#its a big maybe though. i hate spending money and i would feel so weird being like Hey want a keychain of MY character

[wewerebornsextuplets]

vograce is whispering to me like the green goblin mask right now i cant even lie

[moss-flesh]

ahhh tell me about Aila's eating habits and what calms her down after a bad day?

AHH I started answering this then got distracted SORRY !!! ily thanku for asking viper!!! also this is ?? so long i just kept typing im sorry im gonna make this small font coz god damn

(sort of a tw for disordered eating just a bit)

but when she was in the circle and a little bit after, she had a big food problem? in the circle i feel like the food they served was not very good nor nutritious and over time she just got use to barely eating it. but also it was a control thing for her. she hates feeling out of control and i guess in a weird way it was kind of like ‘okay they can give me this but i decide how much i eat it and when’ and that wasnt often.

it changed for a bit coz for a while she was able to work in the kitchens ! which she loved a lot cos she does genuinely love food. and she loved what she helped make so she ate it. and also she was just happier so it was easier for her to want and enjoy it. she had access to the better stuff that they served the templars and often snacked on it. i feel like the circle would usually serve a gruel type thang with old gross ingredients to the mages like idk maybe im circle and chantry phobic but it feels logical they would save the best food for the templars to keep them strong and the mages weaker. or even if its not a conscious thing it happens.

but anyway stuff happens that im unsure if i wanna talk about but she wrongly loses her job in the kitchens and her habits get bad again.

BUT BUT when she leaves the circle she really starts to enjoy cooking and eating again. she loves cooking for alistair and everyone else, even tho she acts like shes just doing it coz she is the best cook so duh she has to cook. she loves fresh fruits and veg, and meat. she wants to try seafood instead of freshwater fish from lake calenhad even tho that was her fave in the circle coz it was the freshest.

but anyway when she leaves the circle, she genuinely saves most of her money for yes gear and other supplies but she tries her HARDEST to get the best food she can on the road. she snacks on bread and cheese and dried fruit all the time. though she wasnt exactly rich growing up before the circle. she was decently well off but for the millionth time her dad was living his noble fantasy life(even tho he shoulda been spending money on more important things) he usually had very good food served(mostly for his own pleasure). so she always had a taste for well cooked food. im rambling anyway my brain feels so proud of her tbh for growing in that aspect and learning feel free in her eating habits. my beby<3

ANYWAY !! after a bad day my bitch loves to read, bitch loves to study. in the circle shed just distract herself by constantly learning and it just calms her so well. after leaving the circle she continues this, but she finds so much comfort in alistair its wild. she loves a cuddle, even if she doesnt admit it. she loves to look at the stars, and she loves a hot tea. she is kind of bad at realizing when shes stressed or overstimulated. she will be on the verge exploding and ali will be like “should i make u some tea? u seem frustrated my dear” shes like “oh… i am frustrated ur right. lol.” alis like “yeah :) <3 want me to get out ur journals?” shes like “okay… but also come here im cold” CUDDLE COMMENCE! hot tea commence !

[songmingisthighs]

[4.11] mafia!wooyoung × reader

⇀ you thought he didn't care, he was sure he doesn't, he had said it so himself to you. that was, until he almost lost the chance of being able to care for you.

⇁ tw : running away, mafia life (criminal/illegal acts)

⇁ part 1 / 2 / 3

⇁ disclaimer : the author does not support any and all criminal/illegal acts. the narrative written in this story is purely fiction out of the author's imagination. the things written here does not portray real mafia life nor is the author aware of how the mafia life is like. the author is a hermit loser.

At first, Wooyoung thought you had really ran away from him. After the fight you had the previous night, how could he not ?

"All I ask is a little bit of attention! I know you could spare some for me," you exclaimed, following after Wooyoung into the home office in his mansion. Yes, his, he never once said it was yours too so you treat it as such.

Wooyoung rolled his eyes at you, "and I ask you shut that big trap you called your mouth before I shut it for you, but we can't all get what we wanted now, can we ?" He spat.

You're used to his aggressive words, it used to hurt but now the pain just comes and goes. But you're at your wit's end, he was distant when you both were first forced into engagement but he was still polite so you thought that was just the shock, but now that you're married, things got worse.

"Wooyoung," you called, leaning both of your hands on his desk aa he sit on his office chair, "it's been 8 months since we got married," he glared at you when you said that, so you sighed and change your choice of words, "since we were force into marriage... But I've been trying so hard to make this less of a chore for both of us, I don't know what else I could do! You're not even bothering to hide the fact that you hate my guts to your very core even though it wasn't my fault that we got into this! Heck, you don't even bother to acknowledge that I exist!"

Wooyoung slammed his hands down on the table, standing face to face with you, "that's right," he chuckled darkly, "I don't even bother, you know why? Because you're nothing in my life, I never ask for you, I never wanted you, you're still here because your dad's business fell through with my dad and he used you as mean of escaping because that's all you are, princess," he leaned closer to your face and spoke through gritted teeth, "a worthless burden that people toss around,"

It would've been a lie if you said that his words doesn't affect you whatsoever. Because it does.

Maybe deep down that was one of your biggest fear and having someone confirmed that made you feel sick to your stomach. You recoiled from the table, as if having been struck across your face.

Though Wooyoung had a satisfied smirk on his face, "you should know I've been planning your assasination ever since you said 'I do', I would've made it look like an accident so that my dad wouldn't be up in my ass talking about losing his insurance of control over your dad, maybe I should move the schedule up so I can get rid of you quicker,"

You stared at him for a while, not knowing that he actually hated you that much. All this time you thought it was just petty reluctance of being tied to you, but this just brought things to a whole new level.

"No..." you choked out, trying to hold back tears, "I'll take care of it myself," and with that, you ran out of his office to pack all your belongings with tears streaming down your face.

And that was the last time Wooyoung had seen you. He had heard from one of his butlers that he had seen you running around the house retrieving your things where it supposedly was earlier, you looked frantic and you hadn't even taken a second to take a break.

"And did she got out of the house today?" Wooyoung asked from his position on the couch, loosening all of the buttons on his shirt. "No, master, not that any of us know of," said butler then leaned close to Wooyoung's ears, "the cctv has been cut off, her bodyguards are dismissed, no one has tended to her nor got close to her, and I personally see to it that all windows and doors are unlocked just as you had requested,"

Wooyoung couldn't believe that he's probably a free man now, that YOU had left him so that he wouldn't be in hot water with his father.

With a glass of whiskey in his hand, he decided to look around to see whether or not you had really left while telling his maid to prepare dinner for him.

True to what he expected, he made two laps around the mansion but not once did he find you. Not even in his office with a divorce paper, as dramatic as it sound.

He finally step into his shared bedroom with you to make his final confirmation.

At first he knocked on the door, not really knowing why he did that, but when no sound came from the room he simply opened the door and walked in. He hadn't returned the night before, spending half of his night in his home office before going out with San to a bar, not realizing that it was his guilt that drove him out to drink his memory away.

Looking around the room, he couldn't really tell whether or not you had ran away. The room looked like it had been slept in the night before, he could see the spot where you laid in comparison to his side that's perfectly neat.

When he stepped into the walk-in closet, he was quite surprised at the sheer contrast to the bedroom. Your clothes thrown haphazardly, it seems like you were urgently looking for things to pack, and the more he analyze the items on the floor, the more he realized that you hadn't taken anything that was bought with his money.

But that wasn't the thing that got his attention.

It was your wedding dress that had been taken out of its garment bag, across from it, an empty bottle of wine and a box of tissues with crumpled tissues surrounding it. It looked straight out of a movie.

He walked closer to the dress and trailed a hand down it.

He remembered seeing you wear it on your wedding day. He remembered being too pissed at his father to be able to fully appreciate how ethereal you looked. He remembered how when you looked at him, he could see the redness in your eyes, indicating that you had been crying.

But over all, he remembered how his heart skipped a beat when he saw you walking closer to him. Of course, he would never admit it outwardly.

His train of thought was broken when his butler knocked on his bedroom door, "master, dinner is served," he said.

Wooyoung cleared his throat and straighten out his posture, "yes, of course, I'll be there soon," he called out.

As the footsteps of his butler fade, he carefully zip your wedding dress back into its garment bag, making sure that the dress is stored perfectly.

After that, he went to the dining room to have his dinner.

Usually, you'd be seated in your seat, across from him at the other end of the table that seats 10 people. He'd have to admit that it feels weird not seeing you smile at him after a long day of working, but he forced himself to believe that it was a good kind of weird.

Strangely, as he eat his food he felt that it doesn't match his palate, that something feels off. So he called for his head butler and asked him about it.

"Did we change cooks? Why does today's dinner taste so bland?"

His butler seemed hesitant to answer him, looking at the head maid for a bit. The middle-aged woman stepped forward from her spot, bowing slightly to avoid Wooyoung's eyes, "we did not have any change in staffs, sir, it's just that the mistress used to prepare all of your meals and considering... the circumstances, she had not prepared anything for you," she said, not even bothering to hide her bitterness that he had drove you away.

Considerably, he was shocked that you had never brought the fact up to him. But as usual, he masked his true feelings and just nod at her, continuing with his meal even though he can't seem to enjoy it.

The shock didn't stop there, though.

Over the course of the first 5 days of you leaving him, he began noticing the things that indicate your presence in his house. Or used to indicate your presence.

He never knew that you were the one who always put flowers around the mansion. He noticed this when he passed by a vase of wilting aconite. It almost broke him when he see the maids cleared all flowers, leaving an empty vase that he now associate with your absence.

He never knew that you kept tabs on food he likes and dislikes. After 3 days, he gave up on eating the food his cook made for him, firing the poor man on the spot and resorting to take outs.

He never knew that you were the one who personally arrange his wardrobe. Usually, every morning he'd find his favorite shirts or favorite sets of clothes on the front, ready for him to pick out and wear. Now that you're not here, he had to spend extra time deciding what to wear.

And lastly, he was surprised at the fact that you had never made it to your hometown.

"What do you mean she's not with her parents?" He growled at his henchmen, making them visibly scared. "W-we tried looking for her, even asking around, but no one had seen her," he explained.

All Wooyoung wanted was to hear about how you're happier without him, how you've settled back to your life without him, how he'd be assured with the fact that you leaving him was the best thing that could ever happen to you two.

Feeling that he owed this for the sake of his own closure, he ordered everyone under him to find out your whereabouts.

The desperation suffocated him, he hated the feeling.

So he ran out of his office to his garden, going to the furthest side where it is practically abandoned so that he'd be all alone to calm his mind.

What he hadn't expect to see though, was several pieces of clothes on the ground. At first he just thought that the laundry might have flown away due to the wind, but when he inspected them closer, he recognized them as yours.

"Why would these be here?" He muttered to himself as he began picking up the scattered pieces of clothes one by one. When he picked up the last piece, he noticed your suitcase by the corner of the tall wall that surround his house for protection.

The sight that made his stomach drop was a rather huge hole that could fit a person.

Wooyoung's brain put 2 and 2 together and the only reasonable conclusion made him feel like blowing up.

You had been kidnapped.

[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. 

[bioodorange]

||The Pastas At The Beach||

this was originally like an entirely different post but ehhh this ways better!

disclaimer Im setting this like, at a beach with a boardwalk and such next too it? Public beach, small time vacationing!

and that they conviently like..pass as human

I hope you guys enjoy!! remember too check out my announcement board!

taglist: @frozensriracha @creepy-bi-day @capricornartistsstuff @krayolacolor

Jeff the Killer

Jeff doesn't really do much at the beach

The salt water irritates his skin and he burns easily, doesn't want too deal with it

Spends most of his time asleep

Hogs all the damn towels by sprawling out all over all of them

Gets sand over everything that they brought with them

Forgets how wind works and it gets everywhere

When its time for some of em too go get food, he always fucking goes

Wants too walk around and do something, and maybe not get blamed for all the fucking sand when everyone sits back down

He wears one of those like protective long sleeved shirts? and red swim trunks that are just somewhat obnoxiously bright

While getting the food he has a brilliant idea

Befriends the fucking seagulls

Lures them back too their umbrellas and just vibes with his bird army

atleast he's not alone anymore?

Ben Drowned

first off I know like he doesn't go swimming

but imagine if he did

his fucking goggles get filled up with blood

gets weird ass tan lines from the blood on his face like, when he's not swimming

has too wear the goggles when he puts on sunscreen-

ok ok thats it

fucker wears like mountain dew swim trunks

and those arm floatie things despite not going anywhere near the water

He tries too sit around Jeff but that gets boring fast-

Just walks the fuck off without telling anyone, on a journey for adventure

Will spend literal hours sitting underneath the boardwalk until someone finds him

After that they get him like one of thise beach toy kit things

Sally's nice enough too fill the bucket with water too, so they can make sand castles and stuff

She walks along the shore line with him, gets pretty shells too

Also if Ben were too go in the water

He's a fucking shark magnet with all that blood-

But don't tell him that, he won't come back too the beach

Ticci Toby

Toby is very excited too go to the beach

He didn't get out much as a kid

Siked as hell too get in the water

Drops his stuff off as soon as possible and runs right into the water

And thats when he realizes he can't fucking swim

Awkwardly flaps his arms around until a wave moves him along too back where he can stand

Everyones kinda confused when he comes back like "?? You were so excited, what happened?"

"I can't swim :(("

Cody volunteers to teach him right away, like the great brother he is

The thing is Cody is a horrible fucking teacher

Another few minutes of Toby getting owned by some waves and Cody just screaming stuff like

"Use your arms Toby- no not like that how I showed you- no I'm not going too help how are you supposed to learn-"

That's when Kate drags him back too shore and Doby and Brian teach him instead

In a bit he learns and ends up having a lot of fun

I feel like Toby would really like boogie boarding?

A lot easier then surfing but still a good time

Also they have too tie a red scarf around his arm so they don't loose his ass in a crowd, or in the water

Third Base

so far, Doby's the only one on this list who actually came prepared

I feel like he'd use one of those face lotions that has SPF 30 in it already?

Smart enough so he doesn't have too smear sun screen around his face, can just use the spray stuff and get going

Also has shoes and sunglasses too go with each like swimsuit/outfit he brings

Mans is put together

Really likes collecting shells and stuff

Walks with Sally, shows her how too find them

Wakes up kinda early as it is? So its easy for him too go too the beach early and find the shells before the tide pulls them back out

It's one of his favorite times, actually

The suns just rising, a few shops are opening, only a handful of people are on the beach

Does it everyday as his "alone time" before everyone else wakes up

Spends most of his time with everyone kinda relaxing?

I can see him really liking those beach volleyball games

Or just playing frizbee in the shallow water!

Really, really enjoys making sand castles

Builds a moat and everything so it stays up when the waves start coming closer

X-Virus

Cody, another kid who never got much beach expierence

But acts like he did

Buys one of those waterproof, phone lanyard things

Forgets too fucking close it properly

Doesn't have the first idea of what seagulls are like

"Oh come on buys its fine-" gets fucking owned for his cheesestick

Lowkey scared of them after that

Refuses too eat on the beach after that

Sits with ben under the board walk and curls around his chips

Spends most of his time in the water

Wants too see how far he can go before the lifegaurd calls him back

Finds it funny as shit too just slowly go deeper while grinning at them

Until a wave slaps him in the back of the head

And then he gets scared of the deepwater too

After he looses Swimming Coach privellages gets really fucking salty and sulks on the beach

Kate takes pity on him and walks around the boardwalk with him

But he also didn't know you have too reapply sunscreen after you go swimming

Gets really really bad sunburn

Jeff, Ben and Toby take turns slapping it whenever he gets too cocky

Masky

This is gonna be a Dad Tim one, fight me

Really has no idea what the fuck is going on, but still manages too keep everyone together?

