"Think I can give him a citation?" Steve hears Hopper ask. 

Joyce gasps through a laugh. "They're cute!" 

"This is a public space." 

Steve huffs a laugh against your ear. "Holy shit, you scared the fuck out of me." 

"I had to know you were okay." 

His hand slides down your shoulders, searching for something he can't explain. "I'm okay. We're okay, honey. You can relax."

The last of your resistance ebbs away. You melt into his arms, and Steve pretends for your sake that he can't feel you shaking like a leaf. You just tore your way through a herd to make sure he was okay: you're the bravest girl he's ever met.

[sopejinsunflower]

a/n: so this was stuck too long in my WIP it might feel a little rushed at the end but  I’ve been in a slump for awhile so this is a small win to be able to finished. I hope you like demon Jimin. 

Warning: 18+, minors DNI, virgin reader, deception, a little Stockholm Syndrome-ish, death/suicide insinuated (this one’s dark, so please be caution before reading)

Summary: Having an imaginary friend is normal for most kids. What’s not normal is when you don’t outgrow it well in your teens. He’s persistent and possessive but when you meet who you thought was the love of your life, can you really deny your own heart? Even when he’s a demon lord?

Pairing: Park Jimin x you, Kim Taehyung, Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin

Tags: Demon Jimin! Yandere Jimin! Penetrative sex, controlling partner, deception, dom Jimin ofc because obviously this is supposed to be Set Me Free inspired.

Word count: 14k

FIVE

The small hand wrapped around the pencil made the stationery look twice its usual size, gliding over the white paper as the little girl scribbled, forehead creasing in concentration, tongue sticking out. 

“What are you drawing?” her mother asked, leaning over to see the purple drawing. It’s a little difficult to make out but she can see two stick figures, one sitting down at a table with pigtails, drawing something, the other hunched down in the corner of the room. The woman pointed to the figure with pigtails. “Is that you, sweetie?”

The little girl nodded, pigtails flying into her face. 

“And who’s this?” her mother pointed to the figure in the corner.

Without looking up, the pencil still moving over the paper as she added in more details, she answered, “Jimin.”

“Who’s Jimin? Is he your new friend from kindergarten?”

The girl shook her head. 

Her mother frowned, a little confused. “Oh? Is he one of the Kim boys? I forgot their names.”

Again, the girl shook her head. She finally stopped drawing and looked up to her mother, sighing as if annoyed she had to explain this simple thing. “No. Jimin lives in my closet, mummy. He doesn’t go outside.”

Her mother’s blood ran cold, the words stuck in her throat. She watched her daughter go back to drawing, not even realising the way her mother’s heart was going wild. She licked her lips and tried to calm herself. An imaginary friend. That’s all, she thought. “I see. I didn’t know you have a friend in your closet. Is he a little boy?”

The girl sighed. “Of course. He’s my age.” She paused, putting the end tip of the pencil to her lips. “I think.”

The mother breathed a sigh of relief. She stood up and ruffled the little girl’s head. “Okay. Well, make sure you two play nicely, okay? And clean up after you’re done playing. Got it?”

“Okay, mummy,” the girl said, going back to her little art. Just as her mother was about to leave the room, the woman heard the girl continue to talk. “Did you hear that, Minnie? We can’t make any messes, okay? Or I’ll get in trouble.”

The woman smiled bitterly to herself. Being a single mother is hard enough and her daughter having an imaginary friend only further proves how lonely she was. She just hopes the Kim boys will be good friends with her, enough so that she won’t need an imaginary friend anymore. New place, new possibility, right? 

Sighing, she disappeared into the kitchen. “Honey, we're leaving in ten minutes. I need you to be ready by then,” she shouted over her shoulder as she prepared the girl’s overnight bag for the Kim’s household.

THIRTEEN

“Give it back, Taehyung! Give it back!”

You chase the laughing boy around the kitchen island, grabbing an apple from the bowl, ready to lug it at his head when Jin appears around the corner and easily plucks the ribbon from Taehyung’s hand. He gestures for the apple instead and you exchange the items; throwing the apple his way as he slides the ribbon across the island. “Thanks,” you say to him as Taehyung sulks. “It’s good to know not all of you are jackasses.”

Taehyung sticks his tongue out at you before going upstairs to his room, leaving you with the eldest. Munching on the apple, Jin points to the ribbon. “Another award?”

You nod, suddenly shy. “Yeah.”

“Oh, which one?” he asks, intrigues.

“Jimin.”

Jin chuckles. “Don’t you draw anything else?” 

“I do,” you snap, the shyness quickly replaced with annoyance. “But the Jimin ones always come out the best. And why is everyone so pressed about what I paint?”

“Because,” Jin says, taking another bite of the apple, “you’re literally drawing a ghost. He doesn’t exist yet he’s so,” he waves his hand around, “vivid. Enough for you to paint him like that. You’re obsessed with him.”

“I’m not obsessed!” you retort. “And he’s not a ghost.”

“Right. Your imaginary friend when you were five,” Jin adds. “That you keep drawing even until today. It is a little weird considering the fact that you’re drawing him the same age as you.”

You shoot him a dirty look. “Aren’t you going to class or something?”

Jin laughs. “I am.” He picks up his bag and slung it over one shoulder. “And this is my house, by the way.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Fine. I’m leaving anyway.”

“I’ll drive you home,” Jin offers.

“No, thanks. I’ll walk. I don’t want to meet your college friends,” you say, hurrying out the back door before he can protest. You stuff the blue ribbon into your bag and briskly walk up the street to your place. 

“You’re angry. Why?”

“I’m not,” you huff out, keeping your eyes up front. 

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re lying to me.”

At the change of Jimin’s tone of voice, you finally turn around to look at him. His eyes have grown darker, pupils dilating to the point that the whites of his eyes are gone. The stormy look on his face is enough to scare you to admit the truth. “I don’t like it when people talk about you like I’m crazy.”

“Why do you care what others think?” he scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. 

You don’t answer, looking down at your feet sullenly as you walk. 

“And what’s with Jin, huh?” he prods, leaning close to your face. “I told you to keep away from him. I told you to keep away from all of them.”

“They’re nice,” you say lamely. “I don’t know what your problem is with them.”

“They’re always trying to break us apart. I don’t like anyone who tries to break us apart.”

You remain quiet the rest of the way home because arguing with him is futile. He always gets his way, you think, as Jimin places a cold hand on your shoulder, his fingertips sinking into your flesh.

TWENTY

The world is spinning a mile a minute and the arm wrapped around your middle is only making you want to puke even more. 

Namjoon slowly places you across the sofa, making sure both your feet are up before he finally fully lets you go; gently, of course. He rushes to the kitchen to get a glass of water and an ibuprofen for when you wake up just as Taehyung emerges from the bathroom with a bucket to place by your side. 

You’re murmuring something, your words slurred, making it hard for Taehyung to understand. He puts his ear close to your mouth, listening hard in case you’re telling him something important. 

“What’s she saying?” Namjoon asks as he comes back in. He places the glass of water on the coffee table and the painkiller tablet next to it. “Damn, maybe we should’ve gone easy for her first time drinking.”

Taehyung shrugs, motioning for him to stay quiet. 

“Jimin,” you mumble through barely opened lips. “Don’t hurt them.”

Taehyung backs away, eyebrows raised all the way up. He turns to his older brother. “She’s calling for Jimin.”

Namjoon’s face clouds over, frowning in concern. “I thought she'd gotten over that phase years ago.”

  “Jimin, Jimin,” you call out, your voice growing louder, somewhat distraught. Taehyung and Namjoon exchange glances, unsure of what to do. Just as it suddenly started, you become quiet, breathing evens out as you sleep. Occasionally, your forehead creases over like you’re having a bad dream but the two brothers are just relieved that you’re passed out. 

“That was” Namjoon says, “unnerving.”

Taehyung gently pushes back your hair from your face, subtly caressing your cheek with the back of his hand. He thinks Namjoon doesn’t see it but if he did the older one remains quiet. Taehyung stands up. “I’ve texted her mum. She’ll be home soon. Let’s go.”

“You sure we can leave her alone?” Namjoon looks unsure about leaving but he also can’t deny the unsettling feeling creeping down his back, like he’s being watched. 

Taehyung hesitates before answering, “She’s sleeping now. Should be fine. Come on.”

In the old leather armchair in the corner of the room, Jimin watches as the two Kim brothers walk out of the house, not missing the way Taehyung looks back at you before closing the door behind him. He had seen the way that boy touched you, had seen the way he had pined over you all these years yet you never listen. 

Jimin squats down next to your head, one finger tracing the outline of your face. “I told you to stay away from those boys but you never listen to me,” he whispers, his words piercing straight into your dreams. “And here you are, drunk from your first time drinking. Twentieth birthday and you spent it with them.” You moan, turning your head away. Jimin smiles but there’s no tenderness in his face. 

When you open your eyes, the room is pitch black, so dark that even the bed underneath you is invisible. You turn your head, trying to look around but one movement makes you realise that both your wrists are shackled to the bedposts, or what looks like the direction of where the bedposts are supposed to be. The iron chains clang noisily as you pull on them. Immediately, your heart drops. 

“Jimin,” you call out, your voice coming out weak. “Jimin, please. Where are you? You know I don’t like being here alone.”

“I know, my sweetness,” comes his voice from within the darkness. He materialises in front of you, standing at the foot of what is supposed to be the bed in his usual all black leather pants and boots. He’s bare from the waist up, his toned body on full display; something that’s never happened before. “It’s amusing that after all this time, you still haven’t gotten used to this place.”

