#also it makes me want to eat the drywall how he's with her when she dies

[fighting-naturalist]

Daniel in "Resurrection"

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 17

˗ˏˋ reconnecting ˎˊ˗

"Fridays are not always the best day of the week, you can vouch for this one at least. It's Emma's birthday party and you're not sure you two still vibe together or not after all this time. And coming home... you don't expect Jungkook to be awake, especially not with your cold war going on. But he is."

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⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 9,6k

content: begrudgingly gift-shopping, hidden treasures, old vs new friendships, reconnecting, pretty girls and the inability to discern whether it's flirting or polite talk, AM talks, actually listening (thank god, progress!), and vanilla kink striking again because jungkook in this fic has free will and i cannot control him

✧ author's note ✧

WASSSSSUPPPP my peoplessss!!

Okay so here’s Chapter 17—aka the chapter where all of you start collectively projecting your unresolved issues with your high school best friend, your fuckboy roommate, and your local pastel/goth lesbian duo. I say that with love.

Now LISTEN. I keep raising the bar for this story like but honestly?? That’s on YOU. You absolute feral gremlins with your “when’s the next update” comments like I’m a vending machine that dispenses emotional damage. (It’s fine. I thrive under fear and pressure. You’re welcome.)

About this chapter!! So my initial plan was for Nix to buy Jungkook an actual vinyl player… until I did the research and realized those bitches go for 150-300 bucks even secondhand. Be fr. They are NOT in a relationship. This man is her hot emotional disaster roommate who’s been beefing with her for three days and literally slammed a door at her. I would not spend a single euro on that man beyond what is legally required. Fifteen dollars for a John Mayer record? That’s the sweet spot. It says “I hate you but I know what music you like and I think about you when you’re not around and that makes me want to bite drywall.”

Also: if you know that Inside Wants Out is an early acoustic EP that’s kinda slept on but has a few gut-wrenching tracks about vulnerability and romantic ambivalence… well. Have fun.

Now shut up because I love writing female friendships and this chapter is my offering to the goddesses of sapphic chaos. Yeji and Irya being absolute queens??? We love. But also EMMA. Emma and that awkward tension of do we still fit? Did we ever really know each other or was it just proximity and hormones and being stuck in the same suburban hellscape? That shit is SO REAL. Reuniting with old friends is like a spiritual liminal space and I needed to capture that gnawing weirdness.

AND JIMIN. The eyeliner scene??? I almost CRIED writing it. I had to pause. That man is so soft it makes me want to shove him into a pillow fort and protect him from the world. He’s so good. He sees her, without wanting anything in return. You better analyze it or I’ll strangle every single one of you.

Now. Regarding the very tense bathroom cologne scene. I was actually going to drag the cold war out longer, truly. I had plans. But Jungkook opened his slutty little mouth and said, “No, actually, I’m feral and I’ve been suffering in silence and she smells like sex and nostalgia and I must act.” And what was I supposed to do? Argue? Please. I have 0 narrative agency here. That much is clear.

Also his birthday is coming. So like. I didn’t want to enter that subplot with them still fake-ignoring each other like divorced parents. You’re welcome.

ANYWAY. The next few chapters are slower paced but VERY important. It’s all those little moments where the characters start changing without realizing it. The kind of growth you only see in hindsight. The slow part of the slow burn. But I swear to god I’m obsessed with how it’s turning out and I just want to share it with you and roll around in the angst like a dog in grass.

Okay that’s all. I love you. Go scream in the comments or eat drywall. Or both! <3 Mwah.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Fridays aren't supposed to sneak up on you like a debt collector with something to prove.

Usually, you spend the whole week crawling toward Friday like it's an oasis in the desert of your existence. Monday is hell. Tuesday is hell's waiting room. Wednesday offers a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, the week won't actually kill you. Thursday is its own special brand of torture—so close to freedom you can taste it, but still trapped in the purgatory of obligation.

And then: Friday. 

Glorious, beautiful Friday.

Except this one. This one materialized out of nowhere, ambushing you with its presence and the sudden, horrifying realization that you have exactly zero hours to prepare for what's coming.

So here you are, somehow already standing in a flea market that smells like mothballs and questionable life choices, watching Yeji hold up a fishnet... something against her body while Irya coos over crystals that probably came from the dollar store.

"What do you think?" Yeji asks, draping the fishnet monstrosity over her shoulders. "Is it giving 'fashion-forward' or 'I found this in a dumpster'?"

"Definitely dumpster," you mutter, eyes scanning the crowded stalls without really seeing them. 

Because your mind? Your mind is elsewhere—specifically on the fact that you still need to find a birthday gift for your insufferable roommate.

Jungkook. 

Just thinking his name makes your jaw clench. 

It's been three days since your argument, and the apartment has been a cold war zone of pointed silences and aggressive door closing. 

He wants to be petty? Fine. You can be petty right back. Twice as petty, even. So you’re not talking to him either.

"Hello?” Yeji waves a hand in front of your face. "You've been staring at that old guy selling taxidermy squirrels for like, two minutes straight. Should I be concerned?"

You blink, refocusing. "What? No. I'm just... looking."

"For what exactly?" Irya appears at your side, a small purple crystal clutched in her palm. "You said you already got Emma's birthday present."

"Just browsing," you lie smoothly. "Flea markets are full of... treasures."

Yeji snorts. "Since when do you care about 'treasures'? Last time I dragged you to a vintage store, you said it smelled like 'dead people's closets.'"

“No I didn’t.”

"Right." Yeji doesn't look convinced, but she's already distracted by a display of chunky silver rings. "I'm gonna check these out. Meet you at the food trucks in twenty?"

You nod, grateful for the chance to browse alone. Not that you have any fucking clue what to get Jungkook. What do you buy for someone whose entire personality seems to be "brooding film student with inexplicably good taste in coffee"?

It is like an abandoned warehouse, this flea market—stalls crammed together in haphazard rows, hipsters and bargain hunters elbowing past each other, haggling over everything from antique doorknobs to hand-knitted beanies that look like they were made by someone's cat…

You wander aimlessly, passing stalls selling vintage cameras (too expensive), artisanal coffee beans (too obvious), and leather-bound journals (too pretentious, even for him). 

Nothing feels right. 

Not that it matters—it's just a stupid obligation gift. You shouldn't care this much.

But you do. And that's annoying as fuck.

Then, a rickety table stacked with milk crates catches your eye—or rather, the handwritten sign that reads "RECORDS $5-20" in faded Sharpie. 

The elderly man behind the table looks like he's been selling vinyl since before your parents were born, his weathered hands carefully flipping through a box as a customer asks about some obscure band.

You wait until they leave, then approach, trying to look like someone who actually knows something about records. The crates are dusty, disorganized, with no apparent system. Just hundreds of albums crammed together like sardines.

"Looking for anything specific?" the old man asks, voice gravelly from what you assume are decades of cigarettes.

"Just browsing," you say, already flipping through the nearest crate.

Most of the covers are faded, corners bent, some with water damage or mysterious stains you'd rather not identify. You recognize maybe one in ten artists—a lot of jazz, classic rock, some folk singers your dad probably listened to in college.

This is stupid. You don't know what you're looking for. Jungkook collects vinyl but doesn't even own a record player. What kind of pretentious bullshit is that? It's like buying books just to display them on a shelf without reading them.

You're about to give up when your fingers pause on a familiar name.

John Mayer.

The album cover is slightly worn at the edges, but otherwise in decent condition. 

"Inside Wants Out," it says in simple white letters against the picture of a dude (you guess it’s John) in the background. 

You don’t recognize it at all.

But Jungkook listens to him. His vynil collection is basically a shrine to him. 

So you ask "how much?", holding up the record.

The old man squints. "Fifteen."

Fifteen bucks. Okay, that’s... actually reasonable. Not so expensive that it seems like you care, but not so cheap that it looks like an afterthought. 

Just a casual, "hey, saw this and thought of your weird vinyl collection" kind of gift.

Perfect.

"I'll take it," you say, already digging in your bag for your wallet.

The man slides the record into a paper sleeve, takes your money, and hands you your change with a nod. 

Transaction complete. Gift acquired. Problem solved.

You tuck the record under your arm, feeling oddly satisfied despite yourself. It's just a record. Just a stupid birthday gift for your annoying roommate who thinks he knows everything about everyone, including your taste in men.

But as you weave through the crowd toward the food trucks, you can't help but wonder if he'll like it. If his face will do that thing—that brief, unguarded thing where his eyes light up before he remembers he's supposed to be all cool and detached.

Not that you care. You're just fulfilling a social obligation. That's all.

That's absolutely all.

"Did you actually buy something?" Yeji asks when you reach her, eyeing the record under your arm. "Since when are you into vinyl?"

"Just decoration. For the vinyl wall.”

Irya peers at it. "John Mayer? Isn't he like, your dad's music?"

"He's not that old," you find yourself saying, then immediately wonder why you're defending John fucking Mayer of all people. "And anyway, it was cheap."

"Whatever you say." Yeji shrugs, then holds up a small paper bag. "I got those earrings we saw last week. The ones that look like little daggers."

"Nice," you nod, grateful for the subject change. "I'm starving. Can we get food now?"

As you follow them toward the food trucks, you resist the urge to check the record again, to make sure it's not too scratched or damaged. It doesn't matter. It's just a record. Just a gift.

Just something to cross off your to-do list before Emma's birthday tonight and Jungkook's surprise dinner tomorrow.

Nearing the trucks, suddenly everything smells good. Too good. The kind of good that makes decision-making a fucking nightmare.

You slow your steps, scanning the options.

One truck’s got sizzling skewers of grilled meat, charred at the edges, dripping onto soft pita. Another is doing fresh arepas, the scent of melted cheese thick and indulgent in the air. A few feet away, some guy with tattooed knuckles and an unreasonably aggressive beanie is ladling out steaming bowls of Vietnamese pho.

And then there’s the birria taco stand—because of course there is—and the line is criminally long, people clutching Styrofoam trays of consommé like their lives depend on it.

Your stomach rumbles.

By the time you settle on something—one of those ridiculous but beautiful smash burgers, glossy brioche bun soaking up all that greasy, caramelized goodness—you barely get your wallet out before Yeji hip-checks you out of the way.

“I pay, I pay, I pay,” she announces, tapping her phone against the card reader with swift finality.

You blink. “Okay, what?”

Yeji grins, entirely too pleased with herself. “Well, I’m obviously paying for my beautiful girlfriend, and I kinda figured I’d put you in the package deal.”

You snort, giving her a shove. “Fine. But beers later on me.”

“Deal,” she says easily, tossing the receipt onto the counter like a Wall Street exec closing a million-dollar deal.

Irya latches onto your arm, steering you out of the way so Yeji can continue flirting with the guy behind the counter—some blue-haired, too-many-rings kind of guy who’s already leaning into it, smirking as Yeji compliments his “artistry” with the grill.

“She’s ridiculous,” you mutter.

Irya hums, but there’s amusement in her eyes as she grabs your food, balancing her own order on top of yours. “Just my type of ridiculous.”

You shake your head, leading the way toward a set of old picnic tables at the edge of the food truck lot. The wood is worn, graffiti-scratched and dented from years of use, but it’s clean enough. You drop into a seat, setting your tray down, and Irya follows, sliding in across from you.

She sets her elbow on the table, chin resting lightly in her palm, and smiles. A lock of blonde hair falls loose, catching the light, and she tucks it back behind her ear absently.

“So, Emma’s birthday tonight?”

You unwrap your burger, glancing up at her. “Yeah.”

She studies you for a second, eyes warm. “Excited?”

You hesitate. 

“Yeah,” you say again, but it comes out different this time. Not untrue, exactly, but not as sure as it should be.

Irya notices. Tilts her head slightly, patient, the corners of her mouth tugging into something knowing. 

“You don’t have to be.”

A breath of something close to laughter slips out of you.

 “I mean, I am excited,” you say, because you are. “It’s just—it’s been a while. We used to be really close in high school, but then, you know… life.”

Irya nods, thumb idly tracing the grain of the table. “She’s in Columbia, right?”

“Yeah. I stayed in-state for a bit before moving here. Different cities, different schools, different everything.” You shrug, picking at the edge of the wax paper lining your tray. “We tried to keep in touch, but it’s not the same when you’re not living through the same things anymore. And then you just… don’t talk as much. And then that becomes normal.”

“And now?”

“Now she’s in the city, and I guess we’re both trying to reconnect.”

“That’s good,” Irya says, and she means it. “It’s nice when people want to find their way back to each other.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, glancing down at your food, pushing a fry through the puddle of ketchup on your tray. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Irya watches you, quiet for a second. Then—

“She’s inviting a lot of people, right?”

You nod, grateful for the slight shift in direction. “Yeah. Told me to bring people, too, so I figured you and Yeji. Maybe Jimin.”

“Jimin would love that.” Irya grins. “He’s been in study-group hell all week. He deserves some fun.”

“You think?” You manage to say whilst chewing on the potato. “I thought I wouldn’t be doing him any favors. Like, he’s the type of person to say yes just out of obligation. And I didn’t want to pressure him into anything.”

Irya makes a soft sound of amusement, propping her chin in her palm. “Nah. If Jimin really didn’t want to go, he’d find a way to say no without actually saying no.”

You pause mid-chew. “What does that mean?”

“It means he’d do that thing where he apologizes like, three different ways in the same sentence, but somehow, you still walk away not totally sure if he said yes or no.”

You snort, swallowing. “Okay, yeah. That sounds about right.”

Irya grins, poking at her fries. “And anyway, he actually likes going out. He just overthinks it first.”

“You say that like you’re sure.”

“I am sure,” she says breezily. “I have classes with him. I watch it happen in real time.”

“Real time?”

“Oh, yeah. Like, someone invites him somewhere, and you can see him start to spiral. Like, ‘Okay, but what if I go and I regret it? But what if I don’t go and I regret that instead? But what if I go, but it’s not fun? But what if I don’t go, and it was fun, and now I’m missing out?’” She mimics his voice, exaggerated and tragic, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Okay, but that is a valid crisis.”

“It is,” Irya agrees, laughing too. “But the point is, once he actually gets there, he has a good time.” She levels you with a look, half teasing, half expectant. “So invite him.”

You sigh, reaching for another fry. “Fine.”

And then—

“I got us free dumplings.”

Yeji appears out of nowhere, sliding into the seat next to Irya and dropping a white takeout box onto the table like she’s just secured a goddamn business deal.

You blink. “How?”