Tells the same story, atleast twice a day, about the killer wave that almost took his shorts off

Gets in fights with seagulls whenever they get realitively close too the group

Also buys one of those crappy beach wagon things too put their stuff in

Buys a mug and cheesy beer koozie

Doesn't enjoy the beach that much but gets excited too go?

Ends up sitting down for most of the time unless he gets dragged on walks

Might just kinda walk until the water is at his knees and just kinda stand there, and nod a little

Giving mother nature his approval

He takes Sally out and holds onto her stomach, lifts her up over the waves whenever they come

Asks her what she can see, before he drops her back down

Tries it with Ben, gets kicked in the gut-

Favorite time is when it's dark and they go

Not for a long time, just a few minutes too walk along the shore before it gets dark

Hoodie

Designated photographer

Is supposed too be taking photos but mostly gets footage of the stupid shit that happens

Like Jeff not being able too figure out the dishwasher or Clockwork wrestling with her dresser where only half the drawers worked

Just kinda sits back and watches things go up in flames

He's the designated like playlist guy too? On the drive over, whenever he got bored just

"Hey what song should I play?"

And watches chaos ensue

His vacation is watching everyone else have a bad time

Makes up for it though, saves them a shit ton of money by making dinner every night.

I feel like he genuinely enjoys late nights on the beach, like Tim

Gets some beautiful photos of the water, and people taking walks that he's pretty damn proud of

Maybe once or twice he'll join Doby for a walk too get pictures of the rising sun

Likes getting small things from the gift shops

Shark teeth, maybe a cheesy snowglobe

Something silly but nice too remember the trip by

Eyeless Jack

first things first, ya know those double-lens glasses? Like you flip up the sunglass part and theres normal lenses underneath? Someone gave him those

But their are crappy eyes painted on the normal lenses

He's very confused but its just ridiculous enough for him too like

The beach isn't his favorite place, I HC him as nocturnal and most things are open during the day

He takes too the rides and crappy carnival games that are open late at night

He can't see everything super well but makes up fun things for himself

Enjoys going on rollercoasters that he has no idea what the hell the drops look like

Fucking hates bumper cars

Can't tell where everyone's coming from or when

More nerve racking then fun

Whenever they go to the beach beach he just kind of chills

Akwardly curls up on a towel because he's big as shit

Where ever they stay he walks around, uses his echo location shit too find out all its quirks

"This walls more hallow then that one- those support beams in the lobby are doing a very shitty job of keep things together"

Loves sitting out on the balcony and just smelling the salt air, listening too people laughing and the ocean waves

Just the small details a lot of people miss

[izukult]

what they get you / what kind of gift they get you for valentine’s day :D

idc ab valentine’s day whether i have a partner or not but i would geek ab it for these mfs

warnings: swearing!! fluff 🤢

characters: hinata, kageyama, oikawa, suga, tsukishima, bokuto, akaashi, iwaizumi, matsukawa, atsumu

hinata shoyo ♡

this ray of absolute sunshine would see smth from tiktok and be like: yup. perfect. he’d get you like the chocolate box of crystals !! and be like “look at how pretty they are- this one looks like my hair!” and he also gets you some homemade ring from etsy and makes this big deal ab how “HES NOT PROPOSING BUT HE WOULD BUT LIKE- LATER ON BUT HES NOT PROPOSING AT ALL ITS JUST A PRETTY RING” he gives me secondhand embarrassment sometimes. really tho gets so giddy seeing you wear anything he buys you and if anyone ever compliments the ring he loves hearing you say “thanks! my boyfriend got it for me for valentines:)”

kageyama tobio ♡

he gives you this ratty ass old ass volleyball and you are trying your best to give him a convincing smile, but you’re really, really confused? it wasn’t the fact that it was volleyball related, it was just the fact it was so old. he rolls his eyes and turns it in your hands to show the tape on the other side of it. ‘kageyama t. grade 4’ MF GAVE YOU HIS FIRST FUCKING VOLLEYBALL PLSSSS that’s so goddamn cute i’m gonna throw up. you cried idc

oikawa tooru ♡

oikawa tooru is an overcompensating bastard man. no matter what he’s doing, he feels the need to prove himself. he kind of goes too hard for valentines LMAO. flowers and chocolates? yea. a teddy bear? i wouldn’t be surprised. a jersey? you betcha. romantic picnic at night? if you want. a playlist? probably. a necklace? maybe so. your favorite part, though, is the little note he writes you talking about how grateful he is for you that he slipped in your (his) jacket pocket at the end of the night. neither of you bring it up tho- bc emotions 🤢

sugawara koushi ♡

old fashion sweetheart i sure do love this man. i’m sorry to be so vague for this one, but his gift is definitely some very niche, partially homemade idea of some inside joke of yours. he wants you to know it’s personal to him, that he really put a lot of thought into your gift and that he loves you. a cute little stay at home kinda date, and you two make dinner together as you listen to your favorite playlists and laugh. very good fella. love him sm.

tsukishima kei ♡

his gift is that he doesn’t insult u all day😁🤝 no. no it’s not. he still insults you you’re not fucking dying why wouldn’t he? he burns you a cd and then realizes that’s kinda not cool and so he just makes you a playlist. actually explains the reason for each song (not verbally, though) and he brings u strawberry short cake bc he is convinced it’s the pinnacle of desserts he does not care if you like smth more take the gesture.

bokuto kotaro ♡

this lil dummy is so doting. starts your day off by bringing you your favorite coffee or tea and a lil kiss. he buys you guys something matching LMAO like maybe some bracelets or smth and while i am not a big “matching” fanatic and i don’t think bokuto would necessarily be an avid bracelet wearer, but he will not take that bracelet off unless it’s like a tournament game. definitely takes you out to some fancy dinner and also probably gets you kicked out of the restaurant

akaashi keiji ♡

akaashi is very down to earth. so, he knows what you’re going to want. he also knows what he wants to give you. so let’s say you’re really really into smth he rly rly hates, he’ll listen to you talk about it absolutely, but he might not spend money on it? in his eyes, the gift would be just like your relationship— a mutual understanding where two separate people come together. i cant say what it would be specifically (i’m sorry D: if u want my generic answer it would be: a lamp), but it definitely is a representation of what the two of you are together.

iwaizumi hajime ♡

he gives you something disgustingly meaningful. like the kind of nice that makes you want to gag yknow? but you don’t really know how meaningful it is at first?? he gives you like this little “photo book” esque thing, and you KNOW oikawa gave him the idea LMAO. it’s already so cute but at the end there’s just a little piece of paper with a day on it and you’re like what? and he shrugs and goes “wonder what that is? hmm” and you know he’s teasing u so u kinda joke ab it but he won’t tell u. then at the end of your date when he’s dropping you home he kisses you and he’s like “oh yea, that paper??” and you’re like omg yes finally and he looks so nonchalant when he says “yea, kinda weird that i remember this, but that’s the day i fell in love with you🤢” and he nods and laughs and you’re just Staring. you are STARING loss for words but he fucking leaves before you can ask him ab it. this made me physically sick to write bye

matsukawa issei ♡

simpleton scrub. buys you a gag gift or pretends he doesn’t remember. starts breaking out laughing when you try to hide ur disappointed look (it’s ok to punch ppl sometimes😁‼️). his real gift is kinda cliche, but i feel like he really has no idea what he’s doing for like actual relationships even if he tries to hide it. he just gets you like one of those rectangle bar necklace, and he does get his initials on it bc he’s kind of a braggy fuck, but he only does it on one side so you can choose whether to show it or not.

miya atsumu ♡

this man is absolutely a perfectionist. he is so loving, absolutely, but he’s also kind of immature? so, he’s a little nervous to give you a gift because what if yours isn’t as good. LMAO it sounds rude, but he always wants to be pushed to be better and do better, and even tho this is a declaration of affection, he can’t help but attaching competition? so he buys you two gifts- a mediocre one and what he thinks is really good. the mediocre one is just like a stuffed animal and the really good one is personalized, and well thought out, and it just Screams that he loves you. it definitely centers on a passion of yours so i can’t get like a specific example but if you play guitar he like bought you a fucking case youve wanted for months kinda vibe LMAO. also, truth be told, bc he’s a sucker for you, no matter what u get him he’s gonna give u the “mediocre” gift and the other one as well.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Until The Very End -(WITS Sequel)

A/N: Imagine the wallpaper something like the gif only in a darker blue -Danny

Words: 4,235

Masterlist

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Liste to: ‘Lego House’ -by Ed Sheeran

July - September 2000

"What a way to spend your birthday," Ron grumbled as they dragged more furniture out of the kitchen. "And to force us to do free labour like it's nothing..."

"You can always send an owl to the Prophet and expose Mel as the heartless boss she truly is," Erick joked, he'd just walked in from the garden.

"Don't even think about it," Mel huffed, giving her wand an energetic flick and making all the cabinets straight again. "I'm already drowning in letters from people all over Britain that are horrified by my decision of kicking out the dementors— even though Kreacher and Dobby are doing great!"

"We already told you to throw those letters away," Ron rolled his eyes, using his wand to get rid of the dirt surrounding the faucet.

"I do, but they keep coming! I guess I'll just have to be brave and endure it until they realize my method works."

"And are you sure it'll work?"

Ron and Mel gave Erick a dirty look.

"Grow up," He told them with a scowl. "I'm asking a fair question."

"Of course it'll work, it was Mel's idea!" Ron said defensively. "And I'd rather fetch every criminal without a wand before doubting her ever again."

"That was sickeningly sweet," she smiled at him. "Thank you."

"Hey, Mel!" Harry called from the main hall. "Come look at the new wallpaper!"

She left the boys scrubbing the kitchen on their own and moved towards the inside of the house. Harry, Hermione, and Luna were staring at the wall in front of them.

"Look at this, Mellow," Harry said proudly, "told you it'd look nice."

The young witch admired their work: a nice dark blue colour now covered the entire entrance hall. Its pattern had a series of flowers entangled with each other, the green of the leaves and the pink and white of the petals were paler in comparison with the background, and she liked it. Harry said it reminded him of her drawing-room back in Privet Drive, and he insisted on getting it because it would make them feel even more at home.

"You were right," She said approvingly.

"You like it?"

"I love it," She looked back at him. "You know what we should get? A tapestry."

Harry looked at her with a bit of horror. "Like the one in Grimmauld Place?"

"We wouldn't use it in the same way the Blacks did!" She insisted. "I just thought it'd be nice to see how it grows as we get older, don't you think? How it changes from being just the two of us to I don't know, five, maybe more?"

Harry pondered. "Are you sure?"

"We can have it in the nursery room if you feel it'd be weird to have it on plain sight?"

"You'll have a nursery room?" Luna interrupted, they'd forgotten other people were around. "Are you pregnant?"

"No!" Both Mel and Harry replied.

"We only have it because the house has many rooms and we ran out of ideas," Mel said sheepishly. "We have an office and three guest rooms— and having the library being a different room sounded silly when the office is big enough..."

"I wish I could afford a house like yours," Hermione sighed. "No, never mind. I will have a house like yours if I'm smart with my money."

"If anyone can do it, that's you, Mione," Harry grinned.

"Well, think about the tapestry," Mel gave him a short kiss on the cheek. "I won't do it unless you agree, and don't feel pressured, I only want it because I thought it'd be nice, but I can do without it just as well."

"Brought food!" Remus announced happily from the back door.

The young group rushed over to that side of the house, all sweaty and with dirt stains on their clothes.

"You're a lifesaver!" Mel kissed his cheek. "How's Tonks and Teddy?"

"They're okay, and so is your brother."

"I don't worry about him," The girl scoffed. "If he weren't I'd be able to hear his screams from here."

The man laughed. "You've finally reached the phase in which you hate your sibling?"

"I don't hate him, but since Harry and my mum refuse to admit he's even more dramatic than I was, I guess I'll have to."

"Don't know, I think you had your moments," Remus teased her. "I remember how you used to cry whenever I had to go home. Emily was afraid of going deaf before turning thirty!"

Her friends laughed, and she stuck out her tongue.

"Oh, that's very mature," Her godfather frowned and pulled something else out of the bag with food. "Definitely something the Head Auror should do at the ripe age of twenty. If you're going to behave like that, I'll just go ahead and give the cake to Grey and Hedwig."

"You brought cake!" Mel gasped. "Stop teasing, Moony, you started it!"

"C'mon, Remus, it's her birthday," Erick put an arm around her shoulders and grabbed her face with his other hand, squeezing it. "Look at this innocent and hardworking face, are you seriously going to forbid her from eating?"

"C'mon, Moony," Harry joined in.

"Don't be like that, Lupin—"

"She's losing so much weight from overexerting herself—!"

"Oh alright, alright!" Remus lifted both hands, one of them still holding the cake, to shut the younger crowd. "I need all of you children to form a nice line, from youngest to oldest— with the exception of the birthday girl, of course. Go on, I'm waiting!"

It has been a month since our Minister replaced the grim but foul-proof dementors and handed the responsibility to a group of twenty house-elves, led by the creatures known as Kreacher and Dobby, old friends of Mr Potter and Miss Dumbledore.

The elves, reportedly, have agreed to get paid ten galleons a week, and have medical insurance. We've always known the Dumbledores have a long history of pushing for innovation and a knack for rewriting the laws of our people, but we wonder, is it a clever move to grant these creatures more privileges than they know how to handle?

For now, there have been zero disturbances reported in Azkaban, but of course, can we really expect to hear something when these Aurors have such a tight grip on the Ministry?  We are yet to forget the rumours regarding Miss Dumbledore's illegal status as an animagus and how everyone seems to turn a blind eye to it.

We can only hope the youngest Head Auror this country has ever seen knows the difference between her bright ideas and rotten delusions.

"You're worried."

"I'm thinking."

"About the house?"

"No," Mel put down the Prophet. "Work."

"But not what we're doing right now," Harry lifted the file he'd been reading.

"Mr Greengrass offered me a place in the Department of Mysteries," She confessed. "Mental, huh?"

"You should take it."

She wrinkled her nose. "I've been Head Auror two years only. What if I'm not qualified?"

"That's stupid," He frowned. "Dumbledore trained you since you were a kid. If you think you're not ready, is only because you're not doing it. You'll fit right in. You can't tell me you're comfortable in this office, I've seen the way you squirm at the thought of paperwork."

"Well, I don't like some aspects of it, but I'm sure I'd have to do the same things as an Unspeakable. I don't think Mr Greengrass would give me significant things to work on my first day."

"I wouldn't be so sure," He supported both arms on the desk. "Your father said once you were the best witch to ever live. I agree with him, and I'm sure Mr Greengrass does too."

"You're only saying that because I'm your girlfriend," Mel teased him.