“Get these chains off, please,” you say, doing your best to keep your voice soft despite the panic rising in your chest. Yes, you’ve been in this space before but never like this. Something is different. “My wrists hurt.”

Jimin tuts, shaking his head. “Not yet. They need to be on for now.”

“What’s going on? Why is it different this time?”

“Because, my love,” he says, walking over to your side, the echoes of the heels of his shoes loud in your ears, “today’s your twentieth birthday. It’s time for your initiation.”

“Initiation?” you ask, looking up at him. 

“Yes, love. Have you forgotten?” He places a hand on your head, the icy cold of his skin making you shiver to the bones. 

“For what?”

Jimin smiles widen, something that has never offered warmth for as long as you’ve known him. Something inside you withers in fear but you can’t deny the other sensation starting up like a fire being lit up at the sight of his beautiful face split by that awful, awful smile. Jimin kneels down on one knee, bringing his face close to yours. “To entwine your soul with mine.”

A dry chuckle escapes your lips before you can stop yourself. “ You’d have to be real to have a soul, Minnnie. You’re just a…”

The look on Jimin’s face takes away the words from your tongue. He knows something you don’t, something you’ve had a hunch about all these years yet had been too stubborn or too scared to actually make yourself face it. With a blink, Jimin’s eyes turn jet black and your breath is stuck in your throat. “What are you?”

Jimin lets out a laugh, a loud belly-aching, rumbling laugh that seems to echo all around the space as he throws his head back. It’s not a nice sound and yet he never ceases to look just as mesmerising as always. The contradiction is throwing you off. 

“Fifteen years and only now you’re asking,” says Jimin when he finally stops, looking down at you with such pity. “I think it’s too little too late, my sweetness.”

You gulp tightly around the lump in your throat. “And what if I refuse? To do the initiation?”

The smile is quickly wiped off his face and suddenly he’s on top of you, straddling your chest but not really sitting. He leans his arms over the wall behind you, sneering down at you in a way that strikes both fear and anticipation of what he can and will do, making your stomach turn in a somersault. “It’s not a choice, love,” he hisses, his breath hot on your cheek. “I will have you, one way or the other.”

The menacing tone of his voice makes your heart beat faster. “Wh-what do you mean? Jimin, you’re scaring me,” you stutter out, the chains around your wrists rattling ominously. “I want to go back. Take me back, Minnie.”

“I will, just not right now,” he purrs into your ears. “Honestly, I’m hurt. Your twentieth and you celebrated with others, the Kim brothers no less. And you ignored me the whole night.”

“They threw me a surprise birthday party,” you counter, pleading. “How can I just walk away? They’ve been nothing but nice to me. They’re like my own brothers. They took care of me when my mother wasn’t around.”

“I took care of you!” he bellows, his eyes burning red this time. “I kept you company all of those times you’d cry yourself to sleep missing your dear mummy. I chased away all the bad dreams at night, I stayed with you every night when you couldn’t sleep without a night light on. Not them! They just swoop in when you move into a new place, free babysitting for your neglectful mother. They did all the easy work.”

You can’t help the way your throat constricts from being yelled at, something Jimin, in all his sadistic traits, had never actually done. Jimin sees the way your face crumples as you bite on your upper lip to keep them from wobbling and he cools off a little. He leans his forehead against yours, his dark fringe falling over his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated. You ignored me at the party.”

Your heart jumps at the sight of him sad. You try to touch him but your wrists are still bound, clanging the chains noisily when you move. “I’m sorry, Minnie. I- I got carried away. I was overwhelmed. There were so many people. You know I won’t ignore you on purpose, Minnie.” 

Jimin stares into your eyes, that same puppy-like look still swimming in his gaze, the kind of look that melts you so easily. It effectively wrecks you with guilt whenever you do something he doesn’t approve of, an ammo he’s used over and over again throughout the years. You lean into him as best you can with the chains’ restriction. “You believe me, right? Minnie? You know I need you.”

“Do you? After all these years, I’m starting to think you’ve forgotten that promise you made me,” he says, visibly pouting, sounding the saddest he had ever been. “You promised me that you won’t ever leave me if I keep the monsters away.”

You lick your lips and nod. Yes, you remember that promise, made when you were five, that first night he climbed out of your closet last, after all the other shadows came out first. In return to keep you safe from the others, you made that promise that only a child could. 

“I’ve kept the monsters away, haven’t I?”

You nod. 

“I’ve kept you safe every night from then on, haven’t I?”

You nod again.

“And so why do you choose the brothers over me?”

You swallow, shaking your head. “I don’t. I choose you.”

The corner of Jimin’s lips twitch. “You do?”

You give a small nod. 

“Really? I’m not convinced,” he states, readjusting his position, sitting a bit lower so that he rests on your pelvic bone. 

“I do,” you whisper out, feeling the heat creeping up from your waist down. It’s an odd feeling, something that has never happened before. 

Jimin’s more of a childhood friend, imaginary as he is. You both grew up together, just you and him against the world when your world had been so dark and so lonely, back when your mother would leave for work before the sun had even risen and come home when you’re already asleep. He was your saviour first then a friend, a protector and a companion but somewhere between being a tween and when puberty hits, he became a deep, dark secret. 

No one could see him and after enduring being called a liar and ostracised in the first grade, you learnt the hard way to keep your mouth shut and pretend he wasn’t there following you everywhere you go when in public. You told everyone that Jimin had disappeared, that you had outgrown him just as any children with their own imaginary friends. Only the paintings remain. In truth, you’re not even sure why you painted him in the first place but those paintings are the only times when people would actually listen when you talk about him. In the past tense, of course. 

Jimin is beautiful. He’s ethereal and your paintings of him were haunting. They evoke emotions from those who see them, making them pause and stare and weep if they look too long. You don’t paint him a lot, only five among the hundreds of canvases, one for each time Jimin had brought you into this dark space you don’t have a name for, yet they attracted the most attention, so much so that you got a full ride to the Royal College of Art. But Jimin won’t let you go. 

Jimin grinds onto you, leaning over so his face is inches from yours. “You do what? Give me the full sentence, love.”

Your throat is dry but you force your voice out anyway. “I choose you, Jimin.”

“Always?”

You whimper as he presses his crotch against yours, the sneer back on his face. “Always.”

The first time Jimin brought you into this space, you were six. It was an escape, a quiet safe space from the raging storm outside and your mother was still not home. You two had huddled together. The second time was at twelve, when your mother’s boyfriend of 6-months kept creeping into your room at night. Jimin had been furious then and while you hid in this space, Jimin promised you he would tell the man to stay away. He never returned to the house since and though your mother cried for his disappearance, claiming that she’d been ghosted, whatever that meant, you had been the happiest.

At fourteen, when the boy you thought you liked, asked you out as a prank for the whole class to laugh at you, the dark space was where you ran to hide, sobbing into Jimin’s embrace. It had been at the end of the school year but when the new semester started, the boy and his family had left town so suddenly that people only heard about it two weeks after. Taehyung had said, “Good riddance,” and even though you were relieved, it had felt too coincidental.

It was at sixteen when the hunch came about, growing in the pit of your stomach like some kind of fungus. A family had just moved in next door and they had a son, Adam, a year older than you; shy and sweet-seeming the first time he came around with his parents, exchanging pleasantries and jokes with your mum at the front door. They moved in the middle of the year and your mum had assured Adam that you would show him the ropes at school, to which you had obliged. Both you and Taehyung had gladly taken him under your wings, including him into your fold of friend group (which included only you and the Kim brothers, really). 

It took him less than three months to finally show his true colours. He had broken into your house when nobody was home and when you came back from your part-time job at the yoghurt shop, he had sprang out from the closet and pinned you to the bed. You don’t remember the rest of the details, except seeing Jimin looming behind him. You blinked and you were in the dark space, away and safe from danger. The next morning, his parents found him hanging in his closet, stiff and blue. They moved away shortly after that.

“I prefer you being here with me, mind, body and soul,” drawls Jimin, pulling you back to the now. “Where did you go?”

You’re pulled away from your train of thoughts and see Jimin leaning over you, eyes black, anger written all over his face. “Sorry,” you whisper. 

“You’ve chosen me,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “Act like it.”

He grabs your sides, nails digging into your flesh and you wince in pain. “I’m sorry, Minnie. I’m here. With you.” You take a deep breath. “Mind, body and soul.”

“As you should,” he says, his voice softening. He nuzzles your neck and you feel his teeth nip just along the collarbone. “Tonight, you will officially be mine.”

You feel his hands move slowly to your chest, softly kneading your breasts while his mouth never leaves your neck. You feel him press himself flat against you, the bulge in his pants so prominent you can feel the shape of him. You lay there, frozen, unable to say no nor even move away. Your heart is in your mouth and you’re too afraid that if you say something, it’s going to jump out and you’ll be dead. 

Jimin pulls away, staring directly into your eyes. The jet black orbs in his sockets reflect back your fear-stricken face but he isn’t fazed. He smiles and your stomach twists and before you can do anything (not that you are capable anyway), his lips are on yours and it feels like your whole body is on fire, and not the good kind either. Your lips feel like someone had stuck live wires directly to them and the burning pain makes you scream out, muffled by his mouth. Tears pool in your eyes.

Then you feel his tongue snake in and your eyes widen in surprise: a forked tongue. You struggle to get away but Jimin holds the back of your head in place, grabbing a fistful of your hair. The chains around your wrists clang noisily next to your ears as you start to squirm under him. Squirm as you are, your mouth seems to be reacting the opposite way; moulding with his like they want to be fused together; you both want him and are disgusted by him, lips pulling him in, body resisting. He finally pulls back, displeased.