She shrugs, already reaching for a dumpling. “Wouldn’t take my money.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

Irya hums, all faux-innocent. “Didn’t happen to have anything to do with that very long, very intimate conversation you were having with the guy behind the counter, did it?”

Yeji smirks around a bite of dumpling. “I dunno. Did it?”

You snort, shaking your head. “Men and their non-existent gaydars.”

“Right? Kinda sucks when she grabs all their attention,” Irya smiles, reaching for a dumpling of her own.

“Not my fault he was easy to entertain,” Yeji says, looking entirely unbothered. “Anyway, eat. They’re fresh.”

You don’t argue. The dumplings are good—warm, crisp at the edges, the filling rich with just the right balance of spice.

Yeji watches you for a second, chewing thoughtfully. “So what were we talking about?”

“Jimin,” Irya supplies.

Yeji groans. “Ugh. Tragic little academic. Is he still alive?”

Irya nods, popping a dumpling into her mouth. “Barely. But we’re dragging him to Emma’s party tonight, so he might actually remember what fun feels like.”

Yeji quirks an eyebrow, chewing slowly. “Emma?” She flicks a glance at you. “Your other friend? Birthday girl?”

You take a sip of your drink. “Mmhm.”

Yeji hums, tapping her chopsticks against the takeout box. “Bestie competition, then.”

You nearly choke. “Oh my god.”

Irya grins, delighted. “It is kind of serious. High school bestie versus new college besties.”

Yeji tilts her head, considering. “I don’t know, man. Legacy friends have an unfair advantage. History. Nostalgia.”

“Yeah,” Irya sighs, fake mournful. “How can we ever compete with the memories?”

You level them both with a flat look. “You’ve known me for a month.”

Yeji leans back. “It’s been a whole month already? Woah.”

“We’re joking. I’m sure we’ll get along.” Irya adds.

You snort, shaking your head.

Yeji watches you for a second, still smirking, but then the expression shifts—just a little. 

“Are you excited?”

The question catches you off guard. Not because it’s unexpected, but because it’s… genuine.

You pause, setting down your cup. 

“Yeah,” you say, slower this time. “I mean, I haven’t seen her in a while, so it’ll be—nice. A little weird, maybe. But nice.”

Yeji nods. “You gonna introduce us?”

You blink. “Uh. Yeah?”

Irya arches her eyebrows. “Yeah?”

You groan. “Oh my god, what is that supposed to mean?”

Yeji shrugs, reaching for another dumpling. “I mean, if she’s bestie material, we gotta vet her.”

“Shouldn’t she be the one vetting you two? She’s known me since I had braces and a regrettable side bang phase. Feels like she’s got seniority here.”

Yeji gasps. “Wow. So you’re saying we have no authority in this situation?”

“We really don’t.” Irya muses, almost singsonging.

“I don’t know,” Yeji muses, tapping a finger against her chin. “I feel like we bring some very important qualifications to the table. For example, we met Y/N when she was already in her fully realized, evolved form. We didn’t just settle for her because we grew up in the same town.”

You roll your eyes. “Jesus.”

Yeji nods, completely serious. “Yeah, we got to make an informed choice. Handpicked, if you will.”

“Wow, lucky me.”

Irya grins. “So lucky.”

You shake your head, reaching for another fry. “Just… behave.”

“I always behave,” Yeji says, smirking. “You’re just afraid we’ll be better besties than Emma.”

You scoff. “That’s not even remotely the issue.”

“Then what is the issue?” Irya prompts, head tilting to the side.

You hesitate. Not because you don’t know, but because saying it out loud feels like giving it weight. Giving it power.

You exhale. “It’s just—there’s a difference between keeping in touch and actually knowing someone after years apart. And I guess I don’t know if we still… fit the way we used to.”

That quiets them for a beat.

Yeji tilts her head, watching you with something unreadable in her gaze. Irya rests her chin in her palm again, a small, knowing smile playing at her lips.

“That’s fair,” Irya says, voice softer this time. “It’s weird when people grow in different directions. Sometimes you come back together. Sometimes you don’t.”

You nod, not entirely trusting yourself to speak.

“But hey,” Yeji cuts in, voice as casual as ever, “if she sucks, at least you’ll have us.”

You huff a laugh. “So generous of you.”

She winks. “I know.”

And just like that, the weight on your chest feels a little lighter.

You stare at your reflection, one eye perfectly winged, the other a smudged disaster—like your life, really: half put together, half absolute chaos.

You lean closer to the mirror, squinting at your uneven eyeliner with the kind of intense focus that FBI agents would reserve for defusing bombs or something. You've been at this for twenty minutes now, and your right eye is starting to look like it's been drawn by a five-year-old with a crayon during an earthquake.

"Fuck," you mutter, reaching for a cotton swab. 

Third time's the charm, right? 

Or maybe fifth. 

You've lost count.

From the living room, Griffin's thunderous purr competes with Yeji's animated voice. She's been trying to convince Yoongi to produce some track for her for the past fifteen minutes, her persistence almost admirable if it weren't so clearly futile. Yoongi's monotone responses barely register over the distance, but you can picture his expression—bored, unbothered, probably wanting to kill himself before engaging.

"Orange cats are literally the basic bitches of the cat world," Yeji declares loudly enough for you to hear. "Black cats have personality. They have depth. They're mysterious."

"Tell that to Griffin," Irya responds, her voice warm and amused. "He seems pretty content being basic on your lap right now."

"That's cats for you," Yeji sighs dramatically. "The least person who wants them is the one who gets them."

You smile despite your eyeliner frustration. Because it’s ironic—Yeji, who swears black cats are superior, is now trapped under Griffin's substantial orange weight. 

That's karma, feline edition.

You’re wearing a dress to the gathering—the same one from that night in January. You've worn it exactly once since buying it, and now it's making its second appearance. 

It's not like you planned it this way. It just happened to be the perfect outfit for Emma's birthday dinner. 

(At least that's what you tell yourself as you deliberately avoid examining your motives too closely.)

Emma. Your high school friend. Your only real connection to your life before college. 

Before this apartment. 

Before Jungkook. 

You haven't seen her in months (since that night in January), and there's a strange anxiety bubbling in your stomach that has nothing to do with your makeup struggles. 

You did vibe back then. But… was it a ‘we vibe because we are going out’ situation; or was it because you two actually connected?

People change. You've changed. The question hanging in the air is whether you've changed in compatible ways.

At least you won't be alone tonight. Emma said you could bring friends, so naturally, you are bringing them along.

You dab at your eyeliner again, smudging it further. Great. Now you look like you've been punched. Or crying. Or both.

A soft knock on the door interrupts your silent self-criticism.

"Come in," you call, not bothering to hide your frustration. It's not like anyone in this apartment hasn't seen you in various states of disaster before.

The door creaks open, and Jimin's face appears in the gap, his expression shifting from curious to sympathetic as he takes in your makeup situation.

"Having trouble?" he asks, stepping into the small bathroom. 

The space immediately feels warmer with him in it. Jimin has that effect—like a human comfort blanket.

"What gave it away?" you deadpan, gesturing to your face. "The fact that I look like I let a toddler do my makeup, or the fact that I've been in here for half an hour?"

He laughs softly, the sound gentle and reassuring. "It's not that bad."

"Liar."

"Okay, it's a little uneven," he admits, moving closer to examine your handiwork. His eyes narrow slightly as he studies your face with unexpected intensity. "Let me."

Before you can respond, he's taking the eyeliner from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours in a brief moment of warmth.

"You know how to do this?" you ask, surprised.

"I have sisters," he says simply, which doesn't really answer your question, but you don't push it. "Close your eye," he instructs, his voice soft but confident.

You comply, feeling the gentle pressure of his hand steadying your face. His touch is light, precise—and you can’t help but feel this is some sort of significant moment. 

"Stay still," he murmurs, and you can sense the smile forming on his lips.

The eyeliner glides across your lid with surprising smoothness. One stroke, then another. No hesitation in his movement. You're impressed and a little confused by his skill, but mostly grateful.

"Where did you learn to—"

"Shh," he interrupts. "No talking or I'll mess up."

You fall silent, letting him work. There's something about Jimin that's always made you curious. He's like a book with half the pages glued together—what you can read is beautiful, but you sense there's more to the story.

"Done," he announces after a moment, stepping back to admire his work. "Take a look."

You turn to the mirror and blink in surprise. The wing is perfect—sharp enough to kill a man, as Yeji herself would say. It matches the other eye exactly, creating a symmetry you couldn't achieve on your own.

"Jimin, this is..." you trail off, turning to face him. "How are you so good at this?"

He shrugs, a small, almost shy grin playing at his lips. "I just have a steady hand, I guess."

There's more to it than that—you can tell by the way he avoids your eyes, the slight flush creeping up his neck. But something tells you not to press further. 

Everyone has their secrets.

Private pieces they're not ready to share. 

You, of all people, know that.

"Well, whatever the reason, thank you," you say sincerely. "You just saved me from looking like a hot mess at Emma's birthday."

"Happy to help," he replies, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "You look beautiful."

The compliment is simple, genuine, without the weight of expectation or desire that usually accompanies such words from men. 

It's refreshing. Because you feel like Jimin sees you—really sees you—without wanting anything in return.

"We should probably get going soon," he says, glancing at his watch. "Yeji's been threatening to leave without us for the past ten minutes."

"As if she would," you scoff, reaching for your lipstick. "She's too excited about meeting Emma and judging her worthiness."

Jimin laughs. "True. Though I think she's more excited about the free food."

"Priorities," you agree with a smile.

You apply your lipstick—a muted berry shade that complements your eyeshadow without being too dramatic. The final touch to your appearance. Not too casual, not too glamorous. Perfect for a birthday dinner.

You've always loved makeup, the ritual of it, the transformation. 

Not because you're trying to hide or become someone else, but because it's an extension of yourself—another form of expression. 

You're so tired of those cliché "not like other girls" characters in movies and books who supposedly wear nothing but mascara yet somehow have flawless skin and perfect brows. 

As if enjoying makeup somehow makes you shallow or less authentic.

The truth is, most girls you know love makeup to some degree. Some for the artistry, some for the confidence boost, some just because it's fun. And you're no different. 

That doesn't make you basic or vain—it makes you human. 

A human who happens to enjoy the satisfying swipe of a good lipstick.

"Ready?" Jimin asks, holding the door open for you.

You take one last look at your reflection. The girl staring back looks put together, confident. 

Whether she actually feels that way is another story entirely, but hey—fake it till you make it, right?

"Ready," you confirm.

You're halfway out the door when you pause. 

Something's missing. The final touch.

"Oh, wait. Cologne."

Jimin nods understandingly, already retreating toward the living room. "Don't take too long or Yeji might actually follow through on her threats this time."

You turn back to the bathroom counter, sliding open the narrow drawer where your collection lives. Four different bottles stare back at you, each with its own personality, its own statement. Your fingers hover over them, indecisive, until they land on one particular bottle.

Amber, its color.

The golden liquid catches the bathroom light, glowing like trapped sunlight inside the crystal bottle. 

You haven't used it since... well, since that night in January. You've been saving it for special occasions, though what constitutes "special" has remained conveniently undefined.

You lift the bottle, turning it in your hand. You apply it to your wrists, your neck, your ears. And before you can overthink it, you bring it to your nose, inhaling lightly.

Memories unfurl instantly, blooming in your mind like clouds puffing up in a winter sky. They tumble through your consciousness, overwhelming and vivid, making it hard to breathe—though you're not entirely sure you want to.

His hands on your hips, fingers pressing into your skin with just enough pressure to leave phantom marks that lingered for days afterward. 

His slicked chin when he smiled up at you from between your thighs, all smug and proud for making you cum with his tongue. 

His infuriating, satisfied smirk that somehow annoyed you, but also turned you on.

Rosy cheeks and disheveled hair, soft eyes in the aftermath. 

You distinctly remember that was the first time you had thought Jungkook looked cute. Not just hot or sexy, but genuinely cute in a way that had caught you off guard.

And you didn't even know his name then.

The door swings open without warning.

You nearly drop the bottle, fumbling to catch it before it shatters against the tile floor. Your heart leaps into your throat as you look up, startled.

Jungkook peers inside, and you both freeze, staring at each other like you don’t know which one of you should stay and which one of you should leave. His eyes flick from your face to the bottle in your hand, recognition dawning in his expression.

A long pause.

Your eyes drift down his torso, inevitably.

He's wearing a black t-shirt that hugs his frame in all the right places, hair rumpled and messy. His rainy-like scent envelops the cramped space, mingling with the lingering notes of vanilla on your wrist like they’ve always belonged together. 

His eyes drift too. Drop lower, taking in the dress hugging your curves, fingers tightening on the doorframe, knuckles whitening with the pressure. 

You watch the subtle movement, the physical manifestation of restraint, and feel an answering tightness in your chest.

You haven't spoken since Tuesday. Since the fight about Jason. Since he suddenly starting talking about vibes like he’s the type of guy to trust his gut.

And maybe he is. 

And maybe you aren’t.

"Sorry," he says finally, breaking the silence. "Didn't know you were in here."

He avoids your gaze.

You don’t know if that makes you angry or anxious. It’s hard to determine what’s crippling your chest.

"It's fine. I was just leaving."

Neither of you moves.

His eyes drift to the cologne bottle again. Recognition, desire, frustration. 

Then, he masks it. 

But you caught it. 

He remembers the fragrance.

And how could he not? When he constantly praised it that night, how it rested on your skin, how good it made you smell, how fucking good you tasted.

"Going somewhere?" he asks then, interrupting your conflicting thoughts.

"Emma's birthday dinner," you reply, voice tight.

He nods slowly, gaze returning to the dress. The dress from that night. The dress he peeled off you with those same hands now gripping the doorframe like it's the only thing keeping him anchored.

You should move. You should cap the cologne, put it away, walk past him and join your friends who are waiting. You should maintain the cold war you've established since your fight.

Instead, you find yourself asking, "Did you need something?"

He purses his lips. "Just needed to pee.”

"Right," you say. "I'll get out of your way."

You cap the cologne, and you just know his eyes are tracking your every motion. Because that’s Jungkook for you—when he’s focused on something, it’s obvious.

You move toward the door—toward him—and it’s like suddenly, the small bathroom feels impossibly smaller. Like there’s not enough space for both of you and all the unspoken words crowding the air.

You'll have to squeeze past him. There's no way to avoid it.

His grip on the doorframe tightens further, as if he's holding himself back. From what, you're not entirely sure. Touching you? Yelling at you? Both seem equally possible.

"Excuse me," you murmur.

He steps back marginally, not enough to clear the path completely. 