"So what? I'm in love, not stupid," He winked at her.

After a few months of restoring the house, now they could bring the new furniture.

The town warmed up to them soon. The neighbours downtown were utterly curious about the younger couple living there, they couldn't understand how they could afford the renovation and still have enough money to eat. It was always a shock to discover they were also quite likeable and friendly.

"Once the house is painted on the outside and the garden's clean... will it be all?" Ginny inquired, looking around while rubbing her wrist. "I feel like my hand's about to fall!"

"I think so, yes," Mel smiled broadly. "We'll move in soon. Sorry for your wrist, Gin, I'll fix it. It was nice of you to come and help..."

"Not like I have anything better to do," Ginny sighed, she'd been waiting to hear about a contract with the Holyhead Harpies. "Don't you think that table would be better on this side?"

"I think it would look good however we put it—"

"Girls!" Harry walked into the house. "A little help here, please?"

They approached the hallway and with a slight movement of the hand, Mel moved the bookcase Harry had brought to the other side of the drawing-room, settling it gently against the wall.

"Thanks," He stretched, rubbing his shoulder with a grimace. "Couldn't move it past the entrance, it got stuck."

"This place is looking great!" Anne entered the house beaming, she had a box full of butterbeers in her hands. "I think you should take a moment to eat. You look dreadful hungry, Harry!"

"He always looks like that, don't worry too much about it," Ginny teased him.

Harry threw her a paper ball that she dodged effortlessly, then he grabbed the box Anne was carrying and seized a bottle before taking it away to the garden, where the rest of their friends were.

"Don't go out until I tell you," The boy handed Mel the bottle he'd grabbed a moment ago. "Stay here."

Mel frowned. "Why? I wanna eat too!"

"It'll just be a moment," Harry insisted as he walked past. "Please do it."

Erick arrived a few minutes later, little Emily was walking next to him with a light step. The little girl had not only her father's hair and eyes but his elegant ways too. It seemed that the only thing she'd inherited from her mother was the freckles.

"I'm here to pick up my wife, Emie's appointment's in an hour," He announced pompously.

"Appointment?" Mel asked, deciding not to tease him about the way he'd talked. She knew he only did that in moments when he was feeling extraordinarily happy about his life.

"Oh, nothing serious," Anne approached them, standing on her tiptoes and giving Erick a short kiss. "We take her to the doctor once a month to make sure everything's going well."

The man's eyes landed on the bottle Anne was holding and frowned. "Are you hungry? We should have lunch before leaving... I'm not sure a butterbeer is right for you right now..."

Anne chuckled, although she stared down at the bottle in quiet contemplation. "Perhaps you're right... Could you get my coat, please?"

Mel watched them, she saw the way Erick's eyes softened when he looked at his wife and suddenly it clicked.

"You can drink butterbeer if you want," Mel told her. "It's perfectly safe. Mum used to drink loads of it when she was pregnant with Reggie."

"Oh, that's good to hear—" Anne's voice stopped and the young woman stared at her unblinkingly. "How..?"

Mel laughed. "I've known Erick half of my life, Annie. That little glint he's got in his eyes is the same he had during your first pregnancy— Am I wrong?"

"No," She blushed, looking out to where her husband had gone to start the car. "We were going to tell you this weekend at the Burrow... Oh well, Erick's always said you're too good at spotting lies."

"You're not lying, just... hiding a truth," Mel giggled. "So you're having another one? How're you feeling?"

"Excited," Anne squirmed. "Emily's a year old, I think it's time. I'm an only child and Erick doesn't talk to his brother, so we're glad she won't be alone."

"She wouldn't be alone even if she tried," Mel responded. "Erick's brother barely counts, but I know the Weasleys see him as one of their own, born between the twins and Ronald. Emie will have Teddy, Victoire, Dominique and Regulus— and of course, her actual sibling. She'll be fine."

Anne hug her. "Oh, I hope you get to have your own kids, Mel! I mean, if that's what you want—"

"I do," She replied promptly. "I want to."

She'd been so busy the last few years that she hadn't thought about it in a long time. When she was younger she'd been terrified at the thought of having children— with good reason, she was a child! Now, twenty years old and living with her boyfriend, having children was still a little scary, but not unwanted.

As soon as the Flints left she heard Harry calling for her in the garden. She'd forgotten about his request until then, and when she walked out of the house she was glad she'd stayed away: Harry had put up a tent, like the ones they used to put in Privet drive, it was a picnic.

"Sweet Godric!" Mel covered her mouth in shock. "You did this all by yourself?"

"We brought the food," Ginny remarked.

"I cooked half of it," Ron said proudly.

"I supervised Harry while he put up the tent," Luna mentioned. "He said he didn't want to use magic, so he asked me to keep an eye and stop him if he did."

"This is so sweet!" She beamed. "Oh, I wish Hermione were here!"

"That makes two of us," Ron sighed.

"She said she'll take some time off in September for her birthday," Ginny eased them. "She's working hard for those elve rights..."

Mel sat between Ron and Harry, grabbing a plate and putting a bit of everything in it. She smiled at Harry and kissed his cheek.

"I feel like I should've been the one to make all this fuss..."

"You know I like helping, feels wrong to just sit and do nothing, even today."

"I know," She held his hand. "Happy Birthday, Glasses."

Harry drew out his wand and made the roof of the tent transparent, the stars could be seen even in between the tree branches, and the moon was full that night. He put an arm around her and pulled her closer, kissing her temple.

"I thought you didn't want to use magic?"

"While putting up the tent, not now," He grinned. "Being a wizard can't go completely to waste!"

She laughed, grabbing his hand and intertwining their fingers.

"Does it look good for you?" He asked, referring to their new house.

"I love everything," She brooded for a few seconds. "Are we too young?"

"To be furnishing a house?" When she didn't follow his joke, Harry sighed quietly. "It's not like we're getting married or having children— It'll be years before we start thinking about that... right?"

"Yes," She smiled in relief, "we're only getting started, nothing more."

Harry stared at her, a bit of uncertainty in his voice. "You still want to marry me?"

"It's not about that," She told him right away. "It's just... well, our friends are marrying and having children—"

"Ron and Hermione aren't," He replied, as if they were the only friends they should be paying attention to.

"What I'm trying to say is... Our parents were our age when they had us, but I'm not ready to have children."

Harry frowned. "I know that. I don't want to have children either. Not right now, at least."

"Really?" She asked hesitantly. "But I see you with Reg and Teddy— even Emie! You look so happy..."

"Yeah, 'cause they're not mine!" He chortled. "It's fun to be an uncle, godfather, and all that. A dad..." Harry grimaced. "Can't look after a kid if I still wake up in the middle of the night covered in a cold sweat?

"Yeah," Mel agreed quietly. "Dear Merlin, no... I'm not even sure I want to be an Auror for another year, let alone if I want to be someone's mother forever!"

She shivered at the words, they sounded serious and important. Mel felt utterly unprepared, she'd only played the parts she knew she was capable of doing, the things she'd learned to do while being a student, being a parent was not one of them.

"How about," She turned a little to face him, "we wait a year? Perhaps then we'll be ready?"

Harry kissed her nose. "Sounds good."

One look and they knew a year wouldn't make much of a difference to how they were feeling. But who knew? In a year they'd managed to end a war.

The more she refused to think about the Department of Mysteries, the more she would suck at her present job.

Hyper focusing was only stressing her out, she was giving the same missions to more than one Auror. Something was no longer clicking at her current workplace and she ended up blurting it all out during lunch to her grandad.

"I can't quit," Mel went off, "I was born to be a fighter and I excel at it. If I quit only to start toying around with the stuff they got in the department of mysteries, I'll be wasting my potential..."

"Jus' because you're good at something doesn't mean you ought to do it for the rest of your life," Aberforth scoffed. "You wanted to be an Auror so you could stop the people that'd hurt your friends— now they're gone. S'alright if you've lost interest. What do you want now?"

She groaned. "I don't know! I want to move in with Harry. I want to see my brother grow up happy and healthy. I want my mum to succeed at her job..."

She thought deeper, those things she could do outside, but at work, she needed a new purpose. Mr Greengrass had been right, chasing down criminals wasn't enough. When she tried to think of a single thing she wanted to do, she couldn't point out one.

"My God," Mel muttered. "I have no goals..."

Aberforth shrugged. "Having a job isn't only about being useful, it's supposed to be satisfying too. Being an Auror makes you happy?"

Mel shifted on her seat awkwardly. "My Dad was the youngest Auror to ever lead the Department until I arrived. I was proud to follow his steps... looking after the wizarding world isn't a burden, but being in charge was never my dream. I just want to help others. I feel like I could do it in a different way, though. I feel I could prevent bad things from happening."

"Like prevent people from turning evil?" Her grandad asked sceptically.

"Yes... no," She shook her head. "I don't know. Harry's used to the fighting... I was the one who would put together the missing pieces, connect the dots, give him the right tools so he succeeded... the field is not where I should be."

"It sounds like you've made up your mind."

"I'm just worried," Mel said in embarrassment. "They'll think it's stupid of me to chase a dream when I'm already at the top. Nobody wants to take my place, they all think I deserve it. If I start working as an Unspeakable I'll start at the bottom, no special treatment for the Dumbledore girl. What if I'm terrible?"

"You're old enough to do whatever you want," The old man replied sternly. "You're a war hero, graduated a year earlier with the highest marks— you're a Legilimens, Oclumence, and Animagus... I promise you, girl, no one will think you failed. Not even if you set the whole Department of Mysteries on fire."

"I don't want them to turn a blind eye just because I'm a Dumbledore," She said in outrage.

"They think highly of you because of who you are. Mel Dumbledore-Sultens is a capable witch. If fear is the only thing stopping you from accepting a position in the Department of Mysteries, you should take it."

All her life it'd always been about what she and Harry would do. They moved in sync, wherever one was there was the other, her decisions affected him and vice-versa. Now all that was about to change. They would remain together, but their lives would branch out differently.

Everyone was surprised when Erick and Anne announced they were having another baby. The dinner turned into an improvised party. Mel had made a decision, but she decided not to tell anyone yet. Officially, there were no spots available in the Unspeakable department at the moment.

August turned into September, and Erick went away to his last year as Hogwarts' most handsome professor. Little Emily could speak almost perfectly and go to the bathroom all on her own, which was impressive considering it'd taken Reggie almost four years to achieve all that.

Leon Regulus had grown though, it didn't matter if it'd been a slow process. He was a clever boy, which meant he was ready to start preschool. He was not looking forward to it.

"Why can't I stay home?" He wailed. "Do you girls hate me?"

He always referred to Mel and his mother that way. Separately they were Mum

and Mely, but together he called them girls because Harry and Erick were the

boys, and he wanted to sound like the adults whenever he spoke to them.

"Mum's busy and so am I," Mel replied from the passenger's seat, unbothered by the little boy's crying. "I started school when I was your age, it's alright!"

"I've seen the school," He was determined to remain angry, Regulus crossed his arms and let the tears roll down his face and splatter down his shirt. "S'full of kids that act like nifflers. I'm not a niffler!"

"I'd recommend you not to call them nifflers to their faces, you won't be making friends if you do," Emily said bemusedly.

"Ther' taller than me!" He continued in despair. "They won't be friends with a bug!"

"You sure inherited your father's antics," Mel rolled her eyes. "The day will end before you know it, Leon. I'll buy you a broom if you behave."

Emily stepped on the brakes and turned to look at her daughter. "A broom?!"

"A toy!" Mel corrected in panic. "Harry had one when he was a baby! It'll be harmless!"

"Says you!" Her mother said indignantly. "I can't have him flying around the house! Especially now that you'll move away!"

"She's leaving 'cause she hates me," Regulus sobbed, his stormy grey eyes were terribly good at making her feel guilty. "You're sending me to school 'cause you hate me too!"

"Oh stop that, Leon, I know you don't really believe that. We're here!" Emily turned off the engine and walked out of the car, Mel did the same.

The girl was waiting for her mum to get Regulus out when a familiar voice startled her.

"Oh good, we're on time!"

Harry, Ron and Hermione were approaching from the end of the street. Ron was holding a small bag of paper.

"What're you doing here?" She walked up to them with a smile.

"We want to wish Reg good luck on his first day," Ron lifted the bag. "We brought him sweets!"

"So he can share them with the other kids," Harry explained. "It was Ron's idea."

"It worked for us," Ron grinned.

"Hello, you three!" Emily and Reggie walked towards them, the little boy carrying his small backpack and staring at the group of friends with a pout that could break anyone's heart. His eyes were red and swollen, but he'd run out of tears. "How nice of you to come!"

"Hi, Leon!" Hermione gave the boy a hug, kneeling in front of him. "Are you ready?"

"Mely'll buy me a broom if I behave," Reg cleaned his nose with the sleeve of his sweater. "A fi'bolt."

"I never said that."

"We brought you this, mate," Ron knelt next to Hermione and handed Regulus the paper bag. "You can share them with the kids you like!"

"If I don't like anyone can I eat them all?"

"You'll throw up if you do," Harry replied. "Don't want them thinking you're selfish and have a weak stomach, do you?"

"Yeah, Lee, don't be a niffler," Mel taunted. "That's something they'd do."

Regulus sniffed. "I guess I'll share them..."

"That's a wise choice," Harry smirked. "Can you give us a hug before you leave?"

Harry picked him up, Ron and Hermione stood, and Emily offered to drive them to the Ministry.

"I have to run an errand in Diagon Alley anyway, s'not a problem."

"Thanks, Mily," Hermione smiled. "Goodbye, Leon!"

The girl kissed his cheek and then Regulus happily returned the gesture. Ron high-fived him and ruffled his hair. Finally, Mel approached and kissed him loudly on both cheeks.

"I don't hate you," She told him, gently cleaning his tear-stained cheeks and runny nose. "I love you and I hope you enjoy your day. I'll be home for dinner so you can tell me all about it, alright?"

"Can I join you? I'd like to hear as well," Harry asked, pushing the toddler up a little so it wouldn't slip off his grasp.

"Dunno. Tell us, Reggie, is Harry invited?"

The boy looked down at the bag of sweets and opened one of the corners, he nodded approvingly without paying attention to them. "If he wants to."

Harry kissed his temple and put him back on the ground. Regulus hurried back to his mother and held onto her hand tightly, he stared at the building ahead and gulped, but his face quickly hid any trace of fear as soon as he reached the gates.

Emily knelt in front of her son, she kissed his forehead and made sure his sweater was properly closed as well as his backpack, the woman promised she'd be there to pick him up on time and told him to be a good boy. Regulus waved enthusiastically at his sister's friends before entering.

"That's it," Mel sighed. "He's a grown boy."

"He's still your little brother," Harry put an arm around her and kissed her cheek. "He'll always be."

"No, one day he'll be his own person," She smiled. "But I'll be there if he needs me, until the very end."

Next Chapter —>

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[maximumjinx]

Steven Universe Gravity Falls AU

~Yknow what they say, if you run out of content, ya gotta make it yourself. This is a ? shot (I might continue or not who knows not me) please don’t ask for more I have 18 unfinished fanfics on this site.~

California was nice, Steven had to admit. The people were nice, the food was fantastic, and the weather was splendid. It reminded him a lot of Beach City. Though there were just so many people, and traveling north, Steven was beginning to long for something small and simple again.