“I want to go back. Please,” you sob, unable to hold back the tears anymore.

“We’re not done yet,” he says, forked tongue catching the tears. “I haven’t even started, my sweetness.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Start?”

“The initiation, you silly goose.” He continues to lick down your neck, catching your earlobe in between his teeth. 

You swallow hard. “Jimin, what is the initiation?”

“You have to give me something you’ve never given anyone else before,” he whispers into your ear and the hairs on your neck and arms stand on end. He moves to the other ear to add, “Your virginity, my love. Your one and only. It shall be mine.”

Jimin’s fingers unbutton your jeans and just as he’s about to shimmy it down, your brain clicks and you finally yell out, “Wait!”

Jimin lets out a growl, raising only his ember eyes to glare at you. “What?”

You’re breathing hard as your mind races to try and find a good excuse. You’ve never even had a boyfriend, never even got the chance to go on a first date. While your female friends, limited in number as they are, gushed about their partners, about the things they would do, about the sweet little gifts they’d get on Valentine’s, you had smiled and been happy for them, doing your best to ignore the bitter feelings clawing at the back of your throat. 

You’ve had suitors, of course, but for some reason they never stick around. They’d ask you out but then stood you up when you arrived with not even a text to explain or apologise. If they managed to get past the first date, you never hear from them again after it ends. You’re only twenty, your whole life is ahead of you. It’s stupid but you want your first time with a man to be special. You want to be loved up, taken out on dates, wooed off your feet and be promised the world even if it’s all a lie. 

Jimin is looking at you, head tilted to the side. “You want all that?”

You stare at him. “Huh?”

Jimin frowns. “All the things you were thinking about just now. You want all that?”

 “How-”

“Just answer the question,” he snaps impatiently.

You nod, unable to say the words. Jimin sighs, tilting his head upwards like he’s facing with a minor inconvenience. “But why? It’s such a waste of time.”

“I-,” you stutter but clear your throat and try again, although your voice comes out small. “I’ve never experienced it. I want to know what it feels like. All this time I’ve only ever seen others go through it and I just…I just want to know what it feels like. To fall in love and to be loved.”

When Jimin doesn’t say anything, you quickly add, “I won’t…I won’t have to sleep with the person. I can tell them I’m waiting for marriage.” At this Jimin snorts but you ignore him. “Just…just let me experience all that and then you…you can have my…my everything.”

You’re not sure what Jimin will say but he looks like he’s actually thinking about it. “I promise,” you say, just to convince him. 

Jimin crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes going back to normal. “Okay, fine.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. “Really?”

He nods, almost excitedly. “Sure. Anything for you, my love.” He leans down once again, caressing your forehead. “I’ll let you have all that. And after that, I’ll take what’s mine.”

“Thank you,” you whisper out, feeling elated. “Thank you, Minnie. I promise I’m yours.”

Jimin smiles. “That you are.”

You’re back in the real world, already in your own bed. Jimin is nowhere to be seen and he’s still not around the next day. A week passed by and you haven’t seen any sights of him anywhere, like he’s just gone. Like he was never there. It’s strange to suddenly be alone, truly alone for the first time in years but it’s also liberating. You’re free.

A month later, you’re starting to believe that it had all been your imagination after all, that maybe you believed in him so much so that you made him real. You spend more time with the Kim brothers, even get to travel to Europe to visit the Royal College of Arts with Taehyung to see if you’d like the place. You do, so you take up the scholarship and move abroad with him, although he goes to a different school. 

You made a lot of friends, went to a lot of parties and art shows. You painted a lot, too, and none of them of the man that haunted your youth. Even his face is a blur, memories that seem to be fading faster than normal and by your sophomore year, you’ve forgotten all about him. 

You travelled a lot, mostly around Europe, with different friend groups as well as the Kim brothers whenever your holidays aligned. You met a lot of people, went out on a million dates, experimented with different genders and even had a short fling with an up-and-coming actor, but the one thing you could never do was fall completely in love.

You’d meet someone you think will be the one but nothing ever survived past the third month. This time, it’s not them; it’s you. You just can’t seem to give them your all, pulling away the moment they fall. You don’t know why either and you have no intention of hurting people. So you stop, telling people you no longer have any interest, that you’re asexual, that you’re anything but normal so that people will leave you alone instead of trying to set you up or ask you out.

You miss the connection, you miss having someone to come home to, someone to be there when you wake up from another nightmare. But if you can’t give it your all, it’s only fair you don’t give anything at all. Thus, your purity remains.

 TWENTY-SEVEN

You finish applying the fresh coat of lipstick in the mirror, standing back and admiring the view, making sure that not a hair is out of place and your makeup is perfect. Satisfied, you give yourself a nod.

“Let’s do this,” you say to yourself, snapping your purse shut and fixing your skirt. You exit the ladies’ room and make your way to the meeting room. A new partner is coming on board and you, being one of the leading managers for the big project next month, will have to give a presentation to the man, a briefing to bring him up to speed. You take a deep breath and enter.

Your team and your boss, Martin, are all sitting around the big oval table. They look up and visibly relax when they see it’s you. You look around the room. “He’s not here yet?”

“He’s coming up now,” Martin answers, pulling out the chair next to him for you. He leans in to whisper, “Everything ready?”

You nod and smile. “Yes. Everything’s taken care of, don’t worry.”

He breathes a sigh of relief. “We need to make sure he’s happy with this. He’s bringing in a lot of money.”

You bend down to retrieve the folio that you’ll be using when the door opens and everybody stands up. You’re still trying to pull out the thick papers from your bag as you hear a new voice greet the room. You freeze, confident you’ve heard it before. You pull out your materials and look up, seeing the new partner for the first time. 

He’s handsome, dark hair with a middle parting to his fringe giving him a boyish look. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his grey slacks as he makes his way around the table towards your boss. He extends one hand and then turns to you, the smile never leaving his lips. You take his hand and jump a little at how cold his skin is. “Jimin Park,” he says, his voice velvety pleasant, “Pleasure to meet you, y/n.”

The way he says your name makes a shiver run down your spine for what reason you’re not sure. Have you met him somewhere before? Everybody takes a seat and the meeting begins. You speak for most of the time and Martin beams at you proudly at how well your presentation is. All the while, Jimin only watches intently, listening and nodding but not saying anything more than a few clarification questions here and there. He never stops smiling. 

When you reach the end of the presentation, the room gives a round of applause, and so does he, eyes never leaving you, that same smile constantly on his lips. You should be happy, you should feel accomplished that he seems happy, too, but a nagging feeling tells you that something isn’t right. As everyone gets ready to go for a team lunch, Jimin included, you finally realise what it was that bothers you so much. 

He’s smiling but it never reaches his eyes; there’s no warmth in them. 

***

“So, how long have you been working here?”

Jimin sits across from you, casually leaning back against his chair like he’s very comfortable, monolid eyes sharp on you. 

You clear your throat, shifting in your seat like you’re uncomfortable under his gaze. “A little over five years now,” you say with a polite smile. “Got in right after graduation and never left. They’ve taken great care of me.” You turn to Martin who  puffs out his chest proudly. 

“One of my best, that one,” your boss chimes in, pointing at you while your coworkers chuckle lightly. 

“I bet,” Jimin mutters, eyes still on you, but you think you’re the only one who caught it. “Well,” he says, louder now, turning to your boss, “you have me on board. Just let me know what support you need and,” he turns back to you, “I’ll do my best to give it my all.”

The table cheered and everyone fell into light conversation all around. All except you and Jimin, staring at each other, him looking like he knows things you don’t, a smug little smile on his lips, you, a little put off by how much attention he’s giving you. You think about telling your boss of how uncomfortable Jimin makes you feel but you’re a little hesitant that it might backfire since Martin is awfully fond of him. You wrench your gaze away from Jimin, finally, focusing on your food, doing your best to ignore the fact that you can feel he’s still watching. 

Weeks go by and you’re thrown into one of the most hectic phases of the project, launching in a couple of months. This is when your phones won’t stop ringing, business people coming and going from your office in constant streams and a lot of fuck ups with orders. You’re running around everyday, barely even sitting down, never mind to eat and it’s starting to show by the slight gaunt look on your face and how your skirt is barely hanging on your hips. But you love what you do so you power through. 

You’re on your hands and knees in your office, going through the white blueprint of the event hall spread over the floor in front of your desk, checking every minute details to correct before you send off copies to the vendors when a voice from behind you makes you visibly jump. “Nice view.”

You turn around to see Jimin leaning against the doorframe of your office,a coffee cup in each of his hands and a white paper bag tucked under his arm. You scowl at him, wondering what he meant because your ass would have been pointing in his direction when he said those words. You sit up on your knees. “That’s sexual harassment,” you say, your voice curt.

Jimin’s lips twitch but his eyes widen in surprise, whether genuine or not, you can’t tell. “I was talking about the venue. I’ve been there and those wide windows at the back will give a really great view of the city. The clients will love it.”

The scowl remains on your face but you move sideways so you can bend over the blueprint again, but this time, not ass presenting him. You hope he goes away, taking the hint that you’re busy. 

“Here. I brought you coffee and some sandwiches,” Jimin says, entering your office without asking for permission and placing the paper bag on your desk. The coffee cup, he holds it out for you. 

You glance at the cup briefly before nodding to your desk. “Thanks. Just leave it there. I need to finish this.”

“No.”

You pause, looking up at him in surprise and confusion. “Excuse me?”

“I said, no,” Jimin repeats; the same easygoing smile on his face, the same cold look in his eyes. “You need to take a break or you’re going to collapse before this project even finishes.”