Like he’s hesitating. 

Like he doesn’t know whether he wants to move for real, or stay rooted in place.

“Jungkook,” you say, and his name feels strange on your tongue after days of not speaking it. “Move.”

“You smell like that night,” he settles for staying instead of moving, voice dropping lower, annoyed. “You know that, right? You’re going to smell exactly like you did when I had you against that wall.”

Your breath catches. Heat blooms across your chest, up your neck.

“That’s not—” you start, but the lie dies on your lips. 

Because it is. Of course it is. You knew exactly what you were doing when you reached for that bottle.

You see his jaw work. His tongue peek against the inside of his cheek. His eyes lock into yours like he wants to say something else.

But he doesn’t. 

“Have fun at your dinner,” is all he comes up with, stepping aside. 

The movement feels like it costs him something.

You move past him. Take a deep breath, pushing thoughts of Jungkook aside. 

Tonight isn’t about him. It’s about Emma, about reconnecting with a part of your life that existed before this apartment, before him.

But as you step into the living room, you can still feel the weight of his gaze on your back, can still smell the amber scent on your skin, can still hear his voice in your ear.

You know that, right? You’re going to smell exactly like you did when I had you against that wall.

And the worst part is, you don’t know why or how—but maybe that’s exactly what you wanted.

The restaurant is too loud, too crowded, too New York—but Emma’s hug is warm, and that makes up for it.

“Finally.” She squeezes you tight, like she’s trying to merge your atoms together. “You took forever.”

Yeji, behind you, snorts. “Blame her eyeliner existential crisis.”

Emma pulls back, eyebrows raised. “Oh? We still doing that?”

“We are always doing that,” you deadpan.

She laughs—her laugh. It’s the same as it was in high school, loud and full, like she actually enjoys things instead of just tolerating them. That hasn’t changed. Neither has the way she looks at you, eyes scanning your face, taking you in like she’s checking if you’re still the same person too.

The answer? You don’t know.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you guys,” she says, looping an arm through yours.

You let yourself be pulled in—into the restaurant, into her world, into the crowd of fifteen fucking people all squeezed around a too-small table in the back corner. She moves through the chaos easily, hand on your wrist, steering you like she used to when you were seventeen and invincible.

“This is Yeji, Irya, and Jimin,” you say as you go, pointing them out like exhibits in a museum.

Emma grins at them, all effortless charm. “Your uni friends. I’ve heard so much.”

Jimin, ever polite, smiles back. “All good things, I hope.”

Emma does not confirm or deny, which says enough.

There’s a blur of names you won’t remember—Emma’s friends, classmates, people who probably have their lives together in a way you do not. Someone pulls her into another conversation, and you hover awkwardly at the edge of the group, watching her slip back into a world that isn’t yours.

It’s strange.

You used to know everything about her. Every inside joke, every dream, every late-night insecurity whispered over FaceTime. 

But now—now you’re an observer. 

A guest.

Still, when she sits, she grabs your wrist again and tugs you down next to her.

“So,” she starts, picking up her glass—red wine, something deep and rich. “Are you finally admitting that I was right, or are we still in the denial phase?”

You blink, thrown. “About what?”

She gives you a look. “Do I have to spell it out?”

Your stomach knots.

Jungkook. She means Jungkook.

You exhale through your nose, reaching for your water instead. “We are so not doing this here.”

Emma grins, but she lets it go—for now.

Instead, she leans back. “God, I forgot how exhausting socializing is. I swear, law school is turning me into one of those people who can only function in coffee shops and libraries.”

You snort. “You were already that person in high school.”

“True,” she concedes, tilting her glass toward you. “But now it’s worse. Now I actually enjoy tax law. Like, genuinely. It’s fascinating.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I refuse to believe that.”

“Swear on my life,” she says, amused. “You should see me in my internship. I get excited about deductions. I have a favorite tax loophole.”

“That’s disgusting.”

Emma just grins. “Give it time. One day, you’ll come to me, desperate for tax advice, and I’ll be your only hope. And I will lord it over you.”

“You wish.”

“Oh, I know.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the way your lips twitch. It’s easy, falling into conversation with Emma. Easier than you thought it would be, considering how much has changed since high school.

“So, what’s the plan then?” you ask, nudging your knee against hers under the table. “You still set on Seattle after graduation?”

Emma hesitates. Not in a bad way—more like she’s holding onto something, waiting for the right moment.

“Actually,” she says, twirling the stem of her glass between her fingers. “I’ve been thinking about Europe.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Europe?”

“Yeah.” She leans forward slightly, eyes lighting up. “I did a summer program there—France, Italy, Greece, Spain. It was insane. I loved it. I don’t know, I just—” She exhales, shaking her head like she can’t quite put it into words. “Seattle was always the safe plan, you know? The practical one. But now? I keep thinking about the Mediterranean coast. The markets, the people. It feels like people there work to live, not live to work like they do here in America.”

You watch her carefully. Emma has always been a planner, a strategist. She doesn’t make decisions lightly.

And yet—she looks alive talking about this.

“So, what?” you ask. “You’re gonna become a tax attorney in Greece? Help rich expats avoid paying their fair share?”

Emma snorts. “God, no. If I go, I’d probably work with international firms, corporate law, maybe even consulting. It’s different over there, you know? Taxes, policies, loopholes—everything shifts depending on the country, the treaties in place.”

“You realize you sound even worse now, right?”

“Shut up,” she laughs. “At least I’m passionate about something.”

You hum, thoughtful. “So, Europe.”

“Maybe,” she says. “Nothing’s set in stone yet.”

But you can tell, just from the way she says it, that it’s more than a maybe.

It’s funny. The last time you saw her, she was talking about Seattle like it was inevitable. Now she’s talking about the Mediterranean coast with the kind of quiet certainty that makes you think she’s already half there.

People change.

You’ve changed.

And yet, it feels like nothing between you two has changed at all. 

Emma eyes you for a long moment, then smirks. 

“Your turn.”

You blink. “What?”

“You’ve barely told me anything about your life,” she says. “How’s English? Still planning on breaking the hearts of young, impressionable students as a professor?”

“First of all, no. That is not the plan. And second—”

“You can’t tell me you don’t look the part,” she teases. “The eyeliner? The whole vibe? You’d have students falling in love with you instantly.”

“I hate you.”

She grins. “I missed you too.”

You feel it, then—the warmth of familiarity, of friendship. It settles in your chest, light and unburdened, and for the first time in a while, you think:

This is nice.

Even with the changes, even with the time apart, even with the half-truths lingering at the back of your throat—this is still Emma.

“Come on,” Emma nudges your arm, eyes gleaming. “Let me introduce you to my favorite tax nerds.”

You groan, but let her pull you toward the other end of the table. “If I die of boredom, I’m haunting you.”

“They’re fun,” she insists, dodging between chairs and half-full wine glasses. “For tax people, anyway.”

The group is mid-conversation when you arrive—something about offshore accounts, corporate loopholes, and why the ultra-wealthy pay less in taxes than you probably spend on coffee each year. (Fascinating.) Chris and Max, two guys who both look like they were born wearing pressed button-ups, are deep in debate, hands gesturing, voices overlapping.

But the girl sitting across from you—Nina—just listens, quiet, observant.

She clocks you the moment you sit down. And you clock her right back.

Dark brown skin, black curls tucked behind one ear, a delicate gold necklace resting just above the collar of an oversized sweater. The sleeves are pushed up to reveal slender wrists, and she has the kind of presence that doesn’t need to fill space to be felt. 

There’s something measured about her. Something thoughtful. Like she only speaks when there’s something worth saying.

She’s pretty.

Really pretty.

But it’s more than that. She’s composed in a way that makes you hyperaware of yourself—your posture, the way you’re holding your drink, the way she looks at you with a quiet, unreadable expression.

“Hi,” she says, voice smooth, accent lilting ever so slightly.

It’s just that—simple. Friendly. Maybe.

You clear your throat. “Hey.”

Emma gestures between you. “Nina, this is my friend from high school—the one I told you about?”

Nina hums like she remembers, tilting her head. “The one who thinks tax law is boring?”

You blink. “Emma told you that?”

“She warned me in advance,” Nina says, lips twitching. “Said you might try to stage an intervention.”

You shoot Emma a look, but she’s already sipping her wine, unbothered. 

“Well,” you say, turning back to Nina, “I was going to be polite about it, but now I feel like I have a responsibility.”

That gets a small smile out of her. Just a slight curve of the lips, like she’s amused but won’t give you the satisfaction of knowing just how much.

You don’t know why that makes you want to push, just a little.

“So,” you continue, tilting your head, “what is it, then? The thing about tax law that actually doesn’t put you to sleep?”

Nina considers this. Takes a slow sip of her drink. And when she speaks, it’s not rushed—it’s careful.

“It’s not about the numbers,” she says, setting her glass down. “Not really. It’s about human nature. About how people behave when they think no one is watching. Governments set up incentives, and people react accordingly. It’s a game of strategy. A reflection of what a society actually values, not just what it claims to.”

You weren’t expecting that answer.

Your fingers tighten slightly around your glass. “So, what—you think taxes are, like, a moral compass?”

Nina shrugs. “Not a moral compass. But they show you what people are willing to bend the rules for. What they think is worth cheating for. And that’s… interesting, I think.”

You watch her, trying to get a read on her. She’s got this almost effortless kind of intrigue—the kind of person who could make anything sound poetic if she wanted to.

Emma groans. “Oh god, don’t encourage her. She’ll start talking about capital gains tax next.”

Nina lifts a brow. “It’s actually fascinating, if you—”

“Absolutely not,” Emma interrupts. “Nope. I refuse.”

You smirk. “I don’t know, Em. I kind of want to hear her out.”

Emma glares at you. “Do not encourage the tax philosophy.”

But Nina is looking at you again. Not in a dramatic way. Not in a way that screams I’m interested. But in a way that’s… present. Attentive. Like she actually finds this conversation worth having.

And maybe that means nothing.

Or maybe it does.

You’re not sure.

Which—God, why is this always harder with girls?

With guys, it’s obvious. But with girls—well. You think she’s enjoying this. But is she just enjoying it, or is there something else there? Is this just conversation, or is it something that, in hindsight, will feel like a moment?

You have no fucking idea.

The conversation shifts after that—Emma talks about her summer in Europe, Chris and Max start debating New York’s best pizza, someone brings up an upcoming bar crawl.

And then, at some point, Nina glances at her phone before looking at you again.

“You mind if I get your number?” she asks.

Casual. Easy. Nothing in her tone suggests it’s anything more than that.

“Emma talks about you a lot,” she adds, mouth twitching slightly. “I feel like I should probably fact-check at least half of it.”

Emma swats at her, but you barely register it, already pulling your phone out.

You’re not reading into it. You’re not.

But also—

You kind of are.

Still, you hand your phone over, watch as Nina types in her number, then passes it back. Just a name in your contacts now. Simple. Unassuming.

You have no idea if you just made a new friend or if this is something else.

And honestly?

You kind of like not knowing.

“Well, well, well,” Yeji drawls, sliding into the conversation without invitation. “Are we allowed to sit, or is this a tax-exclusive gathering?”

You exhale. “Jesus, Yeji.”

“What? We were getting bored.” She drops into the seat beside you, tossing an arm over Irya’s chair. “Jimin’s been overanalyzing the condensation on his glass for the past fifteen minutes, and Irya’s just been smiling at people like a lost pageant contestant.”

“I was being friendly,” Irya corrects, unfazed.

“You were being too friendly.”

“Networking,” Irya insists, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I love people.”

“You do,” Emma says, delighted. “It’s terrifying.”

Irya beams, pleased. Yeji just sighs like she’s accepted her fate.

Nina watches all of this unfold with quiet amusement, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. “You two are together?”

Yeji tilts her head. “That a problem?”

Nina meets her gaze evenly. “No. It’s nice.”

It’s a simple statement, but it rings genuine, like she’s not just saying it to be polite. Yeji studies her for a second longer before nodding, satisfied, and pulling Irya in to kiss her temple.

Emma turns to you, grinning. “Your friends are so much more fun than my law ones.”

You smirk. “That’s because they have souls.”

Chris, still lingering in the tax-law-heavy end of the table, lifts a hand in protest. “Hey.”

Yeji ignores him completely, waving to Nina instead. “So, you’re a tax philosopher?”

Nina looks faintly amused but nods. “That’s what they tell me.”

“Cool, cool,” Yeji muses, reaching for Irya’s wine and taking a sip before Irya can protest. “And do you also believe that money isn’t real?”

Nina tilts her head slightly, considering. “I think it’s real in the sense that it determines the way the world functions. But I also think it’s one of the biggest shared delusions humanity has ever committed to.”

Yeji brightens. “See? This is the tax conversation I want to be having.”

You roll your eyes, but Nina takes it in stride. She’s good at this, you notice—letting conversations unfold naturally, never forcing her presence but never fading into the background either.

Across from you, Jimin has settled into his usual quiet observation, sipping his drink slowly. He’s not uncomfortable, just taking it all in. He catches your eye at one point, a small look that says ‘you good?’

You nod, barely perceptible.

He doesn’t push. Just gives a small nod back and turns his attention back to the conversation. Just listening in.

Emma leans in slightly, nudging your arm. “I like them,” she murmurs.

You glance at her, raising a brow. “Yeah?”

She hums. “They make you lighter.”

It’s such an Emma thing to say—blunt in a way that doesn’t feel invasive, just observant. 

You don’t respond right away, but you don’t need to. 

She’s already grinning like she knows the answer.

The apartment is quiet when you finally get home, the only light coming from the TV screen where some game is paused. 

Jungkook is sprawled on the couch, controller resting loosely in his hands, looking like he's been there for hours. He glances up when the door closes behind you, expression neutral.

"It's late," he says, not quite a question.

You drop your keys in the bowl by the door. "Yeah."

"Had fun?" He unpauses the game, thumbs moving lazily over the controller buttons. His character on screen walks aimlessly into a wall.

"Yeah," you say, kicking off your heels with a sigh of relief. "Emma's friends are cool. We ended up at this bar in Brooklyn after dinner."

He makes a noncommittal sound, still not looking at you.

"Jason wasn't there, though, so don't worry," you add, unable to help yourself.

That gets his attention. His thumbs still, and he scoffs, a short, sharp sound in the quiet apartment. 

“You know I don't give a fuck about that guy, right?"

"Really?" You raise an eyebrow, heading to the kitchen for water. "Because you seemed to have very strong opinions about him on Tuesday."

