#he really said you both are gonna survive and thrive!!

[marymekpop]

⟢ highlight of the hour: our blooming youth [16/20] ⟣

a new beginning

[neptunescore]

Unpopular opinion

But I really think that if Logan had been able to go through F2 fully and develop like everyone else (except max) did, and was put on a ran that wasn’t Williams, he’d be a much better driver. I can tell he’s improving currently, but he’d be so much better if he was allowed to grow and thrive and then put into F1, but he was taken out of F2 early, dumped into F1, and expected to perform amazingly.

Not every driver can skip F2 or be taken out early and perform great. I think the old team principal set him up for failure but not sporting him to continue his endeavors on F2. He was doing well so the team principal wanted to get to him before any other team could and that ultimately led to Logan’s horrible first season.

And I also think he was done wrong by Williams this season too. I understand that he’s by no means the best driver on the grid, but he isn’t the worst either.

A lot of people don’t want to acknowledge the growth he has made since last year. His year was ruined before it could truly began. With what happened in Australia, the team took his confidence away, and things went down from there. He was so ready and extremely confident, but his car was taken as punishment for something that his teammate did to his own car.

I get that it was a decision based on who could get points, but what really did it was the fact that Alex didn’t get any points and then Logan got his busted up chassis

And even recently, Logan barely got upgrades. He was given stuff from last year. I think he would do so much better on a different team because Williams obviously do not care for him the way they care for Alex. I get that he hasn’t really been driving the way they want him, but to be honest, neither has Alex.

I don’t know, man, this is just my opinion, but I feel like if he was allowed to finish his formula 2 season and then put into formula 1 things would be better for him. And if he weren’t in Williams, then that would be even better. They are known as the worst team on the grid to put a rookie in.

Another unpopular opinion, but I genuinely think he deserves another chance in a team like haas. I know you’re probably going to disagree with me, but haas has a better car than Williams and they would treat him fairly. He would also bring the team many sponsors as the only American, so it would be a win-win.

We don’t know how he would perform in a different team with a better car, so I’m just saying I would like to see what would happen

Honestly I agree with everything uve said here anon, like wholeheartedly.

I'm just gonna add a few more things, but overall, we both have the exact same opinions.

I feel like ppl forget that williams is literally an OVERWEIGHT car, like u literally can't expect amazing results from them, and I know some of you are gonna talk abt how alex seems to be doing rlly well, but alex has been here since 2019. Not to forget that he was part of that redbull shitshow, like this man is fully trained in the art of surviving under stressful situations, and he's also an experienced driver.

I feel like there's more hate on logan bc ppl keep seeing how well Oscar's doing, and those 2 came into F1 at the same time. But you literally can't compare them. You can't. Oscar's one of the VERY few rookies who managed to adjust to f1 that quick, and logan literally just needs TIME like all the other drivers got when they first joined too. Not to mention how SUPPORTING mclaren is of oscar, while james vowels is out there already talking abt different driver options and williams is so blatantly unmotivating of logan. God, ofc it's just gonna affect his performance even more bc this is the ONLY team hes been with, and it's his SECOND year, he needs affirmations and support.

Oscar is also in an AMAZING car, and as I've said bfr, logan is NOT. Ppl rlly need to stop comparing them.

All in all, his situation makes me so sad.

[bisexualchaosdemon]

The Foxes as things my old friend and I have said

I make no apologies for the cursed shit you are about to read

Neil @ Andrew: Yes, malicious compliance, thank you. I knew if anyone would know the correct term for spiteful behaviour, it would be you.

Neil or Kevin: I'm working on two hours of sleep and a protein bar, I am ready to fight God or BECOME HIM!

Nicky: *cackling maniacally while shoving a muffin in his mouth* *process to almost choke to death on said muffin*

Neil: What's the word? Clothes soap?

Nicky: Pinoccio can turn into a sex toy by lying and telling the truth really quickly

Neil, talking about Andrew's dark humour: It was just the added hint of rape that really got it there

Matt: What the fuck in the misogyny???

Neil or Andrew, probably: I'm staying in this doorway, I don't want to commit a felony

Wymack: In the same way it takes a lot of pressure to make a diamond, it takes a lot of trauma to make a Fox

Neil, to Andrew: I am the rake to your Sideshow Bob

Aaron, playing a video game: This fucking game can get fucking shoved up my asshole! It can fester with my haemorrhoids!!!

Neil: *makes an unhelpful comment*

Aaron: You're right, I do need to find all the boxes. But in order to find all the boxes, I need to find a shred of my sanity!

Nicky: Toot toot get the gripping socks oot for crash bandicoot

Dan: If you are smaller than the person you are cuddling, it's not called being the big spoon, it is being a backpack

Aaron, from across the dorm: YOU ACTUAL RAT FANNY FLAP

Neil @ Aaron: Imma turn your glasses into contact lenses!

Kevin, talking to Andrew about his friends: Nevermind quality over quantity, you don't have either

Matt, to Dan: Are you playing footsie with me madame?

Drugged Andrew: I am the evil doodle from Spongebob

Kevin: *clapping for emphasis* You. Are.

Andrew or Neil: Stop being funny when I don't have pants on!

Nicky, upon learning he talks in his sleep: Even sleep can't shut me up– I have a disease!

Nicky: You are a cinnamon bun

Neil: No, I'm something that looks like a cinnamon bun, but is actually filled with paprika

Nicky: You are a paprika bun!

Andrew: I don't know what you're complaining about, I'm fucking funny

Kevin, high as fuck: You're not allowed to die. And, God, I wish you were a donut.

Andrew or Neil @ Kevin: Gonna fe fi fo fum my foot up your ass

Neil: Fuck me, it's cold!

Andrew: I'm not going to fuck you just because it's cold

Neil: Nah, you're going to fuck me because of my hot ass

Renee: surviving?

Kevin: Not thriving.

Nicky, to Neil: You and Andrew are like the Kermit darkside meme... Except you are both wearing hoods.

Allison: Keep your nipples on! Don't get your fucking fanny lips in a twist, honestly

Also Allison: Being hit in the clit with a Bisexual flag is not how I want my sexuality reaffirmed

*discussing why they would never date*

Matt: I don't see you as a person

Nicky: *bursts out laughing* I don't see you as a person, the nicest thing a friend has ever said to me

Matt: No, wait, lemme explain

Aaron: Fuck. Da. Ocean.

Matt: I've definitely eaten too much. I'm going to have a food baby. I will name him Derek

Allison, finishing her homework: My laptop is going away and it's not coming back out until Monday

Dan: woop woop get your tits oot

Allison: *flashes single boob*

Nicky: Which of the seven dwarves are you?

Neil: *struggles to remember all seven dwarves*

Neil: Dopey, clearly

Andrew: That's a big off

Kevin: I am a big oof

Andrew: What does that make me?

Kevin: A small, angry oof

Drugged Andrew @ Renee: if you ask a Christian to prove that God exists, they will just whip out the bible. Like, yes *whips out Mr Men book* wah-bam! Proof that Mr Tickle exists!

Andrew, telling Bee about his bad day: Right, so, I woke up, so already off to a bad start

Andrew again: Life is a naughty dog that keeps humping your leg

Andrew: *suddenly singing along to song* YES!

Kevin: *confused*

Andrew: Sorry, my inner demon just took over a little there

Kevin: You're inner demon is so gay!

Andrew: *dying with silent laughter*

Kevin: I am half expecting it to say 'yas'! You have the gayest inner demon I've ever seen

~a few moments later~

Andrew: Yaaaas! Oh, goddammit! Why did you have to put that thought in my head? Stop giving my demon ammunition!!

Aaron: It's your turn to pick dinner

Andrew: *thinks about it for five seconds* No.

Aaron: The fuck you mean 'no' ?!

Kevin, drunk: It wasn't great. I wouldn't rate. *burps* I used a burp to punctuate.

Kevin: What are we doing?

Neil: I have no plan. For life or for dinner.

Kevin: Let's formulate a plan. For dinner. You're on your own for the rest

Nicky: We do not ride at dawn in this house. That is far too early. We ride at dusk.

Allison: Well, if you can't beat them, climb between their legs

Neil: .... *shrugs* If you can't win, be good at oral

Matt: She is beauty, she is grace, I would like her to sit on my face

Aaron @ Neil: You're like biting into a chocolate and discovering it's liquorice

Andrew: I will indifferently shove you in front of a train

Nicky: *yawns ridiculously loudly*

Matt: That yawn had layers!

Nicky: I call it my oni-yawn *cries laughing at own joke*

Andrew: I need a chiropractor, an exorcist, and a bong

*trying knitting instead of sparring*

Renee: I'm trying to knit myself some mental stability

Andrew: I'm trying to knit myself a noose

Andrew: When you think about it, that's all people are; we are sperms with delusions of grandeur

*the monsters play Monopoly*

Aaron: *lands on chance*

Andrew: You coming to join me in jail?

Chance: go back 3 spaces

Aaron: Ha! No!

Aaron: *lands on community chest*

Community chest: go to jail

Aaron: Oh, fuck you!

Nicky, talking about why the mosters can't play Monopoly anymore: Friends were lost that day, patiences were tried, shoes were thrown

Kevin: Can God let go of my gonads?

Andrew: No dick is good enough to live on salad

Aaron, into the pitch black, silent bedroom: You old cock-blocking bastard

Andrew @ Wymack: Come get yo kid, they about to get a McKnuckles Slappy meal

Neil: There is a nice personality inside me, problem is he's mute.

Nicky: You know, it was only after I did that that my self-preservation instincts realised there was a very real possibility that you could have punch me in the face.

Andrew: Self-preservation instincts? You have those?

Nicky: Clearly not!

Renee: PHONE 911 YOU ABSOLUTE PLUM

Aaron: Where does today come before yesterday?

Neil: The alphabet? Oh, a dictionary!

Aaron: The alphabet?!

Neil: I got the alphabetical thing, I just forgot dictionaries existed for a sec!

Matt: My ankle is killing me

Nicky: And IIII, I must confess, so is my knee!

Matt: Is my knee!

Foxes @ Neil: You are always angry and always dying. You are like a suicidal hulk.

Bonus in honour of tsc:

Jean @ Jeremy: Give me an orgasm and then slit my throat. Please and thank you.

[mystargirl-interlude]

𝑴𝑼𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑶𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑫𝑨𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑭𝑳𝑶𝑶𝑹

𝑷𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑺𝑬 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫 𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺 𝑩𝑬𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑬 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑪𝑶𝑵𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑼𝑬

I also updated the playlist

Series masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Victory tour of the 66th hunger games

Now 14, almost 15 Persephone sits on the train on the way to district one for the start of her victory tour.

The tension ever since she got back has been strong with everyone, she's been more comfortable with mags but other than that it's been off. Not like she was doing anything, in fact she would consider herself thriving, god knows what the others thought though.

Walking out of the room part of the train she sees finnick sitting on one the couches in the main area staring at the scenery before them

"Hey fish sticks" Persephone says breaking him out of his trance by sitting next to him

Jumping slightly he looks over at who was sitting next to him before relaxing again

"Fish sticks?"

He replied

"Yeah? I felt like getting creative, I kinda was kinda gagged by my own thoughts" the newly victor replies

"Gagged?" Finnick asks once again

"God do you only ask questions" Persephone replies slightly annoyed

Giving her an annoyed look he returns his gaze back to the window in front of them

With a moment of silence he breaks it by asking her another question

"How did you do it" he exhales  before starting again "I mean I saw you in training, you never once hit a target, your score was a three, I mean the way you killed them wasn't out of defense, it looked like you have been doing this your whole life an- and the way you acted before.." finnick says with a worried tone not so much scared as she thought it was gonna be

"Jesus I know I blonde but I'm not a fucking idiot"

Persephone replies

"It was easier than I thought, like I don't know? My grandma would train me every day until the day she died because she knew there was no escaping the reaping, and given the fact that my family never cared enough for my survival someone had to" she finishes with no self pity in her tone

Their conversation was cut short by the screeching of the trains breaks

"Alright, Persephone this is it! Make sure to keep a smile on your face and chin up shoulders back!" Anya tells her before dragging her up from her seat taking her to the train doors

"Chin up!" Anya tells her once again putting her fingers under her chin pushing it up

Anya was the only one who treated Persephone no different regardless of the way she acted, scolding her in motherly ways, treating her like a daughter. Even though she said she felt comfortable around mags it's probably because the woman didn't even speak

Doors opening shes met with citizens of district one screaming her name trying to push their way through the peacekeepers

Making her way to the Justice building she looks out the window and sees everyone from one sitting down waiting for her to come out

Anya hands her a stack of flash cards which she guesses is her script.

Scanning over it she looks back up at Anya and finnick

"Im suppose to praise the tributes?" She says almost like she didn't believe what she just read

"Yep!" Her and finnick say at the same time but in very different tones

"I literally gutted both of them from the inside out." Persephone says "not to mention they were really fucking annoying"

"Oh- well- um?" Anya stutters out but is cut off by finnick

"It's time to go out now, follow the cards." He says sternly

Persephone gives a sarcastic smile before walking out to the stage

Met by loud clapping and some cheers here and there she steps up to the microphone.

She begins the speech but is interrupted by yelling

"That slut isn't sorry for anything! She doesn't care she killed son!" Someone says who she assumes is the family of one of the tributes

Followed by other people shouting derogatory comments at her. Jaw clenching she drops the cards from her hand

"One job, she has one job" Anya says behind the doors to herself

"What do you want me to say? I'm sorry for killing your annoying fucking children? Maybe don't be so cocky, I mean-" she cuts herself off by a laugh

"He got killed by a child! I gutted that bitch from the inside out-" she's quickly stopped by finnick and Anya running through the doors grabbing Persephone and dragging her into the room

"Are you out of your mind?!" Finnick yells at her

"Okay first of all don't yell at me, and second of all what was I supposed to do?" The girl says

Sighing finnick rubs his fingers in his temples getting a headache by the continued yelling from the next room over.

"I'm sorry- just please stick to the cards" he says in a defeated tone giving her a pleading look

The rest of the tour went by in a blur and now she finds herself in a dress walking up to the steps of the capitol party that was thrown for her. Her outfit consisted of a satin cream colored flowy dress with designs of dainty flowers colored with light pinks and sea greens along with sunset oranges, she wore her hair blown out with a lace bow in it and dark brown heeled boots. Not much for a capitol party but she loved it

(it's on my Pinterest board called birds of a feather the user is coachella_woodstockinmymind)

Finnick was to the right of her and Anya to the left

"Alright, remember be respectful, smile, interact and most importantly-"

"Chin up shoulders back- yeah yeah I know" Persephone cuts off her escort in a monotone voice

Finnick leaves her side quickly after finding one of the other victors from past games leaving her to fend for herself

Asshole

Surprisingly Persephone quickly finds her way around the area even finding it in her to converse with some of the others. She actually found herself having fun for the first time in a while but that ended shortly when a man started talking to her. Now don't get her wrong she loves herself a good man but definitely not the one that's in front of her

She's staring at her glass of water as the man talks her ear off about god knows what, it's very clear he's from the capitol with makes him ten times more insufferable than he already was. Her attention is quickly taken by the sounds of loud laughter coming a few feet away from her, turning her head she sees finnick with another woman who's stroking his arm rather seductively as he gives her his "charming smile" tensing at the sight she feels her heart speed up but not in a good way. She can't figure out why though.