You stare at him, contemplating on not satisfying him because who the hell is he to tell you what to do? But a steaming cup of coffee sounds so good while it’s still hot, rather than later when it’s lukewarm. You sigh and take the cup from him, standing up as you do. “Thanks,” you say again, much softer this time and almost shyly, mostly for being told off. You take a sip and immediately feel the tension melt away. You sigh heavily, tilting your neck this and that way, cracking them to relieve the stiffness.

“Do you always throw yourself into work like this?” Jimin leans against your desk, the rim of the cup at his lips but eyes looking down at the spread out blueprints and other papers all over the floor. And yet, it feels like he’s watching you anyway, from the corner of his eyes.

You shrug your shoulders. “It’s a busy time.”

“Really?” he asks, looking sideways at you. “You sure you’re not running away from something? Distracting yourself with work?”

You turn to look at him. “What are you talking about?”

He meets your gaze. “Oh, just wondering.”

You stare at him, incredulous, but decide not to answer him. “You should go.”

“Don’t you paint anymore?”

You freeze, looking at him like he’d just grown another head. Your heart rate spikes a little as you comb back through your memories, trying to think if you told him anything about your past hobbies. No, you don’t think so. No one in this office knows that you come from an art background, only assuming that you had graduated from the business school of RCA. You swallow thickly, subconsciously backing away from him. “How do you know I even paint?”

Jimin looks at you calmly, letting five seconds pass by before moving away from the desk to point at a picture frame set on it. It’s a picture of you and Taehyung on your graduation day, the Royal College of Arts main building in the back. “Oh, I just assumed that from that picture.”

“Most people assumed I came from the business school,” you say, your voice a tad bit shaky.

Again, Jimin looks slightly alarmed. “Oh, I didn’t even know they had a business school.”

Bullshit, you wanted to say but your mind is reeling.

“Well, from your reaction, I’m guessing I was right,” Jimin continues, languidly relaxing back against your desk. “So, my question still stands. You don’t paint anymore?”

You don’t like his tone of voice; condescending and smug, like he knows more than he lets on. You find yourself answering, “No, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t.” Then, on second thought, you add, “I can’t.”

Jimin tilts his head. “Why?”

Your forehead creases over as your eyebrows stitch together, struggling to keep your emotions in check because you hate it when someone questions your past. It’s always been one of the problems with prospective partners; they always want to know everything. And then get hurt when they do. But to Jimin, you square your shoulders and the look on your face hardens. “None of your business,” you snap, a little too harshly before regretting it. He is your boss after all. Sort of. 

“Is that how you talk to me?” His voice is low and cold, devoid of any of the friendliness he had earlier. 

You gulp. “Sorry, sir. I’m just- I’m a little stressed out right now,” you confess, not even sure why you are. 

“Go home,” he says, his voice back to normal. “Take a rest.”

“But I have to get this-”

“I’ll handle it,” he promises, pushing off the desk and coming over to you. In a few steps, he’s standing in front of you, toe to toe, too close for personal space, looking down his nose at you. He’s even more handsome up close, breathing down on you like you’re nothing but a child that needs to be put in place. “Go.”

You give him one last look before gathering your things, including the sandwiches he brought, and leaving out the door. You glance back only once at the elevator, looking at him looking at you, sipping on his coffee casually, one hand in his pocket. 

- - - 

You remember going to bed. You remember falling asleep. But you don’t remember waking up and being…here.

Where am I? What is this place? Everything feels so real, so vivid that you’re very sure you’re awake instead of dreaming. But there’s nothing here, just pitch black. You can’t see anything except for yourself, like a game character in a glitch where the world didn’t render correctly. You walk around but no matter how long and how far, there’s still nothing, making you feel like you probably didn’t move at all. 

If this is a dream, how do you wake up? Because this darkness and nothingness is unsettling, even more so when you can feel the cool linoleum feel under your bare feet but can’t see it. You stop moving, feeling defeated, hoping you’d wake up soon. 

“Hello, my sweetness.”

You jolt, turning around towards the cool voice and seeing the silhouette of a man a little further away. You squint, trying to see better who it is, stepping closer. “Who are you?”

“You know exactly who I am,” comes the voice and then, like a lighting on stage, his whole feature grows more visible. Jimin Park, your second boss. 

“What the hell?” you exclaim. “What are you doing in my dreams?”

Jimin’s mouth perks up. “You think this is a dream?”

You look around. “It’s the only explanation.”

You blink and suddenly Jimin is right in front of you, looming so close you have to look up to look at his face. You teeter and step back a pace. Like usual, he has that same smile on his face but his eyes, his eyes are different. They are jet black. “Still think this is a dream?”

You nod but hesitantly. You notice then that he’s bare from the waist up, toned muscles on full display and you think, So this is what he looks like under the suit. You can’t help but stare, unable to deny to yourself the arousing interest in your chest. A wet dream, you think, that’s why he’s here. 

Jimin laughs lightly, like he can read your mind. He leans closer and you half close your eyes, expecting his lips on yours. When it doesn’t happen, you blink your eyes open again to see a smirking Jimin. “Were you expecting something?”

You pull away, huffing. “No.”

A finger catches your chin, holding it in place as he makes you look at him. “You’re lying to me,” he says, his voice threatening and your heart races. There’s something familiar about his words, something familiar in the way you feel in his presence. The more you think about it, the more you realise that there’s a subtle fear of him. You wonder why because these past months, Jimin had been nothing but nice and a fair new boss to everyone.

Nice. But not warm. There’s always a cold edge to his demeanour, like everything is an act. Like he’s only pretending. 

The look in those jet black eyes is heavy and almost searing at the same time. You want to say no again, but something in the back of your mind warns you that he won’t take another lie and you wouldn’t like the consequences. “Yes,” you breathe out in a whisper.

“Yes what, my sweetness?”

Your mouth is dry but you force yourself to speak. “Yes, I was expecting something.”

“Good girl,” he coos and you feel his cold hand settle on your side, pulling you closer. “See, wasn’t so hard to admit it, was it?”

You don’t answer, feeling his fingers trace up and down your side, sneaking under your pyjama shirt and grazing your skin, making you shiver from the coldness and the anticipation. It’s a dream anyway, right? You can do anything in a dream. You tilt your chin up, looking at him through puppy-eyes and pouty lips. “Well?”

Jimin smirks again, only one side of his lips turning up. “As you wish.” He leans down and connects your lips to his and the searing pain shoots through your lips and down to your toes, making you moan into his mouth. Your eyes shoot open and you’re suddenly back in your bed, staring at your ceiling, breathing like you’ve run a marathon. 

You sit up, looking around the room but everything looks in place. The clock on your bedside table shows it’s three in the morning and you have to be awake in another three hours. You lay back onto your pillow but you’re too worked up to go back to sleep. Your lips are still tingling and you touch it gingerly with the tips of your fingers. You recall the dream, seeing your half-naked boss standing in front of you and you shake your head.

Ugh, you think, I have to get that image out of my head. 

The next day at work, you’re barely able to look Jimin in the eyes. You can’t help the image that keeps popping at the front of your mind every time you see him so you avoid him at all cost, leaving a room when he comes in, looking away when he’s talking to you. This continues on until the next week to the point that everyone else is starting to notice. Martin finally pulls you aside into his office one day.

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” he asks, steepling his fingers together on his desk. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you reply, feigning ignorance. “Is something wrong?”

He sighs. “You’ve been avoiding Jimin and even I can see it. Did something happen between the two of you?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. In truth, you’re replaying all of the dreams you’ve been having the past week. Every night, without fail, your second boss, Jimin, has been visiting you in your dreams, doing things you only wish he would do in real life, things you don’t even dare to admit to wanting. Every spot he lays his lips on burns like he’s made of fire and yet you crave it every time you wake up. “No, nothing happened,” you reiterate. 

“Are you sure?” he prods. “I thought you two were getting on well. He speaks highly of you, too.”

“He does?” you ask, raising your eyebrows. 

“Yeah. It’s starting to make me a little jealous,” Martin says with a chuckle. “I brought him in but it feels like he’s stealing away my best worker.”

You shift in your seat, ignoring the unsettling feeling in your chest. You laugh lightly along with him. “Don’t worry about it. He’s not stealing me away from you. I’m all yours, boss.” 

“Really?” 

His tone of voice shifts and dread fills your lungs. No, please no. He’s been so good to you and you have loved this job. Please don’t. Martin stands up and walks over the desk to stand in front of you, his crotch rightly aligned in front of your face as you sit there. You push back the chair a little bit. 

“You’re an amazing employee, y/n,” he says, his voice low and soft. “And I would like to make sure that you’re loyal to me.”

“Of course I am,” you say with a smile. “I’ve been here for a long time, haven’t I? I love my job and I would like to stay here as long as I can. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“Oh, but I do.” He leans his hands on both the arms of your chair. “And with a new, young partner in the picture, I’m worried that he’s going to get all of your attention.”

Your throat is tight and swallowing is painful. “He’s-he won’t. I mean, you’re both my bosses so I don’t really have the power to say no if he has other projects for me when this one finishes.”

“Well then, prove it,” he purrs, his face up close to yours. “Show me how loyal you’ll be to me.”

You lick your lips. “But- but I have. All these years I’ve-”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” he says, his eyes darkening. 

“Then what do you mean?” 

Martin smiles and steps back. His hands go to the fly of his pants and you think you’re going to throw up. Your skin feels clammy and cold and there’s a ringing in your ears. The office door bangs open, slamming against the wall and both of you look around to see in shock. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” says Jimin in a serious tone. If he knew what was happening, he didn’t show it. “But we have a problem with one of the vendors. I need y/n to help me smoothen things out.”