The controller drops onto the couch as he turns to face you fully. 

“Look," he says, voice tight with frustration. "I don't give a fuck who you fuck or who you date. Seriously. Not my business."

"Yup. Three rules," you start, unscrewing the cap on your water bottle.

"One, no one knows," he recites, cutting you off.

"Two, if somebody asks, we're just roommates," you continue.

"And three," he interrupts again, more forcefully, "no feelings. I know the fucking rules, Phoenix. I helped make them."

You take a long drink of water, studying him over the bottle. His hair is messy in a stupid endearing way, and there are shadows under his eyes. 

"So what was Tuesday about, then?" you ask finally.

He exhales slowly, jaw working. "I told you. The guy gives me bad vibes."

"Bad vibes," you repeat flatly.

"Yeah. Bad fucking vibes." He rubs a hand over his face. "Look, I know how it sounded, okay? But it's not—" He stops, frustrated. "It's not about you. Or us. Or whatever the fuck we're doing."

You consider him for a moment, then set your water bottle down and cross to the couch, sitting on the opposite end. 

"Explain."

"What?"

"Explain these 'bad vibes.' Because from where I was sitting, it sounded irrational."

"It's not—" He stops again, shaking his head. "You know what? Forget it. Not my problem."

"Jungkook."

He looks at you, surprised by the use of his actual name.

"I'm trying to understand," you say, softer than you intended. "So explain it to me."

He studies you for a long moment, like he's trying to decide if you're serious. 

Finally, he sighs. "He's fake."

"Fake how?"

"The way he talks. The way he looks at you when you're not watching. The way he touched your arm in the car." His words come faster now. "The way he asked about your schedule, your classes. The way he positioned himself between us. It's all... calculated."

You frown. "That's a lot to read into a few interactions."

"I know what I saw," he insists. "Guys like that... they start small. Compliments. Attention. Making you feel special. Then it's suggestions about what you should wear. Who you should hang out with. What classes you should take."

His tone is raw, really raw, and you realize it’s the first time you’ve heard him talk like this. 

Like it’s personal.

“You're saying he's controlling."

"I'm saying he could be." He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up further. "Look, I've seen it before, okay? People who seem perfect on the surface but underneath they're just... manipulative. They make you think everything's your idea when really they're pulling all the strings."

You're quiet for a moment, processing. 

"This isn't just about Jason, is it?"

His eyes flick to yours, then away. 

"I told you. It's not about you or us."

"But it is about someone."

He doesn't answer, but his silence is confirmation enough.

"Mia?" you ask softly.

"I don't want to talk about her."

"Okay," you say, respecting the boundary even as curiosity burns through you. "But that's why you're worried about Jason? Because he reminds you of her?"

"Not of her specifically," he says after a pause. "Just... the type. The signs."

You pull your legs up onto the couch, turning to face him fully. "What signs?"

He looks at you for a long moment, like he's deciding how much to share. 

"The perfect act," he says finally. "The way everything seems rehearsed. The charm that never quite reaches their eyes." His voice drops lower. "The way they make you feel like you're the only person in the room, but it's not because they care about you. It's because they want something from you."

"And you think that's Jason?"

"I don't know," he admits. "Maybe I'm seeing things that aren't there. But my gut says something's off with him."

You consider this. "Your gut's been wrong before."

A bitter smile twists his lips. "Yeah. More than once."

Silence stretches between you, but it’s not the uncomfortable kind. It’s like you’re both still processing the words exchanged.

"I'm still going on the date," you say finally.

He nods, looking away. "I know."

"But I'll... keep what you said in mind. Watch for the signs."

He glances back at you, surprise flickering across his face. 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." You shrug, trying to keep it casual. "Contrary to what you might think, I don't actually enjoy being manipulated."

"Could've fooled me," he mutters, but there's no real heat behind it.

You kick his thigh lightly with your foot. "Asshole."

The corner of his mouth twitches upward. "Brat."

Silence again. His forearms are resting on his knees, hands crossed together as his gaze remains unfocused.

"So," he says eventually, "how was the birthday girl?"

You're surprised by the question, by his apparent interest in your life outside this apartment. 

"Good," you say. "Different, but good. She's in Economics. Has a serious boyfriend. Wears a lot of beige."

"Sounds thrilling."

You laugh despite yourself. "It was actually nice. Weird, but nice. Like visiting a place you used to live but don't anymore."

He nods, understanding in his eyes. "Did your new friends play nice with your old friend?"

"Yeji, Irya and Jimin?" You smile at the memory. "They were on their best behavior. Well, Yeji's version of best behavior, which means she only made three inappropriate jokes and only drank half the table's wine."

He snorts. "Sounds about right."

"Emma liked them, though. I think." You pause, considering. "It's strange, bringing different parts of your life together."

"I bet it is," he agrees quietly.

You look at him, really look at him, sitting there in the dim light of the TV. For once, there's no smirk on his face, no challenge in his eyes. Just Jungkook, tired and rumpled and unexpectedly honest.

"Why were you still up?" you ask suddenly.

The question catches him off guard. "What?"

"It's 3 AM. Why are you still awake?"

He shrugs, defensive again. "Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd play for a bit."

You glance at the TV screen where his character has been standing in the same spot for the past ten minutes. 

"Right."

"What?" he demands.

"Nothing," you say, but you can't help the small smile that forms. "Just... nothing."

He narrows his eyes at you, but doesn't press.

"I should get to bed," you say, standing up. "It's late."

He nods, picking up the controller again. "Yeah."

You're halfway to your room when his voice stops you.

"Phoenix?"

You turn back. "Yeah?"

He’s staring at you, but it’s not the usual smirk. No. 

His eyes flick downward. To the floor, like he’s seriously considering his next words—or rather, if he should vocalize them at all. 

But then he looks up at you again, seemingly decided.

"You..." he starts, licking his lips like he’s trying to pull himself together. But he’s failing. "You know you smell fucking delicious, right? Like, it’s so fucking unfair."

Your pulse stutters. "Excuse me?"

"The cologne," he says, standing up. "You’ve been driving me insane the whole night. The whole apartment smells like you.”

You blink at him, caught somewhere between disbelief and something hotter, heavier. "I didn’t wear it for you."

"No?” His lips twitch, almost a smile but not quite—like he knows exactly how full of shit you are. "The cologne from that night. The dress from that night. And I’m supposed to believe that’s just a coincidence?"

"It is," you snap back, defensive even as your pulse betrays you by speeding up.

He exhales sharply, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s hearing—or maybe just like he can’t believe you.

“Fuck, Phoenix," he mutters, voice dropping into something rougher, more dangerous. "Do you have any idea how good you smell? How much I’ve been thinking about getting my mouth on you again?"

Your breath catches somewhere in your throat—an audible hitch that makes his eyes darken further.

"We’re fighting," you remind him weakly.

"Are we?" He steps closer, until there’s barely a whisper of space between you. "Because right now all I can think about is how wet you were for me the first time I smelled that shit on your skin."

You retreat physically; even though mentally you’re honestly already naked for him.

"Four days," he muses, tone dripping with frustration, almost needy. "Four days of smelling your shampoo in the bathroom, that stupid body lotion, and now—now you pull this shit. That’s fucking cruel, Nix.”

"You could’ve apologized," you point out dryly.

"For what?" He scoffs like the idea itself is offensive. "For telling the truth? For saying Jason gives me bad vibes?"

"There it is again," you say, crossing your arms over your chest like it’ll protect you from whatever energy he’s radiating right now. 

It doesn’t.

He exhales softly, eyes flicking to your lips before moving back up. 

“I’m being for real, Phoenix. Your vanilla shit drives me nuts,” he confesses bluntly.

Then llicks his lips, considering what he’s about to say 

But says it anyways. 

“I jerked off after you left.”

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air.

"Couldn’t help it," he continues. “The smell of your cologne... seeing you in that dress again... I couldn’t get the image out of my head."

"What image?"

"The first time," he says slowly, like he wants every word to sink into your skin and stay there forever. "In that room. The way you tasted... the sounds you made when I had my tongue inside you."

Your legs threaten mutiny.

"And now?" You force yourself to ask because silence feels dangerous—like it might give him permission to keep going without restraint.

"Now?" He repeats, almost hushed. "Now, I’m… really craving vanilla.”

You should walk away—should turn around and retreat into your room where things are safe and quiet and not vibrating with tension so thick it feels alive—but instead?

Instead, your feet betray you by staying planted firmly in place: "Eat some cookies.”

“I want to eat something else.”

“What if I don’t want you to?”

He purses his lips. Tongue drops to lick the lower one. Gaze flickers to your mouth again before they come back to your pupils.

“You don’t?”

And the way he exhales it, like the mere idea of you saying no pains him—it melts through you. 

Especially when his hand finally finds its way to your waist (warm and solid and grounding despite everything else about this moment feeling anything but grounded).

All thoughts of resistance evaporate faster than they came.

"I do," you hear yourself reply. 

And when his lips brush against the sensitive skin just below your jawline?

You realize two things simultaneously:

One: You were never going to walk away from this moment no matter how much logic tried to intervene earlier.

Two: Logic doesn’t stand a chance against lust when Jungkook looks at you like this.

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© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[glassbxttless]

Whiskey

sam o’brien (warfare) x fem!reader

word count: 2.2k+

summary: you and sam get a dog.

warnings: pre-warfare sam, just fluff! a little bit of swearing. don’t ask me how i know what a puppy that eats drywall looks like 💀 also!! if your pets have any of the names in here— i love them, i promise 🫶🏻

notes: spay and neuter your pets folks— and do your best to find rescue animals, foster, and/or only go to reputable breeders. i wanted to write something short and soft, so big thanks to @peachyproserpina for giving me the idea and beta reading so quickly!

Ever since the two of you had started dating, you had known Sam had wanted a dog. Being 18 and 19 then, neither of you had a notion on how to even care for yourselves let alone an animal— so you kept pushing it back. Pushing it back for the next milestone. Your first apartment together was too small, and then Sam’s first deployment was too soon, and then you had just bought your first house together. But now— 25 and 26, you had run out of excuses to use to keep delaying the inevitable. You were homeowners— a little white two story house with a fenced in yard, the American dream.

So you spent weeks researching breeds, training methods, food brands, everything. He’d insisted on a golden retriever from the start. But you weren’t convinced— you were living this picture perfect life straight from a fucking catalogue and now he wanted the dog on page 10 too? But all of your research kept leading you down the same path Sam was on. A golden retriever did fit your lifestyle. So five weeks after beginning your research for the perfect dog, here you were— driving to meet a litter of puppies on the other side of town. You’d checked shelters and breeders, rescue centers. Each time landing on senior dogs you’d been more than happy to give a home to, but then Sam had saw the ad on Facebook. An older woman had found a stray mama and her pups in her barn. She searched for their owners and there was no response. So now she was stuck with finding suitable homes for the bunch. 

You two had settled down into bed with the ad that night, scrolling through the photos like it was your life’s mission. And one of the puppies had caught your eye. He was big compared to his siblings, dark, with an almost red hue. The photos had made him out to look sweet and spunky. A perfect mix of you and Sam. You both had agreed on him that night, sending her a quick message on when you could meet them; you could practically hear him running around the house, tail wagging and knocking everything over in it’s wake.

You had piled in the car the following Sunday to make the trip over. Sam was practically vibrating with excitement, he was finally getting a dog. And he was getting him with you. “I swear to God, if that little red shit doesn’t immediately imprint on me like Jacob did to that little shit in Twilight, I’m returning him.”

You rolled your eyes, a soft laugh leaving your lips. “Returning him to where, exactly? I doubt she issues refunds.”

“I don’t know. The fucking void? Your mom’s garage? Or maybe I’ll just live in the backyard with him until he learns who his favorite parent will be.” He shot you a smug grin, eyes drifting back to the road in front of him. “It’s gonna be me, if you weren’t aware. You’ll be the mean one who says ‘no’ too fucking much and wipes up his accidents when he pees on the hardwood. I’ll be the fun one who gives him bacon.”

You shake your head and peek down again at the phone open on your lap. The photos of the pups still pulled up. “Right, because dogs love living in the back yard until they pick a favorite, huh?”

Sam reached over and flicked your thigh like you weren’t supposed to fire right back at him. “You laugh now, but backyard bonding is a time-honored tradition between Man and Man’s Best-Friend. I give him a stick, we stare into the distance together, howl at a few birds— boom. Soulmates. I’m sure he wouldn’t even eat me if I died, like your fuckin mom’s cats would.”

You laugh a little louder, eyes still on the photos on your phone. That almost red pup was front and center of the group. Towering over his brothers and sisters with the biggest paws and floppiest ears. “Sam, just look at him. He looks like he’d eat our drywall.”

“Exactly,” He chuckles softly in response, “That’s a dog with vision. We gotta name that guy right, or he’s gonna destroy everything we own in protest. And I don’t really feel like picking out a new couch, so please for the love of God don’t suggest something like Apollo.”

You tilted your head, eyes scanning over the photo as you think. “He kinda looks like you after you’ve been out drinking…”

Sam glanced over at you, his hand settling against the skin of your thigh, grinning. His fingers brushing under the hem of your pajama shorts as his thumb digs into the side with the pressure of his squeeze. “Whiskey.”

You look at his hand and then at him. He looks at you and then turns his attention back to the road in front of him— turning left when the gps decides to speak up. “…Actually?” you ask, not exactly hating the way the name rolled off your tongue.

Sam shrugs a bit, smiling ear to ear. “Why not? He’s the right color, he’s probably gonna cause a scene if we leave him alone for like five minutes, and also— hello— Whiskey’s my favorite vice. Just a seems a little too fitting, no?”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling too wide, but it wasn’t working no matter how hard you tried. “So what you’re saying is, we name our dog after your greatest weakness.”

Sam nodded, pulling into the drive that had been given to them. “Yes. I want to look him in the eyes every day and be reminded that I am soft. Weak. Controlled entirely by love and impulse… And barrel aged liquor.”

You grinned. “So, Whiskey then?”

He nodded again, the name rolling off his tongue like it was always meant to be there. “It’s Whiskey.” Sam parks the car, reaching down to unbuckle the seatbelt against him. The puppies were already tumbling over each other in a pen in the yard with enough space for them to run and play. There were six of them— most of them that dark golden color you and Sam had fallen in love with from the first photo. As you slide out, Sam sends the woman— who was walking down from the porch— a wave. You walk around the car to meet him where he was standing with his hand outstretched. Taking it in yours and lacing your fingers, he leads you over to the pen of puppies. Sam and the woman chat for a few moments and then he immediately steps over the gate and kneels down to greet them in their pen, pulling one of the darker pups into his lap. The one you had come to take home with you. The little guy was a bundle of energy, squirming and licking his hands. Little paws hit against his chest as the little guy stretches out and licks his face. 