Looking back at the man in front of her to take her mind off of what she just saw she lazily engages in the conversation replying to him every now and then.

Taking a gulp of her water as her throat was rather dry from her nerves she's hit with a wave of dizziness, all the colors start merging together making a sea of neons, her mind goes fuzzy as she tries to understand what the man is trying to say.

He has a sickening smile on his face as he grabs her arm leading her into the building and finding his way into what she assumes is his room.

She doesn't know how she got here standing at the top

of the cement staircase looking down at everyone dance and laugh and talk.

Her once gorgeous cream colored dress now dyed in a crimson red, her arms, face and hands are sticky with wet and dry blood, her soft blonde hair now a mixture of red a blonde stick to the sides of her face.

Making her way down the staircase heels clicking with every step sometimes leaving a bloody shoe print behind.

She doesn't feel dizzy anymore, her muscles feel tingly, she has unnatural feel of happiness. No one has yet to notice her. She doesn't know where finnick or Anya are and she doesn't care.

A new song on the speakers starts playing, feeling the music run through her eardrums, flow through her body.

Making her way to the colored floor she lets the music run through her.

With every twirl her dress flows around her, every move of her arms she can't find it in her to worry about anything around her, not the body that lies in one of the rooms of the capital, not the stares she's now getting, nothing.

"Persephone!" She can hear someone call her name but she doesn't bother to look at who's calling her, her body being controlled by the music flowing through her ears, flowing through her head.

"PERSEPHONE" she feels a familiar hand grab her arm turning her towards them.

Looking up she sees the wide worried eyes of finnick.

She can see his mouth moving at a rapid pace but all she can do is smile.

She feels the embrace of his body as he wraps his arms around her in a protective manner and then she feels the hand of Anya on her back rushing her to the exit.

And then everything went dark.

𝑫𝑨𝑹𝑲 𝑩𝑼𝑻 𝑱𝑼𝑺𝑻 𝑨 𝑮𝑨𝑴𝑬 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑻 𝑰

Not long after the incident at her victory tour Persephone  found the comfort in different substances wether it was pills, powder, liquids that she injected into her veins, it didn't matter, she was happy.

She didn't look like a drug addict on the outside. That's one thing she made sure of, if there was going to be something she cared about it was going to be the way she looked.

(For the sake of the story we are going to pretend glimmer was from district four)

Years passed and she's laid off the drugs, not completely but she wasn't doing them hardcore like she was. She stopped talking to finnick, or was it the other way around? Persephone doesn't even remember, she still finds herself missing his touch, missing his words and the way he spoke to her but if he didn't care neither did she. But she did.

Making her way to the Justice building for the reaping of the 74th games she had to mentor for this year.

Arriving at the building a little over an hour than when everyone else was supposed to be there, she sits on the floor of the stage lighting a cigarette she found loose in the depths of her purse. The only thing she has been doing these past years was writing. Wether it was songs or poems she was never seen without her notebook in her hand.

Thirty minutes go by and she soon gets bored especially after her cigarette went out, closing her notebook she begins digging in the pockets of her purse hoping to find a loose pill to get her through the reaping.

After digging for a minute she feels a little circular loose pill in one of the pockets. Mystery pills at its finest. Placing it on her notebook she crushes it with the back of one of her rings and going in to snort it

"What are you doing." A voice behind her asks the rhetorical question

Whipping her head around she sees finnick standing in the doorway with his arms crossed giving her a look as if he's waiting for her to answer him

"Um- praying?" She replies questioning her own sanity

Wiping the residue off of her nose she stands up walking over to him

"What about you fish sticks, why are you here so early" Persephone asks trying to change the topic

"How long"

"What?"

"How long have you been putting that shit in your body" he asks gesturing his hand to where she was sitting

"Hmmmm" she hums tapping her finger on her chin pretending to think, pursing her lips when she can't think of anything to say back

The conversation is cut short by Anya entering the room

"Hello lovely's!" She says oblivious to whatever is going on

"If you don't mind I'm going to steal Persephone from you" Anya says looking at finnick

"Nope not at all." He replies glaring at her as he walks away

As soon as Anya and Persephone enter another room she embraces the young girl in a secure hug. Which tells her that she knew what happened

"What did I do wrong, why did he stop talking to me?" The young victor says just above a whisper

While Persephone can seem like a cold hearted bitch, she gets attached quickly.

She fell in love with every guy she ever dated, wether they were smart, dumb, nice, cruel, it didn't matter.

It might have been because the only person who cared about her when she was younger was her grandmother but now she's dead so..

"The best ones lost their mind" Persephone quietly says

"So I'm not gonna change, I'll stay the same" she finishes looking up at Anya

Anya looks at her with soft eyes before embracing her again resting her head on Persephone's head

"If could take your pain and suffering away I would. But that's not how the world works unfortunately, I think the best thing you could do is talk to him, not talk about the problems but talk to him about anything try to get comfortable" Anya mutters into the girls head.

The reaping began and her, finnick and Anya walked out onto the stage.

She felt her body calm as her nerves began to settle

"Hello, hello! Happy hunger games and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Just like every other year she tunes out the historical movie on the games and begun looking around at everyone that was sitting before her.

Making eye contact with a younger girl with blonde wavy hair, shorter than persephones.

The girl gives Persephone a smile before returning her attention back to the screen

Furrowing her brows she looks over at finnick to see him already looking at her. Giving him a smile, he returns it before quickly looking away.

Persephone zones out until Anya starts getting ready to name the tributes.

"Our female tribute representing district four is.." she says as she digs her hand through the large bowl full with names

"Glimmer Belcourt!" The girl who Persephone realized was the girl she made eye contact with walks up to the stage

"And now on the the male tribute...."

"Cameron Dyer!" A curly haired lanky boy walks onto the stage with a terrified look on his face as his family yells for him in the background

"Ladies and gentlemen these are your 74th hunger games district four tributes! You may shake hands."

Finnick, now standing next to her he gives her a knowing look after seeing the boy who just got reaped

"Huh, dyer, kinda an ironic name" Persephone mutters to herself not meaning for finnick to hear but she realized he did when he stifles a laugh making her smile to herself.

Making their way to the capital she can't tell if she hates glimmer or not. The boy on the other hand is a lost cause he hasn't spoken a word and his fists have been clenched, she can tell he isn't pulling a Persephone levito because she obviously invented it therefore she knows who's playing it.

Glimmer talks the mentors ears off and Persephone learned to tolerate her even coming as far to be good acquaintances but not changing the fact that she wants to punch her in the face. Persephone, glimmer and finnick all make conversation throughout the train ride, not so much Persephone and finnick but at least they are talking more and she would take that over not talking at all.

Every now and then she would try to get Cameron to talk to them but he wouldn't, he would just shake his head which made her roll her eyes at the boy.

Near the end of the train ride Persephone and Anya are gossiping about the recent dramas in the capitol before they arrive at the large building.

Anya gives them the same instructions as she gave Persephone years ago. Chin up, shoulders back.

Stepping outside they are all met by the flashing on lights and names being called left and right.

Glimmer is waving and smiling, playing the game perfectly and Cameron on the other hand..

The parade went by in a blur, a few sleeping pills later Persephone found herself knocked out cold on the couch of the capitol apartment where the mentors stay.

After having a talk with Anya about the parade finnick walks into the apartment that him and Persephone shared, finding her dead asleep on the couch with her arm and leg hanging off the couch.

Walking up to her he finds a bottle of prescription pills and a glass of what he assumes to be alcohol.

Rubbing his hands on his face sighing he looks at her taking in all her face features under the moonlight.

All he wants to know is why. Why she turned to drugs and why can't he bring himself to give into her pleads for him to stop ignoring her.

Picking her up bridal style, he takes her to her room placing her on the bed and takes her shoes off before laying the blanket on top of her and walking out closing the door behind him.

Authors note: I have never been so consistent with a book ever omfg anyway I'm gonna update the playlist so it's not just gonna be lana and so it can fit the ideas I have for future chapters!

© 2023 Mystargirl-interlude

[bunting27]

okay i have to come back and request 🍓 prompt: "you have something on your face." "what?" "me." with our cute ass baby prince goalie joseph woll 🥺🙏

as friends ✏︎ j. woll

a/n: i love him. that is all.

prompts: "you have something on your face." "what?" "me."

wc: 0.9k

taglist: @nylwnder

✏︎

“please, y/n/n, everyone else’s wives and kids are gonna be there, i don’t want to have to socialize by myself” joseph was going to a family event with the leafs since he was up for some time cause of an injury, and he’d been begging y/n to go with him since he’d been told everyone was bringing their loved ones.

he was a bright and sociable person, but kids and other people’s wives weren’t exactly his forte, he only really thrived when he could make friends at the same pace as everyone else. in this situation, everyone would already have known each other.

y/n, however, was great with kids and would be able to talk to the wives while he caught up with his teammates, whether she was there as his girlfriend or not.

“we’d just be going as friends, right?” a look of relief took over his face

“yes, just friends, i promise. please be my plus one, i’ll owe you for the rest of my life” she smiled and hugged him, rolling her eyes sarcastically at his dramatics

“i guess i will survive a night of sports guys and free food, but this is only because i know you’d just end up in a corner somewhere” he squeezed her back, lifting her gently from the ground and ruffling her hair 

“you’re a saint, y/n/n thank you so much” she smirked slightly, a look on her face that said both ‘i know’ and ‘you’re gonna regret saying that’, and joseph’s eyes widened slightly 

“you owing me starts now, by the way. you’re coming dress shopping” he groaned and tilted his head back slightly, feeling her take his car keys out from his pocket and grab his wrist to drag him to the door.

she spent the car ride looking online for things in stock at the mall nearby, as well as trying to match the colour of his tie to things she saw while scrolling.

she guided him to the side of the parking lot closest to the store she liked the most dresses from, and went there first. while grabbing the few that were in stock in her size, joseph stood around awkwardly and waited for her.

once she was ready for the changerooms, she tracked down an employee and started changing into some of the dresses, only coming out and showing joseph when she personally liked the way it looked. 

he mostly just said they were nice or pretty, feeling warm and awkward even though they had been friends for a lifetime. 

on the fourth one she’d shown him, though, he just smiled. it wasn’t a ‘this is so bad, are you showing me this as a joke?’ smile. but a shy, sweet smile that told her this was definitely the best option.

she was going to continue to try some on and visit another store or two, but when she came out in the next dress and he was violently red before he’d even looked up from his shoes, she knew the last one was the one she had to go with.

“the last one, right? there's no beating that” he nodded slightly, chuckling awkwardly and trying to cool himself off by lifting the sleeves of his crewneck.

she started getting ready almost immediately after the two of them got back to her apartment, having stopped at his to get his suit and having a limited amount of time before the function started.

she had put her hair up in a slicked back ponytail and done quick makeup, just a base with some mascara, before putting on the dress and coming out into her living room to see joseph with his pants on and unzipped, his shirt opened and untucked.

she was unfazed, having seen him shirtless a million times, but he was flustered and had managed to cross two buttons and miss the second to last one while trying to close his shirt.

“god, you’re jumpy. here,” she undid his shirt again, buttoning it up correctly this time, while he just looked at her awestruck.

“how do i look?” after he had tucked his shirt into his pants and laced through his belt, he finally got to take in her final look.

he was staring. hard. which wasn’t that weird, he told himself, since she did ask how she looked.

“you look beautiful, just- you have something on your face” she frowned, taking out her phone and looking into the camera to see if he was just messing with her 

“what?” he smiled 

“me.” she looked up, confused as ever, but was met with his lips on hers before she could even question what he was talking about. 

he pulled her into him by the waist, pulling his lips away and then giving her a few more chaste kisses. he was red everywhere. his neck and cheeks were warm against her hands and face and the tips of his ears looked like they were about ready to turn purple 

she smiled slightly, biting her lip to contain her excitement.

“look who finally grew a pair” she kissed him this time, feeling his hands slide against her skin and under the hem of her dress

“ouch” she giggled against his lips, running her fingers through his hair

“you love me”

“i do”

[nerdyenby]

Green time :D I’m watching Jojo

Pregame

Gosh, she’s so pretty. Sorry, just had to get that off my chest

I know green got some bad luck but I’m hoping the energy survives and thrives, I’m ready for vibes!!

Jojo stays on the grind, she’s insane /pos

I know Kara would’ve said if it was H, but I like to imagine that it was H who just showed up and offered her bacon without warning

“Maybe there are kind people in this world” Jojo going through it, don’t mind her

Pete and Jojo are so freaking funny together. They’re both so deadpan it’s amazing, I’m dying

Haha who who have past MCC teams memorized, that’s so whack hahahah (it wasn’t intentional, okay? It just happens when you run two 64-spot team brackets ;-;)

Seriously though, no one can be expected to remember MCC teams from more than one event ago, if that, including (and dare I say especially) content creators. Those are your pals and you’re at work, why would you be expected to remember who you were with on a specific day??

“Oh you’re in MCC? Name every team you’ve ever been on” so true Pete

“I could probably name every single team I’ve been in” “Weird flex but okay” “Ok, I’ll go for it, here we go” Jojo really said bet

*EEEEI* “Wait, was that wrong?” “No, I just wanted to make a buzzer sound” Pete is so real for that, honestly

“Fuck vod reviewing, all my homies hate vod reviewing” Pete only has banger opinions, sot is the only vod review you need in life

Jojo’s skin is so cute!!

Pete and Jojo saying they’re excited for Michael’s ace race

Hi Hannah!!!

I love this team’s energy

Pete saying he wanted Jesus to take the wheel and Kara appeared from the heavens

“Pinged in real life” 😂

Them making plans to go to a concert together, content creators doing actual irl friend things together makes me so parasocial

Me when I have a resting tremor and my doctor has no idea why

THEYRE THE ONES THAT STARTED THE PUNCHING??? That’s so funny oh my goodness

The best reactions to the intros ever 😂

Grid Runners

This team is so go with the flow, I love them

OH MY GOD THIS STRAT

“For team morale, any time we fail a game we need at least one person on the team that can take the fall, whether it was their fault or not. Grid runners is mine, so if we fail I’m the asshole” this is so iconic I can’t

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen” so true Pete

Grid goes so quickly because it’s! the best! game!!!

“Guys we suck” that’s the spirit!!

“Let me check who’s to blame for this one.. Oh it’s me! Alright, lay it on me!!” “Damn Pete, what the hell?” I love this team so much

Parkour Warrior

I love the blame game they’re doing

Jojo’s popping off!!!