Oregon was the perfect place for that, right?

“Ronaldo wants pictures of Bigfoot, and if anyone can find him, its you Steven.” Petey’s voice was faint on Steven’s phone speaker, tossed into the passenger seat as Steven blindly picked a highway exit.

“Sure Petey, but couldn’t Ronaldo just go to a circus?”

“Not big feet Steven,” Petey emphasized, “Bigfoot.”

“Saying it twice isn’t helping buddy.” Steven was half paying attention. He was focusing on the winding roads and the looming trees surrounding him. Deep, in the pit of Steven’s stomach, he felt something start to tug him toward one direction farther away from the highway. He wasn’t quite sure if it was a good or bad feeling yet.

“Forget it, I’m going to take a blurry photo of that mean Gem in the woods and say its Bigfoot.”

“Just don’t let Jasper catch you, she’s no joke when she’s angry.”

“I saw her ripping grass out of the ground I think I’ll be fine. Later dude.”

Steven heard a small click and smiled to himself. He’s happy to see how far the people of Beach City have come and how they’ve taken to the gems. He remembers when the Crystal Gems were once the outcasts of town that locals warned you to stay away from.

He looked up to see a welcome sign.

“Gravity falls. Well, that’s a funny name.”

—

Steven wanted small and simple but he feels he may have overshot it.

This small town had exactly three attractions. A town museum that mentioned marrying woodpeckers (Steven couldn’t figure out if that was a normal human thing, like taxes and velcro), a small diner, and as one local described it ‘some tourist trap’ deep in the woods. It was a sticky summer day and the former two attractions didn’t have airconditioning. Steven gambled on the last stop in hopes of stretching his legs and maybe finding a source to the strange feeling in his gut. It had become much stronger since he entered this small town. Alluring, but nothing related to Gems as far as Steven could tell.

He parked in the nearly empty lot and stepped out. Jacket wrapped loosely around his hips, Steven made his way inside.

A girl that looked about 13 was petting a pig on the front porch. She was incredibly reflective, and depsite the heat wore a knitted bedazzled sweater that made her glow like a disco ball in the sun.

She looked Steven up and down as he approached, a wide smile taking up her face and Steven saw bright braces with colored bands.

“Hi!” She launched upwards, startling the pig away, “I’m Mabel, but you can call me anytime.” The girl winked and stuck out her hand, palm facing the floor.

Steven blinked.

“Mabel, stop scaring away the customers!” A gruff voice yelled through the screen door, and soon an older man stepped out in a suit, wearing a fez and eyepatch.

Immediately the old man squinted at Steven, sizing him up.

Stanley Pines knew this teen wasn’t local, but he wasn’t sure if he had any money. For all he knew he was another boy trying to hit on his giftshop cashier, Wendy.

Oh well, a customer is a customer.

“Come in, come in, and see our mystical and magical wonders!”

“Magical?” This could be it, Steven could figure out why this town has felt off. Maybe it was gem related after all.

Quickly this older man who had introduced himself as Mr. Mystery gave Steven a tour of what looked like failed taxidermy projects. Now Steven may have a lived a sheltered childhood, but he felt pretty confident there was no such thing as a Sashcrotch. And so far, nothing had felt magical or mysterious.

“That concludes our tour! Here is our mistifying giftshop and it’s purchasable wonders!”

“Right...” Well, at the very least he was able to spend some time in airconditioning.

There was a girl behind the desk in plaid that looked about Steven’s age, and just a half inch shorter than him. She looked bored, flipping through a magazine as a young boy that looked a lot like Mabel made googly eyes as he swept by the door.

Steven guessed there was no harm in asking around.

“Hi, I’m Steven.” He smiled easily, walking up to the register.

“No refunds, even if an exhibit bit you.” She sighed, peeking up before turning back to her magazine.

“Oh no, nothing bit me, I just wanted to know something.”

She looked up to get a better look at Steven and gave a small smirk.

“Sure, but only because I like your shirt. Mr. Universe merch, now that’s a deep cut.”

Unbeknownst to Steven, Dipper Pines would had been watching the exchange felt a twinge of uneasiness as this out of towner talked with Wendy.

“Have you ever seen anything strange or weird actually happen in this town?”

Wendy’s smile dropped.

“Why do you ask?” Her eyes flickered to Dipper, just for a moment, and that was all he needed to rush over.

“Excuse me sir, please buy something or exit the store.” Dipper spoke in the deepest voice he could muster.

Steven looked over with a questioning expression.

“Oh sure uh-“ He blindly reached for the wad of bills that his dad had given to him before he left. Steven pulled out a hundred dollar bill and put it on the counter. Wendy looked up baffled as Steven stuffed the other cash back in his wallet.

“Boy was I wrong about you kid!” Mr. Mystery, seemingly materializing out of nowhere, now bounded over. He had loosened his tie and lost the eyepatch which turned out he never needed.

“Whaddya wanna know? I’ll tell you everything. There’s gnomes in the woods you know-“

“Grunkle Stan!” Dipper protested loudly, dragging his Stan away and harshly whispering at him.

“Did you steal that money?” Wendy asked as Steven watched the pair whisper fight in the corner. He turned back to the girl and gave a sheepish smile.

“Uh no, my dad gave it to me before this roadtrip. He’s actually Mr. Universe.”

Wendy lit up.

“No freaking way! Your dad is Mr. Universe? I only got into him since he managed Sadie Killer and the Suspects and they always perform covers of his songs on tour, I can’t believe he’s your dad!” She rambled, stars in her eyes. Steven beamed, he loved when people praised his dad’s music. Greg really deserved it.

Steven learned Wendy’s name and they swapped stories back and forth, only interrupted as the girl from outside slowly rose from the behind the counter beaming.

“A cute musician that loves weird stuff, take me now.” She swooned. Steven blushed profusely, not used to the attention.

“Sorry, my girlfriend Connie probably wouldn’t like that very much.” He said gently. Mabel looked him up and down and pouted.

“I can wait, but not forever.” She warned, and winked, bounding to break apart her grunkle and Dipper, who are now whisper screaming with arms flailing.

“I wasn’t going to mention that Dorito shaped jerk! Just the normal stuff!”

“It’s dangerous! He could be a spy, or government, or another stack of gnomes!”

Steven raised an eyebrow and looked at Wendy. She chuckled and shrugged. Steven carefully approached them.

“He can hear everything you’re saying anyways so might as well tell him!” Mabel interrupted, nodding towards Steven as he came up.

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m definitely not government.” Steven technically didn’t exist at all. He never had a social security card and didn’t have a birth certificate.

Dipper only glared. Rich strangers with an interest in the paranormal didn’t come through gravity falls without some kind of agenda.

Steven hated the conflict he was starting. No information was worth this family fighting.

“Okay,” he surrendered, hands up, “I’ll just go. I’ll stick around town until tomorrow if you change your minds”

“Wait Steven-”

“Let him go Wendy,” Dipper glared as the boy in pink walked out, “We can’t trust him.”

“But I was going to ask for Sadie tickets...” Wendy groaned, defeated.

“There’s something weird about him.”

“Great!” Mabel beamed, “He’ll fit right in.”

~.~

Steven wasn’t crazy about sleeping in his car, but was seriously considering it after seeing the state of his motel room. It looked like it hadn’t been used in decades, a thin line of dust covering every surface. He was also pretty sure they didn’t even have free ice. 

“Wish Pearl were here..” He mumbled, exhausted. He curled up on top of the covers, fully clothed, and let sleep take him.

Being Steven Universe however, meant rest was sure to allude the half alien. 

Steven found himself in a dark space, fog all around him. Before a word could come out of his mouth he heard a fast, repetitive muttering. 

“Stranger...Wendy looked pretty today..Can’t trust...Tell no one...Ford isn’t here..”

“What, the-” Steven quietly walked toward the source of dialogue, and saw the faded silhouette of the boy from the Mystery Shack. His back was turned to him, but Steven recognized the blue vest and mosquito bitten legs. 

“I thought I was over the dream hopping.” Steven spoke a tad too loudly, starting the young boy - Dipper.

“What-” Dipper’s eyes grew wide in panic, and the boy fell back harshly.

“No, no, you can’t be in my head!” 

“Wait, I’m not-” Steven tried to reassure him, stepping carefully towards the boy but Dipper let out a screech of terror, sweat gathering around his temples.

“Bill sent you didn’t he?! He’s not really gone- he’s going to hurt Mable again-” Dipper began to hyperventilate. 

“Dipper please,” Steven took a step back, arms in the air in surrender. 

“I-”

“I’m not going to hurt you I swear on the gems.” He placed a hand over his heart. “This is a total invasion of privacy but it’s something that happens when someone’s emotions are out of control-”

“How are you here?” Dipper demanded, scrambling to his feet. “Tell me what you are and what you want.”

“I’m just passing through!” Steven insisted, then lowered his tone to calm the younger boy. “I’m kinda of magnet for weird stuff. I just wanted to help in case anything was going on.”

“We deal with things just fine around here.” Dipper spat, then watched as Steven deflated. He seemed tired, like he hasn't slept well in a while. 

“So what are you anyways? How can you be here?”

Steven winced, and laughed nervously. “It’s kind of a long story..”

Dipper raised and eyebrow and swept his arm around the void dramatically. 

“You have until dawn.”

~

“I thought that was a conspiracy theory, it wasn’t even covered by major news outlets.” Dipper look exhausted, cross legged on the unseen floor as he ran his hands through his hair. 

“I think Garnet is pretty persuasive when it comes to government and reporters. They all kinda fall in love with her.”

“She’s the one that’s really two aliens?” 

Steven shook his head with a small smile. “It’s hard to explain but yes, I guess that comes close.”

“That’s actually insane. I’m insane, aren’t I?” Dipper stood up, leaving Steven on sitting next to an empty space. “It’s been too quiet around here and now I’m so desperate for weird, that I’m making it all up in my head.”

“I get that feeling.” Steven smiled without humor, “but no, this is real. I’ll prove it when you wake up.” Steven felt a shift, the fog in the void getting denser. 

“Sooner than I thought, you’re an early riser huh?”

Dipper looked back at Steven, panicked. “You’ll come to the Shack again right? In just a bit?”

Steven smiled. “Promise.”

~

Dipper woke up to his sister braiding his hair. Mabel still had her pjs on, and a make up kit next to the bed. Dipper frowned, tasting strawberry shortcake. 

“Stop testing party looks on me, Mabel.”

“Stop having my face structure and maybe I will.” She grinned, covered in blue glitter. 

Dipper quickly washed up and got dressed for the day, feeling like he was anxiously waiting for something but not quite remembering what. 

He felt like he had a strange dream last night...

He quickly remembered, choking on cereal as Steven walked into the shack right as it opened. Hair slightly frizzy from the heat and eyes strangely tired. Maybe dream hopping took energy that he anticipated. 

“Steven!”

“Meal ticket!” 

“Grunkle Stan.” Mabel chastised as Dipper rushed over to the older boy. 

“Good morning everyone.” 

Dipper stopped short, slightly hoping that everything he experienced wasn’t just his imagination. That everything exciting and weird and interesting wasn’t always trying to kill him, ruin his life, or steal his candy. 

Steven looked tired, like he had been doing this much longer than Dipper, but he had still come out with enough energy to smile. 

“Not insane?” Dipper asked hopefully, quietly. Steven snapped his attention from his Grunkle and Mable bickering down to the Dipper. He gave a reassuring smile, eyes quite serious. 

“Not insane.”

[bnhaficsforthesoul]

BNHA College AU - Dabi

Major: Graphic Design

Minor: Business

Sports: Nope

Clubs: He’s not necessarily in the Shogi club, but he competes in tournaments just because he’s so good at it

Dabi has two reasons for going to college: to prove to everyone, mainly his dad, that he can be successful despite what they say, and to force his dad to spend a lot of money

He hangs out with all the labeled creepy people (save for Keigo, but even then he won’t hang out with him in public cause Keigo’s pretty popular), cause of his scars and resting bitch face people are generally too scared to talk to him so he stayed with the people who didn’t judge him for that

He got his scars in an accident when he was young, the house had gotten set on fire and he got trapped inside after saving his little brother Shouto, who luckily got out with only a scar on his face

Overall dabi was lucky to have survived the ordeal at all, having inhaled so much smoke and being so burnt, but by some miracle he turned out fine, and his scars, other than being a permanent dark red and the skin being rough, weren’t too bad (basically he has the scars in the same general areas but they look more like how real burn scars would – there’s no staples anymore either)

He also changed his name as soon as he was old enough, wanting to create his own identity rather than the one his dad had crafted for him

Dabi works at a tattoo shop near campus, he’s always been pretty good at art and loves tattoos, so he decided he might as well get a job doing something he actually likes. He’s given himself a few tattoos too, and all of his piercings

Him being a graphic design major stems from his love of drawing, but him choosing graphic design rather than fine art or just drawing was due to him wanting to try a new medium, and then enjoying it

Then his business minor is so that he can open is own tattoo shop - he feels that owning his own shop and being successful in it is the best way to spite his dad, so he is all for it

He also lives off campus in his own apartment, he didn’t feel like bothering with getting a roommate 

You meet him when you go into the shop to get a tattoo, you just had the sudden urge to get a tattoo so you walked in there and asked if there was any space for you, and turned out Dabi was free

You told him the basic design that you wanted, but also told him that he was free to add whatever he wanted which he greatly enjoyed, and he went to work

Normally dabi would kinda just do the work and move on, maybe make a few comments here and there if he felt like it, he wasn’t much of a talker anyways

But hey, you were cute, so he couldn’t help flirt a bit – and you didn’t seem creeped out by him like a lot of people tended to be, so he took that as a sign that you didn’t mind it

And you definitely did not mind it – you weren’t expecting the person tattooing you to be so hot, but it was for sure a welcome surprise. And you’d be lying if you said the smirk he flashed at you occasionally didn’t give you butterflies

After the tattoo was finished, it didn’t take that long since you had gotten a fairly small one, you were doing the stuff for payment and he went, “ya know, if you go on a date with me, maybe I’ll give you a discount on the next one”

Yes he was technically bribing you for a date, but again, you were cute and didn’t give him a weird look when he started flirting, even flirting back a couple times – so he was just tryna shoot his shot

“I’d like that. Even without the discount, though that would be a nice bonus.”

Sexy tattoo man asks you on a date? Who are you to say no

So you give him your number and give him a little wave before running out of the shop, already wondering where he was going to take you

Now, Dabi never wants to come across as desperate, and in all honesty he really isn’t since he’s not even looking for anything serious, so he decided to wait a few days before even texting you – making you worry that he had decided he didn’t wanna go out with you anymore

It wouldn’t be the end of the world if he didn’t, it’s not like you’d been crushing on him for months or anything dramatic, you’d met the guy once – but he was pretty, and fun to talk to, so you were hoping you’d at least be able to see where it went

Luckily though, late at night a few days after you had met him, you finally get a text, reading “hey its dabi, the guy who tattooed you. Still interested in that date?’

You almost ended up texting him right away, ready to get on with it. But nah, he waited 3 days, you can at least wait an hour or two – thank god you didn’t have your read receipts on

Eventually you got to it, responding ‘Hey – yeah I’m up to it. What’d you have in mind?’