You step over the gate to the pen as well and crouch down beside Sam, ready to commit to your original choice in Sam’s lap. But then your eyes landed on her— the almost-white golden retriever pup hanging towards the back of the group. She was smaller than the rest of her siblings, her fur a soft cream that almost gave you a headache in the sunlight. She had the sweetest, most curious eyes. And when she turned to you, it was like you could see right into her soul and she could yours. You reached out for her gently, your heart doing that funny little flip in your chest. The one you used to get when Sam would do anything that made you fall even further into love with him. She immediately crawls into your lap, her little nails leaving scratches on your bare thighs. But she’s nuzzling into your chest, and it felt like everything else— the other pups, especially the one in Sam’s lap— had faded into the background.

Sam looked over, still holding onto the boy you had talked about, and raised an eyebrow at the way you were looking at the dog in your lap. He knew she was the one you were taking home as soon as your eyes hit his, but he still asks. “Wait, I thought we were taking him?”

You smiled softly, tears pricking your eyes— you had never felt a connection with a dog like this before. You look back down at the little white girl, pressed against your chest. “I don’t know, Sam. I think this one’s ours.”

Sam followed your gaze, letting the little guy in his lap back down to tumble over his siblings. He reaches out to scratch behind her ears. “Well, she’s cute, babe. I’ll give you that. But… she’s… is she even a Golden Retriever if she’s white?”

You didn’t even care. She was perfect to you. The instant you’d met her eyes, you were already imagining the future— her, Sam, and you. That woman watched the two of you and smiled, knowing she’d found a home that would love her as much as she had loved the puppies. “She’s the runt of the litter, a little shy with the others, but she’s got a lot of spirit. You’ve got time for her, I think she’ll do well with you.”

You just nodded, your heart full as you press a little kiss to the top of her head— your eyes still full of tears. “She’s the one.”

And Sam just takes the sight in front of him, smiling. He’s so in love with you. You’re everything to him. And now you two were going to be raising a dog that you just found some sort of soul connection with. So he wipes his hands off on his jeans as he pushes up to stand, dragging his wallet out of his back pocket. But the woman won’t take the money for her, not when she’s seen just how perfect a home she’s going to. Because that’s all she wanted. “Just pay off her vet bill and get her spayed, kids. She’s yours.”

Once you’re back in the car— you cradle her in your lap the entire ride home. Your arms wrapped around her little body and her soft off-white nose tucked under your chin as she sleeps soundly against your chest. She’s comfortable, like she’s known you forever. Like you were always meant to be her mom. Every now and then, she lets out a tiny huff in her sleep and stretches one of her little paws against you. Catching in your hoodie pocket every single time, and it makes your chest ache with how much you already love her.

Sam glances over at you. He’s got one hand on the wheel and the other is fiddling with the radio until he can get the volume down enough to talk to you— and then his hand is finding its home against your thigh. “Alright, so I guess we’ve gotta change the name.”

You glance up from where you had just been staring at her. “Why? Whiskey still fits.”

“She’s not whiskey-colored, babe,” Sam sighs, giving your thigh a squeeze. “She’s more like… milk colored. Or maybe oat milk if she gets a little dirty.”

You turn your head, arching an eyebrow up at him. “You want to name our beautiful little dog Oat Milk?”

“I’m just brainstorming here, honey,” he says defensively, his thumb now rubbing small circles against your knee. “Alright, what about Daisy? She looks a bit like a Daisy.”

“She looks like someone who would eat a Daisy,” you say, running your fingers along her tiny ear, earning a shift of her little body even closer to you. “Daisy’s too soft.”

“Alright, fine.” He starts listing them off, a finger tapping the other side of your knee. “Bailey? Luna? Honey? No— wait. Nala. That’s a classic one. Who doesn’t love the Lion King?”

You smile softly, moving one of your hands from around her to place over Sam’s as you look back down at her. She’s still curled up, her little tail twitching against your legs in her sleep. You say it so quietly, Sam barely hears. “She still feels like a Whiskey to me.”

Sam glances over at you for just a moment. “Yeah?”

You nod. “I mean… We didn’t really expect to get her… I dunno, she’s sweet and strong rolled up into one. And she got into our system real fast. I swear, one look and I was done for, Sammy.”

He hums, letting Whiskey settle in his brain just as much as the way Sammy had rolled off your lips. “You should write Hallmark cards or something.” He chuckles, but he doesn’t object.

You squeeze his hand, eyes moving over to meet his as tears begin to prick your own again. “You’re on board then?”

He exhales through his nose, staying quiet for just a few moments before he’s lifting his hand from your leg and scratches gently under her chin— his eyes still on the road. “Alright, Whiskey. Hope you’re ready for a life of living with the hottest mom around and all the bacon you can eat. You hit the jackpot, kid.”

Whiskey lets out a soft little grunt and nuzzles closer to your chest, like she already knows how much she’s loved.

Sam laughs, his hand leaving Whiskey’s chin to slip around your shoulder, playing with the hair at the back of your neck as he grins. “God, she’s gonna love me the most.”

You don’t even look up from her. “Keep fucking dreaming, O’Brien.”

tags ;;

[shakesthewizard]

Hi please explain about fabianxadaine???

Okay since you asked so nicely here's the fucking thing about Fabadaine

First, some background info

Before we dive in, you should know a couple things. For one, I'm a firm bad kid polycule truther. You could truly pitch me any pairing/grouping of those kiddos and I could find a really ineresting and/or sweet dynamic to eat the drywall about

You should also know that I'm gonna most likely remember some details during this analysis - if you spot them, please let me know by putting them in a bottle and throwing them into the ocean.

Second, some character meta

Adaine O'Shaughnessey is a girl with a lot of courage. It's sort of her defining character trait. The idea of "a wizard with an anxiety disorder" brings to mind someone pretty timid, who's afraid of speaking their mind. But from her first appearance, we see clearly that to Adaine, her disorder is pretty explicitly medical. On her first day of freshman year, she's already talking back to her horrible parents and trying to stand up for herself. Long before she gets access to medication, her disorder hinders her the way an asthma attack might; it has no bearing on her willingness to do the courageous thing.

Relatedly, Adaine thrives under adversity. Not abuse or mistreatment, mind - what I mean is that she likes it when people push back at her a little, so that she has opportunities to test her ideas and opinions against dissent. Look at her dynamic with Aelwyn in season three. Those two bicker and banter; they poke at each other, but it's how they're expressing things like concern or pride.

You could argue, probably well, that this is a product of sisterhood, and a product of their history in particular. But I think there's more to it than that. We see throughout the show that Adaine is a person who cares about exceeding; about learning and growing and achieving great things. It's classic wizard.

Adaine is the child of the wealthy and the important, and that shapes everything about her. It influences her struggles; her abandonment issues in particular. But it also shapes her goals, her values, and her attitudes. She seeks recognition for her skills and her labor, and she wants the people she loves to challenge her so that she can grow and make them proud.

Fabian Seacaster is the son of a famous man and a natural talent. His showmanship is clear and evident from the first moments we see him, and it's reflected in his character build from the start. He's a Champion Fighter, after all.

This showmanship is, frankly, a testament to Lou Wilson's masterful understanding of characters. That single trait can be picked apart to help us understand everything about him.

Fabian is a showman because he was raised as the scion of an up-and-coming house; given every tool he needed to learn his parents' skills, and to prepare him to take the Seacaster name when the time comes.

Fabian is a showman because he believes wholeheartedly in his own greatness. His whole life, he's been surrounded by tutors whose whole job it has been to mold him into the perfect son, and they were paid enough to care about doing it right.

Fabian is a showman because he knows he's earned his own arrogance; wealth or not, pampered lifestyle or not, we see him scold his fencing teacher when he goes easy on him. Fabian isn't blinded by his privilege (or at least not entirely) - he genuinely cares about being the best, and he'll give up the luxury if it means greatness.

Fabian is a showman because he's deeply anxious. Bill and Hallariel clearly love their son, but being the only child of a world-famous pirate, tasked with being their emissary to Solace for future generations, is an unbelievable amount of pressure. Fabian has to be perfect to the world outside. He can't just be good; he can't just be great; he has to be Fabian Aramais Seacaster, Son of the Famous Bill Seacaster!

Fabian is a showman because he has to figure out who he is, somehow. Who is he, outside of his father? He certainly doesn't know, but suddenly he realizes he has to know, for his own sake. So he does what any kid does when they're trying to figure out their identity - they act out.

Finally, what I understand about Fabadaine that nobody else does

Fabian Seacaster and Adaine O'Shaughnessey are the children of the wealthy; the important. They're both second generation Solesians, sent out to represent their families. They're both ambitious people who are trying to achieve great things outside the expectations of their parents. They're both proud and straightforward, prioritizing their values over social niceties.

Adaine and Fabian both carry the swords of their dead fathers.

To put it simply - Fabian and Adaine are really good foils for each other, and I dislike when their dynamic is reduced to classic highschool boyfriend/girlfriend tropes.

As an example, a number of fics I've read have Fabian pursuing Adaine, and that simply doesn't hold up. Let's be honest here - Fabian has terrible taste in women, and has a bad track record of making the more self-destructive choice whenever romance is on the table. I have no doubt he likes Adaine, but he would also know that she'd hold him accountable and challenge him when he makes stupid choices. No, Adaine is the one initiating here.

The thing that really draws me to this pair is because both of them need and want to be challenged, but each of them has a different attitude towards challenging others, and it makes for an active dynamic that can evolve in a lot of interesting ways.

You know what, check back later. I need to write fic about this.

[penny-the-pissed-poltergeist]

Volume 2 episode 6 rewatch thoughts

.Ruby saying there's no point to the dance if Blake's not coming makes it sound like she has a crush on her out of context

.Are dollies the wheel table thingies or am I thinking of something else?

.Yang wanting to turn heads reminds me that I've legit seen people say she was never a party girl and get confused when people say she is, I know she used to be billed as one and I got into the show during the volume 8 hiatus what's your excuse?

.Yang's plan to get Blake to talk is a laser pointer, which sounds like it would a in universe micro-aggression and not funny at all because of that

.Where did Nora get the boop shirt, did she make it herself or something?

.So Pyrrha and the rest of Jaune's team are trying to help Jaune get with a girl that has shown zero interest in him even though they all know Pyrrha has a crush on him. everything about the relationships in this volume make me want to eat drywall (derogatory)

.It's time time for the bees scene, I do like Yang using her own life as a cautionary tale thus letting the audience know that info to but I really don't like the aggression and shoving from Yang (especially since we learn Blake's an abuse survivor later.) Also they really tried to pretend Yang would have trouble confessing to Blake later after "I'll save you a dance"

.Oh boo fucking hoo, Jaune didn't get to go out with the girl he's been borderline harassing. (It's funny that he's holding the symbol of a far better ship)

.Ruby shouldn't had to conform to gender roles like that, also yeah how does Weiss fight like that in heels

."I'd knew you'd look better in a tie" Ayy, a callback to the other line I'm only mentioning because I have heard anyone else bring it up

.And we don't get to see Blake and Yang actually dancing with each other, great....

.Sun having a tan makes him look so jarring next to inhumanly white Blake

.Yang being happy not just with but because Blake is enjoying dancing with someone else low key Poly coded

.I really like Ozpin's speech here, don't really have much else to add

[foxglovefantasy]

just read the second chapter of the omegaverse germa fic and i gotta admit, i'm VERY curious to what the catalyst for reiju and judge in particular will be to have sex with/rape sanji. ichiji seemed to be a mix of instincts and entitlement, niji was just straight entitlement, and i'm not sure about yonji (he didn't seem very interested in the idea to me, but i could have read things wrong). judge strikes me as the sort of scumbag to be like "well, a man has needs and at least SANJI can't get pregnant." (possibly with sanji and reiju looking the most like sora, and reiju being too useful also being a factor) REIJU tho is really fucking me up. is she succumbing to familial pressure (real or imagined)? is she giving into desires of her own? is it a situation where she and sanji are relatively on the same page, where they're aware they're isolated without legitimate/appropriate targets of romantic/sexual interests, and, well, at least they care about each other? i want to eat drywall.

Oof, this is a lot. I'm glad to have sparked so much passion, haha. I can't really answer a lot of this without being spoilers for the fic, but you're picking up things correctly. Yonji is indeed the least interested of the brothers, and unlikely to make a move of his own. You'll see what Judge is up to in Ch 4 - it's a one-time thing, at least, and unusual circumstances. As for Reiju... Reiju has her own problems, and most of her issues with Sanji will be more of like inappropriate brother-sister relationship than overtly sexual, depending on how I end up writing it. It was kind of a tag I put just in case, and there's another tag I should probably add, but I'm waiting to see how Ch 3 shakes out. Ch 3 is the most nebulous of the five planned chapters on my outline, and some details I planned might not make the final cut while others might get expanded upon. I am unfortunately a total pantser when it comes to writing, so I can't say for sure. Like the entire dictionary section was written on a whim and unplanned, but it turned out good, I think.

Thank you for all your speculation! Please drink some water with that drywall.

[thegutterpoet]

Two break-up poems, a year apart, and a hope for a future

Hello friends :) I was having an awesome talk with my sister earlier that we shared some of our poetry during, and I remembered these two poems about some shorter relationships that both happened a year apart, and my most recent love poem as a little pick me up at the end! I hope you enjoy, if you do please check out some of my other writing on my blog @thegutterpoet , I have some cool stuff I think!

Glass- written in early september of 2023, this is a short breakup poem for a short relationship, in which I got cheated on (tea ngl) by a girl I wanted to love me more than she did. Not much more to say, but this is one of the angriest poems I've ever written, and I speak quite colorfully. No hate or disrespect to her, I've not quite forgiven entirely, but I wish her no ill will and genuinely that she's doing better than she was. I do think this poem is a wonderful exploration of the core thought I had going into this one, which was "I hope that your hurting me has affected you";

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope know what you've done

I hope you realize how broken I am

I hope you saw the glass hit the pavement

and a shard lodged into your jugular

Your porcelain neck to see the streetlight

You carried me like a swallow in a sling when I wasn't injured, then tossed me off after dragging me through the caltrops

I was left next to a rusty needle, a home of some IV fashion drug that couldn't fix your shallow veins if it tried

You can wrap your tender flesh into a noose unto itself for all I care

You ruined me.