Jojo’s so good at this it make my heart happy but painfully, or it hurts my heart in a good way, whichever makes more sense

Rip Kara, it’s okay, it’s crazy easy to flop when the pressure gets that bad, no worries queen <333

Aw Michael was so close too :((

“As per the law, this is my fault […] I threw- oh, I’m top 5!!” Y’all don’t understand how I’m love I am with this gimmick, green30’s blame game my beloved

I love how parkour warrior isn’t just about parkour skills, it also really emphasizes time management. It makes it more variable and interesting because it’s not just gonna be the same three people winning every time because there’s no single right way to do it. It’s now a strategy game and I’m so down for that, you don’t understand

Sands of Time

“You guys suck! I’m taking about the other teams” “That’s fine” “We suck too”

Jojo my igl!!!

Michael doesn’t know our lord and savior HBomb94??? Smh…

Gosh, we’re watching a master at work, people

Michael is such a good sand keeper, he just has such “this is your captain speaking” energy

“Michael your comms are incredible, I need you to know that” yes Pete!! Hype him up!!!!

Jojo found the vault so quick but that tunnel is MASSIVE

HISTORY HAS BEEN MADE!!!! GREEN30 SUPREMACY!!!!!

JOJO SOT CHAMPION!!!!

And now we throw, so true

Ace Race

Michael be like: stonks

Jojo repping us anxiety girlies, as she should (I’m not a girl but I’m anxious enough that I think I qualify)

MUSIC TIME WITH JOJO :DD

The turtles do go boing, so true Michael

Pete and Jojo are everything

Pete and Jojo holding hands for an entire lap and a half my beloved

Jojo giving Pete the strength to do the skip then missing it herself

Kara personal best yippee!!!!

Pete fastest lap my beloved!!

YIPPPPEEEEE

Michael is thriving this MCC, we love to see it

Ayyyyy halftime show!!!!! Get it ladies!!!

This is a phone flashlight moment right here

I JUST STARTED CLAPPING IRL!??!??!! MY PARENTS HAVE PEOPLE OVER 😭😭😭

Meltdown

“Here’s the plan: uh, follow me” so true Jojo

Gosh, I love this team. No stress, no rage, just “okay, here’s what we change”

OH MY GOSH

HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE IN THIS ROOM????

THAT WAS INSANE!!!

Kara 😭😂😂😂 the sass, my goodness

“I don’t care” Kara is so real for this, I strive to be that self-assured

“Everybody pause. Shut up now. Who?” “Where the fuck is Mumbo Jumbo?” Funniest part is that I don’t know if any of these people actually know Mumbo

Battle Box

“Everyone’s looking at me!! Oh, everyone fell. Oh my god, everyone died” 😂

Mmmm yes, tight corners my beloved /s

Prison my beloathed

WHEN DID THE GAME START???? DID I ACCIDENTALLY SKIP FORWARD AND NOT NOTICED OR WAS I JUST THAT SPACED OUT???

I like battle box, I do, I just feel like I’m never paying enough attention ;-;

Winning against red was huge, they had such good comms too

We love finding a good groove :))

Gosh the vibes are immaculate, you expect them to be super sweaty but they’re just comming in gibberish

Jojo 13 kills?!??!!

“That’s my teammate!!” Heck yeah it is, gosh Pete and Jojo are everything

Michael willing to take one for the team, what a king

Sky Battle

Jojo igl my beloved

You got this, queen

Kara hyping up Michael’s kill :))

Rip, unfortunate spawn, happens to everyone

Pete’s tone when he said Michael’s name after he died 😂

“They need to give the chicken swap to two people and enable pvp” Pete is a genius

Hole in the Wall

The absolute sass, I love them

“It’s all your fucking fault” thank you Michael

I didn’t even realize they weren’t calling colors 😭

THOSE are the lyrics??? I thought it was “I believe” not “if I was green” lmao

Jojo flipped a switch in her brain and called the most supreme hitw comms of all time

“100- I mean, red” real

“Hey, guys? I’ll take the blame on this one” “Don’t.” “King, I’ll steal the blame from you” “I will too, I messed up” this is violating the spirit of the blame game /s

Pete and Jojo holding hands on the leaderboard my beloved!!!

Dodgebolt

“I would’ve appreciated if we would’ve like, said beforehand ‘oh hey, I’m gonna throw now’ so like, I would’ve been able to be emotionally prepared”

Maybe the real treasure was the parkour tag we skipped along the way

“Man, I even took my performance-enhancing drugs” KARA 😭😭😭

Cheering when Firecracker came and joined their screenshot, then keeping the energy when Fruit, Illumina, and 5up joined in too

Them all being so excited to team together :((

THAT SOT WAS LEGENDARY!!!! GREEN30 YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS!!!!!

They’re such bad listeners /aff

“You guys don’t listen to each other, yet you listen to me when I make calls in skybattle? What the fuck?” Pete 😂

“When was the last time we saw numbers like that in sands of time?” The answer is never, Jojo!! Y’all made history!!!

Michael stop being self-deprecating, I swear, a good sand keeper is an absolute necessity and you killed it king

GREEN30 PLATE UP!!!! I don’t know it that well but it’s such fun chaos

I’ve missed these little post-mcc chats where a bunch of people join a random channel and just talk, it’s giving season one vibes :))

[notmuchtoconceal]

Beautiful response. I know I said this before, but you don't have to dignify each of my asks with a response. You can ignore as many as you like. Especially when I'm drunk and say something incredibly stupid and worthless. I'm not embarrassed about those moments put on display (sometimes I need a good reprimanding to get my head back on)--it's just that I don't believe my id and my impulses should be enabled. When someone's being too stupid to breathe, deigning to speak to them is doing them a disservice.

I think you'll find your life is happier when you only reward people who give you worth. And the reward you should give those who give you their worth is your voice. If what I'm saying holds meaning to you, respond. If it doesn't, please don't.

Remember how I was talking about principles? That's one of the principles I follow, and it is the opposite of stifling. It's liberating.

When I make these asks, I do them for me. It's easy to mistake that for selfishness in its purist form, but like, it's more akin to the selfishness of someone who's faced with their own mortality? The selfishness of someone dying of cancer who has let go of their concerns and embraced a sort of optimistic nihilism. And since I ask them purely for myself, you can decide if they have consequences or not. I'm both complex and simple. The simple part of me is that I enjoy watching you perform. The selfishness comes from the fact that you're so good at what you do and so intoxicating that it's easy to forget you aren't some Performance Golem, and there's, y'know, a person behind the mask. Maybe that's a compliment for you. I'm gonna trust my gut and say it is.

I ain't a sociopath. But I'm like a recovering alcoholic. You really, really don't wanna put alcohol in front of me, bro. Because you know and I know that I want it. And if you want passion, you're gonna place that bottle in front of me, and you're either gonna get something really, really wonderful or really, really terrible. Either way, it's the path of chaos. If you don't want to experience a migraine DO NOT put that bottle in front of me. When I grin mischievously, don't look at the grin. Don't even look at the coy eyes. Look behind them. Look for the pain. Look for the person who's screaming for you to NOT, DON'T DO IT, DON'T YOU DARE and pounding fists against the irises.

What you are describing is the healthy attitude formerly adopted which allowed me to beat depression and drastically recomp my formerly morbidly obese body. I'd lost this attitude once I had to seriously reassess the motivations of the self-professed faggot for whom my ire is the substance of life itself.

His behavior was so confusing to me, I took on his perspective, changed the shape of my soul to understand him. I did it voluntarily and let him ruin me. There was a part of me that didn't think I deserved to get better. A part of me that thought I was cheating. A part of me that was leaving behind my family, whose abuse I was complicit with for most of my childhood, partly out of survival, mostly because I didn't know any other way to be. I felt as though I needed to forget so much of my past as I could to change, this faggot refused to forget and thus refused to forgive, and so always focused on surviving, could never thrive.

I did much penance and psychological and spiritual castration in my 20's to separate myself from my former brutality, and I'd felt myself in a place where I had understood my own values and my own limits well enough that I could take on the weight of my darkness in a productive way. I was wrong. I'd become too yielding. The faggot was evil. I remember all the ways he tried to talk me down into agreeing to be as pathetic as he was. I remember how transparent some of it was and couldn't see what was right in front of my own eyes. He wasn't any more evil than anyone in my own family. No more evil than my own little brothers. Small, scared, shivering, needing to poison you for an ounce of self-validation.

I don't owe my family shit. My family are even bigger assholes than I am. They choose to be this way. They don't fucking turn themselves into other people to reach transcendent self-destructive catharsis. Neither did this faggot. When I started ignoring him, it was because subconsciously I realized the game was up and he'd gotten out of me what he needed. If he wanted me to be a finance bro with him, fucker should have had the patience to help me with money blocks, cause I don't like being mindwiped and brainwashed. I got fuckin money issues and trust issues and I don't appreciate some fairy screamin at me.

I'm not gonna become a fuckin Ubermensch listening to scared farmboy chickenshit faggots, okay? Use your big counselor nerd brain to avise your king or go your own fuckin way, but I ain't your lackey. I was your muscle when you deserved it, but when you're a bitch, I ain't yours. St. John My Everlasting Light. It was so fucking confusing to me how pathetic you were. Bafflement. Sheer and utter bafflement is how you got eyes on you, sweetie. Holy shit. Must feel good to finally be totally figured out so you can be totally reduced and limited to a footnote just like you need to do to everyone else to make yourself feel less than tiny, huh? Holy shit. Every time I think about you now, I think about how I'm better in every way and how you deserve to be miserable for being so stupid. Holy shit. I've experienced all your thoughts from the inside and you are a total insipid garbage loser. Completely worthless. You have no value. If your brains were on the wall like Kurt Cobain's (who you admire and resent and long to be, with his beautiful hair and beautiful lyrics and beautiful bitch cunt breeder wife who reminds you of your bitch cunt mother who violated your boundaries so hard, every other woman feels like cheating, so you'd rather just be her and hate your father, the model of all shitty men who abandoned you) then everything would be beautiful.

I can imagine now the beautiful world where you've blown your brains out. I can see you screaming FUCK in that empty room for no reason, then unloading the pistol in your brain. A white flash of light engulfs you and a heavenly Cinerama score plays. The streets of a summer day in Milwaukee are lined with beautiful happy smiling couples in love, and everything is clean and the flowers are in bloom, and your ghost is there, invisible, watching all happiness, screaming about how you're alone and don't deserve love, and your ghost unloads the pistol in your brain again and there's a second flash of light and the day only gets brighter and all the happy couples more in love. I picture you blowing your brains out over and over and everyone around you just being happier.

I picture you being the only person in the entire world miserable and alone, trapped in a box in space filling up with your own piss and feces wile your eyes are spread-open clockwork orange style while you watch other people's happiness forever, damn-well aware you are the cause of your own misery. You have gotten me to temporarily ignore the German boy cause you've gotten your stain on him, but once you're washed off his 5D genius aura, all links between you and me will be gone, and your mental illness will only continue getting more hilarious.

Thanks for pissing on all my time and sympathy and attention, loser.

You begged to be fuckin worthless, and daddy's a giver and an accommodator. Way to go. You didn't like being encouraged for your art. You didn't think Tumblr was worth your time. Frankly, I don't think Tumblr is worth my time either, but what I make on Tumblr definitely is because I value myself. What the fuck was it with you and your heart button bullshit and bitching about people saying "hi"? Oneword? Uh. Is it cause you were a coward who followed broad trends to never be known? See, I believe you can work with broader trends without compromising your integrity, and this is the process of artistry? You don't understand that, though. You only know how to cowtow and beg. That's what you meant when you kept calling yourself a simp and a bitch and I was confused? I really couldn't understand how you saw yourself, cause I was reacting your writing, and not yet aware to the degree to which we were both drawing (as if in trance) straight from the unconscious, and so mutually had blindspots. See, if you had only given your attention to people who were worth it (like I did) you would only attract the people you wanted to attract. You played it safe and attracted safe people, then complained cause you wanted to be told what to do. You chose to be dumb and worthless.

That's why you go into the purgatory sex fantasy hell realm where your infinite suicide procuduces heavenly love auras now. That's why Ask Friend Crazy Guy is You, But Better In Every Way. He's a version of what you could have been if you had an iota of self-respect, but you pissed on everything you were given.

That guy who liked Xiu Xiu who you were bitching about and seemed to just think I was for reasons? Like... come on, dude. Did you just think that we liked similar things and thus were the same person? Are you not aware that art transcends ideology and you can't make blanket assumptions about an audience unless you're giving the game away you can only think like a targeted consumer bot? You're aware different people can like things for different reasons? Was there no thought whatsoever, and it was something like a sympathetic magical association? Are you way more a horny pagan witch than you're willing to admit? Why were you bitching about witches all the time when you so clearly are one? How completely unaware of yourself are you, and how much of the manipulation was deliberate? Are you just manipulative at the level of automatic implanted animal reaction? Are you trapped in the false garden of Eden? Do you just see things that you are and panic cause you think you'll get hit, so you pretend you're not that thing? Do you ever just slow down, stop and think and tell yourself there's currently no danger here? The past is the past? The person you're talking to is not your abuser? If you're hypervigilant, maybe engage responsibility instead of attaching yourself to someone? You're aware that other people have different feelings from yours? Maybe you're not because your crippling mental illness has left you in advanced state of emotional retardation.

You probably already knew I could understand people in ways you couldn't and produce art you couldn't fathom cause I had a deeper grasp of reality, huh? That's why you felt so worthless? I was just loving you and assuming the best, bro. I was hurt all my life and you were special and unique to me and you brought me into a different place. Thanks for shitting on me, though. You taught me I definitely had far more value than even I could have ever imagined possible.

Thank you, man. Enjoy the bullet through your brain, forever.

All is love is love is all.

[belphegor1982]

I posted the last chapter of this on AO3 just before bed and completely forgot to post it here as well. Typical bird-brained Bel. But here it is now if you wanted to read it and missed it! I’ll ad the AO3 link in a reblog, as usual :o)

Jigsaw Pieces

Chozen, uneasy

Daniel, adrift

Amanda, sleepless

Sam, shaken

Johnny, fixing things

Daniel, not alone

Daniel can hardly believe his eyes.

Seeing Johnny and Chozen side by side, Robby flanked by Miguel and Sam, Anthony behind his sister smiling proudly – it’s just surreal.

Sure, they’re not literally all here; there are a few gaps where students should be if this were a class (like Chris, or Mitch, or Demetri who mentioned something about getting a summer job last time), but even if the group isn’t complete, Daniel’s surprise is.

These past ten minutes have been one hell of a roller-coaster. He can still feel the warmth of Amanda’s hands holding his, the breath that rushed out of him when he stepped into Mr. Miyagi’s room for the first time in eight years, the tightness in his chest that hasn’t really had time to loosen yet. Mr. Miyagi kept his most painful memories in a box, on a cabinet, but at least he was brave enough to open that box from time to time. Even after the burial, even after almost a decade, Daniel has refused to open the door to his bedroom. His own memories of Mr. Miyagi are everywhere – on the wall of his home dojo, in the power and grace of his daughter’s karate, in his own soul – but that empty room is the last, final proof that the man himself is gone forever, and facing this fact for real takes a strength Daniel’s never felt he had. Until ten minutes ago, when Amanda gently guided him in front of that door and said I’m right here. And stood aside silently, her presence both supportive and unobtrusive, while he took in everything – a thousand memories, a thousand reminders of what used to be and can never be again.