You spring up to your feet and excuse yourself, hurrying out of the door with Jimin behind you. You make a beeline for the ladies’ and shut yourself in a cubicle, breathing heavily, leaning against the door as if Martin might just burst right in. You lean your head against your arm, pressing against your eyes to kind of shake yourself out of the panic that’s building. 

“My sweetness.”

You look up, blinking at the sudden change of environment. The cubicle you locked yourself in has disappeared, replaced with nothing. Nothing but darkness. The voice that calls for you isn’t the usual flirt; it’s serious, solemn, commanding. You turn around to find Jimin standing there, this time, for the first time, fully clothed in all black. His eyes, though, are fiery red. 

You don’t know why you did what you did next but it felt like the right thing at that moment. You sob, running into his arms as he catches you, enveloping you in a tight embrace. He lets you cry into his shirt, caressing your hair and holding you quietly as your body shakes with every weep. It takes a while until you’re finally calm enough to step back, wiping at your face with the back of your hands. 

“I’m sorry,” you hiccup. “I just- I didn’t know what came over me.”

Jimin watches you, quiet, not saying a word until you finally look at him. “It’s not the first time you’ve run to me when someone’s hurt you, my love.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Huh?”

The fire in his eyes dim a little as he tucks your hair behind your ear. “You’re always so stubborn. You never listen. So even if I tell you, you won’t believe me.”

“What are you talking about?”

Jimin sighs but the kind of sighs that tired people let out when dealing with annoying situations. “Still so stubborn. Never mind. What shall we do about him?”

Your eyes widen. Does he know after all? Or is this just your subconscious making him know what had transpired in Martin’s office? The latter, of course. It’s the only explanation. You’re dreaming again. Or hallucinating. The thought of what Martin had done resurfaces and suddenly you’re angry; angry at him but also at yourself for being such a fool for not seeing it for what it is even when he has been hinting at it for all these years. But why now? Why only now showing his true colours? 

You bark out a bitter laugh. “There’s nothing I can do. He’s the boss. He’ll get away with it or I’ll be asked to move away.” Then you start to nod your head. “Yeah, maybe it’s time for something new.”

“Go back to painting?”

You glare at him. “Why are you so obsessed with that?”

Jimin chuckles and changes the subject. “Well, if you want I can make him go away.”

You wipe the remaining tears from your cheeks but the anger is still there. “Yeah, sure. Do that.” You press your palms to your eyes, an act to rub out all the crying you did earlier but when you open your eyes again, you’re back in the cubicle. 

You step outside and wash your face, steeling yourself to leave the ladies’ room to face whatever or whoever is outside. You take a deep breath and open the door and Jimin is waiting on the other side, leaning sideways against a wall. 

“You okay?” he asks, approaching you. “Did something happen with Martin?”

You stare at him blankly, thinking back to that conversation, although imaginary, you just had with him in that other place. Thinking of what Martin did to you, or almost did to you, and the fact that you had been dreaming of your other boss nearly every day this week feels hypocritical. “Yeah,” you say, nodding. “Nothing happened. You said something happened with a client?”

“Vendors,” he corrected, eyes as cool and calculating as they always are, looking at you as if he’s trying to figure out why you’re lying, not that he knows that. Does he? “It’s fine. I took care of it while you were in there.”

You raise your watch to your face. “That soon? Are you sure? I can call them up again just to ensure everything is good.”

Jimin gives you a small shake of his head, a small hint of a smile on his lips. “Nope. It’s fine. All taken care of.” Something in the way he says the last part gives you a strange vibe, like he wasn’t talking about the vendor problem entirely. 

It doesn’t take long until news reaches you, literally on the 8PM broadcast on TV while you are eating dinner of microwaved pasta. The picture splashed on the screen is one you recognise well, having seen the man for the past five years or so everyday at work. The news talks about how, with the help of an anonymous tip, Martin J. Russell of Rocket Media Ltd has been arrested for multiple sexual offences, spanning years of sexual assaults of past coworkers with pictures and videos found on both his work and personal devices. 

Your fork drops into the container as you stare, mouth agape, at the TV. What in the-

As much as a part of you is singing with relief, another part of you can’t completely dismiss the persistent notion that whatever happened to Martin wasn’t coincidence, that it didn’t just happened right after he tried it with you and you had-

You stop thinking, standing up abruptly that your chair scuttles backward noisily. Jimin. Something about Jimin is squirming at the back of your mind but you can’t quite put a finger on it. Not a minute later, you receive an email from HR, blasted to all employees, requesting that if you need to speak to someone, you may contact HR representatives or a mental health hotline, as well as the office will be closed for a week due to the current investigation ongoing. All employees will have the option whether to take days off during the week or work remotely and either choice will have you be paid like normal. 

There is more to the email, including a subtle request for employees to keep their mouths shut except to authorities or HR and it makes you think about earlier today. Bile rises to your throat at the idea of having to admit what had happened today when you just want to forget about it all. Your phone rings.

It’s Jimin, now the one and only boss.

You take a deep breath and answer it. 

“If you’ve heard the news then you know why I’m calling,” says Jimin over the phone, his voice sullen. “I’m asking you again, did something happen between you and him today in his office?” 

You’re quiet, your voice stuck in your throat. 

“Y/n,” he calls, a warning tone. “I don’t want to have to ask twice.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you finally answer, your voice sounding breathy. “He’s caught. It’s done.”

There’s a brief pause before he finally speaks. “So something did happen.” When you don’t respond, he takes that as an affirmative. He lets go of a deep breath. “Take the week off.”

“But the project, we’re already behind on-”

“Fuck, y/n,” he snaps. “We have worse issues on our hands right now. Take the week off. I’ll deal with things here and the clients.” Then he sighs. “Have you spoken to the authorities yet? About what happened today? They would want to hear about it.”

“No. I don’t intend to,” you reply shortly. 

“Why? You’re protecting him?”

“I’m not!” Your blood boils at the accusation, your free hand in a tight fist on your side. “I just want to forget all about it. Nothing actually happened. He…he didn’t manage to do anything before you came in.”

“I see,” he replies softly. “Are you okay?”

You want to tell him yes, of course you are, nothing happened, right? You should be okay, you should be fine because you were luckier than his other victims, people you worked with and who you were completely oblivious to the suffering they were going through right under your nose. You were so ignorant of what was happening around you that you had respected the man, and had even admired him as an amazing boss. How many times have you gushed about the man? How many of those times had it been to a victim?

Fuck. 

Before you even realise it, the tears are already spilling, big, fat pearls crawling down your cheeks. You don’t manage to say anything when Jimin says, “I’m coming over,” and the line cuts. You’re not sure how long you remain on the floor crying, hugging your legs close to you when there’s a loud knock on your door. You can’t seem to get up, the few steps to the entrance area seem too much for you. 

You hear some shuffling around outside, hear the person lift up a flower pot and retrieve the spare key you hid there. You hear the sound of the key in the lock and doorknob turning. You see Jimin standing in the doorway, his eyes easily zoning in on you huddled on the kitchen floor. You watch as he strides over and picks you up so effortlessly and carries you to the sofa. He places you down gently and goes back to the kitchen. Ten minutes later, he’s back with a cup of tea for you.

He makes you drink it, sitting next to you without saying anything much, letting you cry it out. He remains quiet even when you’re hiccuping through leftover sobs, sitting there leaning on his knees, his fingers locked together, staring down at the floor. He only finally looks up when you make no more sound except for the occasional sniffles. “Better?”

You nod, taking a tissue to blow your nose. 

“Hungry?”

You shake your head but your stomach betrays you, sounding out like a dying whale at sea. He smiles softly, pulling out his phone. “Does Thai sound good to you?”

This time, you nod happily, eyelashes still glistening with tears.

You both only start to talk after dinner is finished and pushed aside, when Jimin, his coat jacket off and his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, had offered to do the dishes. You stand next to him to do the drying, making small talk, exchanging little information about each other’s lives. 

“You’re from Busan?” your eyebrows go up in surprise. “I’m from there, too.”

“I know,” he replies. “I read all the staff’s profiles.”

“I see.”

“Have you been back?”

You shake your head. “Not really. There’s nothing left for me there. My mum has remarried and the only family I have left are actually here.”

“Oh?”

You smile. “Yeah. Well, we’re not related by blood but I practically grew up with them.”

You don’t see it but Jimin’s eyes flash dangerously. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you say, “the guy you saw in the picture? That’s Taehyung. Him and his brothers are like brothers to me. Growing up with a single parent is hard and I was always stuck with them when she had to go to work. And she worked a lot.”

“So just them then? No one else?”

You tilt your head, thinking. “No, I don’t think so. Just them.” When Jimin doesn’t respond, you ask, “What about you? Any families around here?”

“Just one,” he says, eyes on his hands washing the forks and spoons. “We grew up together. I was always the one she runs to when she has problems and I make them go away.”

“Oh. That’s interesting.” You take the fork from him, drying it in between your fingers. “What’s she like?”

“Clingy and a crybaby.” He chuckles softly. “But I love that about her. I love being needed and I know she needs me.”

“She lives with you?”

“Not yet.” Jimin finishes the washing and dries his hands. “If you’re feeling better, I should get going. But…”

“But?” you look up at him.

“I know it’s weird timing but,” he pauses, scratching the back of his neck. “Would you, um, want to grab lunch tomorrow? Or not, if you don’t want to.”

You’re not sure about going on a date with him for two reasons: one, he’s your boss and two, well, with the whole shitshow happening at the office, it’s hardly a good time for a date. 