Finally deciding he would save the both of you the time, he responded quickly, ‘nothing fancy, I’ll surprise you though.’

You said that was fine, and that was it for the night. You were just gonna wait until he told you when, and didn’t worry about it too much

But then that night, at around 7pm, you got another text: ‘you busy rn?’

You weren’t, so you said so, and he said ‘can you meet me back at the shop in like 30 min? We’re going out tonight.”

Bold of this man to not only assume you could make it in 30 minutes but to just spring your first date upon you like that – but you weren’t going to complain about it, other than the fact that if you wanted to get decently ready you’d have to sprint over there (you were lucky that the shop was close to campus – and that he probably assumed you went to the college here since you never told him)

But you threw on the first clothes you deemed acceptable and got any other small touch ups finished in the next 20 minutes before grabbing your phone, keys, and wallet and booking it towards the tattoo shop – only stopping to look at your reflection in a car window once you were up the street to make sure you still looked decent

Why were you putting in so much effort for the hot emo dude? You’d never know. But you wouldn’t be disappointed either.

You soon walked into the shop and were almost immediately greeted by Dabi. He was wearing ripped black jeans and an oversized black hoodie with black converse, simple but nice

“So what are we doing exactly?”

He didn’t say, just walked out of the shop, so you followed him back into the parking lot where he directed you to an expensive looking matte black car – which side note, he was very proud of. He bought it with his own money (I don’t know car breeds, forgive me for not specifying what type of car it is)

The car ride was pretty vibey – he has awesome music taste but he kept it just high enough so that you could hear it but low enough so that the two of you could talk, he generally doesn’t like small talk but you were pretty interesting so he let the conversation go wherever you led

Eventually you arrived at a big park with a lake and a bunch of tall trees, and you got out of the car while Dabi went to grab a backpack from the trunk – then he led you over to a nice little clearing right next to the lake and pulled out a blanket from his backpack and laid it out so you two could sit

“like I said, nothing fancy. We’re just gonna hang out.”

He had a whole bunch of snacks and drinks in his backpack, and you just spent the next couple hours talking about anything and everything – he loved when you asked him about tattooing and stuff, gave him a chance to brag, and he asked you a bunch of probably too personal questions just because he thought it was cute seeing you flustered

In the end, the first date was a success – and it led to many more. Many of which weren’t even classified dates, just more times where he would randomly text you to hang out, and each time you found yourself liking him more and more, and he shockingly felt the same

At the beginning, the best and most dabi could hope for with you was a kind of friends with benefits situation. He didn’t want a real relationship, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to be close with someone

But then you came along, and despite you being very good looking of course, he wasn’t just waiting for the right time to ask if he could fuck you, he just wanted to be around you and actually spend time with you – not just turn you into someone he could fuck when he was bored

Regardless, he’s not very good at getting attached to people, it scares him, so as soon as he realized he caught actual feelings he kinda ghosted you for a bit, worrying you that you did something wrong – he wouldn’t respond to your texts or anything

So this time you stormed your way down to his apartment, where he had brought you a couple times to watch movies and whatever, and knocked on his door

Dabi, much to his disdain, was happy when he saw you standing there. So because of that, he didn’t immediately shut the door, and you walked inside before he could protest

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong? Why’d you disappear all the sudden?” Even outside of your crush, you considered him a friend, and you had hoped he did too, so you were worried

“It’s nothing… I’ve just been busy, don’t worry your cute little head about it.”

You rolled your eyes, “Dabi, I’m serious. What’s wrong?”

He sighed deeply, running a hand through his messy hair and staring back at you, “It’s – it’s stupid. I don’t want to talk about it.”

God he hated how concerned you looked, he could tell you cared about him and it weirded him out, but he loved it so much. He couldn’t help himself, as much as he wanted to push you away, he knew that he wanted to keep you around

“Still… if you change your mind, I’m here you-“ you didn’t even get to finish your sentence before his lips were on yours – something you very much weren’t expecting to happen today but you sure as hell weren’t complaining

“That’s what’s wrong. I think I love you.”

You could see that he looked scared, but he wasn’t pulling away, so you wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a soft kiss on his lips, “Well, if it makes you feel better, I think I love you too.”

There was no formal asking out, just from that day on you were his. It still took some time for him to get used to it, not being familiar with how to act in a relationship, but with your help he got the hang of it

He loves when you watch him draw, he’s dubbed you his muse and therefore you being there helps inspire him

Wants to get matching tattoos with you eventually, and you know that if you want any more tattoos he’s gonna be the one to give you them, he might even let you do a tattoo or two for him

He’ll also do all your piercings for you, he’ll dye your hair for you - we love a boyfriend who supports you spicing up your look

Aw but you two dyeing each others hair would be so cute

Your relationship is pretty chill, like you guys only ever hang out at his apartment or go on dates in the middle of the night, sometimes clubbing or sometimes just walking around town, whatever you feel like honestly

You do go back to that one spot by the lake a l o t, you both love it there because it’s just full of memories of each other

When you met his friends you were probably a bit creeped out by them, you’ve never had any bad experiences with them but most of them looked pretty angry. But toga and jin were quick to accept you, and so you got to become friends with them too which was really important to Dabi because his friends are basically his family

When he told you about his dad – not him having to stop you from walking into his dad’s house and beating the shit out of that fucker, despite him very much wanting to watch you do it (he just doesn’t want you to get hurt/have to deal with the consequences of what that could bring – but if you were to bring out them fighting words during the next family dinner he’d definitely be very proud)

You’re welcome to move into his apartment whenever you want, after he’s decided he loves you you could propose and he’d probably say yes honestly- so you moving in isn’t an issue to him just tell him and he’ll help you bring all your stuff over

You might as well honestly, you’re there in most all your free time. You already have clothes in his closet, your school stuff is next to his - it just makes things so much easier

Besides, then you get to be around your hot emo bf even more than you already are, doesn’t that sound fun

[yikesharringrove]

Show Pony

Chapter one - Big Sky

Also on Ao3

Billy doesn’t give a fuck about the rodeo. 

He doesn’t care about country music, or fancy horse riding, or the beauty queens, even the bull riders. 

What he does give a fuck about it not being in his house today. 

Not when his dad was obviously itching to pick a fight. Not when Max gave him such an easy out over breakfast. 

“I saw a flyer for a rodeo. I think it’d be kinda neat.”

It was in town for four more weeks. 

And Billy could tell the second he and Max bought tickets, he was about to be spending more time than he ever fuckin’ thought he would spend at a rodeo. 

He based that on the way Max’s eyes lit up the second she stepped inside the big fairgrounds. 

Not knowing that he was right. He was about to spend a lot of time at the rodeo. 

But not for Max. 

For himself. 

And a pretty horse rider named Steve.

He didn’t see Steve that first day. 

Was too busy shelling out his own hard-earned cash to buy Max sugary funnel cakes. Sitting next to her watching the poor suckers get bucked off their pissed-off bull. 

But when Max was in the car she turned to him, the sun setting outside, eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“Can we come back tomorrow?”

And the tickets were dirt cheap. And Billy hates being at home. 

So they did. 

And they watched the rodeo queens. 

And the team-roping. 

But it wasn’t until the calf roping that Billy felt his heart sink. 

Because he thinks Steve Harrington might be the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. 

Tall and broad, smiling like sunshine at his gorgeous black quarter horse, patting her strong neck and leading her to the entry point of the arena. 

His name was loudly announced after the event name. 

Calf roping, with our very own Steve Harrington! Steve will navigate his beautiful June into the arena, trying to rope and tie down a calf as quickly as possible!

Billy had tuned out everything but his name. 

Leaning forward on his bench seat to watch him lead June up to the starting line, give her a few more pats before swinging one leg up, heaving himself up and over her back, settling into the saddle with a grace Billy doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to describe. 

Steve appeared to shake himself out, leaning forward over June’s neck to speak quietly to the sleek horse, wiggling his hips a bit in the saddle. 

And then he sat back up, readying himself and waiting for the countdown. 

He was off like a fucking shot. 

Billy’s never seen anything fucking like it. 

June kicked up dirt as she thundered through the arena behind a small herd of a few calves, Steve ducked low against her neck as he led her forward, his lips moving as he spoke quietly to her, egging her on and forward. He was clinging to her for dear life, his legs straining as he was tossed up and down in the saddle. 

And then he let go of her reins, one hand reaching for the rope on his belt. 

And it was the most hick shit he’s ever seen. 

This flannel-wearing cowboy on his perfect fucking horse, roping a baby fucking cow. 

He slipped the knot around it from his perch on the moving horse, lassoing it easily like that was a common skill, and with a fluid practiced movement, he tossed himself off the slowing horse, getting on one knee to tip over the calf and tie it up like it was second nature. 

And maybe it was. Performing in a show like this. 

That’s all it was, a performance. Practiced and rehearsed over and over for Steve and June. 

It was over in a blink, Steve tossing his hands up to show he was finished, and the calf didn’t break its bonds. 

The whistle blew and Steve’s time was read to the arena. Nine seconds. And apparently, nine seconds was a good time, judging by the way Steve’s raised his fists in the air, and patted June’s neck so gently. 

He mounted back on his gorgeous horse as the calf he had roped was released by a few of the rodeo workers and the next guy took his position at the starting line. 

Steve did a lap around the arena of June’s back, smiling and waving to the crowd. 

And maybe Billy just has an overactive imagination. 

Maybe his stupid gay brain was looking for something not there. 

But he could’ve sworn he saw Steve grin just a little bit brighter in his direction. 

There were a few riders after him. Competing to earn a faster score on the same track. 

But Billy didn’t give a fuck about calf roping if he wasn’t watching Steve and June. 

The sun was setting as Billy finally led Max out of the fairgrounds, one hand on the top of her head, steering her towards the Camaro. 

“So, you think we can come back next weekend” Max was giving him a big shit-eating grin, powdered sugar all done her front from the final funnel cake Billy had shelled out to buy her. 

“Don’t see why not. Get’s us outta the fuckin’ house, don’t it.”

“Plus, there are lots of good-looking cowboys, just everywhere. Did you see the guy doing the cattle roping, or whatever? He was cute .” Billy rolled his eyes. Max was just touching the age when she stopped thinking of boys as gross, saw them as cute, and whatever else she said. It also made her realize that having a gay brother apparently meant talking about nothing but boys. It made Billy wanna slam his head into the steering wheel. He grunted in response as she kept going on and on about Steve. 

Like Billy didn’t see the way his thighs gripped the sides of his horse, like he didn’t watch as he hurled himself off June to tie up the fucking calf. Like he didn’t watch him take that fucking victory lap, shit-eating grin looking like home on his pretty fucking face. 

“You gotta carry your own weight, you know that, right Shitbird? I’m talking, pay for your own damn fried shit.” He bets Susan would give him money for tickets if he acts real nice this week. 

He can’t blow all his savings at the fucking rodeo of all things this summer. He’s got plans for the wad of cash burning a hole in the shoebox in the back of his closet. 

Max huffed at him. 

“What am I supposed to do? Get a job? I’m thirteen .”

“So? Babysit or some shit. Rob an ATM. Fuck if I care. Just quit stealing all ‘a my goddamn cash for your fuckin’ funnel cakes .”

“You’re just pissed off because you didn’t try one. They’re the best. You gotta have one next week.”

“I, unlike you, care about what I put in my body.”

“Yeah, because cigarettes and beer are so much better than fried dough .”

“Whatever.” The truth is, Billy’s gotta watch what he eats. Max didn’t know him when he was prepubescent and chubby. He can’t be sitting there shoving funnel cakes in his mouth and not expect it to all go to his gut. Not like her. There’s not an ounce of fucking baby fat on her. She’s positively scrawny. If anything, the funnel cake might help her out a bit. 

“Yeah, whatever .” She huffed, slumping back in her passenger seat. “But can we come back?”

“Fuck, if you keep askin’ me, the answer’s no .”

She huffed again. She does that a whole lot when they talk. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it. I saw the way you were watching Steve race. You were practically drooling .” 

Billy clenched his jaw. 

“Was not .”

“Was too .” 

And Max had a knack of leading Billy into moments like this, childish little arguments that made him feel kinda weird inside. Made him feel kinda warm at how sibling it was. Like they hadn’t been forced together just a few years ago. 

For all his bitching, he really did like the little spit. If he didn’t, he’d be a bigger asshole than she’s always accusing him of being. 

“You don’t even know what I look like when I’m really eyeing a boy, if you think that was it. Just, you know. Respected his riding.”

“ Respected his riding. Yeah ‘cause you wish he was riding-”

“Finish that sentence and I’m pushing you out of the fucking car.”

“I’m right, though.”

Billy just reached forward to turn up the radio, letting Dee Snider drown out any other awful shit Max wanted to say to him. 

Which was probably showing his hand too much. No direct answer pretty much means affirmative when it comes to Billy. And yeah, Max knows that. Judging by the way she’s cackling like a goddamn gremlin over the sound of the music. 

He just pressed his foot down further on the gas pedal, letting them fly down the highway. 

And he thought about Steve and June, thought about how fast Steve could press that girl to go. Thought about him leaning forward, flattening himself to the horse’s neck, gripping onto the reins and urging her forward, urging her faster. 

And if he thought about those strong legs wrapped around him, if he thought about what Max was about to say, Steve riding Billy like he would that fucking horse, his hips flexing as he bounces up and down, well, that’s his business. 

And the next Saturday, Susan slid him a crisp twenty-dollar bill to buy Max some lunch at the rodeo. 

They took it more seriously this time, bringing water bottles, and Max slathering thick white sunscreen on her freckled skin. 

Billy even wore shorts, some old jeans he sacrificed to the summer gods when he wore holes in the thighs and chopped pretty much in half. 

And it was kinda fun. 

He knew what to expect now. Knew the barrel racing was all women, all beautiful horses winding their way along clover-shaped tracks. He knew that the bull riding was a little more fun to watch with a shot in him, and that his fake i.d. could get him an alcohol wristband from the tent at the front.

Max sneered at him when he bought himself a beer later in the day. 

“Uh, you know you have to drive me home, right? Like, and not crash your stupid car on the way home.” 

“Fuck off. It’s one beer.”

“And also that shot earlier, and I know you have a flask.”

“Okay, what are you, the cops? I’m just tryna enjoy myself in this blistering fucking heat. I don’t exactly get my rocks off to any of this shit.” Which is a lie. He’s totally sold on every stupid fucking event at the motherfucking rodeo. 

“Fine. You wanna get stupid and drunk? Then you have to take me to the pageant. I wanna watch it.”

“Since fucking when do you give a shit about the pageant .” Max glared at him. Her nose was beginning to get red. 

Maybe if Billy were less of a shithead he would tell her to put some sunscreen on. But she was really testing his patience today. 

And then her eyes went huge, and her jaw went slack, and Billy was just about to tell her to close it and quit lookin’ like a dead fuckin’ fish when he heard someone cough slightly behind him. 

And when he turned, he almost made the exact same stupid dead fish face as Max. 

Because gorgeous cowboy Steve was standing right in front of him. In another cracker of a flannel shirt, stupid blue jeans, and fucking cowboy boots, because yeah. He’s a goddamn hick that rides a horse and ties up calves in a traveling rodeo for a fucking living. 