The last bonsai Mr. Miyagi was working on has lost much of its original shape, but it’s still alive. Amanda must have come in regularly to water it in the past eight years.

“Is it gonna be okay?” he hears himself ask across thirty-four years while staring anxiously at a different bonsai.

Mr. Miyagi answered calmly then, “Depends. If roots strong, tree survive.”

Between his dogged nurturing and the strength of its roots, the bonsai in question lived, and still thrives to this day. Sometimes Daniel wonders how old it actually is. But then Mr. Miyagi was always good at taking care of lost causes and pulling off miracles.

Mr. Miyagi was also the only one able to defeat both John Kreese and Terry Silver, and easily at that. Over the past week Daniel has sometimes wondered what he would have made of the current situation. He has wished, more than once, for his old mentor to make things right again, or even just to have his back like he never failed to even when Daniel was pretty sure he didn’t deserve this unwavering support. Maybe he would have approved of Daniel’s capitulation – maybe he would have advised Daniel to step off a lot sooner, before kids started to get hurt – maybe he would have urged him to keep fighting. But you can’t ask a dead man what he thinks. You can’t ask a dead man anything. Tugging on a ghost is as useless as trying to catch the wind.

Except…

Mr. Miyagi did leave something of his here, and not just in the mementos left untouched and the warmth of the little house, the wood and the shoji walls. Of all the people standing in front of Daniel in the bright summer sunlight, only two knew him well (Amanda and Sam), three met him in person but only have sparse or superficial memories of him (Chozen, Anthony and Johnny), and the rest only know him from a picture on the wall and second-handed accounts. Yet it feels like he’s here, standing next to Amanda, smiling fondly. Like he never really left.

Daniel is hit by a memory, like a flash, of Mr. Miyagi and him going out to fish the day after the Obon festival. No training, no karate of any kind – just the two of them, a little boat in a secluded Okinawa inlet, and companionable silence in the sun. Not that Daniel would have been up for much more at that point; his fight with Chozen the night before had left him black and blue and utterly drained of energy. The stakes probably had a lot to do with it. Daniel had never had to fight for his life before.

“I forgot to thank you yesterday,” he said at some point, and Mr. Miyagi turned to him, eyebrows raised under his hat.

“For what?”

“Well, you kinda saved my life with that little drum back there. If you hadn’t… You know. I think the outcome would’ve been very different if you hadn’t been there.”

Mr. Miyagi twisting the little handheld drum back and forth had not only reminded Daniel of the eponymous technique. The lone reedy taptaptaptap had grown into a loud clatter as everybody else picked up on it and banged their own drums, a clear show of support that had confused the hell out of Chozen. Daniel, bruised and bloodied and almost out of hope, walking the wire between almost laughing and almost crying, had drawn strength from his last reserves from that sound – and won, somehow.

Mr. Miyagi didn’t reply right away. He adjusted his fishing rod across his knees and nodded.

“Drum not save life, Daniel-san. You down, you pick self up. Drum just remind you… Not alone. Got people in corner. And me.”

And then, just as Daniel’s throat went a little tight, M. Miyagi tilted his head to the side and added with an eh face, “Figure of speech.”

Daniel grinned at that.

“Well, thanks for bein’ in my corner. And, uh – you know I’m in yours, right?”

“Hai.” Mr. Miyagi’s eyes softened. “Miyagi know.”

They’d shared a smile, then gone back to gazing at the sunlight winking on the sea. It had been a good day.

The people standing in Mr. Miyagi’s garden right now could all be holding pellet drums. The two situations are night and day, literally, but the emotions rising in Daniel’s chest are very similar.

Mr. Miyagi may no longer be in his corner, but that doesn’t mean he’s alone – not anymore, like Sam just pointed out.

All the students – plus Amanda – bow as one, like they’re waiting for the lesson to begin, like it hasn’t been almost two months since Miyagi-Do (and Eagle Fang) shut down. Eli, Robby, Abe, Sam, Bert, Miguel, all of them – even Anthony, for the very first time. Sam’s smile is beaming when she straightens up, her eyes very blue.

Daniel looks at Chozen on his left, a silent question – though what he’s asking exactly, he’s not sure. Chozen answers with a determined nod nonetheless. Its meaning is clear: both vow and encouragement. We can do this, all of us. And the thing is, Daniel is starting to believe him.

He hesitates for a half-second before turning to his right and meeting Johnny’s eyes. But the expression in them is familiar, if always surprising to see on the face of his old enemy/rival/frenemy/friend. The last time Daniel saw it, Kreese had just thrown the gauntlet at them, and Johnny cemented their alliance of circumstance with three words – We won’t lose – and a look that had helped quiet down the snarling mess in his chest of fury, fear, and retrospective horror at what he’d almost done. Because if Johnny Lawrence, cold and grim and with the bruises from Kreese’s stranglehold just starting to form around his throat, could stand tall and steady and say “we”, after everything, then perhaps all wasn’t lost.

Johnny doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. His small nod and the look in his eyes speak volumes. And just like that night last December, Daniel relaxes a fraction, with the beginning of a smile this time.

They bow to their students simultaneously, the three senseis, and as Daniel straightens up he can’t suppress a smile that seems to come from somewhere deep in his chest.

And a very distinct feeling of missing pieces, finally falling into place.

______________________

The end! I really hope you enjoyed this little story. I did writing it, even (especially) the parts that hurt :’) Please tell me if you did!

(Also I couldn’t help bringing Mr. Miyagi back a little, if only in flashbacks 💜)

[eddieheart]

THE EMPTY

Fandom: Stranger Things

Pairings: eventual Robin x OC

Words:

Description: She’d been trapped in the other word for years, or at least what felt like years. She’d felt with the bats and the vile ones, what she hadn’t felt with was people. There were people here.

She'd been in the empty for what felt like years, everyday the same thing. Fight, survive, sleep. Over and over and over, the same. She was getting tired, Mira was getting tired. Eventually she learned now to deal with the creatures.

She painted her eyes black to see better in the darkness, she leaned the calls of the vile ones as to distract them, she learned their weakness to fire and she learned just how powerful she really was.

Mira learned to thrive in the darkness, to feed off it. Though she did miss home. You couldn't tell whether it was day or night, it was always dark.

The day started like every other, she woke up, made her way to the entrance of her hut and began the search for food. She felt like a Neanderthal some days, hunting and gathering all day, every day.

Something was different though, she could feel it. The bats were more agitated than usual and she hadn't seen a vile one in days. She was between the trailer park and the forest when she heard it, music.

The first time she'd herd music since coming to this hell hole. Mira ran forward, ignoring the pain in her legs, pushing herself closer to the magical sound.

It had died off by the time she finally got there, the bats were circling overhead. She pulled a stake from her bag, it was short metal with fabric drenched in alcohol wrapped around the top.

She reached into her pocket and grabbed a whistle, one she'd made herself from a bats bone. As she approached the cloud of bats she noticed something in the center. At first she thought it was a vile one, perhaps that's why they'd been going missing, the bats were eating them.

But no, she was wrong. A person stood inside the hoard. Quickly she brought the whistle to her lips and blew, taking the metal stake she cut her hand with the sharp end. Blood dripped down her hand, they'd smell it soon.

The shrill cry rung out through the land, the noise startled the bats out if their daze and they stopped attacking, following the scent of blood. As fast as she could, Mira grabbed a lighter from her pocket and lit the stake in her hand.

The bats flew past her head, the fire warding them off, she ran towards the person and knelt down beside them. Stabbing the stake into the ground, Mira grabbed another and lit it off of the other one.

Mira leaned towards the person, inspecting their face. It was a man, his leg was bleeding and his neck was bruised but he wouldn't die from his injuries. Her mouth fell to the ground as another boy came running her way, screaming for the other man.

"Eddie! Eddie!" He screamed running towards the other man. He stopped when he noticed Mira knelt over the older boys body.

"Eddie c'mon man we got go." The younger boy grabbed Eddie's hand and pulled him up.

Mira sat in shock, people. People. The young boy looked directly at her and motioned her to stand.

"C'mon we gotta get out of here." Mira nodded grabbing both the stakes. Passing one to the younger boy  she followed them through the darkness.

She didn't remember falling asleep, she did remember waking up. It was warm, for the first time in years she'd woken up warm. Mira jumped up, startled by the unfamiliar circumstances. Flinching back she noticed a group standing in front of her.

"Hey, woah woah hey, it's okay, we're not gonna hurt you, okay, you're safe." The young curly haired boy said with raised hands.

Bringing a hand to her face she swiped at the air in confusion. Nothing. The dust was gone. She quickly jumped from the bed and stood, looking at them in confusion. One of the girls seemed to notice her plight and stepped forward.

"Guys, I think she's looking for the weird dusty stuff. Um hey, we made it out, you're okay now, no danger of death." Getting closer as she spoke the woman gently placed a hand onto Mira's arm.

Her hand shot out to grab that of the other woman, Mira held it tightly while looking directly in her eyes.

"Out?" She asked fearfully.

"Yeah, yeah, you're out." Mira let relief wash over her body, falling back into the bed she sighed deeply.

"No more?" The woman made eye contact and with a smile replied to her.

"No more."

"Hey I'm Dustin, this is Robin, what's your name?" The little boy asked. Mira tilted her head to the side and spoke softly.

"M-Mira."

"Oh my god," the other woman Not-Robin looked shocked.

Not letting go of Robin's hand, Mira squinted as she leaned into the woman's personal space.

"I think I know her." Looking confused, Mira stood and walked towards Not-Robin.

"Wheeler?" Mira asked. The other woman- Nancy nodded.

Mira remembered her, from school, she always had her nose in a book and her head in the clouds. Beside her was a trailer door covered with a mirror. She approached the reflective glass in shock.

Placing a gentle hand on the mirror, she looked at herself. She was old, older. She looked a mess. How much had she missed.

"Mira McDalton, I remember you, you went missing in grade eight. You've been missing for four years." Miras eyes filled with tears, four years, she missed four whole years in that hell hole.

@buggylad

[ladala99]

Wolvden Narrative - Debates

Content warnings: political debates (not on real-world topics), awkward discussion of inbreeding

The six young wolves lined up surrounding the speaking rock, as other wolves from the pack and sub-packs started to gather.

“What are they doing?” Petros asked Freya, his mate.

“They’re trying to convince the other wolves to vote for them as leader.”

Petros huffed. “Morbid, isn’t it? I’m not dead yet.”

Freya gave a noncommittal ear flick. “It’s not like there’ll be time to do something like this when that time comes. It’ll help everyone decide beforehand.”

Freya was younger the Petros. She would likely be participating in the vote herself. Petros still didn’t like thinking about it, though. He still had several seasons in him yet.

Tanguy, a wolf who by no means would ever be eligible to be leader, had taken it upon himself to gather hard-hitting questions to ask. He stepped forward.

“Thank you for being willing to come to this debate,” he said to the six contestants. “Say what’s on your mind, tell the truth, and we will all get what we need to vote for who the next leader really should be. Let’s start with an easy question: what is your political affiliation, and what does that mean to you? Caradoc, you start.”

The brown teen jumped to the top of the speaking rock, striking a triumphant pose. “I’m of the Easy and South parties. That means, I believe everyone should have the best chance to thrive and be awesome.”

“Thank you,” Tanguy said. “Starla?”

The pup with mismatching brown-and-blue fur daintily made her way to the top of the speaking rock. “I am also of the Easy and South parties. That means, I believe we should thrive and be associating with other wolves who also want to thrive, making a big network of friends.”

“Nathanael.”

The white-colored pup strutted up the speaking rock. “I am of the Challenging and South parties. I’m gonna be just like my dad - making sure the pack is beautiful and varied and great.”

Petros couldn’t help but wag his tail a bit, despite his grumpiness. He loved how much Nathanael followed in his footsteps.

“Miraj.”

The wolf with various shades of brown and white jumped up on the rock in one leap. “Challenging and North. I don’t care about how we look - I just care about how well we survive. Under my guidance, we will be one of the most resilient packs in the land.”

“Ayla.”

The brown, white, and a little bit of blue-colored wolf sneered as she stepped onto the rock. “I am Challenging and North. I will ensure our pack can out-compete any other.”

“Isn’t that what Miraj said?” A wolf from the crowd asked.

“It’s not a bad thing to agree,” Ayla replied.

“Yuroq.”

The tan-and-blue wolf climbed to the top of the rock without flair. “Easy and North parties. I think it’s important that we thrive and that there’s enough food to go around.”

“Thank you,” Tanguy said. “Now, diving deep in, what is your opinion on the Faelcu and wolves descended from one?”

Several snarls erupted from the crowd, Petros one of them. He hated the Faelcu. They had taken his mother from him and replaced her with an imposter. Regardless of the vote, he did not consider the imposter’s descendants as members of the pack.

Caradoc stepped up. “Same order?”

“Yes,” Tanguy said.

“The Faelcu are evil, no doubt about it. I don’t trust their descendants, but they’re part of our pack. They’re just like any other of the weirder-looking from among us.”

This didn’t seem to go over well, with several growls through his speech. Petros found it non-committal.

Starla was up next. “They aren’t good optics and should be kept away from others, but should be respected within the pack regardless.”

Tolerated, not respected, was Petros’s policy. But her stance was better in his opinion.

Nathanael was next. “Are you wolves seriously so racist?” he asked, prompting several growls from both the fellow candidates and the crowd. “They’re wolves, plain and simple. If I’m going to be leader, I’m even going to take one as a mate to prove to all of you that they’re harmless.”

Nathanael was no longer Petros’s favorite.

Miraj was next. “No comment.”

Ayla. “Really? You scared to say something, Miraj? I’ll be up front - they’re part of our pack, and there’s nothing we can do about it. If they’re superior in any way, we’ll find out and our pack will be stronger for it.”

“They’re not natural!” Someone from the crowd barked. “They’ll take over us all if we let them!”

“It’s been two generations and they haven’t,” Ayla said. “Stop whimpering about it.”

Yuroq finally took the stand. “I don’t think they’ll be much of a problem. Genetically, they are related to most of us by the bodies they possess. The rest of us should avoid getting too close.”

“That does bring us to our next topic,” Tanguy said, trying to calm the crowd. “Inbreeding. Yuroq, you’re pretty passionate about the topic. Mind leading us off?”

She lifted her tail. “Certainly. It’s not good for us to be so related to each other, especially in the wider pack. To survive, to thrive, we need diversity. If I am made leader, I will not approve of any pair bondings who share any ancestor up to their great-grandparents.”

“That leaves very few choices,” Tanguy said.

“Then we bring more wolves into the pack,” Yuroq said. “There are thousands of wolves out there. It’s not good for us to be so closely related to one another.”

None of the other wolves seemed to want to touch this issue, but Miraj stepped forward. “I’m just going to keep it how it is. Bond out of your immediate family group and you should be fine. Ask Gene the bat to check your recessive genes if you’re concerned. If you really want to be safe, then yeah, bond with an outsider. But outsiders tend to be weaker than wolves who are from multi-generational lines within a pack, and I want us to be strong.”