“Um, sure. I guess,” you answer, feeling a little shy. “If it’s just lunch.”

Jimin’s lips twitch upward. “Sure. I’ll pick you up around noon?”

- - -

That lunch turned out to be more than just lunch.

Jimin is funny and makes you laugh with his deadpan jokes and ridiculous punchlines. Underneath that cold and aloof demeanour, he’s actually sweet and caring. He plans things, takes you out on surprise dates, cooks meals for you and even gives you little gifts on random days, things that made him think of you. He makes playlists for you and even one of those classic mixtapes on CDs when he finds out your car has a CD player. He gathers small bunches of daisies when he finds out you love them more than roses. He surprises you with little things like your favourite tea or your favourite snack and takes candid photos of you to share with you later at the end of the day.

On days when you are watching movies together at your place, he would rub your feet and make cups of tea for you. He would listen to you vent or tell stories about your day. He’s your biggest cheerleader with work, walking that thin line between being a fair boss and a good friend and flourishing at it. When the relationship passed three months, you both decided to report it to HR. You were moved to a different department but you both go out for lunch together almost everyday.

You are completely and madly in love, for the first time ever at twenty-seven. He’s everything you ever wanted, everything you ever dreamed of even as a young girl. He sweeps you off your feet and makes you feel the most comfortable. He respects your wish of waiting a little bit more the night he sleeps over that first time, ending up just cuddling the whole night. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t make you feel guilty about it. You do a lot of the other things, kissing and going even as far as third base and not once did he ever try to push your limit.

 By the time you hit six months, he surprises you with a promise ring and you think it’s time to introduce him to Taehyung and the others. 

“What’s his name again?” Taehyung asks over the phone as you get ready for the meeting tonight. Both Namjoon and Jin will also be there, excited to meet your first serious boyfriend.

“Jimin,” you quip, the phone pinned in between your shoulder and ear, hopping on one foot to pull up the stocking over your knees. 

“What?” Taehyung’s voice comes out a little too loud, a little too panicky. 

“I said, his name is Jimin,” you repeat. “Look, I got to finish getting ready. You can ask all the questions later at the restaurant, Tae. I’ll see you guys there.”

“You ready, babe?” Jimin’s head pops in.

“Yes,” you answer, getting your handbag and slinging it over your shoulder. “I’m a little nervous. It’s the first time I’m bringing a boyfriend to meet them.”

Jimin laughs, pulling you by the waist. “Wait, you’ve never introduced anyone before me?”

You shake your head, pouting. “No. Nothing ever lasted long enough for me to do that.”

“I see.” Jimin twirls you around. “I’m honoured.” He gives you a little bow and you giggle. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll be on my best behaviour tonight. I promise.”

***

“This is Taehyung, Namjoon, and Jin.”

“Jimin, my brothers.”

The four of them exchange handshakes all around before finally sitting down, Jimin pulling out your chair, of course. The dinner starts with small talk, mainly the brothers asking you and Jimin the typical questions: how did you two meet? How did you guys get together? How did the company react to the news of the relationship? 

When the main course arrives, Namjoon switches gears by focusing the questions on only Jimin, asking his background, interests and his work. Jin adds in here and there but Taehyung remains quiet the whole time. He would stare intently at Jimin, frown and then look away. He would give you the same look, too, but he’s sitting too far away to actually ask you anything quietly. 

During dessert, Jin stares at Jimin for long enough that the other man notices. “Do I have something on my face?”

Jin shakes his head. “No. You just look familiar.”

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” Jimin chuckles. 

“Yeah, but I can’t shake this feeling off like I’ve seen you somewhere.” Jin tilts his head, narrowing his eyes. “Hmm. I wonder where.”

“Me, too, hyung,” pipes in Taehyung, surprising you slightly since he’s been quiet this whole time. “The name, too. I’ve heard it somewhere.”

Jimin smiles politely. “My name is very common, especially for girls, actually.” He gives a lighthearted laugh, squeezing your hand under the table, a signal for you to say something. 

“So, how long will you be in town, Jin?” you ask, diverting the group’s attention and it was enough to move away from the topic of Jimin. The rest of the night goes well and the both of you arrive at your place giddy with happiness.

Jimin heaves a relief sigh. “Well, I guess that went well.”

You beam up at him, both hands in his as you stop in front of the front door. “I think it did.”

He nods, gazing lovingly into your eyes. He pecks a kiss on the tip of your nose and you scrunch it up, giggling at him. He pecks another kiss to your forehead and you lean into him. Your heart is beating a little bit faster than usual, both nervous and excited for what’s to come next, what you will ask him for. You know he won’t, but you will. You think it’s time.

“Jimin,” you call him softly and he catches your lips in between his. You moan into him, feeling yourself melting into his front, his arms strong around your waist. He feels safe, like home. 

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it,” he murmurs against your lips. “What was it you wanted to say, hm?”

“Well,” you say, suddenly shy, suddenly looking down at both of yours and his feet but you steel yourself and put on a brave front. He’s been so patient for you, you can do this for him. “Do you want to go inside for a cup of tea?”

Jimin smiles, his eyes giving you a knowing look. “I would love that.”

Inside, he insists on making the tea, telling you that he knows how to make it just the way you like it. You both sip the tea in silence at the kitchen island, exchanging glances over the rim of your cups like some kind of young teenagers flirting across the hall when you’re only sitting opposite each other. His eyes turn into little half-moons and you know he’s smiling behind the cup, the butterflies in your stomach kicking up a storm. Oh, you are very much in love and for a person at your age to feel like this for the first time, you think it was worth the wait. 

You both finish the tea and you take the cups and saucers to the sink. You can feel yourself vibrating with nerves, your hands shaking a little making the cups rattle against the saucers. You place them in the sink and wonder about how to go about it. Do you outrightly ask him? Do you bring him up to the bedroom without saying anything? Do you invite him as a heads up? Ugh, how come there’s no manual for these things.

Your hand reaches for the faucet but Jimin’s hand catches your arm and you feel him press up behind you, warm and strong. With his other hand, he gently pulls back your hair from your shoulder and pins a kiss at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. “Leave it, my sweetness,” he says into your ear. “We’ll think about the dishes later, why don’t we?”

You hum in response, closing your eyes and leaning your head back onto him, letting him kiss up your neck. You turn yourself around, placing your hands on his chest, feeling the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat against your fingers. You look up at him through your lashes, heart in your throat, shaking so bad from…you’re not sure which, excitement or anxiety. He seems to know what you wanted to say by the small smile on his lips but he’s letting you take the lead.

“Do you…” you trail off, not even sure what to ask. You try again, your voice barely above a whisper. “Do you want to head upstairs?”

Jimin’s smiles widen. “Only if you take me there.”

A strong sudden urge to kiss him overwhelms you and you crash your lips onto his, roughly, desperately, wanting nothing more than to taste him more than you ever had. Your hands go everywhere; around his waist, around his neck, his chest, his arms while he holds you steady, moving backwards and somewhat blindly out of the kitchen with the two of you connected at the lips. When you pull apart to breathe, you’re already in the middle of your bedroom. Wow, that was fast. When did we climb up the stairs?

The bed is right behind you. Jimin leans his forehead against yours. “Are you sure about this?”

Your heart flutters, the anxiety now pushed aside by the anticipation building up from a place you’ve never truly explored. You nod your head once, breathing hard, your fingers fidgeting with a button on his shirt. Gently, ever so gently, Jimin lowers you to the bed, you in between his legs. You continue to make out, suddenly so very hungry for him, catching his tongue with yours everytime it slips in. 

You undress him, plucking at one button at a time, your fingers clumsy. He does the same for your dress, pulling it off little by little until you’re in nothing but your underwear and him with his chest bare. 

Jimin takes you in, nose flaring at the sight of you. You feel yourself shrink, making yourself smaller because no other man has ever seen you like this before. It’s daunting. Exciting, but scary. 

Jimin buries his face in your neck, his hands gently caressing your bra strap and then your side. “White lace,” he breathes. “Did you put these on especially for me?”

You don’t answer, feeling the blood rushing to your cheeks. And other places. Jimin pulls back, sitting on his knees, looking down at you, raking his eyes from your head down to your toes. There’s a glint in his eyes that you can’t quite read but it makes you shiver. “You know,” Jimin says, eyes locked on yours, “some people say you wear white for your first time.” He chuckles, coming back down for your lips.

“I know,” you mumble. Jimin pauses to look at you, one eyebrow raised. “Because it is. My first time,” you say bashfully. “I…I hope that’s okay. For you.”

Jimin’s lips twitch upwards and you see a sort of change in his eyes. But it’s dark so you’re not sure. “Of course, my sweetness. Don’t you worry. I’ll take good care of you.”

The words sounded odd to your ears, a little too commanding, a little too smug. But the moment Jimin’s lips are back on yours, his hands roaming your body, touching in places no one has ever touched before, your head goes completely blank except for thoughts of him, of Jimin, your lover, the one you’re finally sure of surrendering yourself fully; mind, body and soul. 

You’re lost in the throes of heated passion, unaware that downstairs, inside your handbag where you left on the kitchen island, your phone is ringing for the third time in a row. Taehyung’s face is flashing across the screen because back at his place not thirty minutes away, while he lays across the sofa, wracking his brains about where Jimin seems awfully familiar, he had to scroll through his phone gallery. It had taken some time, going back years of pictures until he finally found it: the last photo of you standing in your childhood bedroom, leaving for the last time.

There in the background, placed on its side, is the forty by thirty painting of your imaginary friend, a blue ribbon tacked on one corner.