And God save Billy, because hot damn. 

Steve had an easy smile on his face, a little bit lopsided, and perfect white teeth showing between perfect pink lips. 

“Hey there.”

“Howdy,” Billy responded before he could stop himself, his face burning up. 

He was hoping he was already sweaty enough Steve wouldn’t notice the flush. 

But thankfully, Steve’s smile went wider, and he laughed, this gorgeous bright laugh, his head tossing back, and that thick hair flowing easily. 

He had gold streaks in his hair, lighter browns tussled within the darker colors. Billy wondered if they were natural, days spent out in the sun on his horse. Part of him hoped they weren’t. Part of him hoped that Steve was that intentional with himself and his goddamn hair. 

He smiled at Billy. 

“I’m Steve.”

“We saw you. Last weekend,” Max blurted out before Billy could kick her. She looked shocked that she had even spoken when Billy turned to give her a death glare. But Steve just laughed his gorgeous laugh again. 

“And what’d you think?”

“She wouldn’t shut up about you on the way home.” And Steve was back to looking at Billy, and his eyes are so fucking big, like, who’s eyes are just. Like that. Just fuckin’. Big. 

“And what about you, uh-”

“Billy. And this is Max. My sister.”

“Well, Billy,” and fuck Billy nearly creamed himself at the sound of Steve saying his name. “Did you like my display of talents ?”

“Could say so. I don’t give too many shits about all this hick farm stuff. But I can respect it.”

“Well, that’s alright then.” And Steve reached out to pat Billy once on the shoulder. “I hope I see y’all around. I gotta head off, June needs some TLC before our time.” He smiled at Max, and her already red face flushed deeper, almost blending into the roots of her flaming hair. 

And then he doubled back. 

“You know what, I forgot why I came over here in the first place.” He was digging through his jeans, rummaging around in his back pockets. 

Billy wanted to slide his hands in there, cop a feel while he helped Steve look for whatever he was going to offer Billy. 

And then Steve brought out two white wristbands. 

“They’re for, uh, VIP seating and stuff. If you’re interested. Gets you closer to the arena. That way I can just see what you look like after I’m comin’ off a ride.”

Hoo boy. 

This little cowboy has some fucking charm. 

And he knows it too, judging by his smug little half-smile he gave Billy while he fastened the wristband around his wrist. 

He helped Max with hers, doing it faster than he had Billy’s, and with a lot less eye contact, which was a good sign. He’s not perving on his twelve-year-old sister. Which is cool. 

And then he was looking back at Billy, and brushing his long fingers over the tops of Billy’s shoulders, his arms out in his shirt, the arms torn off an old Aerosmith t-shirt he found at the Goodwill last year. 

“You should reapply sunblock. Don’t want you burning now.” And Billy’s sure if Steve was wearing a Stetson, he woulda tipped it at them. “Enjoy the pageant.”

And he was off, and Christ, those jeans. How did Steve even successfully ride his horse in those things? They were so tight, showed off his nice peachy ass as he walked through the fairgrounds. 

“Wow,” Max said. And yeah, Billy felt the same. 

“In case it wasn’t clear, based on the way he was flirting with me, and also that he’s way too old for you, but, uh, dibs .”

“Billy, you can’t just call dibs on a person.” Billy just laughed. 

He knows that his twelve-year-old fucking sister doesn’t have a shot in Hell with Steve. Really, he doubts he even has a shot in Hell with Steve, but he also likes to spend his time making her life as difficult as possible without actually being a shitty person. So, he just riles her up. Says shit that’ll get her going. He wouldn’t be doing his brotherly duties if he didn’t say that shit. 

Max calls it even by kicking him in the shin twice and making him watch the stupid beauty pageant. 

Which, like, why the fuck are there beauty pageants at the rodeo anyway? 

Turns out it wasn’t pageant at all, but the four previous Miss Rodeo’s all lined up and looking far too glammed out for this fucking heat. 

Max faked being disgruntled by the disappointment, but Billy knows, somewhere inside that tough bitch little soul of hers, she’s glad she didn’t have to sit through a goddamn pageant just to make Billy miserable. 

Besides, Billy had whipped out his flask a few times, and he was feeling alright. Just buzzed enough that the heat had stopped making him feel quite so disgusting. 

But not too drunk to miss calf roping. 

And yeah, maybe it was a little bit lame to make their way over to the VIP seating earlier enough that they scored the front row. But when Steve came trotting out, leading June behind him, Billy was close enough he could pick out the cluster of moles on Steve’s left cheek. 

So, lame was not in Billy’s vocabulary today. 

It was pretty much the same thing as last week. Steve made everyone in the arena ooh and aah with his riding, tied up the calf in less than ten seconds once again. 

But this time, when he took that jaunty little lap around the small arena, Billy knows for a fact Steve grinned at him. Knows his stupid gay brain wasn’t making up the wink he tossed effortlessly in Billy’s direction. 

And they left, just like last weekend, as the sun was beginning to sink below the horizon. 

“Just, c’mon. Mom gave you money .” Max was whining for a corn dog, of all things. When they have perfectly good, not fried food, at home. 

“Maxine, I swear to Christ, I’m fucking tired. Let’s go home so I can crash, and you can fucking drive Susan up the goddamn wall with your whining.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t seem too bad.” And Billy felt his insides curdling at that voice, felt himself wilting and shriveling because he would not be getting out of this day without one final, no doubt embarrassing, encounter with his gorgeous cowboy. 

Steve was leaning against a booth selling chili fries, looking like a perfect picture of a Clint Eastwood movie. 

Billy had never liked westerns. 

But he was gonna go home and spend all night watching every one he could get his grubby little hands on. 

Steve pushed off the side of the booth as Max found her words again. 

“You don’t have to live with him.”

“And you don’t have to live with my folks. I’d trade you any day.” 

And Billy nearly died. Right there. On the spot. Because. Holy shit. I’d trade you any day. 

Billy was more than happy to follow this fucking hick around America, watch him ride his pretty horse before fucking him against the stable wall. 

Or whatever. Do they have stables? Billy doesn’t know how a traveling rodeo works. 

But like, they’ve gotta have stables, right?

“Nah, you’d get sick of him. He stinks.”

“Have you ever smelled horse shit? Because that’s the fragrance I wake up to every morning.”

And Max was laughing, and Steve was laughing, and Billy was trying to keep his hands as casually as possible in front of his slight chub. 

“Will I get the privilege of seeing you two again?” And what a way to word it? The privilege. And then Steve was looking Billy up and down, and he was biting that perfect bottom lip and opening his mouth and “I could always give you my phone number. So we can. Meet up. Next time you’re here.”

“‘Course. You can give us the grand tour.”

And Steve was digging in those tight back pockets again, and shoving his phone into Billy’s hand, and he doesn’t have a passcode, but his home screen was a picture of him and his fucking horse which is, just about the sweetest thing Billy’s ever seen. 

And Billy put himself in as Billy Hargrove , and then panicked because Steve doesn’t know his fucking last name. So he settled for Billy and then for good measure shoved San Diego after it because. Billy’s a common name, okay?

And Steve took his non-password protected fuckin’ horse girl phone, and Billy was giving him as charming a smile as he could muster with sweat on his upper lip and saying-

“You better text me, Pretty Boy. So I can save your number.” Billy shrugged, looking off to his left to try and seem. Nonchalant. “In case I wanna see you again.” 

And Max was rolling her eyes, but she wasn’t stopping away. Wasn’t even whining at Billy, no doubt on her best behavior in front of hot cowboy Steve. 

But Steve had a glint in his eye, and if Max wasn’t here Billy would be playing this all different, laying on the charm a lot thicker than he was. 

But he can’t be a horny bastard in front of her. That’s just, like, gross. 

So he settles for making a real show of licking his bottom lip, and maybe flexing his bare arms just a tiny bit. 

“We should probably get goin’. Got a curfew for this one,” Billy jerked his head in Max’s direction. She huffed before she could stop herself. “See you around, Cowboy Steve.”

And Steve gave another one of his pretty ringing laughs. 

“Come again soon, Billy and Max.” And again, Billy’s sure that if Steve were wearing a hat, he would’ve flicked the brim at them as he set off back into the rodeo, dodgin off the main thoroughfare. 

“Wow. That was embarrassing for you.” 

Billy whipped his head around to stare at Max, giving her the most disgusted look he could muster. 

“The fuck you mean?”

“You were so obvious.”

“That’s the fucking point . We were flirting. It’s supposed to be obvious, you demon.” Billy shoved her once before stomping in the direction of the parking lot. 

“Yeah but you were like, making these faces at him.”

“Shut the fuck up. I know what I was doing, okay? It was all very calculated . Let him know I’m down for it, and if he texts, then I’m good to go. If not, then I move on.”

And the thought of Steve not texting was kinda, disappointing. Because Billy really wanted him to text. He wanted to stay up late giggling at his phone and the dumb things Steve texts him and pretend they don’t make him flush like a fucking school girl. 

He pointedly didn’t look at his notification when he reached the car, just shoved an old tape in and turned up Black Sabbath when Max wrinkled her nose at it. 

They were both quiet on the drive back home. Something heavy unsaid between them. 

And only as Billy was pulling into his spot in the driveway did Max suck in a big breath to actually put it out there. 

“I won’t tell. About him. Not even Mom. Not even that I think he’s cool.”

“Thanks. Easier just to. Avoid at all costs.” 

And if Billy were a better person, maybe he would hug her or something. 

But they don’t do that. Instead he sighed and didn’t hip check her violently off the porch like his instincts were telling him. So really, he’s a fucking saint. 

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Persephone's Symphony | Night One | Persephone

Hey lovelies, here's the next part. It's a little longer-- I got carried which, if you know me and my work, tends to happen frequently. I do hope you all enjoy and thank you so much to everyone who has sent me kind words and thoughts and ahhhh thank you!! I am forever grateful. Now, without further adieu...

Synopsis: In which he is the bad one— the dangerous one, the clunky one, the one who only knows how to break things— and she is the good one— the fragile one, the soft one, the one who knows how to put things back together— and he has to keep her alive long enough for anyone else— anyone who can do more than kill— to save her like she deserves to be saved— to save her from him. There are no pomegranates, no three headed dogs, and no requirement to stay— that is, if they don’t count an assassin on the loose out for her neck. In that case, three days in a safe house doesn’t feel like a long time— just long enough for Persephone and Hades to remember why opposites attract.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (third person)

Warnings: meh some angst, some talk of death-- the normal for this series

Word count: 5.2k (omg)

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Master List

The rest of the day goes smoothly. Well, as smoothly as a day can go when there’s someone out there trying to kill you. Maybe smooth is the wrong word. For dinner she pops a frozen pizza in the oven— she’s already used up her quota for homestyle cooking on the grilled cheese and, besides, Bucky doesn’t seem to mind. If he does then he doesn’t say anything about it, at least. He pounds back five slices— she really doubts he hates it that much. She eats three. Had it just been her she would have eaten one— maybe. She doesn’t have the energy these days to eat more than that. It’s a paradox, one that has her going to bed tired and waking up exhausted most days.

Something is different with him though. She wants to eat more because it means that she gets to sit a little longer at the creaky wooden table and pretend to be normal. She never thought feeling normal would mean eating cheap pizza with her bodyguard in a safe house but, well, they say normal is relative, right? Usually she eats in the dark, under the glow of whatever movie she deems fit to fill the silence that night. Sitting across from him makes her feel like she has some semblance of her old life back. Like she has a life at all— even if he’s being paid to sit there and listen to her prattle on about nothing.

After dinner is a little more awkward. She spends the next two hours milling about, pretending to read this book of dogs she had found earlier on the coffee table. She had always wanted a dog when she was younger, one of those huge great danes, charcoal black and big enough to snuggle with. The kind that would keep her safe and follow her everywhere she goes. There’s one just like she had always imagined on page one hundred and nine. Sleek and beautiful and huge. That’s probably why she keeps going back to the book.

All she really does is look at the pictures, not that she would tell him that. She can see him glancing at her every so often and she would like to keep her guise of being smart up for as long as possible. She wasn’t lying when she told him that she was the top of her class— she was, and valedictorian too. She is smart. Well, smart when it comes to technology at least. The rest is debatable. Her mother used to tell her that she’s book smart— that if she were kidnapped and dropped off in the middle of nowhere she would be screwed.

If only her mother could see her now— could see that she’s holding up.

You know, if holding up means wanting to scream and cry and throw this stupid Big Book of Dogs against the wall because she can’t scream and cry. She’s holding up on the outside— that’s what matters. If everyday is as bearable as this one then she’ll be able to do all three before she knows it. She’ll be able to sit in the dark, spoon in one hand, Chunky Monkey in the other, and throw whatever the fuck she wants at the wall. For now, though, she just has to look at the pictures of the great dane and swallow her screams like they’re ice cream.

Eventually she stands, shifting on her feet, trying not to cringe when the boards squeak under her. It doesn’t make his head turn and look at her— how can it when his stare has been burning into her since before she stood up? She doesn’t really know what to say— it’s nine-thirty and she could sit there for another two hours— two or three or seven, what’s the difference?— but there’s no point in pushing the inevitable. Eventually she is going to have to get ready for bed and then, by default, actually go to bed.

How is that going to work?

A picture of her laying next to him pops into her mind, one where her limbs are curled tight against her chest, her legs ramrod straight, afraid to even do so much as breathe. Not out of fear that he’d hurt her or anything like that, though. Out of fear that she’d embarrass herself is more accurate. That she would wake up— if she even slept at all— with her body sprawled on top of his like the protagonists in one of her cheesy, unrealistic rom-coms. This isn’t a movie— she doesn’t want it to be. If this is her life’s movie then she wants to have a word with the director. She wants out. This isn’t the script she agreed to.

She doesn’t know what to say so she doesn’t say anything, only gathers her bag from where she stashed it next to the couch. A threadbare messenger bag big enough for a few pairs of leggings, her older brother’s Dodgers t-shirt, and some toiletries. She slings it over her shoulder, acutely aware of the fact that his gaze never leaves her, watching as she straightens and turns, meeting his icy blue eyes without so much as a hint of shame forming in them. Why should he be ashamed? It’s his job— he’s being paid to stare. That’s what she tells herself. It doesn’t make her feel any less exposed— any less seen.

For a moment she just looks at him— like really, truly looks at him. Sure, she’s been with him for roughly twelve hours now. Theoretically she’s had plenty of time to look at him. And of course she has— there’s no way she could have avoided it even if she wanted to. She has looked at him just not like this. Not the details. The facts. That’s what this is— a fact finding mission. Yeah, that sounds right— that’s what she’ll say if he asks, at least.

She takes in his face first, craning her neck slightly to do so. Slightly means far enough that your head touches your shoulders now. She ticks things off in her head as goes— bronzed skin, strong jaw, straight nose. She finds it hard to believe that his nose has never been broken. She drops lower— pink lips, the bottom one fuller. She doesn’t linger there despite the ache that grows in her throat. When was the last time she kissed a man? Too long ago.