Miraj seemed like he was about to stop, then added. “If you really think being inbred causes issues, you should absolutely not vote for Caradoc. He’s the only one of us with an inbreeding coefficient higher than zero. He probably shouldn’t even be up here since he not only is a generation removed from our dad, but he was also born outside of a pair bond!”

Caradoc growled and leapt for Miraj, but the older wolf gracefully stepped off of the rock.

“I’m a direct descendant of Petros,” Caradoc said to the crowd. “I’m perfectly eligible.”

“Why are you eligible and wolves related to previous leaders not?” someone from the crowd asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t make the rules!”

“Will you change them?” another wolf, notably one of the Faelcu-related ones, asked.

“Maybe?” Caradoc said without conviction. “I never thought about it.”

Starla nosed her way in front of him. “We are not changing who gets to be leader.”

“There’d be too much corruption if just anyone could!” Ayla agreed from beside the rock.

Wolves from all directions barked their opinions, and eventually Tanguy howled, silencing the rest.

“We’re done. Debate over,” he said.

Awkwardly, everyone starts to disburse.

“It was entertaining, at least,” Petros said to Freya. Though he had less hope his pack would be in good paws from that display.

[hertzdo]

Journal

I guess It’s what it’s supposed to be, in a way, this blog. I mean, why are we here if it’s not to talk about our life. A bit, at least. So I thank anyone who is going to read this, and thank you for going on my blog at least once. Thank you for following me, thank you for reblogging/liking/commenting my posts, my art sometimes, thank you a lot, it’s not big numbers but I don’t care, because it’s at least something.  Something to go on by with.  And I think it’s beautiful to be connected with you people, with passion, sentiments, art.  Art is helping me so much right now, it always has, but right now it’s so important.  Because this is where/when I realize, it does not matter how beautiful it is, how well realized it is, if you put your passion into it, your emotions, your attention, your soul in a way, it is still art. It not has to be perfect. Nothing is perfect. You know that by now.  What I mean is, if it moves you, it does for someone else. Even if you don’t understand why, even if it’s not for the same reason. You were moved by something and someone else did (or will be?) and you were connected at some point of time, at some different place.  You were connected through space and time.  Now, we know time is supposed to be linear.  It is ?  I don’t know man, what is time really, if not a concept in human minds, a perception, a reality, and I must say, in art, we do like to fuck up with the notion of time, like we do like to fuck with the notion of dimension, and emotions.  And yes it is silly but it means so much to me ? I mean I’ve spent my life loosing people around me, death took away my father when I was eleven, and it destroyed me. It was a ticking bomb.  I was so young I didn’t realize what was going on but I also knew so much and I think I just slipped away from reality until said reality took me by surprise and then I started running and I never stopped.  Until I ran out of juice.  But I could never stop, because 10 months after my dad my grandfather died too (I was living with my grand parents after the death of my father, because I was already close to them, could have gone with my mother but she was psychiatrically speaking unable to take me in charge, and anyway she left my father and I when I was 5yo and spent most of her time harrassing us until then but nevermind)  And then my uncle, the year I was graduating (18yo I think ?) and was already FUCKIN’ TIRED OF EVERYHING IN MY LIFE, he was a sort of father figure, we where not really close but it was getting better but DAMN my grandma lost both of her children (she got a daughter, but she stopped talking to her when my grandfather died, and before my father’s death, she wasn’t allowed to see her  since she abandoned her studies because of my grandfather - great family drama apparently) and nevertheless, her husband.  And I passed, *avec mention* I’m not gonna talk about all my life and childhood trauma, all I meant to say is,  art saved my life multiple times. Passionate people moved my soul away from my pain, showed me emotions I didn’t know I possessed, and taught me about everything about life, it is with passionate people I learn, it is with passionate people I feel, it is with passion I live.  It is with emotions I connect, It is with art I communicate, it is with passion I thrive.  All my life I’ve been told I was too emotional, too sensitive, but also strong, intelligent, beautiful, but also mean, rash, brute.  I didn’t know what it meant. I was an animal. In survive mode.  People around me didn’t understand me, and I didn’t understand them. UNLESS we were passionate about something.  If I’ve learned english it’s because well, one we had to lol, but two also because I had good teachers, passionate teachers. And guess what, they were British, or American. (But sorry merica, ‘ive always preferred British accent). I wasn’t even good in english classes, I never was good in language course and I don’t pretend to speak well today, AT ALL.  But I’ve learned with passionate people, and through art aka: film, series, manga, video games, now some books lol poetry (wow) and internet of course, etc. ART IS A TOOL goddammit, a tool for communicating emotions, through space and time.  We humans do art from the beginning of our existence : LOOK

https://www.leparisien.fr/societe/decouverte-de-la-plus-ancienne-peinture-rupestre-vieille-de-45-500-ans-en-indonesie-14-01-2021-8419043.php Did it communicate something to us ? Well maybe not an emotion (that being said, the first guy of our time who saw this must’ve felt something), but it made us ask why someone did this painting in that cave, when it was made, by who, in what context, what it is supposed to represent, what did they use, and so on.  ANYWAY, art saved my life, my faith in humanity, saved my faith in my life, it saved my soul when science couldn’t reach my mind anymore. I don’t believe in God, or gods, because I believe in humanity. Doesn’t mean I don’t respect their existence. They do exists, in a way, in a perspective, in a dimension I’m not really sensible too. No one can make me believe my family deserved to die. That, “it is what it is the way God decided”. Anyway I don’t care I’m not baptized. So yeah art, saved my life, is still saving me right now, because I’m on a thin line between being feeling really good and feelin really bad, because life still sucks and sometimes I’m afraid I will forgot it is still worth fighting for it. LANDMVRKS - Lost In A Wave

[dekusleftsock]

Izuku - the human hero

How perception controls the mind

(quick warning, I put this in a doc and its 15 pages without images. Be warned that it will take a solid amount of time reading. Get comfy)

How to be a hero

Before we get right into the thick of this, I wanted to explain what exactly makes someone a hero. For this, I'm gonna have to explain what makes cops inherently flawed. (This is also gonna get political, so if you like cops and don't wanna read about someone who does not like them, click off now. I'm not afraid to throw around the word "pig" for a non animal. You will be blocked if you try to argue with me. Also I am speaking about this as someone who lives in a major city in the US, so if you, again, try to argue with me, you. will. be. blocked. I don’t care about your liberal opinions)

Cops have three purposes, making people feel safer, making sure major events or protests don't go haywire, and keeping people in the prison system. (for economic benefits that those systems provide. Aka free labor) The thing that separates real life cops from heroes, are that heroes are legitimately needed as they do community service and deescalation along with taking care of villains. (even if they aren't trained on deescalation which I dislike. *cough cough* katsuki *cough cough*) Plus, they are given twice as much training as a cop is, as cops aren't trained on much compared to UA. They have to have a high school diploma, 21 weeks of cop school, and a few rigorous tests. (source)

But let's get back on track. So, heroes do five things as a part of their job. To make citizens feel safer, make sure protests/events don't go haywire, community service, deescalation, and stop villains from hurting people/property. They are put through three years of training at a hero school and pass their provisional licensing exam. It also seems like it's required to take work studies and class 1-A just took them really early. They're also highly regulated when it comes to use of their quirks and detaining villains.

But there's more to it than that. How well you did in your tests for UA is entirely dictated by the people around you. Well not entirely, but we're human. We thrive on other people's approval, because it's in our very nature. We need support, gear, and the right training to be able to do what we want to do in life.

Theoretical, quirkless heroes

As we've established, heroes need three things. They need gear, support, and training. Gear can be anything from a support item that allows their quirk to function (like aoyama's belly lazer) to the quirk itself, like in izuku's case. The thing that stops a quirkless hero is the fundamentals that they lack that the rest of the world already has... according to the able bodied people in hero society. Because, let's be honest here, there is more to getting into a hero school than getting a quirk.

Let's use Katsuki as an example. He had the perfect quirk, perfect financial background, friends, teachers, but no mentor. Though it seems more like Katsuki trained near constantly in order to become a hero. As best jeanist said, he DOES actually have the skills to become a full fledged sidekick already, he just lacks discipline. No mentor. That's what UA is for most people, the time in which they get a mentor. A quirk is not everything, because you need to have the smarts or the empathy for the people you're saving. That is what holds Katsuki back and pushes Izuku forward, empathy.

Empathy isn't really controllable though to some extent, especially if you don't have any to begin with. Katsuki and Izuku both have autism, but Izuku has hyper empathy and Katsuki has low empathy. That just means that Katsuki needs to learn the basic steps of SHOWING empathy as a hero to the people he is saving. Technically that just means he needs to learn how to mask better, but yeah, depending on the job masking can be so important. That's why we even have the innate ability as autistic people, for survival. We're allowed to use it in a way that is healthy to both us and others. But it's OUR choice, not anyone else's.

Getting back on track, most of the opportunities would have been taken away from Katsuki if he had a useless quirk and/or no quirk at all. THAT'S the true difference between Katsuki and Izuku.

If izuku the quirkless hero were to happen, then izuku would have needed unquestionable support from someone. That would have vastly changed his overall likelihood of getting into UA. Not only that but, as stated in the anime, quirkless people weren't even ALLOWED to go to UA up until Izuku's application year.

So the thing that stops a quirkless hero from becoming a reality is the perception of other people and the opportunities that they provide. Katsuki would have been phenomenal training for Izuku, maybe some sort of sponser for his support items, and the support from the people around him would have given Izuku the tools to succeed. But quirkless people aren't given that. THAT, my friends, is why the quirkless hero Izuku would have failed.

What is a quirk?

Quirks are a fickle thing because of how inconsistent they are. It makes understanding their impact so difficult. Before I explain how quirk discrimination works, I think it's important to properly define a quirk.

Let's group quirks into three groups: mutant, non mutant, and both. I think what defines a mutant quirk is anyone who has "physical characteristics". That can include anything from the change in hair color to being a pile of sludge. (like the sludge villain)

A non mutant quirk is anything that does NOT fit the original definition but is still a quirk. So pretty much anything non physical, like Uraraka's "zero gravity" or Aizawa's "erasure". Their physical appearance has no affect from the quirk they have.

And our third quirk type is never actually defined in the series even if it has the basis to be its own group. It could be anything from not affecting how their quirk works like Koda and how he seems to be "tree like", or be an ingrained part of their quirk as a whole. Like Tsuyu.

So that could mean that if mina didn't produce acid, then her quirk could have just been that she looks like an alien. This could be the same with kirishima's quirk because he has sharp teeth. That also makes you question that if part of inko's quirk is that she has green hair (a mutant quirk since it changes appearance), then izuku's quirk is actually that he has green hair. If ofa powers up any quirk it possesses, and it can't actually do anything to izuku's theoretical "quirk", then if the power was given to, lets say, Tsu, then her normal quirk would be unaffected. Maybe her poisonous mucus would be heightened, I could see that, but then wouldn't her "actual quirk" be that she produces mucus instead of just "frog"? Like mina's quirk, because the fact that she is pink seems to have nothing to do with her actual quirk.

Maybe the actual name of a quirk/how you define it is up to the person who owns it. Like quirks are up to the perception of yourself. Shigaraki's quirk is called "decay", but it could also very well be "disintegrate". In fact, that is MORE accurate to how his quirk works. But because he is a villain, he probably just named his quirk "decay" to seem more menacing.

So, quirks are up to perception, seems pretty similar to how heroes function right?

Disability

So, in a society that is even fundamentally discriminative, even towards people with quirks, where does that leave quirkless people?

We're gonna have to use our imagination a bit with how quirklessness is actually treated in MHA. (obligatory "hori why did you build up this plot line sm and then do close to nothing with it") There's few actual information we're given, and most of it is through a kid who was so discriminative because of his inferiority complex. So, let's make a list.

The most obvious one, but obviously being prone to bullying and teasing

Not being able to go to UA(?) up until izuku's application year

Less support from those around you (teachers, parents, other kids, or even heroes)

Doctors inherently see them as "underdeveloped" because they also don't have the "newer/more efficient" bodies that quirked people have (... tbh this just sounds like eugenics is openly accepted in the medical field in MHA so uh-)

Being quirkless is automatically seen as "weak" in mha, by both quirked and quirkless people

Most of this is about perception. And while systemic oppression is terrible to experience, perception can create a constant cycle of gas-lighting for the people who experience it. For example, while there are no direct laws that stop a trans person from getting medical care here in the US, (depending on the state) yet it's still extremely hard to get the resources. It IS a systemic problem in the way that capitalism is inherently set up to fail, but not a direct one. A person could say that a micro aggression from a white person to a POC is just because they're sensitive or looking into it too much. But god forbid it be actual oppression to touch someone's hair unasked for! Or ask someone where they're from even when they say the US! No, instead you're just "taking away from actual oppression" or "looking for things that aren't there". (as said in my bio I am white so feel free to critique this on anything I may have gotten wrong or you feel should not have been said)

For oppression to work, it must not be visible from the oppressors point of view. This will keep those who live in blissful ignorance from giving their support to a group that experiences it, while keeping white people from being uncomfortable.

From Izuku and possibly Inko's point of view, it may even be harder to get certain medical care. Technically it shouldn't even affect his schooling since use of quirks aren't even allowed in public unless you're a licensed hero, yet his teachers/students make it a point to make his life hell for his genetics.

MHA is inherently flawed due to eugenicists that were born as a result of heroes.

MHA is entirely about perception, from how heroes don't understand why capable citizens choose not to be heroes, to the villains who don't understand why those who were oppressed become heroes. Izuku was given ofa to be the dramatic irony of it all. The quirkless person has become a hero but at the cost of feeding into the environment that creates the very thing he fights.

Color theory/character design

One of the most important fundamentals of a visual story are the designs that the story chooses. And something I have always adored about mha specifically (especially in comparison to other anime and manga) is how strong the character designs are. Same face syndrome is almost non-existent in my hero, mainly because horikoshi knows EXACTLY how to make each character he designs distinct. (Same face syndrome is just when an artist draws characters with very similar faces for everyone. Studio ghibli often has this issue which is why they have characters that look the same from completely different movies) He also has a strong sense of color theory and knows EXACTLY how to make a character's colors tell more into their story than we think.

Take Nighteye. Weird choice of an example, I know, but he has one of the most intelligently well put together designs in the show.

This is the anime so please bear with the lanky hands problem. When you look at Nighteye you know EXACTLY WHAT his character will be like. He is a serious, well put together man, yet he has spots on his perfect and professional red tie. This shows his need for laughter in the heroic world, yet also shows his professionalism. He also wears a white suit, something that seems a bit odd for hero work since it would get dirty, but it also plays into his ideals for laughter and goofiness and hiding that behind a professional aura. Horikoshi knew EXACTLY what he was doing with every aspect of this design. Even down to the slight heel of his shoe, or the slight lankiness of his nature. When you look at Nighteye, you get a sense of professional intimidation and outright oddness.

And this isn't even covering the color theory aspect of his character. His hair is such a clever choice, using the yellow in his hair to both symbolize mirio and All Might, and making those aspects highlights. Because they are the highlights of his person. How he brings out the good in the characters around him. While also making his hair color an off, more swampy/murky green compared to Izuku's. Showing he is the shadow in his life at that point, while also being his parallel.