- - -

The room is filled with your loud moans, unable and probably don’t even care to keep your voice down because, fuck, his tongue feels so goddamn good. 

You fist the sheets on either side of you, legs spread open by Jimin’s hands on your thighs, keeping them from closing around his head. He has two fingers in your cunt, pumping hard, in time with the flick of his tongue against your very swollen clit. You can hear how wet you are by the sloshing sound his fingers make and that alone is arousing to you. You alternate between moaning with your mouth clamped shut but when it gets too much, your mouth will fall open and the room echoes your voice back at you. 

Jimin’s fingers feel so good, enough to make you feel full. In the back of your mind, you’re a little worried about when he finally enters you. How much would that hurt? He clamps down your clit and all thoughts escape through your ears, desperate to clamp your thighs shut but unable to. 

With his fingers still jammed inside you, Jimin crawls up, trailing wet kisses up your torso and then letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “So sweet for me,” he coos, licking his lips. He curls his fingers upward, feeling your walls squeezing his digits. “And so tight.”

You mewl, squirming under him. You fumble for his fly, pulling the zipper down and hooking your fingers around the waistband of his pants, along with his boxers. He helps you pull them off of him, wiggling himself to let the materials fall loosely to his ankles. You sit up on your elbows and Jimin brings his hip to your face. Your eyes bulge at the sight of him; thick and long, precum leaking from the tip, sticking straight against his stomach. 

“Open your mouth, sweetness,” he says, guiding your head with the back of his hand, sliding himself onto your tongue, hissing at the contact. “There you go, just like that. That’s a good girl.”

You place your hands on his thighs for support, eager to please. You may be a virgin but oral sex is something you enjoy giving. You start slow, teasing him with your tongue against his tip and only focusing on the head, sucking on it like your favourite lollipop. Jimin watches you through hooded eyes, hands on your shoulders. He lets out a muffled grunt as you flick your tongue against his frenulum, feeling the way his cock jumps from the pleasure. 

You push yourself down his length, slowly, gauging how much you can take him without gagging. Adjusted, you start to bob your head. Jimin holds your head, both guiding and sometimes pushing your face as low as possible before you start to protest, gagging and slobbering all over his length. You can’t see it but he’s grinning ear to ear. 

When he’s had enough, he pulls you up to kiss you, noticing how red your cheeks are, how your eyes see only him, and how your body is reacting to him. He gently pushes you down to the mattress, one hand behind your head. He leans backward to look at you. “How are you feeling?” he whispers against your lips. 

“Good,” you whisper back, squirming under him, arms around his waist. “I want you, Jimin.”

He smirks but in your haze, you barely recognise it for what it is. “I know. I’ve been wanting you, too. For a long time.”

You nod, thinking that he had meant these past six months. You’re clawing at him, lightly scratching at his skin as he kisses your face, lowering himself down onto you. You’re so sensitive that at the touch of his pubic bone against yours, you gasp. 

“Shh,” he says gently, thumb rubbing your temple. “Look at you. You’re shivering, baby. It’s okay. Relax. I’ll take good care of you.”

Something about his smile sends a shiver down your spine and instead of feeling comforted, panic bells have started ringing in the distance. Your heart rate spikes and suddenly you’re having second thoughts. You quell them down, fighting against yourself to backtrack now. No, he’s been patient enough. He deserves it. He’s the love of my life, there’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s just nerves. Relax. Calm down. I want this. I want this. Right? You breathe slowly, nodding into his hand, desperate to find the solace you always feel when in Jimin’s presence. Where is it now?

“Jimin,” you squeak as he positions himself in between your legs, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs, massaging lightly as he presses your legs apart. You raise your head to look at him and in the dim light, Jimin’s eyes are so dark they’re like abysses as he looks back at you, a soft smile on his lips. 

You feel him pressing against your hole and slowly pushes in. It stings and you throw your head back, eyes squeezed shut. Jimin stretches you out and it burns so much it feels like you are being torn open from the inside out and yet…yet it feels so excruciatingly delicious. All these years of holding back, of never finding the right person to give yourself fully to, and Jimin feels both like a reward and a punishment, like it’s both wrong and coming home at the same time your brain is going fuzzy. You feel him bottom out but the pain isn’t going away and at the same time a tingle is starting from somewhere deep within you. 

Jimin remains unmoving, letting you adjust. The burning dulls a little bit but a fire has been lit up in the pit of your stomach. You wrap your legs around Jimin’s waist, pulling him close. You blink your eyes open and gasp. You blink a few more times but the sight that greets you never changes. Everything is dark. There’s nothing. You see nothing.

You look down towards where Jimin is in a panic but finds him grinning at you in a way that doesn't feel friendly. He starts laughing. 

“Finally!” he exclaims, running a hand through his hair, pushing his hair back. “Years of waiting and it finally pays off. Patience is a virtue.” 

“Wh- what’s going on?” your voice is shaking. “I don’t understand. What are you saying? What’s happening?”

Jimin leans down, arms on both sides of your head. His eyes are like two coals staring straight into your wet ones. “Oh, my sweetness. I let you have a little bit of freedom and you forget about me. But don’t worry. We’ll have all night to catch up.” He kisses you and your lips burn, moaning into him but he doesn’t relent. You feel his tongue licking inside your mouth and your eyes shoot open in alarm at the realisation that it’s a forked tongue. Just like that, the box of suppressed memories springs open and it all comes flooding in.

Pulling back, the same smug grin still on his face, Jimin whispers close to your face, “Do you remember now?”

Your eyes are like two saucers, staring back at him in horror. “No,” you shake your head, the tears creeping slowly down into your hairline. “No.”

Jimin’s lips spread wider. “Oh, yes, my sweetness.” He pulls out of you and starts to gently rock back and forth, ignoring your silent cries. The faster he moves, the more your body reacts, so much so that you pause in between the tears, confused. Your heart rejects him yet your body yearns for him, needs him to keep moving or you might wither away and die if he doesn’t. Your fists tightens around his upper arms, both in anger at the long deception as well as the desperation to let him know that you want more; more of him and more of what he can give. 

It doesn’t take much for Jimin to get the message, the latter one, the grin only growing bigger, the satisfaction palpable even in his two obsidian eyes. He leans down to your face, fingers softly combing back your hair. “I know you’re angry at me, baby, but you can’t deny me either. You’ve promised me yourself.” He kisses your cheek and the spot feels like your skin might melt away. “I’ve only come to collect what’s mine. Heart, body and soul. Well, maybe not the heart. Not yet anyway. But all in due time, my sweetness. I’m a very patient man.”

“You’re not a man,” you gasp in between strokes, biting down on your lip to keep yourself from letting him know how good he’s making you feel. You can feel the girth of him, the length of him every time he buries deep, can feel the delicious stretch of your walls hugging him. Jimin only laughs, a deep rumbling that vibrates straight to your core and with that, you release your lip to let Jimin hear you. 

- - -

When Taehyung arrived at your place at three in the morning, out of breath from cycling like hell, he was already too late. 

The house was empty, void of anything that ever proved that you lived there; no clothes, no photos on the wall, no shoes and definitely no you. Only furniture left behind and food abandoned in the fridge. The police insisted that you must have run away with your lover and your workplace had no clue who Taehyung was talking about when he mentioned Park Jimin, looking at him like he had lost his mind.

“She quit,” the receptionist told him with an incredulous look, turning the PC monitor his way. “See? She sent this email talking about finding something new. It’s all a bit sudden and the boss is pissed. If you hear from her, tell her never to come around here unless she wants her head on a platter. Personally, for me though, I think she got balls of steel. You go, girl.” 

Namjoon told him to quit worrying, that you’re an adult that can make your own life choices and take care of yourself. Jin just laughed when Taehyung showed him the photo of the painting from long ago, shaking his head and telling him he needs to get his eyes checked. Neither of them had any recollection of that dinner with Jimin. Except for him. 

It took him six months to finally calm down enough for his brothers to stop worrying that he might need some serious intervention in the form of hospitalisation. He spent his days at work, pretending to be fine while at night he scoured the internet and the dark web for any signs of you, barely sleeping, one wall of the spare bedroom at his place covered with any clues and hints and circled maps of places he’s searched in. 

- - -

On the other side of the veil, you watch your childhood best friend struggle to find you to death, sitting next to Jimin on the throne, your hand in his as his underlings worship his feet. 

As the dark lord of the underworld, Jimin lavishes you with anything and everything your heart desires, loves you like no man ever could and satisfies you every night like gods themselves are pounding into you. You smile when he kisses you, look demurely as he holds you and pulls him closer each night under the cover. 

You see Jimin in all his underworld glory; a king with a black heart, tattered black wings that spans six feet on either side when he’s enraged, eyes like the abyss when he’s staring deep into your claimed soul. You’re his; mind, body and soul, as promised. 

And yet…

Each night, you realise you’re getting better and better at slipping away without him noticing, coming back into the human world, into Taehyung’s spare room with the maze of threads all over one wall. You’re getting good at moving small objects, like a pen or a pencil. And even that marker Taehyung uses to circle cut up articles and places on the map. 

One day, you’ll be able to send him an SOS, a message for him to help you cut yourself free. But in the meantime, you’ll sit quietly in Jimin’s arms, pretending like you hate where you are, pretending like you’re not in love. 

Check out my other works → :MASTERLIST:

[ookamimonster]

heyyo! Sorry to bother you but could you put a walk through/tutorial of your proses of drawing dragons/just drawing stuff?

also are you participating in art fight?