Again.

I asked you to let me fly but you held on until we were both falling

A poetic injustice that you landed like a feather into the arms of a sinner and I a meteorite into a saints embrace

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mirror- I wrote this one at the end of this last September, briefly before ending things with my last ex. It was pretty complicated, I wasn't perfect in that relationship (I'd never pretend to be) but ultimately I feel like we were both hanging onto a spark that had been lost, and her hanging onto the promise of what I'd wanted for us at the start and me hanging onto the memories and history we'd had together. Again, wish her no ill will, I truly hope she is happy and doing better, and I hope I didn't hurt her. (editors note: I think I also wrote it stoned);

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We're a set of tattoos who's fates are entwined

We're on the cusp of the future

But you can't wait 8 more months

You taught me to trust but never trusted me

Then expect me to hold a space in my brain

Sink into gray matter like a mattress topper

You said you'd get better but you circle like a whirlpool

I offer you a life raft but you're Grasping for my hand that's holding me afloat

I need you to take the medicine because you're killing yourself

And your gun is yearning, your bullets are tears

You trigger a mirror in me and I'm looking through a screen 

Your fingerprint presses on the dark metal as you make your mark on my soul

You press your heart into mine and it leaves marks on my skin

I'm guzzling sea glass and washing it down with salt and cannabis

Cause I wanna protect myself from hell while I only get higher 

And I'm on a trampoline and I see the other side

I don't see you there just yet 

And my greatest mistake is having my existential crisis too early 

Because I'm jaded and faded 

And I've seen it all

But when the devils knuckles drag

I'm the one that you call

But im reflecting on our past 

And the mirrors your home

Because I saw you there a year, 3 years, 5 years 7 years ago and I see myself then in you now 

Just a person scared of their shadow while they feed it the night

You pour sand from an empty cup and wonder why your thirst isn't quenched

You eat drywall and complain it's lack of depth 

You talk to the fool and expect a sage

And I'm the fool 

I'm the fool for not letting you go sooner

I'm the fool for not letting you go now

A scapegoat would be nice

But you made me a fool twice 

So the blame fits my head like a crown

I wish I let you go sooner, because the more I see you the more my heart shrinks 

The more it let's the depth of your emotion capture the light in my eyes, just for you to sully it with the demons you keep to your side

They riddle your ribs and they pick your insides 

The undercurrent sours as you hit the riptide

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hall of Fame- I've recently started dating someone again (also tea) and it's been a deeply inspiring relationship within my creativity. Like dude omg this girl has me *painting* again. I haven't done traditional painting since middle school, when I gave it up after a painting teacher ruined that confidence and I became a digital artist only. I could talk about her for hours but in a very me fashion, I choose to write about her a bit more :);

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You are the tapestry on the wall

Greens, oranges, blues 

As you wave in a soft gentle breeze 

On a summer day 

That I know I'll miss you on

You're the Georgia okeefe poster

That I got for free

Because I can't see it without remembering 

The look on you're face As I sang a song about O'Keefe on stage 

That made me want to sing forever

You're the curtains that bleed with light 

On that cold winter morning 

That I woke up not knowing a conversation would change how I thought about love 

That seeing your face now is like a kaleidoscopic sunset that we painted above your bed

And a Medusa-like gaze that leaves me breathless

And a stolen glance that leaves me deathless

Because moments like that are the ones that make me immortal 

That carve my name on the halls beyond the veil

Of a hall of fame of those who've loved deepest 

Because those moments are an idyllic elegy 

A swan song that'll find their way within the crevices of every temple 

As a mountain summer draft trickles through

And the melodies weep your name 

Their tears of seraphic joy take flight upon the winds 

The drops that roll in on a storm cloud call my name

And anoint the vines that trickle down the mountain walls

That feeds the herbivores that live in the woods and the woods protect the temple from dangerous tempests 

That feed into the oceans and lakes surrounding

And that's what your love is for me

You're a part of my ecosystem 

No, you are my ecosystem 

You find your simply wonderful way 

Into every nook and cranny of the world

I can't look into a crowd without missing your face

I can't hear a choir without needing your voice 

I sought the feeling of your hand in mine in my dreams of comfort 

I pushed through every nightmare to be entrapped in your daydream 

And i may adapt to the maladaptive 

But your Stockholm kiss has got me captive 

You're the emerald city and the yellow brick road 

Because the journey of you Is the finest reward 

And I was born with roses in my eyes 

You'll bury me alive

Because the bells been rung 

And I'm down without a count 

I'm a flyweight in a title fight 

I could never have fought my love for you 

And I now will never fight it for you 

And I know it's not the best of circumstances

But even if it takes 50 years I still want to find you again 

Because with you the puzzles complete

And dont mind where the plot takes us 

Whether the author shows favor on us or not

And Arkansas can have you for as long as you want it

And you can live your fullest life

But I'm choosing these 5 months to live to the fullest

That even if it takes those 50 years, I'll have this as an anchor point 

For whenever I think about the girl I've loved most in this life 

I'll see these memories

Like a crystal ball 

Like when I met you

In the early fall 

Or when we'd walk

And shoot the shit 

Or when I liked you 

More than I'd admit

Or when our friends 

Would make their hints

Or when I'd sing 

And time didn't exist 

When I'd see your face 

In my home filled crowd

And in a state of emergency 

Only you allowed

When the butterflies ate me 

And swallowed me whole

When I told you I liked you 

And I felt like my soul

Was refueled again 

And perfection achieved 

A new definition

Of perfect that week

Then I told you I loved you 

When things became complicated

Cause I couldn't let this go

But I'll always cooperate 

Because you deserve someone 

Who hears what you say

Someone who waits 

If you ask them to stay

Or someone who'll let you

Have the space that you need 

To figure shit out 

Or just quietly smoke weed

And watch Disney movies 

Or crass Netflix shows 

Popsicle fueled nights 

I'd always love to go 

But I'll love from afar 

Because I want you to have

A space for alone time 

Though I wish I was back 

With our arms intertwined 

And your head on my chest

And my hand on your leg

And my lips on your forehead 

And feel your lungs expanding 

And feel your heart beating

And hear your laugh

And see your smile

And make art with you

And explore the world with you 

And smoke with you 

And watch mindless television with you 

And watch the greatest films of all time 

And to cook with you 

And to wax philosophical

And to do stupid bits

And to try to bring you candy you'll like

And to carry your purse 

And to give you my coat

And just bear witness to your life

Because the most beautiful definition 

Of love that I've heard

Is that love is a choice to bear witness to someone's life 

To choose to be present and see what happens

In the quiet moments and the loud 

The struggles and the embarrassments

The wins both large and small

The proudest moments 

And the deepest shames 

And to hope you want the same, 

And to feel pride that you'll never have to be alone if you don't want to

Because I'll always come when you call

So call me, love, whatever you please

As to hear your call is the closest to peace 

So call me whenever, for you I am free

And dream a little dream of me 

[teruthecreator]

for the character ask meme i feel you have enough of a history with this man for me to request, if you would like: lancaster?

RUBS MY HANDS TOGETHER HOOOOOOOO BOY

Sexuality Headcanon:

gay (i think this is canon?)

Gender Headcanon:

man we dont got time to think about this because of the Everything but i think he could rock some he/she swag in another life

A ship I have with said character:

HARLAAAAAAAAAAAAAANC OH MY GOD THEY MAKE ME INSANE. THEIR DIVORCE NOT-DIVORCE IS GOING TO DRIVE ME UP A WALL. literally like just their canon dynamic makes me insane like. not to get too into spoilers bc theres friends who arent caught up but just like the Everything going on between them post -3 incident is like. GOD. the ep where they actually talk some of it out had me literally cheering and clapping around my house like i was watching a football game. literally they are so IGOR coded it PAINS ME. YOU GOTTA LISTEN TO IGOR MAN SO YOU CAN SEE MY VISION BUT THE VISIONS THERE THE IGORISMS ARE THERE AND THEY KILL ME. i will literally push all my wips aside to write the one bed fic i swear to fucking god

A BROTP I have with said character:

LANCASTER AND LOVE MAKE ME A LITTLE CRAZY OKAY. JUST. OHHHHHHHHHHHHH OHHHH THEIR BOND. the fact that they start so opposite and love not really wanting to trust him or talk to him to like. TO LIKE HER ACTIVELY SEEKING HIM OUT AND MISSING HIM AND WANTING TO SPEND TIME WITH HIM. IT JUST MAKES ME DIE MAN IT MAKES ME WANNA DIE. the dnd ep really gets me bc she trusts him so much, even when he did That, and it really goes to show how much her opinion on him has changed. the fact that she’s the only one to humanize him in the beginning of his -3 imprisonment is everything to me THEY MEAN EVERYTHING TO ME YOUR OFFICER

A NOTP I have with said character:

i have yet to peek into the fandom for this podcast but if i see a single person shipping lanc w d-1 i will start throwing tables at heads

A random headcanon:

okay so i’ve been thinking A LOT about what lancaster’s favorite redbull flavor would be. because there are a lot of fucking flavors of redbull and he isn’t just drinking the regular redbull bc Why Would You Do That so like. i’ve had to use my EXTENSIVE knowledge of redbull flavors—as a redbull connoisseur myself—to decide what flavor screams Orion Lancaster Findusalive. and i THINK i have the results of my findings. i think his absolute FAVORITE would be peach-nectarine because it’s really sweet (like INSANELY SWEET) and heavy on the peach flavoring to the point that i don’t even think the nectarine is in there. and idk he just seems like a peach guy to me. i think second favorite is probably watermelon bc it is objectively The Best redbull flavor on the market and he would be a fucking fool not to like it. and then third favorite would probably be something like blueberry or juneberry (the two are almost identical in flavor to me). those are my findings as the certified Redbull Guy

General Opinion over said character:

he makes me want to EAT DRYWALL. GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD i genuinely dont think theres anything else i can say other than that. there are so many layers to him and so much going on i knew from the MOMENT i started that he would be a character that stuck out to me. and the more i hear from him the more i am certain of this. this is a certified ollieguy to me but make no mistake he is also a michguy. not as much as klein but close!!!! very close. my little onion <3

[attonitos-gloria]

5,10,16,34. Or whatever you feel like answering! Want to hear your thoughts <3

BELOVED COFFEE!!!! <3

5. A dead female character you need to save

I already answered Elia Martell for this and it is Elia, it will always be Elia, but I would save Lyanna too - sorry that this is so predictable, it's just young girls should be allowed to be impulsive and make ill-informed, bad decisions without dying for it. and because at the end of the day I cannot bring myself to like Rhaegar.

10. A quote so good it makes you crazy

OH SO MANY I will give you more than one. Get this lying whore out of my sight and I will give you your confession. I feel like eating drywall every time I think too much about the implications of this one. The things we love destroy us every time is also a great one and then there's Bran with So long as those remained, Winterfell remained. It was not dead, just broken. Like me, I'm not dead either, that still makes me cry to this day.

But nothing hits as hard as It all goes back and back to our mothers and fathers and theirs before them. We are puppets dancing on the strings of those who came before us, and one day our own children will take up our strings and dance in our steads. like the insight he had in this moment. oh my God. he figured it all out.

16. Favorite sibling dynamic

Obviously Jaime/Tyrion/Cersei. I hope they all kill each other horribly at some point. But you know who I also think about a lot? Lyanna and Benjen. Lyanna and Benjen growing up together in Winterfell while Ned and Brandon were fostered away, playing with wooden swords in the godswood; Lyanna and Benjen at the tourney in Harrenhal together, maybe Benjen helping her with the Knight of the Laughing Tree trick - I'm just so sure he helped her. Like he took the black after she died. ): we remember Ned and Brandon going to War for her but it always gets me that Benjen was waiting for her to come back home, and then she didn't. I always thought they must have been very close.

34. What’s something people get wrong about your favorite character?

So, I am thinking about how when Tyrion meets Shae, he hasn't had sex with anyone for a year, and how we are introduced to his character while he's sleepless in Winterfell reading a book and not in a brothel (apparently not a sex addict). and also how he notes that his father keeps silent during council meetings, and so he tries to emulate that habit, of listening before speaking (apparently a person who can and will in fact be quiet during critical moments, councils meetings specifically). And I think about how his first reaction upon finding out Joffrey killed Ned is - I can't believe this, joffrey of all people - to be sympathethic and say 'he's just a boy, when I was his age I was also stupid'. I'm thinking of him arriving at the Lannister camp, surrounded by people - his vassals, Lannister men - and going unnoticed, thinking about how lonely he felt but for a group of savage outliers he bought with his gold on the road and then, in this context of deep, profound loneliness and longing for human connection that could not be found anywhere, he went to Shae for the first time, a woman that he bought with his money, and that he sent Bronn to find for him, another friend he bought. i think a lot about him threatening cersei on alayaya's behalf, too. (one of his best moments, i fear.)

what i'm trying to say, very badly, is that george filled his chapters with so much raw humanity, and a lot of it is brushed away by people going 'tyrion is being self-deprecating/feeling sorry for himself' or 'tyrion is a bad person/a villain/misogynistic/just a rich guy' or, worse, a comic relief, and i just can't understand the awful lack of mercy that he's given compared to similarly horrible men in these books, jaime in particular. it's not that i think people get him completely wrong - he is a villain, after all, sort of a horrible person and indeed he IS a rich mysoginistic guy who feels sorry for himself a lot of the time, but then again, are you even reading the same text i'm reading? aren't we supposed to go through this process with him and..... be able to feel, as readers, at least an ounce of the compassion that he lacks in canon??? isn't that the point of his chapters, my God, or am i missing something crucial here?? it's less about wrong opinions and more....... the total lack of nuance and sympathy that gets me. naturally lots of characters suffer from that fate but with tyrion..... i just take it personally. it IS my life mission to obnoxiously defend tyrion lannister until i die.

but of course you know that already, lol. thank you for letting me vent, i'm sorry for the wall of text. you're great for that. i would also love to hear your thoughts on all of these questions.

everyone should ask me asoiaf questions <3

[twosomeofcuteness]

Felt bad for teasing Celia about how they weren't going to be normal about amends and decided to watch it in solidarity. anyway here are da notes

I'm sorry the acting is non-existent here. What even is this

Fun fact that verse (the Lord is my shepherd I shall not want) was my mom's favourite :) and I hate that it was in the same scene as Angel :/

Buffy you're better off without that sad puppy dog

Twitchy???? Uh yeah the subject of Angel happens to be very traumatic for giles but let's not ignore the fact that you don't wanna talk to him about it because you feel guilty about everything that went down last year

"it must be the whole Angel killed his girlfriend and tortured him thing" I'm going to chew drywall

I HOPE HE HAS THE HOLIDAY BLUES FOR THE REST OF ETERNITY

You said the q word buffy that's your fault

Cordy </3

Willow shut up you did a bad thing let Oz get all his thoughts out (sweetie I love you but you fucked up!)