She continues on her mission before she has time to stop and think about what it means to stare at her bodyguard’s lips and think about kissing. Absolutely nothing good, that’s what. She tries to distract herself with his broad shoulders and the way his henley stretches at the seams, scrounging for any and every ounce of space. For a moment it works. She starts thinking about the kind of regime one would have to undergo in order to get to his size, then about where he has to buy his clothes, before finally landing on what it would feel like to slip her arms into his shirt and to be totally engulfed—

Nope— she flicks her eyes even further down, skimming over something that, though she’s been looking at it for the better half of all day, she still can’t wrap her head around. His hand. His metal hand. She can feel his stare turn to lead on her forehead— feel him waiting for her to ask.

She’s not going to.

Not because she doesn’t want to know the story. Of course she wants to know! Her whole life is— or at least was— technology. She wants to know why he needs it, who made it, what it’s made of, if it’s connected to his nervous system, if it’s— the idea is there. She’s curious— she’s a scientist. Just like it’s his job to keep her alive, it’s her job to be enthralled by innovation.

That doesn’t mean she’s going to ask though. She likes him too much to do that. He’s nice enough to her and he doesn’t treat her like the little orphan girl that everyone else does. He doesn’t tiptoe around her— not that he could. He’s too big for that. He just doesn’t treat her like a freak, so she won’t treat him like an experiment.

And, of course, he’s a human being not a machine. That’s probably more important. She likes him and he’s a human. Priorities or whatever.

She meets his gaze again, watching him watch her, her face setting on fire. “Bedtime?”

What the fuck is wrong with you, y/n?

He presses his lips together, holding her stare for a beat before shrugging his shoulders, giving the henley a run for its money. “Bedtime.”

She turns at that, scampering up the stairs, listening to the thumping of his boots against the hardwood. It’s not a race but it’s also not not a race— she wants to get to the bathroom before he can so she can lock the door. She needs five minutes. That’s it. Just five minutes. Maybe it is a race.

“Hey— shit— wait!” She doesn’t, she only pumps her legs harder, almost slipping as she bolts into the bathroom, slamming the door and clicking the lock shut.

He really thought she wasn’t going to try that, huh? She learned her lesson this afternoon— the man takes his job very seriously.

The knob jiggles and she sticks her tongue out at it, finally in a space where she can let her bones relax. For the first time all day it feels like her skin isn’t on fire. It’s weird— she almost misses it. The door handle jiggles harder. Almost.

Five minutes, that’s all she needs.

His voice cuts through the door and she almost groans out loud. “You know I’m supposed to—”

“I know—” she starts pulling things out of her bag, hastily dropping what she doesn’t need and gathering what she does onto the vinyl countertop, very much aware of the ticking clock— “but the window in here isn’t even big enough for me to crawl out of so I think I can brush my teeth, yeah?”

She can practically feel the stress rolling off him, seeping under the crack between the door and the tiled floor. Half of her feels guilty but the other half couldn’t care less— she’s a grown ass woman and she will use the toilet without help.

She hears him let out a loud sigh and practically jumps in excitement— she won. “Fine— you get ten minutes, got it? Ten minutes and then I break this door down.”

“Aye-aye, captain.” Thank gods he can’t see her right now or she would most definitely melt through the ground.

“You’re down to seven now.”

She shakes her head at her reflection, scrunching her nose and rolling her eyes at herself— “That’s fair.”

She hurries to slather some toothpaste on her brush, plopping it into her mouth as she shimmies out of her daytime leggings and into her nighttime ones. A fashion icon. She somehow also manages to take her dad’s hoodie off, avoiding the toothbrush and replacing the tank top underneath with a fresh one from her bag. Take that, Barnes.

She scrubs at her teeth, simultaneously digging through her pile of things for the deodorant she knows is in there. She finds it after a moment, rinsing her mouth and running the bar one too many times over her armpits— there’s absolutely no way she’s about to go into that bedroom with even the slight possibility of smelling bad. Especially when she still doesn’t know the sleeping arrangements.

She swipes her things back into her bag, shoving them in roughly, not noticing the hairbrush teetering precariously on the edge of the counter. It’s like it’s taunting her, just waiting to get her in trouble. That’s exactly what it does, too— just as her eyes meet the sinister blue plastic it’s too late, the brush already hurtling off the edge and crashing against the floor. Of course it has to hit the tiles head on and miss the hoodie by an inch. Time freezes for a moment when she hears the clang— well, there go the last three minutes of solitude.

She scrambles back just as the door slams open, fully expecting it but not any less startled, the area where the lock would be splintering into a million tiny pieces of wood— of dust— he pulverized the door! Her heart pounds furiously as Bucky surges forward, his jean clad legs pressing against her exposed shoulder, his body rigid as he does a full circle of the tiny bathroom, yanking back the shower curtain as if an assassin would really think that is the best hiding place. God she’s so fucking mortified.

He doesn’t move away from her when he finally looks down, his dark eyebrows drawn into a tight line, chest heaving so hard she wonders if the material is going to split right down the middle. His leg against her is hot, even through the material. Almost as hot as her face— face, neck, shoulders, toes.

“What happened?”

She meekly holds up the blue plastic brush, squeezing her eyes shut. “He just snuck up on me Bucky— I thought I was a goner.”

She cracks an eye open to his clenched jaw, his still heaving chest now much lower— closer. He takes the brush from her hand, setting it on the counter before offering his own hand— the flesh hand— out to her. She takes it, letting him effortlessly pull her body from the ground without so much as even a grunt. Before she knows it she’s eye level with the buttons on his shirt, leaning all the way back in order to meet his simmering crystal eyes.

“We’re not doing that again.” We’re. As in both of them— a team.

She tries to keep from trembling at his deep voice. It doesn’t work. He notices— of course he notices— and takes a step back. She doesn’t have the heart— or the gall— to tell him that she’s not shaking because she’s afraid of him.

“It was a hairbrush.” She sighs, curling her arms around her chest, suddenly feeling more exposed than ever under the surprisingly bright fluorescents.

Of course now, when she’s standing in a flimsy tank top, is the one time the lights aren’t dimmed.

He doesn’t back down, seething his words between his teeth. “This time— this time it was a hairbrush.”

She shakes her head, dropping her eyes and bending to scoop up her hoodie— she doesn’t want to see him angry at her. It makes her feel guilty; like her her chest is caving in on itself. She doesn’t need that on top of everything else.

“Fine, whatever.” She grabs her bag, brushing by him.

She knows that she’s being childish. She isn’t an idiot, contrary to what her mind likes to tell her. She’s just exhausted. Exhausted of having to always look over her shoulder, exhausted of wondering who’s going to die next— if she’s going to die next, exhausted of having to actively try to stay alive. She’s just exhausted in general. She doesn’t want to die but, gods, if she isn’t so damn tired of having to think about it. Aren’t you supposed to just live? Not think about living?

She pushes open the door to the bedroom, dumping her bag next to the cedar chest at the end of the bed, refusing to turn around when she hears his footsteps— much quieter than she’s yet to hear them— enter behind her. She crosses her arms again, digging her fingers into the flesh hard enough to give herself something to focus on other than how much she wants to rip every strand of hair from her head. Her eyes wander over the olive duvet, noting how the color makes the black iron frame pop in contrast. Maybe she should change up her bedroom back home.

She bites her lip— she’s stalling. It’s a queen sized bed, more than big enough for both of them. Maybe she should offer it to him. There’s barely any room on the floor to sprawl out, only a small space either next to the dresser beside the bed or in front of the chest. Either way he would probably have to lay as stiff as possible to avoid bumping his limbs. The right thing to do would be to offer it to him— to take the floor.

She listens as he takes a step, the air behind her shifting, and she tenses. “Look, I think we should talk—”

“Do you want the bed?” She tries to keep her tone balanced— to keep from hurling the words at him like daggers. Or like hair brushes.

“I’m serious, I’m sor—”

She whirls around, her hair flying around her face, features schooled but tone edging closer towards being unhinged— she just needs to sleep. “Do you want the bed?”

She doesn’t meet his eyes— she’s tired of that game, it's time to start a new one. This one’s called how long can y/n stare at the buttons on his henley until before she sets them on fire out of sheer willpower. His chest deflates, his hands twitching at his sides before curling and slipping behind his back. He’s looking at her— of course he is. It’s all he does. It’s his job.

“You take it.” He says it so quietly she barely hears it, his tone the picture of resignation. It doesn’t make her feel good— she didn’t think it would though.

His stare never leaves her. She’s still not looking at him but she can tell. It makes her skin burn from her ears all the way down to her chest, her skin prickling like she's being prodded by a thousand mini suns. She feels like she’s in the desert and she forgot to put sunscreen on. Is this what flowers feel like? Does the sun beat down so relentlessly on them that they feel like they’re being set on fire? As relentlessly as he watches her?

It’s his job, it’s his job, it’s his job.

“Okay.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She lays in bed for three hours, eyes wide open and body pin straight. The room is pitch black, spare a hint of light pouring in from under the door. It shines a stripe onto the olive duvet, one that she just barely flicks her wrist back and forth through. Not enough to ruffle the loud blanket— which for the record crinkles louder than a chip bag when she moves even an inch underneath it— but enough to watch the light dance over her skin and keep her from going completely mad. She feels like a cat chasing a laser— entirely moronic but strangely entertained. Alas, all good things must come to an end.

By the time the fourth hour rolls around she is beyond restless. The strip of light got old a half hour ago— which, granted, kept her entertained for far longer than she would be willing to admit but still. Now she wants to move. She needs to move. If she were home she would still be awake. The digital clock beside the bed flashes one-thirty, scarlet red and glaring at her. It’s not even close to the ungodly hour in which she usually crawls into her bed, pulling the blanket over her head and praying for the sun to magically disappear. Not even close.

She can practically hear Lindsy Lohan calling her name— it’s Wednesday, y/n. On Wednesdays we wear pink. Yeah, she knows Lindsy! Unfortunately the big man on the floor doesn’t know that. Usually her Wednesday's aren’t so blocked— is it even Wednesday? It doesn’t matter. She just wants to watch Mean Girls now— with or without the Chunky Monkey.

She waits another ten minutes, mulling the idea over as the anticipation steadily grows in her stomach, churning her organs into soup over the idea of having to tiptoe past her sleeping bodyguard. She holds her breath a few times, making sure his breathing is even and calm. Making sure that he’s asleep. Each time his breaths are the same, gentle, even hiss of air. In, out, pause. In, out, pause. Over and over and over again. For a moment she debates staying and just listening to him breathe for the rest of the night. But no— that’s creepy and she’s sure that she can be in and out without him waking up in the hour and thirty-seven minutes it takes to watch the movie.

Yes she counted and every minute is worth the risk— she’s doing it!

She takes a deep breath, sliding as silently as she can under the covers. Each movement feels magnified— like someone is holding a microphone to her limbs. She just prays that the microphone isn’t connected to his ears. What are the odds that he’s a heavy sleeper? Nevermind, she doesn’t want to know.

After what feels like an eternity of inching her way to the edge of the bed her foot finally shoots over the edge, greeting the chilly air and sending a jolt racing up her spine. She’s really doing it. She slips the other out next, rising onto her elbows and holding the position. She can’t see her legs— hell, she can’t see her hand two feet in front of her face— but she can feel the space depleting as she slips off the mattress. Biting back a hiss as her toes brace against the hardwood, she just barely stops herself from hopping up and down. If she were home she would amp up the theatrics, maybe throw in a squeal for good measure— forget technology, being a drama queen is her true calling.

Just not when there’s a man who she needs to stay asleep laying a few feet away from her.

She shuffles blindly forward, trying to remember where she saw him lay down before she turned off the lamp. That was four hours ago though and she’s starting to think that all that time playing with the crack of light has fried her brain. She thinks he’s near the chest but she can’t be sure.

She could swear—she could drop the loudest f-bomb this planet has ever known. She would, too, if she knew it wouldn’t wake him up. All she wants to do is watch some petty, pretty girls fight over a mediocre brunette. Is that really too much to ask for?

No— the answer is no. So she does what any self respecting woman would do in that situation and she wings it. She guesses. That’s respectable, right? Right. She takes each step with care, searching for any warm spots that might give her a hint as to where he is, all the while chasing after that little crack of light like it’s heaven. Because that’s what it is— a haven from having to lay alone with her thoughts all night.

As was to be expected sooner rather than later, her toes brush against a rather hot patch of wood and she freezes. He’s here— somewhere— she just has no idea where here is. She squints, searching for even a hint of the man. When she comes away with nothing, the scream— the one that’s never quite gone, always just simmering in the back of her throat— surges. She has to swallow— swallow, gag, same thing— in order to keep from foiling her own plan.

She brushes her foot forward. Slowly. Painfully, excruciatingly slowly. When her toes brush against the folds of a blanket she gasps. It slips out before she can stop it and she plasters a hand over her mouth as soon as it happens, praying that it isn’t too late— that there’s still a chance she can make it.

She hears Bucky shift on the ground, holding her breath, her toes a mere foot away from the soldier. She counts in her head— one, two, three, oh fuck is he moving, four— before taking another step. Repeating the process, it takes four rounds of this little tip toe game until her hands finally land against the door frame, searching through the darkness until her fingers curl around the knob. Mean Girls here she comes.

“Where ya’ going?” Bucky’s voice cuts through the night easily, rich and deep and cruel.

There isn’t even a hint of sleep in his tone— he was awake the entire time. Her face flushes, her neck searing hot. She can almost hear her skin crackling where the straps of her tank top touch her. She should have known he wouldn’t be a deep sleeper— or sleeping at all, apparently. Damnit.

“I, ah, was just going to the bathroom?” Really? The bathroom?

She has never been so thankful for the dark than she is in this moment, if only because he can’t see the way she rolls her eyes at her own stupidity and scrunches her entire face up. She can’t scream— that idea’s already been scrapped— so it’s the next best thing. That doesn’t stop her throat from bubbling though, the frustration knocking on her windpipe like the friendly neighbour back for even more sugar.

“You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” She swears for a moment she can hear a hint of laughter in his voice, just enough to make the accusation bearable.

She whirls around, hands glued to her hips and trying not to slam her foot down like an insolent toddler. Something hot flares up in her chest— something which she hasn’t felt in ages. Anger. It makes her want to smack him. She wouldn’t, of course, but she wants to— she wants to wipe the smirk out of his words. She wants to more than she’s wanted to do anything in a very long time.

“What do you want me to say then, hmm?”

She can just make out the way Bucky pushes himself up, his shadowy figure now taking up more space. Taking up space in general— of course now she can see him. If she were closer to him she is sure his head would sit above her belly button, right under her brea— stop that, y/n!

“How ‘bout the truth?” God she can still hear that insufferable smirk.

“That was the truth.”

“It wasn’t.”

His breath comes in hot puffs against her stomach— he’s closer than she thought. She doesn’t realize her tank top has ridden up until his face is inches away from her exposed skin. She tries not to shudder as she yanks the material back down her abdomen. Traitorous body!

She wants to rip her hair out— again. “Yes, it was—”

He’s standing now, pushing his way towards her in the dark until she can feel the heat rolling off his body, face to face with a hulking chest. “Just tell me what you want so we can do it, alright?”

There it is again— we.