Here's a time-lapse of one of my recent simple-ish doodles:

I usually start off with drawing the head + rough shape of the body and setting the vibe of the pose first off. breaking the dragon down into "pieces" is useful

Wings are the hardest for me to fit on a canvas without blocking off a bunch of details, so working out where they are going pretty early on is pretty important to me (each of these parts are on seperate layers)

Arms and legs can be wiggled around freely. I often draw them a bit too big and have to shrink em a bit

My sketch is usually about this detailed - I'll either clean it up by erasing OR I'll go in for lineart. I like the roughness of a sketch/sketchy lines so I try and hold onto that in my pieces generally

I don't really do anything fancy with colours, it's usually just flats with some layer effects thrown on top. So this had dark scales on multiply, plus a bunch of smaller scales for a bit of shiny/iridescence on add and then a bunch of bright colours on a very low soft light setting to give the illusion of some colour variance for the flats

Finish it off with a nice coloured lineart. coloured lines which match the piece are important to me

Every year I think about participating in art fight but I never seem to find time to do so. maybe next year!

[sarahjtv]

My Hero Academia Chapter 428 Spoiler Talk: Did Kohei Horikoshi Just Blueball Us???

So, that just happened, huh? Not a bad chapter by any means. It was a solid, slice-of-life-ish chapter that continues to give us our beloved Class 2-A kids some idea of how life is going to be like now that the war is over:

The chapter starts off where we left off 2 weeks ago with the new first-years (the new Class 1-A) fangirling over Shoto and Bakugo. Iida has to step in to stop the chaos while Bakugo and Shoto hide behind him like little kids using their big brother as a shield 😂! It's cool to know that our kids have fans now and seeing them as Senpai to new Kohais is a nice idea to think about. I also like that there's a panel of Shinsou in the class to remind all of us that he's part of the main group now.

There's also a tall 1st-year who is inspired by Deku and wants to be like him after seeing him fight in the war! I love that for him 💚! I don't think Deku's really had any fans outside his classmates before, so it's nice to see how people are looking up to him like how he looked up to All Might.

A little later, we see our Class 2-A working to help clean up the wreckage from the war with Fat Gum, Best Jeanist, and Edgeshot who FUCKING SURVIVED (BRO, HOW???) and is now just a big strand of string with a face and tiny string arms 😂😭! It's a funny visual for now, but Edgeshot says that he'll be better than ever hopefully which makes Bakugo show a wobbly, awkward smile 🧡.

I also love how much Bakugo has changed in general. It has been a slow, general progression, but it's clear that he's softening up and opening up more to the people around him. It's such great character development for him. I love this dude so much 🧡

It's also cool to see the kids work and use their Quirks to help clean up all the rubble. We've seen them do this a little before during the Provisional License Exam, but it's good to see it again because it's a good reminder that there's more to Hero work than just beating the bad guys and saving civilians. I can absolutely see how a lot of their Quirks can help out with clean-up duty, but I can't help but wonder how people like Jiro, Shinsou, and Kaminari use their Quirks though can already think of some ideas. Actually, Kaminari can restore power to towns and cities, but he can't use his Quirk to help pick up rubble.

The civilians and even the new Class 1-A kids come along and are more than willing to help clean up the mess too. The heroes are being trusted more again and then getting help from the people who they thought lost faith in them is a great sign for that bright future everyone hopes for. I also have high hopes for the new UA kids. They're already heroes in their own right by wanting to help during their first few days at the school. I also really like the look of the few new designs we get out of these kids. As expected of our mangaka!

Later that night, we are told that the students at UA aren't forced to stay at the dorms anymore, probably because things have calmed down after the war. This is good to hear because while I know the kids loved life at the dorms, I'm sure they missed their families too. I won't be surprised if some students in general decide to stay home for a while. I'm sure this also gives Horikoshi an excuse not to draw so many characters in one panel because god knows this man has his work cut out for him over the next 2-3 weeks.

The last couple of pages boil down to beautifully drawn panels of Ochako who's still keeping up that fake smile and optimistic façade and Izuku and Tsuyu worrying about her because something is CLEARLY wrong. Ochako does eventually break down remembering Himiko Toga and her fate. This chapter doesn't outright confirm nor deny what happened to Toga, but I'm pretty sure she's dead. I don't think Ochako would be this sad if Toga was alive in any capacity. It sucks because Toga had a change of heart in her final moments and I think she would have been given something of a second chance had she lived. But, maybe not because I don't know how society would really treat her if she was allowed to go out in public again. I would love for Toga to be alive, but I'm betting my gatcha money that she isn't... Still, this is a big loss for Ochako and I feel for her. I still can't help but feel we got blueballed on Toga's fate, though and I'm not sure how to really feel about that.

The final page shows us that Izuku used some embers of One For All to get to Ochako who's on the same hill back during the "We're Weird" conversation they had before the Final War. First off, Izuku bby 🥹💚. Second, this absolutely sets up Izuku and Ochako finally talking to each other since the Final War ended. I assume some kind of love confession is going to happen, but I'm not 100% sure because I don't know if now is a good time for that or not. Ochako definitely needs a shoulder to cry on and Izuku needs to talk to someone about what happened, so we'll have to see where things go from here.

Regardless, we have 2 chapters left and something has to happen before the end. It's going to be bittersweet next week though because we are getting the Cover and a Color Page in WSJ! These will be the last ones we get, so I hope they're special. Knowing Horikoshi, the art and coloring are going to be immaculate and I am going to cry happy tears for the next 2 weeks.

We will also get a 16-chapter tie-in chapter for the new You're Next movie by Yoko Akiyama, the mangaka for the spin-off Team Up Missions manga! I love her art so much! It's very similar to Horikoshi's, but the style and the coloring especially is so soft and cute! It's perfect for a slice-of-life-esque spin-off like TUM and she hasn't disappointed me yet. Plus, I'm 99% sure she did the manga tie-ins for the 2nd and 3rd movies too, so this was expected.

We're finally at the penultimate and final chapters of the series. I still can't believe it's ending. Just 2 weeks to go starting this Sunday.

[peculiar-potato]

raaaaaaaagh teaser image for the among us animated tv series dropped and I just have to scream about it and analyze it a little bit

(Source)

My ramblings under the cut:

I like the art style! It’s a bit different, I was expecting something closer to the game style/style of images they post on social media and stuff where it’s very clean with sharp lines, but I think this works really well for what it seems like they’re trying to do here. I like the lineart and the kind of texture everything has? It adds a lot to some of the other stuff I’m going to talk about here.

First of all, the atmosphere. Again, really kinda different from what I was expecting, but in a nice way! I was expecting kinda like a clean, cool-toned, space-age look, but this gives me a lot more like run-down office vibes and I am HERE FOR IT.

The warped ceiling tiles? The dirt and grime? The bent blinds over the window? The burnt out light by the window and different colored fluorescent lights like one of the bulbs was replaced? It feels like I’m in some old corporate building that hasn’t been properly maintained in years, which is so different and so fun from what you normally see in a spaceship and totally matches the vibes of (at least what I headcanon to be) a sketchy space corporation.

I also love all the little details here.

The little food window and vending machine so the cafeteria is actually a cafeteria, the pizza with who knows what kind of toppings on it (why is it green?? I’m so curious), and the fact that everything is held up with duct tape- even the fire extinguisher? It’s so fun I love all of it.

This is also actually a really faithful adaption of the map. Like, I know, of course it is, but I know things have to get changed a lot for animation sometimes and they did a good job of keeping it very similar.

I am going to be that guy and point out a few differences but just because I think they’re neat and interesting!! Not at all bad!

(At least between this and the classic game, I’ve never played Among Us VR)

First of all, the trash task and wires task actually swapped sides, on the map, the wires are on the left and the trash is on the right, but here it’s flipped. I also can’t find the download data task, unless it’s supposed to be the tv? Probably all just aesthetic choices but kinda interesting!

There’s also the big food window and the door, but if you look at the orientation of the walls of the room, it actually checks out! The door and window would be against the left wall, where you wouldn’t actually see it looking from the angle in game.

The vending machine isn’t there in the game, at least on the Skeld map, but that’s ok the beans deserve their snacks! I did notice there’s kinda a panel behind it so I’m counting that as the panel that’s on the right wall next to the download task being there (even though it’s definitely too small to be that). That and the wires are actually on the slanted wall, but again, I don’t care, this is just me pointing out every difference like an I-spy challenge.

Also the cafeteria tables have stools now instead of benches, and I kinda like that! I also like the stripe of kinda a maroon-ish color added to the tables and stools, really kinda ties together well with the walls and such. And the floor, thank goodness they did something about that floor for the animators’ sake. I like the original floor design but I know firsthand just how hard that floor is to draw, especially at an angle.

I don’t know how to really speculate on the party stuff other than I’m intrigued haha. Maybe it’s like they’re celebrating taking off and surviving or being the only crew with no impostor attacks or something (of course that’s implying a lot about the non-existent lore) and then everything goes wrong? Maybe the red is pizza sauce or ketchup and we’re being misled for the funnies?

I’m kinda hopeful about the humor here, with the “we’re not dead” banner and stuff, I’m really hoping this will be something I’ll enjoy too as an adult and the vibes I’m getting from this are encouraging. Like maybe a kinda workplace dark comedy?

I’m also sososososo curious about what we’ll get in terms of characters (I WANNA SEE THE BEANS SHOW ME THE BEANS) and worldbuilding and lore here, eeeeeeeeeeeeee

Ok, I’ll stop for now, but you know I’ll be following this very closely lol.

tldr: not entirely what I was expecting but I like it and the direction it’s going a lot :))))))

Edit 2/3/24- just noticed there’s no emergency meeting button??? Is it under the pizza?? Has it not been installed yet?? WHERE IS IT 👁️👄👁️