Okay cuties

Yes more faith gimme gimme

Well maybe you should kiss??? Might help you get over angel??

Buffy you can't invite your watcher (who I definitely didn't sleep with) to Christmas because he wouldn't want to come (it'd be awkward cause he and I fucked and you don't know that yet) -Joyce Summers

I'll take the dead tree, probably costs a whole lot less than any of those boring green ones

I hope you slept like shit Angel

Hi Faithhhh

Faith shut it say you'll go to Christmas dinner

Giles. Rolled up sleeves. Hot.

Ew Angels here fml

PUNCH HIM GILES

YOURE RIGHT YOU HAVE NO RIGHT GO BURN IN HELL

YESSSS THE CROSSBOW (But is it the same crossbow jenny shot him with because I'm sure he probably burned that one after everything that happened but I want it to be the same one and I want it to shoot angel)

I hope your dreams suck eat shit and die

You're right, angel, you should

Jennyyyyy

Oh gods the not touching almost touching but she can't actually touch him and it's not even actually her omigod I'm not okay

And when he turns and doesn't see her I'M CHEWING FUCKING DRYWALL HERE

Why couldn't we get jenny back instead of Angel

Thank goodness angel left

Oh ffs were in the past again

Wow it must be so hard for angel to have to live knowing he orphaned a little boy... probably way harder than it was for the little boy who got orphaned

JENNY STAY FOREVER PLEASEEE

Calendiles grandchildren :'(((

You might be over it Jenny but I'm not </3

My fucking heart

"I don't want to make you feel bad" well step aside then jenny cause I sure do. I'm ready to commit defenestration here

You know what would solve all of your problems right now? And save you having to ask your watcher for help with the vamp who tortured him and murdered the only woman he ever truly loved? Staking Angel.

IM SORRY A HALF CIRCLE WINDOW BEING VISIBLE WHEN BUFFY AND GILES ARE TALKING ABOUT ANGEL

I still don't know how we're supposed to feel bad for him

I'LL HURT HIM FOR YOU JENNY I'M OFFERING MY SERVICES

Jenny should be running her finger through giles' hair like that

Idc that it's a dream fuck off with that especially when jennys in this episode and she and Rupert can't have awesome sex, you know, on account of the fact that Jennys fucking dead!

Willow, sex won't solve problems. Not when said problems were cause by you cheating and you only just reconciled

Let him burn idc

LET HIM BURN

Oh buffy </3333

Let it Snow (after Angel burns)

Anyway all I want for Christmas is my jenny back and also for angel to burn

Ffs snow ruined angels death

I absolutely hate how the episode ends with them looking all couple-y like fuck off give me calendiles. Oh wait, you can't. In fact, you spent the ENTIRE EPISODE REMINDING ME THAT JENNY'S DEAD BECAUSE ANGEL FUCKING KILLED HER FUCK RIGHT OFF WITH THAT ENDING

[fuzzbuns]

You mentioned the chasm in your tags so I'm curious what your thoughts are on it 👀

Mostly just this.

But if i had to ramble:

Im not sure if u mean in general or just the fatui in the chasm but since thats what i was referring to in the tags and also what i feel strongest about, i’ll focus on that.

Also disclaimer: considering it’s been…. Oh my god its been 2 years… what… ok.. since the chasm came out i might be a bit fuzzy (haha) on the details.. MY CHEESE!

When I played through the fatui quests in the chasm i. I was distraught for a very long time. Katarina’s quest is so unbelievably gut wrenching in every way.

Summary for anyone who needs it but like i recommend experiencing the quest for urself: Katarina Snezhevna is an orphan from the house of hearth that is stuck in the chasm looking for her brother. Who is. 😬 probably dead. But all we know is he is missing. So then she goes to look for him. Only to. Also.. go.. “missing” super fun. Thanks mhy.

But what really is a sucker punch is the way Katarina talks about her brother and Lyudochka (you might know her from the fortune slip quest). She talks about how she hopes Lyudochka isn’t thinking about her. How she thinks about her often because its what keeps her going but the thought that she is also thinking of her, worrying about her, makes her sad because she doesnt want Lyudochka to be in pain. I had to stare at a wall after i read that. She doesnt know how to feel because if her brother is dead she will have to mourn but if he isnt, if she is able to see him again like she so desperately wants to, she will have to kill him because it means he deserted and well. Thats what happens to children of the hearth who run away.

Anyway at this point you realize the fatui down here are under the impression they are allied with liyue but quickly realize things must have went south considering they have been cut off completely from the surface. So I, after eating drywall about katarina, ran into the next emotional pipe bomb:

The rest of the ninith company. Or .. i guess.. whats left of it. 😬. 64… people were sent down. And only. 4. Remained. Aurgh.waugh. And it gets so much worseeee.

Summery: the final girls are fighting!! Or well. They are dealing with the emotional train wreck that is not understanding what is happening and being stuck in the Horror Hole. After holding the traveler back like a feral dog (THEY LOVE BEATING UP FATUI) you fail and end up beating them up anyway, giving them some food, and finding out that they have been purposefully cut off from the surface and the millelith is banned from contacting the fatui in the chasm and if they see an fatui on the surface, they have to arrest them. Learning this, Anton (the leader of sorts) decides they have to retreat.

So happy ending right? They leave! Not really. See Anton says they have to retreat but its not without push back. Even after learning EVERYTHING one of the other members, Radomir, IS STILL INSISTING THEY STAY. WHY/?? BECAUSE THE CAPTAIN SAID SO. CUZ THE CAPTAIN SAID THEY SHOULD BE WILLING TO GIVE UP THIER LIVES DOWN HERE.. FOR WWHHAAAATTT. they are still going on about how they are here to protect liyue and they cant leave even after everything so Anton snaps back that the captian also said they wouldn’t die in vain but 60 of them are dead or mia and if they die here it will be in vain. Radomir finally agrees and the matter is settled.

My point is: these people are miserable. They have been abandoned and left to die miserable deaths and yet they STILL say “if not us, then who?” Its. Like i cant even put it into words how it makes me feel. They are so desperate for their sacrifices to mean anything, to keep their faith in what they have been taught. As if starving in the chasm, watching the people around you get slaughtered, knowing deep down no one is coming for you, is going to mean anything in the grand scheme of things. God. GOD.

“Fuzzy you’ve been going on for so long but have yet to explain why they are there in the first place..? Protecting liyue? Why are the fatui-“ OH I DIDNT FORGET. I TOLD YOU. IT GETS WORSE.

SO WHY ARE THEY EVEN IN THIS SITUATION/?:

Signora, being the excellent diplomat she is, apparently made a deal with the Qixing. She got some trade agreements going but under the condition that liyue allow the ninth company to investigate and get rid of the horrors in the chasm. The idea is that any info gained would be shared between liyue and snezhnaya. There was literally. No ulterior motive. They were. LITERALLY. JUST HELPING. They were allies! One of the millelith even left some supplies for the company out of guilt along with a message expressing his regret that they would be enemies now.

“But why did the Qixing cut them off?”

Childe lol. Or well if you follow the line up, Zhongli and Signora. The fatui rising a dead god to drown liyue didnt really leave a good impression on them so they immediately voided all their agreements with the fatui. Awkward! Obviously, Signora knew about the fatui in the chasm (made the deal) but i wonder if Childe or Zhongli knew anything about it. Sad! Even pulcinella knows (its his men down there) and Anton literally says that he understands and doesnt object to him “dispensing with less valuable assets” in the quest for bigger endeavors.

No one was coming to save them. Left in a nation they were trying to protect that is now incredibly hostile to them because of the actions of the archon of said nation LOLLLL its such a tragedy. The entire time you are treated to the ideals the fatui drills into these soldiers heads and for me, this was the moment that i became unable to relate to the travelers distrust and resentment of the fatui. I understand it but i just. I couldnt feel the same rage ever again after knowing what they are told and what they believe.

When i confronted trofin in sumeru i was so. Sad. Because i knew something had to be done about what he was doing but i also knew how fucked the entire situation was. And then i accidentally let lumine KILL HIM DIED and i sat there like 😨 BECAUSE I DIDNT MEAN TO. I THOUGHT I WAS JUST BEATING HIM UP. but i guess it doesnt matter because if you dont kill him the house of hearth does when he abandons his post. And like. He knew they would. He knew it was over for him. All the fatui recruits we meet are so. They know they arent the good guys. They are family to each other and they know that these connections are going to end in heart break but its all they have. I mean. I guess thats why they are called “fools”.

Anyway. Big fatui head. I find them and their mindsets so unbelievably interesting but i feel like the genshin fandom… doesnt really like.. fully digest a lot of the info we get about them. there is so much focus on the orphanage and what they do as if its not a symptom of the environment of the fatui in general. Childe was also 14 when he was enlisted and never stepped foot in the orphanage and like.. look at the guy. He is so unwell. I didnt even mention polar star. Oh my god. Polar star makes me sick. The ninth company mentions it. God. Look at the lyrics for polar star. I have a google slides thing about childe where i pool all my thoughts on him and the fatui (its at. 136 slides… lol…) so i could ramble about them all day but like . I .. i have to stop

[direwombat]

3, 10, 22 for jakesyb and sybeli? (or dealer's choice!)

f;laskdfjads someday i'll get around to making banners now that i have two syb x canon character ships that make me want to eat drywall, anyway eeeeeeeeeee thank you liz~

JAKESYB

3. Do they wear the other's clothes? (sweatshirt, bandana, necklace, etc.)

syb is a nasty dirty jacket/sweater thief and she looooooovees wearing her partner's clothes. i like to think that jacob has an army crewneck sweater that's fleece-lined and super soft that she absolutely loves (sorry not-sorry jacob. it's her sweater now), and her favorite set of "lingerie" is just a pair of panties and jacob's field jacket.

and asfl;akjsfdasdf syb's a little too uh...narrow for jacob to wear most of her clothing. altho i did just have the thought of the two of them owning the exact same iron maiden shirt (but in different sizes) that occasionally get mixed up in the wash so sometimes jacob is pulling on syb's unisex medium (which is comfortably baggy on her) and it's like he's wearing a tightly fitting crop top. meanwhile syb is using jacob's xl version of it as a sleep shirt

10. Describe their first date.

asdf;lkjasdf tbh in most universes jakesyb don't really date in the traditional sense. i joke that their first date (ie, an event that they mutually agree upon a time and place to meet) is a fistfight. they do have a snowed-in vacation at one point tho where they get pretty domestic so i guess that's kind of like a date....or at least as close as they get to one.

but in the no-cult "jakesyb country song romance au" they do actually have a proper first date. they're both at a church held party/celebration at joseph's church (augustine is a parishioner and dragged syb with him), and after both of them being super bored by how sterile the whole thing is, they decide to take off in jacob's truck, buy some beer, and they drive off into the mountains and just sit and stargaze. (they also fuck in the truck's bed, but most of the night is spent just chatting and pointing out things in the night sky

22. What reminds each of their partner?

ooooooh hmm....

wolves, obnoxious cherry red firearms, only you, the particular brand of Stupid that you get with guys who project alpha-male energy. but also late night chats over irish coffee (minus the sugar. it's just whiskey and black coffee) and cigarettes. the thrill of the hunt (as both the hunter and hunted). and the pleasurable ache of something pressing against a bruise are all things that remind syb of jacob

and rabbits/hares, bomber jackets that reek of stale cigarettes, late night war room talks, the thrill of the hunt (mostly as hunter but also sometimes as prey), absent minded humming (usually of old french songs), delicious warm and home cooked meals that aren't just baked chicken, rice and vegetables, the pleasant feeling of being challenged both physically and mentally are all things that remind jacob of syb

SYBELI

3. Do they wear the other's clothes? (sweatshirt, bandana, necklace, etc.)

same as above, syb steals eli's jacket constantly, but to be fair, eli steals her bomber jacket right back. there will be days where they're walking around the wolf's den wearing each other's clothes and no one really bats an eye. I also think when it comes to T-shirts and some tanks, they can wear each other's shirts fairly interchangeably. syb likes baggier fits and i imagine eli more on the leaner muscle (but still very strong) end of the spectrum. unisex mediums and larges get passed around constantly.

10. Describe their first date.

ooooooh ok so in katc they're very much stuck in the "under literally any other circumstances we could have been such a good couple" zone, so here are the two answers i have for an alternate timeline and the werewolf au:

au syb went into the whitetails looking for augustine first instead of going into the valley: i think there's a lot of purely one on one time between them that happens quite often (usually in the form of war table strategy meetings or "can't sleep, guess i'll keep watch on the security cams" kinds of hanging out together), but none of those moments really register to them as dates. that's just the "friends" bit in their "friends to lovers" arc. what they consider their first date is when they were out together on a scouting mission. they narrowly escape an ambush and crash at a safe house for the rest of the night because they're both injured. but they also have their first kiss while patching each other up. they pass out on the couch together immediately afterwards.

in the werewolf au syb and eli's first date is straight up a bbq challenge. like...unofficially an actual competition but waaaaaay more people showed up to the joke flyer wheaty put up at the spread eagle so they accidentally ended up grillmastering a proper event (sponsored by the spread eagle). eli won but syb put up a damn good fight. she had the superior grilled chicken/shrimp/fish, and eli had the better red meats/wild game. they were both lowkey worried their competitiveness was a turn off for the other, but actually it suuuuuuper wasn't :)

22. What reminds each of their partner?

short answers because i'm still kinda developing their relationship BUT:

bow hunting, woodland camo and whitetail deer. really good wild game recipes, long hikes and camping trips (and scouting missions) all remind syb of eli

and sweet tea on a hot day and cold beer on a hot evening. the smell (and taste) of stale cigarettes. the burn of bourbon as it goes down all remind eli of syb

[eatnightmares]

1.12 fiddler's feast time :)))))))) (<- can't fucking do this anymore i'm at my limit i can't do it i can't-)

they're so cute :((( they're soooooo so cute :((((((((((( but also paigggge :(((((

(guy who works at a restaurant voice) i need that hog dead

THEY'RE SOOOOOO CUUUUUUTE I'M NOT GONNA FUCKING MAKE IIIIITTTTTTTT

"does not require a fleshly sacrifice" bro i hate it here 😭

the state of tech is so interesting like early internet era but some things are still held back bc of the gods' whims...

as if she's already thought about it 😭😭😭

"asked for a gift to be given, offered a gift in return" makes me so crazy when they use the word gift for sacrifice. not what that means!!!! win for religious pseudo cannibalism at least

GWUUUHHHH CARPENTERRRRR SOUNDING SO EXCITED TO EXPLAIN HOW HER FAMILY DID IT. MENTIONING EM BY NAME.