When you break down the fundamentals of a character design, you can start to make sense of who they are

Now that I've broken down a character design, you can see that the aspects of both Katsuki and Izuku's characters directly reflect their designs. I'm also going to say that I will only be commenting on hero costume design OR if their civilian clothes are consistent, like in small might's case. Civilian clothes aren't really made to do anything but make a joke or just be placeholders since it doesn't really matter. (like izuku's "sheets" t-shirt)

Izuku's design

We're gonna start with his color, of course; green. Green can mean a lot of things, from envy to new growth.

What makes the color green so special to Izuku's design is that it paints a picture of something so weak yet so strong. Something so alive, so human. There are a million and one things a color can mean, but what makes the color of a character so special is the consistency of that color. So while it does represent Izuku's rebirth into becoming someone strong;

"I'm the deku who always does his best" - coming soon for the psychoanalysis.

He is also weak. He is as strong as an oak tree, yet as weak as a daisy. And that's okay. That doesn't make him not a hero.

Green itself is also something nurturing, it's why he's so good with kids and, once again, the one with hyper empathy out of both of them. Deku and Kacchan. Midoriya and Bakugou. Izuku and Katsuki.

And on the flip side, Katsuki's color is so so SO fascinating from a color theory nerds perspective. His color is loud, outstanding, brash, strong, and most importantly, represents work. Hard, tedious, work. (I feel like I should also mention to give credit to where credit is due, most of color and general art imagery comes from paganistic religions throughout the world. So, it's important to remember the people that came up with the ideas we use and to respect everyone's beliefs. Because we sure as hell wouldn't have half of the culture we have today without those religions throughout history that may or may not be dead. A lot of it was lost with colonization, but they do still exist)

It's a color that exudes enthusiasm, creativity, success, and much much more. It can also be a color that represents impatience, dominance, and exhibitionism. It is a strong color, through and through, and it's the exact opposite to green.

The fact that orange and green are also secondary colors is important, showing the parallels between the two.

Why am I bringing this up? WHY is this so important? Well my friends, the answer is simple.

Izuku and Katsuki's colors are how they perceive themselves.

Izuku thinks he has two separate sides, even though they are one in the same. He is either the weak deku or the strong deku. The deku that always does his best. The deku too weak to stand out on his own. While Katsuki thinks of himself highly, he is either treated like a god or looked down on. He is always strong, always loud, always running ahead.

Even though neither of these perceptions are correct.

Izuku's bullying

Psychologically speaking, your childhood dictates a majority of your mental well being as an adult and how you react to a situation. It is the most influential part of a person's life. This can, of course, change as you gain more experience in life and possibly go through something traumatic whatever that may be. Your brain has some built in coping skills that we honestly have no clue why we do them?

As an example, my coping skills as a child became my imagination and escapism through shows or other media, while my sibling learned to disassociate from their emotions and childhood. Ultimately, even though I'm the younger out of the two of us, they don't remember our trauma but I do. And that's just, how it ended up working out. Some people try to take control of their trauma by writing about it, or by reading it. All three of these options have their good and bad sides. It just depends on the extremes of these coping skills.

Either way, because of how influential your childhood is, it's kind of important that your parents don't mess it up to the best of their abilities. This isn't always controllable though, which is why we're here, talking about Izuku's bullying.

Let's define what exactly Izuku went through. (obligatory tw for bullying/mentions of suicide)

Ah, the most memorable, the swan dive scene. I've talked about my thoughts on this scene multiple times, but to give a little rundown on my analysis here, this is supposed to be the worst thing Katsuki ever does. So, let's address a couple of things here.

Izuku is not sad, he's angry. They are both emotionally stunted in this scene, not even giving themselves the opportunity to process their emotions about this entire situation.

On one hand, the emotional part of this, both of them are actually having the same reaction. They are turning despair and insecurity into anger. The thing with anger is that it is a secondary emotion. They are just emotions that are born out of other feelings, so anger is super common because it feels better to be angry than it is to feel hurt.

I feel it is also important to address that every emotion is important to let yourself feel. Bottling up anything will end up making you explode later in the long run, and that includes anger. Secondary emotion =/= a bad emotion, it just means you should be aware of where the true feelings come from so that you can process it.

And on the other hand, the psychological part, Izuku's biggest concern is that Katsuki becomes a hero. Of course he does actually care about himself; no matter how many times people want to say that Izuku doesn't have a backbone, he does and he has since the first episode. The thing that stops him is Katsuki's threat. (Which, btw, was that a bait?? Was he even gonna do anything?????)

But I personally think the most interesting part about Izuku's bullying from Katsuki and his lackeys is this moment. It goes overlooked all the time, even though it's actually the most accurate descriptor of his bullying and also shows the moment Katsuki's reasons for bullying Izuku change. Before this, Katsuki put distance which turned into bullying because Izuku was weak and quirkless. He was better than him, why should he be around him? He was too clingy and kept on reaching out his hand. He was calling me weak.

But Katsuki knew how strong he was! That's why he put so much distance, he was looking down on Izuku for being stupid. Sure it affected his insecurities, but this panel right here? This was the first time he ever thought that Izuku's "thoughts" might actually be true. Which lead to rejection, bullying, and hate.

So now that we've established the actual bullying, how did this affect Izuku? Well, of course, it affected his self esteem. Izuku's self worth is basically on the ground or slightly raised throughout the manga. It was due to other people too, sure, like All Might, his mom, Iida, etc. but that doesn't change Katsuki's actions.

And this self esteem problem is so built into his very being that even when someone like Uraraka comes along, someone who helps him build his confidence, only ended up creating another version of himself he can compare to. Instead of being the weak deku Katsuki assigned him, he's now the deku that always does his best. And if he does anything that won't kill him or bring him close to death, he is the weak little deku again. He's everything Katsuki told him he was in middle school.

His perception of himself is so distorted, that he's only now picking up the pieces

This isn't Katsuki slander, Katsuki on his own has grown into a person who's assured of himself and others. He aims to be the light in Izuku's life and has atoned, apologized, and been forgiven. He had a phenomenal redemption arc and he constantly aims to fix this problem. But this isn't about his actions, this is about Izuku. So I expect 0% slander of Katsuki, All Might, or Inko.

The most ironic part about Katuski's death is that Izuku has been the one with death flags on him since the beginning. Death has always been an integral part of his character, and Katsuki's has always had the plot armor that he would let him stay alive. One of Izuku's first scenes is of Katsuki telling him to kill himself. We've already KNOWN deku's reaction to Katsuki's death. Izuku has always seen Katsuki in life or death situations, kidnapped, saw him get plunged through his body, but Katsuki? He barely saw it once.

No, scratch that, twice. His vigilante arc and his fight with shigaraki during the first war.

This is why Katsuki's "death" is so clever. Horikoshi AGAIN flipped it on its head. Deku is always the one in dangerous situations; he's downright suicidal when people are in danger. We've seen Izuku almost destroy all of Matsutafu over Katsuki being hurt. But we haven't seen Katsuki's reaction to Izuku's outbursts over him, nor have we seen the reaction to his possible demise.

Inko Midoriya - Izuku's first insecurity

Of all the people I've listed that have had an impact on Izuku, the first one to ever hurt him was inko. Inko may only have a few scenes, yet they are able to tell a much bigger story into who she is and how she is flawed. Everyone had their own major individual impact on him, so let's talk about why her impact is so unique.

Inko Midoriya, my my what an interesting woman you are. Something I actually adore about every parental figure in MHA is that none of them are perfect. They all have flaws, subtle or not. They are all good and bad even in the short time in which we see them. Endeavor, Rei, Inko, Mitsuki, Masaru; hell even whoever "Hisashi" is because while he supports them financially, he's never actually there. (if dad for one is confirmed canon which I think it most definitely will then I'll go into the reasons why he has "good" parental aspects in a different post)

Now, I can hear you asking the question, "well, what's wrong with Inko?" because inko is supposed to be this nice, nurturing woman that makes Izuku this little "momma's boy" archetype. And you're right! You could make the argument that Inko is possibly the best or one of the best parents in the series. But she is still that, a parent.

Parents are flawed, they're human. They are gonna mess up majorly in some way somehow and that's just how the world works. The best we can do is that, our best. We should always strive to change and grow as people in the moment, which is precisely what Inko does. She grew. Because her most major flaw was giving up on Izuku, she gave up on his dream. Quirkless heroes are possible, they always were, but perception and access to materials and knowledge is hard! And I'm not saying it's easy or anything, or even that Horikoshi should've taken that narrative. I actually love ofa and what it's done for Izuku's character.

What I am saying though is that Inko was the first person to not believe in him.

She was the first person he had to prove himself to, and only did so when he suddenly had a quirk and got into UA. She never stopped him, but she also never gave him her full moral support.

A major developmental impact parents have on children is how they choose when and how to support them. Even if you know your child can't be a mermaid, it's still extremely important that you assure them of their dreams. Not doing so can cause problems. This can include an immediate idea that you are not enough when you're older, general insecurity issues, and make you sensitive to rejection. It's setting them up for settling on something that they don't want to do which will make them unhappy adults, or just straight up stop them from taking the steps to do, well, anything.

Choosing whether to make your passions a career or not should be a choice you make on your own, not something that was shut down from you as a child. Izuku had no support, he is his only support. He even says so!

Because not even inko believed in him, and she was his only support system.

This is not Inko slander by the way! Because this is even an addressed problem in the series. She Apologizes to Izuku a little after he gets into UA if I remember correctly.

She did fail him, but that doesn't make her a bad person. It was bad and it just happened. There is no excuse, she just made up for her mistakes. Which is a continuous correlation throughout the series; no excuses or explanations. It just happened. And that's okay. She's a phenomenal parent and deserves to be praised for what she's done for him as his mother. She is amazing.

Uraraka - the hero for heroes

On the totally other side of the spectrum, I almost feel like Uraraka's looks are a visual representation of who Inko should've been. Because, like people have pointed out, Inko and Uraraka's looks are SO SIMILAR! Like it's almost uncanny. This isn't a Freud™ moment, (or at least I hope it's not) I think this is simple parallels.

Let's take a look at Uraraka so you get what I mean. (this is going to be very brief since I still wanna make a similar post about her, so yeah, this only covers her relationship to Izuku. Sorry lol) Right off the batt, she is his supporter. She supports his rivalry with Katsuki, fighting against a "bully" in her eyes. (I'll be covering this idea in her analysis btw) She even makes sure he has "good luck" by not letting him fall on his first day, TWICE! She is his first supporter and first friend in UA, a title he never had to earn by being "amazing". And at that moment she’s exactly who he needs. Someone who will build up his confidence in battle, saving, and general hero work.

Something I feel like people don’t understand is that Izuku needed Uraraka way more than she needed Izuku. And I don’t mean that in a way that he never actually did anything for her, rather that she made most of the conclusions about the flaws of society on her own. She came to the conclusion about toga without Izuku. Without anyone else directly telling her, OTHER THAN TOGA! She put together the pieces. She is neither the love interest nor Izuku's number one fan/supporter; she is her own independent person with her own flaws and ideas. She has her own goals, saving those who may not "look" or be "worthy" of needing saving. Like toga, like Izuku.

He was her inspiration, but she is now confident and smart enough to see Izuku's flaws and to believe in herself. Just as she was his main support to fall back on, and now he is able to confide in the people around him. He is confident enough to build a support system to help him.

Because men are not the inspiration for women to be strong, and women are not the support for their strength.

I think it's time to put away these very obvious patriarchal ideas. Building a new system throughout shonen to view women and queerness is important, because I'm tired of seeing men be inspirational and women be their support. Let's switch it up a bit, let women and men be friends; let them coexist without them being solely for the mc's arc. Let them be their own character.

Back to parallels with Inko, Uraraka was basically his sole support system along with Iida for a long time. Inko AND Uraraka being his only support was unhealthy in all aspects, you should never feel like you have to rely on one person to help you keep going. Izuku was still independent, but thank god for All Might and later on Katsuki for being his support in getting better.

All Might - "you can be a hero"

Now, I know that title is a little weird, but it's true! All Might was the first person to both believe in him and say he could be a hero.

I’ve seen a lot of slander on All Might and I feel like it’s a little unprompted? Like yes, crushing a kids dreams and leaving him on a rooftop and telling him to “knock until someone opened the door” isn’t like the BEST idea in the world. I get that. I understand it.

But at the same time, can you really BLAME HIM? In his mind, the only reason he is a hero is because of ofa. The reason why Katsuki and All Might are so similar has to do with the fact that they both define themselves by their quirk. A perfect example is when AM is talking to aizawa about losing his quirk.

It’s interesting seeing his thought process change and gain confidence in himself after talking to stain. All might had the same perception the rest of the world had, so of course he’s going to react the same way anyone else would.

All Might has not been quirkless for a long time

That has vastly changed his perception of both Izuku and himself. He saw ofa as apart of what made him great, not as an add on to an already great person.

Does this excuse his actions? NO! Of course it’s still BAD. I can admit that All Might supporters often excuse this behavior through ignorance. He’s still an adult and mentor and he’s had the time to learn, but there’s also an ignorant mentality from society as a whole.

And he had a point did he not? Being quirkless in hero work is still dangerous. Heroes are just glorified police. Hero work is not for quirkless people for a reason. That’s fine. I understand that. And like I said before, I don’t think horikoshi should’ve taken that rout of story telling! Ofa gives you more room to work with.

What I am talking about though, is how this mentality affects a child. Imagine being told as a kid, everyone BUT YOU, can have your dream? Everyone can be your idol, EXCEPT YOU. That’s traumatizing! It causes an inherent “otherness” in people.

Izuku still probably would’ve ended up a vigilante if he didn’t get a quirk and get into UA. Which is infinitely more dangerous than a hero because you can’t ask for backup or get immediate medical help in the field. Izuku needed to be a hero if he was going to be safe.

However, all might is the first person to EVER, give Izuku the confidence he needed. He told him what he needed to hear, told him he could be a hero. That he could fulfill his dream.

He made Izuku’s pipe dream a reality through training him and giving him his quirk. So yeah, I love all might, Izuku loves all might, he’s what Izuku needed most; a mentor and someone who believed in him.

The human hero - a psycho analysis

Wow we’re almost to the end! This bullet point was actually what started this entire analysis on Izuku. It was the first thing I wanted to make into a meta and then I just kept adding and going and.. now we’re here. It’s kind of bittersweet since this has become part of my routine, to get home from school and work on this ginormous essay for fun. But, here we are. Welcome to the end friends. I hope you enjoyed. Psycho analysis is something I hope I’m good at, but maybe I’m just pointing out the obvious lol.

I wanna start with his anger issues and where they come from. I’ve seen people time and time again say that it’s only Katsuki who has the anger issues, but I think you forget that this is an emotionally stunted boy in his teen years. It’s kind of hard NOT to have them at this stage in life. But where do they come from?

Ever heard of the term “emotionally immature”? It’s usually born out of a traumatic event of some kind. Generally, after getting to know someone you can make a rough estimate of when this person stunted in maturity.