GRINDING MY TEETH INTO DUST. (with a certain loyalty) i can't stand them he wants to give her the right answer and make a good impressionnnnnn. carpenter having one of the few things she enjoys about her religion being sharing food...even back in ep1 when she's egging faulkner about getting pancakes...

SHE HAS A LITTLE JEALOUSY IN HER VOICE. KILLING MYSELF 👍👍

exploding exploding exploding. "we're talking about ancient history, laws from 50 years back" PAIGE THAT IS NOT ANCIENT HISTORY

DRIVING ME FUCKING CRAAAAAZYYYYYYYY OH THE WAY THINGS CHANGE OH THE WAYS THEY STAY THE SAME. SO VERY FUCKING NUTS CARPENTER WAS THE FIRST ONE TO OBJECT TO LEGALIZATION.

oh carpenter oh carpenter oh carpenter. i don't even know what to say oh my babygirl

devlin drowned dragged delivered tho am i right...am i right guys...

faulkner wanting to have a proper goodbye for paige is doing things to me. never having had that for his family, his final goodbye with carpenter...

GRAAAAUUGHH. A GODLESS GREETING/FAREWELL. I HOPE YOU CAN FIND A WAY FORWARD THAT MEANS NO ONE ELSE HAS TO GET HURT. FAULKNER'S FINAL INTERACTION WITH A MAIN CHARACTER OTHER THAN CARPENTER AND IT'S THAT. TAKE CARE PAIGE. OUR PAIGE. MAY YOUR PEACE WALK ON WITH YOU FOR A WHILE. WALK ON UNTIL YOU'RE LOST FROM ME.

head in my hands. paige.

listen this is very touching with how she goes on to open up to him but u have to understand how it reads like that fucking sonic fandub bit. "just me and the ocean...just alone with my thoughts..." "hey silver-" "GODDAMNIT"

ok i have to start limiting screenshots b4 i just cap the whole scene but. oooowaaagghhhh. it was refreshing to see some fire in you when you came to speak of the faith. i used to be very much like you faulkner. you can call it a compliment, if you like - but I always forget that you converted. oh, there's always entanglements. I don’t think I feel the same way I used to. i don't understand, but that's okay. 💥💥💥💥💥

liquefies into paste.

head in my hands. the siblingssss

he's so normal. something about carpenter not necessarily taking that last part as a red flag. correcting herself from had that to have that. like to her it's a feeling that's necessary to have at some point but then needs to be let go. she really does see so much of herself in him...she isn't even out yet and she knows he needs to get out too...

(big red flashing sign held up to the audience that says STOP LISTENING NOW U ARE GOING TO GET HURT)

HEY. HEY CAN WE CIRCLE BACK ON THIS. WHAT'S THE ONLY OTHER SACRIFICE WE KNOW HE'S MADE. HEY FAULKNER WHAT DOES THIS MEAN HEY HELLO?

giggling smiling tearing out the floorboards eating drywall etc etc. how very s1 carpenter-core he is in s3. she takes that. accepts it. perhaps he only wishes for me to prove once and for all that i have the courage to finally let you go. yeah, perhaps that's it. do you?

banging my fist against the floor. it's faulkner not understanding her but trying to give her kindness. an escape. paige and carpenter, the unfaithful, the ones who are going to leave him, but he still has love for them and doesn't resent them. what does that make everyone else?

fiona apple voice i resent you for being raised right...i resent you for being so sure...i resent you presenting your life like a fucking propaganda brochure!!!!!! but i know if i hate you for hating me i will have entered the endless race!!!!!!!!!

i know they're picking grass and putting it in each others laps i know they are

oughh this episode...another top 3 of s1 for me i think...and it's all downhill (emotionally) from here lads 🫡

[gwagwagwagoogoo]

My prediction for the upcoming chapters is that Asa will do or say something that makes Denji believe she could care about him for himself, and that will be why their relationship works on his side? He seems to have internalized that everyone is after his Chainsaw's heart and nobody cares about his heart (thanks Makima) so he wants to blow his secret identity because he's desperate for love and connection. If Asa cares for him is only for Denji, because unlike Makima she hates Chainsaw man. This also ties neatly with the Yoshida subplot about Denji needing to keep his secret identity secret, because now he has a reason to try to keep it secret?

UR A FUCKING GENIUS!! UR BRAIN IS OOZING FROM UR EARS IT CANNOT HE CONTAINED IN UR CRANIUM I AM CARRYING TWO GALLONS WORTH OF BRAIN JUICE IN TIN BUCKETS

That’s so good so… AUGHHAUU I HOPE IT GOES INTO THAT ROUTE SO BADLY

I think the same honestly though and I have been! Denji does need someone who likes him For Him without the chainsaw man strings involved

Which makes the pair even more inevitably tragic when Asa has been, intentionally but both unintentionally, using Denji to get to Chainsawman. When that shit goes out the window it’s simply another cementing factor in Denji’s life, where he thinks that no one will ever be able to love Him. They are always after him but not for himself only

I NEED THE TRAGEDY I NEED IT SO BADLY

I need Asa and Denji genuinely warming up to another and becoming friends over time… slowly but surely getting more comfortable. Inevitably caring about the other for themselves and themselves only, and to have such a fleeting little thing be Crushed and Stepped on by the weight of their equal circumstances

LIKE AUGHH I CANT BEGIN TO DESCRIBE HOW GOOD IT WOULD BE. HOW HEARTBREAKING IT COULD ALL BE. I do think Asa would like Denji for himself, to see underneath all of those layers there is something more to him

But Denji will never know that her care was genuine, and he will never let himself believe it after being stomped on and crushed so many times I think. Especially for the Same Thing Over and Over again

It would be such an odd dynamic and situation because it could be like. As readers we know these two do Geniunely care but we would also understand their inner turmoil and emotions. What I’m saying is that it’d create an incredibly nuance situation where neither character is strictly wrong in their feelings or emotions and you can’t help but feel horrible and sad for BOTH of them and their unfortunate circumstance

Like there is SO MUCH POTENTIAL SO MUCH!!! IT MAKES ME EAT DRYWALL

I love it and I love you thank you for the brain food I am going nomnomnomnomnim:333

[missingn000]

okayokayokay, listen, i started a TPG reread after the last chapter you posted because i was hopped up on my love of this fic, and i finally had to enough free time to get to the chapter where shoko comes over to dinner for the first time aND I JUST LOVE HER (and nanami) SO FUCKING MUCH??!

shoko was a character that i genuinely almost never thought about before this fic. she was simply just, there, when i watched the show, and while her small parts in the hidden inventory arc were enjoyable i basically just went back to never thinking about her. AND THEN YOUR FIC COMES AROUND AND ACTUALLY I LOVE HER SO MUCH AND SHE MAKES ME SO SAD?! you just write her so well, and everything about how she is written by you makes so much sense. one of your utmost strengths as a writer is being able to extrapolate character personalities into their highest potential. every time you've introduced a character and forced us to contend with their emotions and thought processes, i'm astounded by how seamless it is. it never feels out of place or tacked on. it's always just "yeah, obviously this is how this character would think/act/feel, makes total sense with everything we know of them from canon."

AND THEN NANASHOKO WHICH I HAVE ALREADY YELLED ABOUT SO MANY TIMES BUT AGHAFDGKHFDAHJL (<- had to be tazed) their interactions have me eating drywall. like, she has his hoodie?? from highschool??? i'm going to go insane!??? also i am realizing how beautiful it is that really the first big thing nanami does after coming back to sorcery and accepting that loving people even at the risk of hurt is worth it, is he goes and begins the process of rescuing shouko from the same fate he was heading towards??? he wants to protect people now and he goES AND GETS HER (even if that wasnt his original intent when he went to visit her but i digress) anyway, i love your writing, you have made me love a character i did not ever expect to ever really care about, and then handed me a ship for said character that makes me want to go koolaid man through my wall <3 also sick of losing soulmates by dodie is such a nanashoko song it came on my spotify shuffle and i then lost my mind

PLEASE OH MY GOD YOU ARE SO SWEET...honestly, i wish shoko got more attention in canon!! even in the arc where we saw more of her backstory, the spotlight was still on stsg basically the whole time and we didn't learn much more about her. i've had to do a lot of extrapolation from what we know of her in canon, but it's so flattering that you think her more fleshed-out characterization in tpg is compelling and believable!!

AS FOR NANASHOKO...THEY OWN MY WHOLE HEART. i feel immensely accomplished by how many people have said they never considered the ship before but love it now. i think there's a very delicate balance to strike in terms of shipping characters that are similar -- they need to be able to relate to each other in a way no one else can, but also be different enough for their dynamic to still be interesting. and shoko stealing nanami's hoodies makes me feral too like ohhh theyre so. oughh. i love them. anyways i listened to that song and it ruined me so thank you for that and for this lovely message!!!

[sonreyes]

A Stomach Flu of the Heart By: Alec Prado

    "Hey hey don't write me a ticket I'm here I'll move my car!" He ran down the sidewalk to his dirty car which was being dirty in the wrong place for too long.     "Sorry, that'll be 400 dollars" She said without looking up from writing on a piece of paper     "What I was gone for like 5 minutes!"     "Give me a kiss and I'll make it 100 dollars."     "You're a meter maid?" He asked incredulously.     "I'm a meter supervisor ...meter personnel" She said.

Seeing what's happening a cop approaches and reads the ticket.     "Miss what the heck are you doing?" The cop asks like he caught a child eating wax.     "I'm security, for the meters" She says. *everyone looks at her and disagrees silently* Adjusting his pants the cop goes, "Sir I don't know how this happened but you don't have to pay this fine, it's just a note written in pencil and she spelled 'meter' wrong."     "Excuse me sirs I have been nothing but fortnite and fourth coming." She said indignantly.     "No! You're sick, lady! I can't believe you would pick on a stupid little man baby who can't fuckin' read who-"     "heY"     "can't tell up from down stupid ugly-"     "HEY!"     "no good looks like they've been sucking quarters out of the turnstiles." The cop yelled pointing a big fat finger at the man. *everyone agrees silently*

    "Listen," the cop continued, "I won't charge any of you idiots but I will only do so under the condition that you two become best friends and teach each other about friendship, life, and relationships, that you will solve in a comical fashion, got it?"     "Yes"     "Yes daddy" They both look at her.     "You didn't have to add that at the end but alright I'm leaving and never coming back... you two were meant for each other."     "What no way! She's gross and repugnant!" The man says as the cop leaves.     "He's got his shirt on backwards!" She yells at him.     "I'm too far away to hear you!" The cop yells back, "And who the hell spells meter with an A!?" Fighting the urge to look down the man says, "To you all, fair thee well and fuck off!" and steps off the curb to immediately get hit by a bicycle messenger.

Coming to from getting knocked out he looks up, "Where are we?"     "My home." she says opening a bottle of beer from the fridge.     "Where's my car?"     "It's totaled, just kidding what do you think got us here?" She said He looks around. Things are quite bare, there's writing on the wall that says 'TANYA'S HOLE' there are a few holes in the drywall, bottles crowded around the countertops and a stained carpet that would look comfy for a dog in heat.     "Cozy" he said sarcastically. A t-shirt flies across the room and hits him in the face.     "OW! what's-" It's his own shirt. "UH if this is here what the FUCK am I wearing!?!" He looks down to see a shirt that says 'Hi Haters'. "You dressed me!?!"     "You threw up on your shirt so I washed it, calm down. You also shouldn't be on that couch without protection."

Silence grows between them as he stares her down with confused amazement. She stares back at him like a raccoon just fell through her roof for the fourth time in a week. The silence is broken when a tall young man leaves from the hallway, grabs a jacket off the ground and walks outside wordlessly.     "What kind of life do you live?"     "Listen. I'm sorry I tried to steal 400 dollars from you. I can't help but feel like my actions led to you getting hit by that bike messenger." She admitted in a rare occasion of honesty. If this guy was going to leave she at least wanted a clean conscious. She'd push a guy into a bush or a pool or even a child; but getting hurt draws the line.     "Well that's fine, I can't believe I was almost going to pay it."

Now that he had gotten a good look at her he could understand why he hadn't ran away the second he woke up at her house. She was quite beautiful, a short Mexican girl with a large belly that barely hid under her shirt. He wasn't the best looking and not the worst looking. He was cursed with being a white guy with zero personality, child-less Dad energy and little to no understanding about the opposite sex. Although he would tell you he never thought girls only had one hole. As he got up he realized he was pants-less under the blanket she had wrapped around him.    "Where are my pants!?" He asked astounded.     "I promised my therapist I wouldn't live with regrets so I took off your pants but then I remembered I told my therapist I would recognize mistakes so I tried to put on the pants I took off but it was WAY harder and-"     "Don't do either of those things!" He interrupted, "I can't believe I'm Winnie-the-Pooh-ing in a stranger's house... again!"     "It's called Donald Duck-ing if you're wearing a sailor's outfit.... Well, your pants are there so why don't you put them on and go."

As he puts on his pants he feels eyes judging his thin body and jelly bean nipples but ignores it. He finishes and brushes off his pants, "I hope you know that I've had a terrible time meeting you and I hope to never see you again you... you charlatan and con artist! Con amateur!" And spins around and opens the door to show the back of his shirt reading, 'Bye Haters' and slams the door shut. She stays right where she is, drinking more of her beer before he barges through the door.     "I forgot my shirt!" He looks down at his loaned shirt, "Oh great. Hilarious. I also need my car keys if you have those." She tosses him his keys wordlessly like a mother who caught her five year old in a lie but doesn't care enough to say anything about it. "Well thanks for the hospitality but I need to go far away from here." He says finishing putting on his shirt. While he's gone she drinks more of her beer and waits longer.     "Umm, so my car won't start."     "YEAH no shit your car sucks I barely made it here!"     "I guess we're going to be friends and teach each other about-"     "friendship, life, and relationships yeah no shit!"     "I'm Kyle by the way. I like The Office and Check it Out! with Dr. Steve Brule. What's your name?" he says as she finishes a beer next to a gigantic spray painted arrow on the wall that points to her and reads, "TANYA".