Emotional immaturity is different from mental immaturity, and I need to get that out of the way. Mental maturity is simply just, how you respond to life based on your past experiences. Emotional maturity is your immediate response. Think of it like a conscious vs a subconscious response. And a lot of the time this is where anger issues stem from. Along with a lot of your own self doubt and insecurity.

It’s definitely important to analyze our emotions and it’s a skill people have to learn, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t sit in the actual feeling of that emotion. Coping skills are great but they’re there to be temporary solutions to the bigger issue at hand. You have to sit and work through your emotions like you were supposed to the first time and that fucking sucks. I know I try not to curse when I do these analysis’ but it really does! You literally feel like you’re going through it all over again sometimes, but it’s what you have to do so you can mature emotionally.

And did Izuku ever do this? No, he didn’t. He did hero analysis or something else with his time. He used his interests or hobbies as a way to escape his problems with his dad, the bullying, and then again when Katsuki got kidnapped or when Katsuki was stabbed by shigaraki. He never got the chance to sit down and just, write about it. Sit in it. Work through them.

Oh but I can hear you saying, “yeah but how does he have anger issues?” My friend, what do you think those tears are for? Because it’s not just sadness or happiness. He’s angry. He repeatedly gets angry.

He’s pissed! And for good reason! But he is not outwardly pissed. Because if he was for most of his life, he was bullied even more. Izuku is in the position of not having the power, ever. And that created issues. With control, identity, and regulating emotions. He’s supposed to have been able to outwardly share his emotions throughout childhood so he could regulate when he was in crisis, but he didn’t. He learned to regulate his actions and bottle everything up so that it could explode at a later time. But when he came to UA? Things were different.

He started to mature again, emotionally. He was allowed and given the space to go full anger issues mode, so now every time he gets fired up in battle and tries to act like Katsuki, he explodes. Bigger than Katsuki now, because he never regulated his emotions correctly. (See more in ochako and Katsuki’s post because I’ll be getting back to this later)

And, this is not me villainizing any of Izuku’s emotions or responses. Ofc you should never invalidate anyones emotions. Not only are they justified in a lot of scenes, but they’re also not necessarily his fault.

What I AM saying though, is that unless there is a bigger issue, people do not get that angry during a match. Not even Katsuki got that angry until todoroki literally gave up the battle by not giving it his all like Izuku did or what HE even did during their match.

He got SO upset when shinsou called ojirou a monkey that he almost threw the match.

People didn’t get that angry during a match! At all! Not Ochako, Tokoyami, todoroki, and or even KATSUKI BAKUGOU, MR. ANGER ISSUES, got that angry!

Frustration is very different from anger. Very, very different. I think the subtlety of Izuku and his character just adds to it, because you have to really look for it to get an accurate understanding of him and his character.

The perception of others changes you

It’s only human nature for the perception of others to affect you. It’s normal, expected even. We’re social creatures, we conform to societal standards.

But when those standards get too high, or they’re made to make you feel small, it only hurts other people. It only hurts Izuku and his mental well being.

Trauma changes you (haha see, we’re finally getting back to that image of deku hitting shigaraki that I said would be referenced here!!!) and in Izuku’s case, he learned that getting closer to Katsuki made him act and feel a certain way. Romantic feelings is my personal opinion, and whether he knows what those feelings are or aren’t is up to you.

I talked about this in an ask before, but Ochako creating a new meaning of the word "deku" for Izuku only created a person he could separate himself from. If he is not the deku that does his best, then he is the useless deku all over again. There is no in between for him. (once again more autistic coding with the black and white thinking that he has)

This is very subtle, and that’s purposeful. A conscious writing decision to make sure that you, the reader, would not know his inner thoughts and turmoil.

He’s both emotionally immature, and emotionally separated from his peers, all might, and his mom. He has put himself in the position of being alone because it is all he knows.

Finally - perception

So, why does horikoshi keep most of his character relatively secretive? What would be the point other than to just, reveal it? You’re given all the pieces to put everything together so what’s the point in not even saying anything.

One key factor: izu//ocha. I have to ask the question, if you were to create a story that was secretly a queer story in disguise so that it could break an industry in some way, how would you do it? Personally, I would keep the main character and their love interests thoughts relatively secretive, give the pretend love interest confirmed feelings to confuse the viewer, and make the main character say vague statements that seem romantic. I would also make the two seem plain and maybe a little unlikable in some way even though the story is supposed to be about the character and his relationship to other people.

Which is exactly what horikoshi has done. He has used the perception of the viewer to say a bigger statement about how the viewer consumes storytelling. This is called “readers perception”, it’s one of the key aspects of how you choose to write a story. If the viewer was given all the information at once, it would be a boring story. So as a writer you need to choose what, when, and how you will show the reader information.

Horikoshi has an amazing understanding of this. But it’s also a really common writing issue! Steven universe is too tied to its main character, completely keeping the viewers perception of the story in solely stevens perception. But mha is never TIED to a main character and can therefore switch everything up so that you and Izuku have a completely different set of information while still FOLLOWING him as the main character.

And we keep coming back to this same topic; perception. Is it really so hard to believe that My Hero Academia has always been about the perception of others? From insecurity, to pride, it has made it a point to never let the characters make a perception of their own. Of themselves. Something healthy to view and understand. To the point where it even uses the perception of the viewer against you. Against the characters. Against the real life consequences of the world. My Hero has always been a show about proving perceptions to be wrong.

Your perception about how a shonen should work will change as MHA uses its platform and ideas to make a new for the industry. Not only will it create a space for minorities in a place that has actively excluded them, but it will also drive away or even change the opinions of the already existing people in them.

Stay hopeful. Keep your indomitable human spirit thriving in all parts of your life.

(I’m for some reason attached to these notes of how I organized this so it’s staying lol)

How to be a hero

Theoretical, quirkless heroes

What is a quirk?

Disability

Color theory/character design (izuku vs katsuki)

Izuku's bullying

uraraka, all might, katsuki, inko

The human hero - a psychoanalysis

[avatarmerida]

Neither or Both

How many flower analogies can I make before it’s obvious that I know nothing about flowers? Angsty but not really? Wholesome Huntlow in the garden. Don’t make fun of any spelling or grammar stuff k thanks

———

The garden was Willow’s sanctuary.

It was really the only place where she could freely do magic, though she still had to keep it relatively small. Before, Mrs. Noceda’s garden was composed of a few flowers here and there that desperately needed to be weeded but now,thanks to Willow, it was the envy of the neighborhood. There were flowers and plants of every color and size, bright and vibrant and thriving.

In her garden she could escape everything for awhile; any stress, any sadness, any pressure could wait while she was tending to her plants. She turned her worries into life and it helped her stay hopeful. So Hunter took her invitation to join her here very seriously. He knew she took pride in her work and wanted to show off the product of her efforts and he was more than happy to allow her to do that. He loved listening to her talk and when it came to plants she could talk for literal hours, so when she asked if anyone could help her carry out some new potted plants she had bought he literally jumped at the chance.

“You sure it’s not too heavy?” Willow asked, carrying the same plant he was with ease.

“No, it’s fine,” he lied. He marveled how gracefully and skilled she carried the large plant, meanwhile he was struggling to find balance and struggling even more to hide his struggling from her.

“I’m so glad I found these trees, they’re gonna look so nice in the backyard!” Willow squealed, practically skipping in front of Hunter as if the tree weighed nothing at at all to her.

“Yeah,” he said trying not to expose the labor in his breath as he readjusted his grip. “You’ve got your own personal forest back here, huh?”

Willow giggled. “That’s the goal,” she replied. “Let’s set these down over here so I can give you the grand tour!”

Hunter happily obliged, feeling infinitely lighter the second he set the pot down. Willow pulled him to the ground so they were both kneeling in the dirt as she pointed out each carefully chosen flower in her collection. He didn’t mind getting dirty, he was happy to see her so happy.

“I’ve discovered that while there are many plants that are native to both here and the Boiling Isles, there are some that we can only find back home,” explained Willow. “And the ones that are only in Boiling Isles can grow here with my magic but they require extra care if they’re going to survive in a foreign environment. This one is my favorite,” she went on, summoning the flower into her hand. “It’s golden and its petals kind of spring down in a curl. Like you!” She smiled and gestured to his famous loose strand of hair above his forehead that he hated but she adored.

Hunter smiled as her gesture, his eyes darted between her smile and the flower but as her words sank in, his smile faded. “So you’re saying I’m an invasive species?” Hunter mumbled, looking away from her.

“What?” Willow asked, confused at the sudden shift in demeanor.

“‘An invasive species of plant refers to a plant whose introduction causes or is likely to cause economic or environmental harm or harm the health of surrounding species.’” recited Hunter effortlessly.

“Wow, h-how did you know that?” Willow asked with a chuckle, surprised and impressed.

“I made a bunch of flash cards,” said Hunter casually. “In case you wanted to talk about plants with someone.”

“You made flash cards... for me?”

“No, I made them for me,” he explained, looking back up at her. “You already know more about this stuff than I could ever hope to. But you’re so passionate about them I wanted to understand them better, so I could understand... you... better.” Her eyes got wider as he continued so he trailed off, unsure if he has said something wrong.

“Well, I’m flattered you learned about invasive species for me,” said Willow, brushing something out of her hair before looking at him sternly. “But I would never say that about you, and I don’t take my plant comparisons lightly; ask anyone.”

“I know,” he chuckled at her menacing look, staring him down to ensure he really did know. “I’ll add that to my flash cards to make sure I remember.”

“Good,” said Willow. “So, what else have you made flash cards for?”

“Mostly human customs,” said Hunter, laying on the ground to look at the sky. The grass Willow had grown in the yard was so soft and inviting it felt more like a blanket. “Things that are different, things that are the same. Gus was really helpful with everything. It’s mostly charts, actually.”

“Looks like you’ve been keeping yourself busy,” smiled Willow, adjusting her position so she could lay on the ground beside him in the opposite direction, her head beside his. “Tell me something you learned.”

“Did you know that humans have never waged war against the giraffes?” Hunter asked, picking the fact that perplexed him the most. “They fight each other but not once have they ever had a significant recorded issue with giraffes. They have more issues with sea creature and its like, hello!? The sea is optional! You’re entering their home and are confused when they attack you, but they just let giraffes walk around like it’s nothing-.”

He turned to face her and stopped when he saw how close their faces were. Willow had removed her glasses to lay on her side more comfortably and with the glare of their lens, her eyes looked even greener. He hoped her vision was blurry enough that she couldn’t see the blush splashed across his face.

“Keep going,” she encouraged softly. “I like hearing you talk.”

“Yeah?” He said, his voice cracking and he mentally cursed himself. “Well, you’re probably the only one; Kikimora always said I had an annoying voice.”

“Really?”

“Not to my face, but I know no one in the castle was very fond of me,” admitted Hunter. “I mean, I was pretty smug. And loud. I get it, my voice is pretty annoying-.”

“I don’t think so,” interjected Willow genuinely. “I think it’s unique. It suits you.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t know me before,” he sighed.

“I wish I did,”

“No you don’t, trust me,” he forced a laugh. “Luz can tell you, I’m sure. I was mean and arrogant, there’s no way we would’ve been friends...” He shuddered. “I-I don’t like to think about that.”

“Ya never know,” shrugged Willow, putting her glasses back on as she sat up. “But I get it; I used to be shy and timid. I like the version of me that you met, but who knows? Us half witches gotta stick together, right? I bet we could’ve been friends still. We’d find a way eventually, like this little guy.” She held up a small flower she had grown, and Hunter took it from her with a small smile. It was a light purple, with white lines swirling on the edges of the wide petals like tiger stripes. The center was a deep maroon that looked like a crescent moon.

“What species is this?” He said, sitting up to examine it closer. “I don’t recognize it. Is it from here or the Boiling Isles?”

“Both,” said Willow, excitedly. “I made it, like actually made it. It’s a hybrid flower! I combined the version of an orchid that we know back home with the version they have here and poof! Something totally new! Isn’t it cool?”

“It’s beautiful,” breathed Hunter. “Everything you make is beautiful. But, will it be able to grow okay here? Or back home? It doesn’t really belong in either place does it?”

“Or it belongs in both,” countered Willow. “Like Luz.”

“Or neither, like me,” said Hunter.

“Hunter-,” began Willow sternly.

“Sorry! Sorry, I know you don’t like when I talk like that,” he said quickly. He took a deep breath and looked down at his thumbs, fidgeting. “But I know you also don’t like when I keep things inside so I don’t know what you want from me, but it’s true isn’t it? Back on the Isles, I never belonged, not really. I couldn’t do magic, no one in the castle wanted me around, and then when I left the castle I didn’t know how to talk to anyone my age. And then we got and here... no one can do magic, and it’s a fresh start but it’s still so... similar. But so different at the same time. No matter where I go, I feel like I’m struggling to keep up. I don’t know where I’m supposed to grow.”

“Did you know I used to be on the abomination track?” Willow asked him after a moment, hugging her legs.

“Really? You?” Hunter said, surprised. “Not that there’s anything wrong with the abomination track, it’s just that plants love you. I mean, you’re so drawn to plants; I just assumed you had always known it was the right track for you. I mean, I’m sure you were great at abominations-.”

“No, I was pretty awful,” said Willow with a smile. “I was awful and I hated it. I was never sure it if I hated it because I was awful or if I was awful because I hated it. But regardless, I was a late bloomer. It took me awhile to figure out what I liked and what I was good at and then even longer to have the confidence to speak up about it.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because, just because I didn’t fit in right away didn’t mean I wasn’t meant to be at Hexside,” she explained. “Just because I wasn’t confident when I started didn’t mean I couldn’t become confident. Sometimes, you need a little time and help to find where you fit in.”

“But what if you’re not meant to fit it?” He whispered. “What if you don’t belong anywhere?”

She furrowed her brow in determination and summonsed the golden flower that reminded her of him again and held it in front of his face. “This flower is unique even in the Boiling Isles, where I found it. It typically doesn’t grow in gardens because it has a hard time spreading its roots around other flowers. But it’s determined. Just because it’s not from here doesn’t mean it can’t thrive here. It produces a chemical that helps eliminate common toxins in the air, something no other plant I’ve seen native to this realm can do. If I plant it, it’ll help all the bees and bugs that interact with it and even the other plants around it. It’ll be an adjustment, some trial and error and sure he’s not here under the most ideal circumstances, but I’m happy he is.”

“But some plants do make things worse,” he reminded her. “No matter where they are. Some plants have poison and thorns that only serve to protect themselves, they’re better off alone.”

“Those things don’t make them bad ha know,” said Willow. She may not know everything Hunter was feeling, but gosh darn it she knew plants. “Every single thing helps it’s ecosystem, even it’s not obvious right away. Maybe you’re a late bloomer too. Some people say those are the most beautiful kinds of flowers.”

“Are you someone who says that?”

“What do you think?” She teased with a chuckle. “Some seeds are so strong they can grow wherever they fall, I like to think you’re like that. Like a dandelion pushing through a sidewalk crack against all odds. You may not always get the sunlight and care you deserve, but that doesn’t make you any less deserving.”

“Why does it sound like you’re gonna put me in a flower pot on the windowsill and water me twice a day?”

“I would if I could,” she said with a playful sigh. “But do you know what I mean? You don’t have to have it all figured out right away, it’s okay to feel torn. Look at Gus: he loves it here! He loves learning about human stuff and exploring but I know he also misses his dad and getting to practice magic. His heart feels like it’s in two places, like there’s a half in each realm.”

“I head Luz tell her mom that’s kind of how she feels,” said Hunter, who didn’t know how to describe the divide in his heart.

“But we’re all figuring out these feelings together,” said Willow, placing her hand on his. His divided heart jumped.

“And how are you feeling?” Hunter asked. The Captain was always looking out for everyone, he often worried she didn’t know how truly appreciated she was.

She thought for a moment. He could see his question dance around in her eyes, spinning around in a marsh of potential.

“Hopeful,” she said at last. “I’m hopeful there’s a way we can figure out how to help everyone back home, hopeful we can come back here under better circumstances, and hopeful that you’ll come to the garden with me more often.”

“I don’t exactly have your green thumb,” he said, not hating the idea. He knew this was her space, he didn’t want to intrude. “Which is another plant term I learned.”

Willow giggled. “Well, if you ever want to try and change that or just sit nearby and make your flash cards, you can,” offered Willow. “Both or neither, or whatever you feel like.”

Then she knelt forward and gently placed something on his head. Hunter didn’t notice that while was talking, Willow had been twisting and moving something to create the item her now wore. He saw the product of her work now as he looked up: a flower crown, composed of the golden flowers that reminded her so much of him.

“I think it suits you,” smiled Willow, admiring his surprised expression.

“Well, now I have to come back,” smiled Hunter, gently touching his gift in a mixture of honor and disbelief. “I need to learn how to make a matching one of these for you.”

[strawberry-lemonade-kisses]

The Best

Obanai had never expected fatherhood to be such a joy, but here he was watching you sit with your four-year-old son while they rambled about who knows what after a day playing with Tengen’s own twin boys. Parenthood had done the two of you good, stabilizing a fragile existence after the 15-hour battle that left the two of you scarred and unstable. It was the way you two relied on each other afterward, never leaving the other's side, gripping to reality through the other. But then you started getting sick, and then the weight gain. It wasn’t until you started actually showing a baby bump did the two of you register what was happening. The pregnancy brought you two fully into reality, accepting things as they were and knowing there was no going back, you survived and now it was time to move forward. You both thrived as parents, knowing that the world was safe and the largest danger you would be facing is toddler tantrums. Two pillars now parents, the concept was almost funny.

~

“Babe, do you think he’s been good enough?” Pulling him from his thoughts was you, looking up at him from where you sat, head tilted in question. “I’m sorry?” you scoffed a smile playing with your lips as you looked down at your son. “Daddy’s not listening, I think we should just go, huh?” “Yes! Let’s go!” your son squealed, immediately shooting up from his place on the ground and running to the front door. “What’s happening?” Obanai questioned, helping you stand. “Ice cream. Come on” you tugged at his hand, heading to where your toddler stood, shoes already on his feet as he bounced happily.

“What flavor do you want, Rohan?” he looked at the pictures on the board, eyes scanning over the writing like he knew what it said. “Chocolate sprinkles and gummies!” he practically screamed, smiling brightly at his father whose arms he sat in. You ordered everyone's treats, stepping aside as your order was prepared and turning to your small family. “So Rohan, how was your day with Haru and Botan?” Obanai was swaying back and forth with his son, a habit he formed when he was still a baby, swaddled in an all too familiar striped blanket. “Haru got the coolest power ranger, momma said if I can go to preschool without having a fit she’ll get me one” you turned away from the pointed look Obanai gave you, a silent scolding over you bribing your son to go to school. “Oh yeah? That’s nice of her. Was Uncle Tengen nice to you?” “Yeah! He gave us popsicles and kissed Botans boo boo when we were playing hide ‘n seek” your son gave a thumbs up, turning towards where you were returning with ice cream cups clutched in your hands.“So, Rohan, do you have the paper I gave you for daddy?” you smiled at your son, wiping at the ice cream smeared all of his cheeks. He made a noise of acknowledgment before digging into his pocket, ducking away from the wet wipe in your hand while he struggled.

“Paper?” “Just wait” you interrupted your husband, smiling and giving him a quick kiss while Rohan was distracted. “Got it!” he cheered, holding a folded piece of paper, he held it out to his father, beaming with pride as Obanai took it from him and unfolded it. He set down his cup of half-melted ice cream, eyes scanning the contents of the paper before looking at you. “Is this?” You grinned back at him. “Momma says she has a baby, which makes me a brother. Do you have one too?” Rohan interrupted, leaning over the paper in your husband's hand. “No sweetheart, only mommy has a baby” the crestfallen expression on your son's face made you chuckle, wiping at his face again. “Your really pregnant?” Obanai finally spoke up reaching over to grab your wrist. “Yeah, I’m really pregnant” you replied. You couldn’t help but match the joy that painted your husband's face as he squeezed your hand. You giggled as he leaned forward, planting quick kisses on your cheeks. “Another one, another little baby. Rohan are you excited?” Rohan nodded enthusiastically, practically bouncing with each nod. “I’m gonna be the best brother”

[kazuwhora]

hello hello, i see your requests are open now and can i request izana, wakasa, chifuyu and kazutora with an akutagawa!s/o? hope you have a great day/noon/night! ✨🤗

hi anon! sure! I will try my best with izana and wakasa since there's not tons to work with personality wise so forgive me if theirs are a little shorter heh. im gonna include a little blurb from the bsd fandom wiki for anyone not familiar with his character! I like these kinds of headcanon requests so if anyone wants to see more please feel free to request!

"Akutagawa has a black and white "survival of the fittest" view of the world, claiming that weak people should die and give way to the stronger ones. He is not afraid of pain and defeat His ruthless, vicious nature makes him one of the Port Mafia's most dangerous members, feared by both ally and foe. As violent as he is, Akutagawa maintains a generally composed and detached approach. Towards subordinates and superiors alike, he acts aloof, distancing himself from social interactions however possible. Nonetheless, his composure is fragile. Akutagawa is quick to lash out, ridiculing him for risking the bounty by acting recklessly. This quick temper often gets in his way, fuelling his actions to the core of his very being."

SUMMARY: izana, wakasa, chifuyu, && kazutora with an akutagawa!so

CW: hints of toxicity and violence, mentions of sex but not really all that nsfw-ish so otherwise not much else!

IZANA

- this is an interesting one because from what we know about izana, he is very similar in personality to akutagawa in terms of ruthlessness that stems from childhood trauma and isolation.

- in the case of a s/o with this personality, I think it would be a troubling relationship. lots of bitter fights fuelled by nothing but an inability to express vulnerability, while leaving both of you torn up inside and begging for someone to nurture the trauma and allow space for emotions.

- that being said, with toxicity and trauma also comes intense passion and desire. this relationship brings a lot of fire both in the bedroom and outside of the bedroom, with simple arguments often spawning into intense desperate (and lengthy might I add) sex. like, intense. it's almost like sex is the only safe outlet of these pent up emotions, providing a sort of comfort and also distraction for both parties.

- however as I said in general, this is definitely a toxic relationship. one where neither can help the other when it comes to growth and improvement on a personal level. it's unhealthy and enabling, but for a short lived fling it is hot as fuck im not even gonna lie. lots of hate sex too.

WAKASA

- so wakasa is another interesting one alongside izana given the lack of information and content we have about his character so please excuse the slight kc fanon version I have in my head of wakasa lol

- wakasa has a "don't fuck with me because I do not fucking care" type of vibe to him. I definitely think he's the type to completely disengage from the type of behaviours an akutagawa-type s/o might display. this leads to sort of a sense of competitiveness in trying to get some kind of reaction from him, and it has the potential (much like izana) to become toxic in nature

- any attempts to get under his skin are failed attempts, and the way he looks at you with that half bored expression is something that only triggers more of a somewhat emotional response from you.

- with that being said, my fanon version of wakasa is someone who while cold and aloof, is also quite a rational person. he's been typed by the fandom as INTJ which is quite a quick thinker, and I think he probably (despite not showing it very well) has a soft spot for you. but your passion and intensity (as well as your easily triggered dynamic) keeps him from completely being able to express this care in any way other than not engaging with your antics

- as much as there are some similarities with the type of toxicity in this relationship with both wakasa and izana, the intense passion isn't quite the same as it is with izana. instead, feelings of passion are more to the point and driven by pure instinct and desire rather than toxic passion. wakasa seeming like a very literal person, is actually quite mysterious deep down and has a lot (I mean a lot) of hidden desires and kinks that begin to emerge with time. it's rarely a conversation, and more often just something that happens that surprises you. you just have to go with the flow here, and let him take the reigns for once. it might actually be a good opportunity to allow for vulnerability to take the spotlight for once, which is something wakasa is surprisingly in tune with and quite to the point about.

CHIFUYU

- this is something much healthier than the last two. chifuyu, being an enfp is someone that's able to handle this level of intensity in a person while still being able to understand what's really going on.

- call him the trauma counsellor king. he values each and every response to a trigger that you might have. he notices patterns, he makes mental notes of things, and he does this all without making it seem like he's analyzing.

- to be honest he actually loves the spunk you bring on a day to day level. even though most of the time it's driven by bitterness or hate (not always towards him just in general) he is still able to see beyond that and appreciate you for what you are.

- with that being said, chifuyu will not stand for any toxic behaviour towards him. no sir he will not. threats and pushes for fights wont be tolerated, and he will either disengage or try to expose your vulnerabilities in an attempt at forced submission. this can be hard to get used to, especially with having a personality characterized by the inability to accept being vulnerable. but with time chifuyu is one to create a safe space for you to allow yourself to feel emotions beyond anger and resentment, and he encourages this.

- because of this very feelings based approach, intimacy with chifuyu is just that: intimate. he's extremely loving and doting, hoping that his sweetness can rub off on you a little bit. however he's also very accepting of your need for power over him (especially during sex) and will absolutely submit to your needs in order to please you.

- he really likes to put you in a place of pleasure though, so however that may come to you chifuyu is the one to deliver it.

KAZUTORA

- oh boy. this one is a doozy. listen. if we're talking about timeskip kazutora (as is the case with all characters i write about but I feel it especially important to remind ppl of here given his history), we're talking about someone who is quite literally walking on eggshells in terms of his trauma and emotional vulnerability.

- he's pretty good at being emotionally aware of his needs and struggles as well as the needs and struggles of those around him, but that doesn't mean that he's entirely healed or capable of managing toxicity or his triggers. he still slips up from time to time especially when things get hard, and sometimes finds himself falling into his old patterns. after all, he's only human. but this is where things could get messy in a relationship.

- for the most part, like I said, he's pretty good. so let's focus on that part first since I want to give him credit where it's due. he is very desperate for love and dedicated to providing something to his partner. in this case, he will seek to tap into his emotional vulnerability to provide some sort of comfort for you. he wants to see you happy, and calm, because he sees so much of his old self in you that it gets to him sometimes. but at the same time, he struggles with your relentlessness and can become emotionally drained when things get tough. he'll beat himself up for not being good enough to help you, and this is when he'll isolate and fall into old patterns.

- however, akutagawa's personality type isn't all bad. with a s/o like akutagawa, comes an immense amount of protection and loyalty for their loved ones no matter how tough things might be. in this case it might be hard to communicate this, but there will be times when it's needed in order for kazutora to restrain from old habits and ways of dealing with hardships. but he wants to share his healing with you, he wants you to be happy, and more than anything he understands the struggle of wanting to be happy and healthy but being afraid of losing the one thing that makes you you: your attitude and relentlessness. nobody understands this better than kazutora, which is why things between you can get frustrating and very personal for him.

- much like chifuyu, sex is driven towards pleasing you and only you. chifuyu leans more into switch territory however, while kazutora is 100% submissive. in this case it works out well, however he has a lot of boundaries and limitations when it comes to the way in which you function. he doesn't like degradation. instead, he thrives from praise and any sign of love and care. this might be tough for you to execute 100% of the time, but when it comes down to it the way his eyes twinkle for you is enough to make the ice around your heart melt just a little more each time.

[hansolmates]

17 going on 27

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

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

March 19th, 2011

Thirty, flirty, and thriving!

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aren’t you excited for prom?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong, Kook?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lips locked, kissing Jennie. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

March 20st, 2021

Your first thought is that you feel disgusting. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that you? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are we dating?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So much has changed in the past ten years. 

“Hey, can you please stop crying?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But we’ve always been different people.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jennie?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hoseok simply laughs and gets himself settled for the meeting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s when it hits you. 

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

My Time Studios: Capturing the raw moment. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nevertheless, that was ten years ago. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait, what? 

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

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

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

“What are you doing here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To a park where you’re not in!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Um, the car drives itself?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t leave. 

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

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

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

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

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t know!” 

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

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

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

“Do you have work?”  you ask casually. 

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

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

“Why?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

What is wrong with you? 

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

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

Jungkook must know something’s wrong with you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it now, Jungkook?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry for what?” 

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

“Well why are you upset at yourself?” 

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

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

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

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

“Five-hundred a week?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright, who are your models?” 

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

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

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

“I’m not modeling.” 

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

“Partners.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Babe, everything alright?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook, I–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay boys, everyone under the arc!” 

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

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

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

“Guys, this picture’s gonna stink.” 

Jungkook’s appalled, “Excuse me—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You little–” 

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

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

“Why are we here?” 

“For research purposes.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do we have to?” 

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

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t mean you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bun, be careful!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That sounded oddly sexual.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Needless to say, the issue is yours. 

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

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

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

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

Jennie’s nail slices your visage in half. 

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

“Excuse me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You scream. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook, I want to break up.” 

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

“What?” he wilts, “why?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Things change.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t want to lose you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He frowns playfully, “Ouch. But fair.” 

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Good night, Kook.” 

“Good night, Bun.” 

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

Some time later.

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

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

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

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

With a playful roll of your eyes, you step away from the lady of the hour to let Jungkook do his thing. He’s right in his element, blurting choreographed poses and telling the lighting people to move at his beck and call to get the perfect angle. You stand a distance behind him, letting him take control. 

“I’m so hungry,” your whisper is low enough to blend between the jazz music, but loud enough for Jungkook’s ears to listen in, “please tell me you’re almost done.” 

“Oui, oui.” 

“Wrong language, Kook. Please don’t offend anyone,” and discreetly, you take one step closer in your Tory Burch flats, “did you get any candids of me and the Queen?” 

“Duh, Bun,” you can’t see his face but you know he’s grinning, “Jimin will faint.” 

"Oh, yes! Thank you, I love you," you gush, reaching over to discreetly pinch his butt. 

He shakes his head, looking over his shoulder to give you a brief smirk, "Show me how thankful you are tonight." 

So silly, you think. It's amazing how well you work together as two separate entities of a photoshoot yet share a brain cell in the presence of each other. In another world, Jungkook said if given the chance, he'd be by your side and make your world a better place. 

Ten years later, it's exactly that and more.