She can’t breathe. This seems to be becoming a trend— her not being able to breathe when he’s around her. This time it’s her fault though. She squishes her eyes closed, taking a moment to pull in some much needed air. It does little to help her— it smells like nutmeg and cinnamon. She has no idea how he manages to smell like a bakery— or how she hasn’t noticed until now, when she needs more than anything to pull away from the warmth and not fall deeper into it. Unprofessional, y/n— you’re supposed to be the grieving daughter.

She takes another moment, ignoring how he shifts on his feet, clearly becoming impatient, before finally whispering— “I wanted to watch a movie.”

A pause— a long one— before a soft ‘okay’.

For a moment she thinks she hears him wrong— no way the giant soldier is down for movie night with her. Shouldn’t he be telling her to go back to bed? Telling her that it isn’t in his job description to babysit her— to keep her entertained? Surely he doesn’t actually want to watch a movie.

“You don’t have to—”

“Actually, I do.” Oh yeah. He has to follow her wherever she goes. She almost forgot that she might die.

Die for what— wanting to watch a god damn movie?

“Forget it— it was stupid.”

She goes to brush past him, tucking her shoulders up and into her neck, trying to put some space between them as she tucks tail and slips back towards the bed. Talk about a busted ego.

A hand curls around her forearm, halting her retreat. “Let’s watch a movie— can’t sleep anyway.”

She swallows thickly. If she were to turn her cheek a few inches she is sure it would brush against his shoulder.

“Are you sure?”

“‘Course I am.”

She nods— she knows he can’t see her but she doesn’t trust her voice— and that’s how she ends up watching Mean Girls with a man large enough to rip her in half with his bare hands. A few times she glances over at him, searching through the glow of the TV to the other side of the supple leather couch where his gaze remains locked on the screen. She’s even sure she hears a few breathy laughs— like he’s trying not to laugh but he can’t help it.

The big bad bodyguard likes chick flicks.

About halfway through something unexpected happens— her eyelids begin to heavy. It’s stange, the clock on the wall reads only slightly past two in the morning. She never sleeps before six. Regardless, though, she curls her legs into her body, tucking them under the hoodie she had replaced before leaving the room. Her head slopes against the arm of the couch, eyes fluttering a few times before dropping shut. She’s not going to sleep, obviously— just resting her eyes.

She feels something heavy pool on her lap and the faintest wisps of fingers— some warm and some cold— adjusting the new weight. It brushes against her shin— a blanket. He put a blanket on her. She pulls it closer, dragging it over her cheek, trying her best to stave off the sleep tugging at her limbs. Maybe a conversation will help. There are a few things she’s been meaning to tell him.

“I didn’t mind it.” She whispers it but she’s sure he can hear her over the all but muted TV.

The couch cushions shift, sinking for a moment before stilling. She can picture him facing her now, his head tilted, blue eyes serious. Always on alert, always ready to defend.

“What?” He even sounds defensive— like he’s waiting for her to drop a bomb on him.

Silly man, can’t you see that she can barely even force the last word out of her mouth with how tired she is?

“Doll. I—” she yawns, pulling her limbs closer to her, tucking a hand under her head— “I didn’t mind it.”

He doesn’t say anything right away. If it were daytime she’s sure she would have cared but for now she’s okay not feeling any of the prescribed embarrassment.

“Oh.”

She doesn’t say anything else, only snuggles deeper into the arm of the couch. It must be the exhaustion talking— that’s what she’ll tell herself tomorrow anyway when she’s forced to confront this conversation again. For now she just gives in, letting herself fall into the darkness without fear for what feels like the first time in months.

_________________

Tag List: @xhollycowx @remembered-license @dumble-daddy @hellotvshowtrash @thesummerbucky @elijahs-wife @cari1bunny @im-just-star-dust

[narrators-journal]

Months of tolerance

So, I was looking back at my ranpoe valentines story and I got an idea. Why not write a little collection? A little trio or so of Valentines-themed sort of ship stories?

And so, I wrote a second one for Shin-soukoku! Though, please be forgiving, I’m not a super big fan of Atsushi, so I don’t have a lot of ideas and experience on how he works and behaves, so I kinda took inspiration from the rp me and my friend did for BSD and their sort of rendition of Atsushi mixed with canon.

Atsushi had never really experienced Valentines day or White day, so when Dazai offered to take him out on one of his days off and introduce him to the basics of the event he accepted it. He was quick to find it to be a bit depressing.            “Dazai, I don't think I have any real...reason to be here," The tiger sighed, putting down one of the little Valentines bears he'd been looking at in the shop and looking over at the bandage-clad brunette that was to be his mentor in the ADA. The rail of a man just pouted at him,            "Nonsense, Atsushi! You're learning about romance," he assured, giving the white-haired man a sweet smile, which made Atsushi grimace,            "Yeah, but this holiday is obviously for couples, and I don't have any romantic partner of any sort," He pointed out, a stone of loneliness settling in the bottom of his stomach as he spoke, but his mentor simply snorted as if that point was moot.            "Sushi, you don't need a romantic partner to celebrate Valentines day, you can just as easily get gifts for friends. After all, I don't have a partner but I'm gonna get a gift for someone." He assured, and while the tiger was still a bit unsure, he just nodded.

After that, he just went back to milling around up and down the aisle as he poked at the little toys, knick knacks, or sweets scattered about until Dazai clapped his hands together in an idea,          "Atsushi! I have an idea for what you can do on Valentines day!" he chirped, bouncing on his feet in some childish, giddy high, "Why not get a gift for Ryuunosuke!" The tiger blinked and scowled at the idea,          "Why the hell would I do that? I don't have any sort of feelings for him," he about spat, almost feeling his lip curl in a snarl at the mere mention of the wheezing, gothic, Dazai fanboy. However, the brunette simply rolled his eyes at his venom,          "There is a very common phrase, 'kill your enemies with kindness', you ever hear it?" before the weretiger could answer, he continued, "Akutagawa doesn't like you. At all. Hates your guts. But! If you get him a gift, maybe be as friendly as you can be, you can get him to warm up to you!" the weretiger's scowl only deepened, which made his mentor huff and drop the excited, bubbly tone, "If you get him to like you, you won't have to spend quite as much on shirts every week." Atsushi ended up buying a cheap little gift for the goth. However, that now left him with a question. How was he to get the cheap plush cat to Akutagawa? He'd been pondering the question all through out the three days that led up to Valentines day, going back and forth on whether or not he should even bother with Dazai's stupid idea. Is it really worth risking getting stabbed again? Just to give this cheap little thing to a bastard like Akutagawa? He thought bitterly, though his cheeks burned a slight pink while he glared down at the floppy little beanie baby cat that was sprawled out on his meager little coffee table, staring up at the tiger with glassy amber eyes while he sat on his couch the evening before Valentines day. I'd sooner drink my own piss then give Akutagawa a Valentines gift. He told himself firmly, getting up from his couch and plucking the toy from the cheap table to get rid of it. To do this, he threw it out of his livingroom window into the darkness of the cold night and listened to it land in the dumpster across the street with a soft thud thanks to how hard he'd thrown it. And, with that, he shut his window with a decisive 'humph' and went to bed. Dazai was a smart man, but Atsushi was not going to have conflicting and confusing feelings plague him just to placate a violent asshole with a hateboner for him. An hour later, the tiger went out to the dumpster he'd heard the cat slam against and dug the poor thing out to be washed. Not that the weretiger had changed his mind or anything, he'd just spent money on the derpy little toy, he didn't want to waste it. Or, so he told himself. So, he instead returned it to his bedside table after washing it a few times, trying to see if he could somehow rub the new crack out of his amber eye while doing his best to get the dumpster stench out of its fur. If he really was going to 'kill Akutagawa with kindness' like Dazai said, the least he could do was make sure the gift didn't reek of three day old take out and dog vomit. When the next day came, he took the toy to work, then walked home with it draped over his arm after a day of dealing with petty couple squabbles that had turned nasty, or helping Ranpo to and from the smattering of robberies he'd been requested on. Y'know, this just proves why I should've kept this thing in the garbage, he fumed to himself, staring at the sidewalk ahead of him so he didn't see even more lovey-dovey couples for the day, If I gave this to Akutagawa somehow, all that would happen is I'd be a statistic. Nothing more. He hates me too much, it'd probably off- Atsushi's ill-tempered thoughts were cut short when he ran into someone else on the sidewalk, sending them both sprawling to the pavement.           "O-oh my god! I'm so sorry, are you hurt miss?!" The weretiger squeaked, hopping up to his feet at record speeds to offer a hand to the pretty lady in white. She had long black hair, and a familiar style of dress on, but it was her light, steel-colored eyes that finally got her face to click in the frazzled tiger's irrational mind.          "Oh!...Gin, right?" he asked as she took his hand and let him help her up while she nodded,          "Sorry, I didn't mean to run you over," she said, her voice as quiet as the first time he'd met her with Katai and Kunikida, but her words shot a nebulous sort of anxiety into his veins,         "Oh, no no no, it was my fault, I wasn't looking where I-I was going," he stammered, trying desperately to comfort her as he reached to dust her off, but then changed his mind half way, doing that would be super weird, so he instead tried to think up another way to make up for running into her. He felt awful for knocking her over, but had no clue what to do, so he just ended up putting a hand over his anxious heart and staying quiet. Gin, meanwhile, had spotted the saggy stuffed toy on the sidewalk,           "Um, is that yours?" She asked, picking it up and dusting the little thing off gently, snapping Atsushi out of his thoughts,          "What? Oh! Yeah, that's...actually, I bought it for...Akutagawa." he admitted, not knowing what else to say to explain why he had a stuffed cat. Gin blinked at him, raising an eyebrow,           "No offense, but why did you buy my brother a toy? Is it for Valentines day?" Atsushi gaped for a moment, for some reason his brain struggling to give even the simplest answer for a moment,          "I...D-Dazai suggested getting him a gift..." he muttered, his cheeks beginning to heat up as he spoke, which Gin seemed to notice, but she said nothing,          "Well, how about I deliver it to him? He likes cats, I'm sure he'd enjoy this one," she offered sweetly instead, and for a moment Atsushi could only stare at her while his cheeks undoubtedly glowed a healthy pink until he cleared his throat, get yourself together Atsushi! This is a fine way to get the damned gift to Akutagawa, then Dazai can get off your ass, he told himself, pushing down the weird flustered feeling in his chest,         "Um, t-that would be helpful," She nodded, smiling a bit at the toy cat. With that, she wished him well as the sky darkened from the yellow-purple gradient of Atsushi's eyes, to a dark, star-speckled blue, leaving the tiger to walk home and contemplate his day. For the next few days, the weretiger was on edge, just waiting for the wheezing goth to pop out from behind every corner ready to stab him. However, it never happened. Atsushi was expecting it, always at the ready to defend himself, but for the entire month he didn't even see his nemesis on jobs, let alone when he was walking home or too work. So, he began to relax. Maybe he really did enjoy the stuffed toy, he thought a month or so later on his walk home from the ADA. The thought brought an odd warm feeling to his chest, but he was swift to stomp the detested feeling back down into that part of himself he refused to acknowledge. He could accept his tiger, but he was not ready to face anything like that emotion. Then, something slammed into the side of his head. In an instant, Atsushi was knocked onto the sidewalk with his world swimming for a moment or two. In those moments, he laid there in a daze, forced to wait for his senses to return and the throbbing ache in his skull to die before he could finally stumble to his feet. When the pain stopped and he could bare to stand once again, the white-haired man looked around for what might've hit him in the head, but the only thing he found was a can of soda. A soda that, upon closer inspection, he found to be one of his favorites, which was weird enough, since usually his favorite soft drink doesn't fly at people's heads, but, no one was currently around to explain why an unopened, very dented can of his preferred soda was rolling around at his feet after knocking him on his ass like it had. He'd tried to look around, taking advantage of his improved night vision to try and spot anyone trying to hide from the blame for throwing it at him, but the street was currently sparse in other people in the area. However, after a moment of thinking, and examining the near-bursting can, it slowly dawned on the tiger who might've thrown it. Then, the date set in, bringing a stronger wave of hot embarrassment to his cheeks.           "Um?? T-thanks I guess?" he called out into the swiftly growing darkness, and then swiftly continued home, before the hiding goth caught sight of the way his cheeks tinged a small shade of pink or decided to come out to maul him for acknowledging him.

[ask-sakamaki-kanato]

Small Gift

Note: This is my very first time writing any fan-fiction! I lack many things but I still have a tiny hope that someone will enjoy this short story I’ve come up with.

[In the city]

Yui went alone to the city to buy some ingredients for French Crepes. It’s almost time for dinner. The weather is warm and the sky is still bright since it’s middle of June.

Yui POV:

- Eggs, milk, sugar and butter… alright! I’ve got everything needed.

Looks at the clock tower.

- Oh..! It’s almost time for dinner. I better go back to manor soon - Reiji-san might be mad if I be late.

Yui starts walking faster. She almost walks past the toy shop. But she comes back and stares at the displayed stuffed animal toy.

- What a pretty plushie..

She stares at it for quite awhile, analyzing every detail of the toy. It was a lilac purple rabbit plushie.

It had two adorable long ears. Eyes were light green and eyepatch on the right eye. The eyepatch was dark purple with yellow moon along with 2 small stars. Three big stars were on its’ face. The toy had a ruffled purple collar too.

Yui’s eyes went slowly to the bottom until it stopped on the price tag.

- *backs off a little* S-so expensive…?!

She stares silently at the doll drowned in her thoughts.

The Church bells bring her back to reality.

- !!! It’s alright 6 p.m? I need to go back.

Yui leaves quickly leaves before she comes back and enters the shop.

She comes out after a minute.

- I- I did it… I bought this plushie spending most of the leftover money that Reiji-san gave me….

- B- but! At least I will be able to make Kanato-kun happy with this doll.. - Yui says as she walks back to the manor of Sakamakis. (She’s not rushing because she knows she’ll be scolded by Reiji anyway)

[In the manor, after dinner]

Yui in front of Kanato’s room.

- {Okay! You can do this. We just ate dinner but I’m sure Kanato-kun would love to have some pancakes. I will give him the doll after that}

She knocks on the door.

- Kanato-kun can I come in?

- …

- Weird.. maybe he’s busy. I guess I’ll come later.

As she turns back she feels a familiar scent.

- AH..!!

Kanato was standing there.

- So noisy… Did you see a ghost?

…What are you doing in front of my room? Don’t you think it’s inappropriate?

- I- I’m sorry..! I just made some pancakes and wanted to have some together.

Kanato silently glares at Yui. After a moment he hugs Teddy tightly while tilting his head slightly.

- Heh…. Is that so? Hey Teddy.. you want some pancakes, right? Heh heh.. yes, I wanted something sweet, too.

Yui smiles and leans closer to Teddy.

- Teddy, let’s eat my pancakes together! Three of us <3

- What are you doing..?

- Eh?

- WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!

- !!!

- Please don’t talk to Teddy so friendly!!!

- I’m sorry..

- Don’t just stand there. Let’s go inside.

[In Kanato’s room, after eating pancakes]

- How was it Teddy? Did you like the French Crepes? Heh… they weren’t that bad….

- {Kanato-kun seems happy..} U-um Kanato-kun!

- Yes? What is it, Yui-san?

- Could you come to my room later? Please!

- Are you ordering me around?

- No! That’s not it..

- … Well whatever. I’ll come.

- ! Thank you Kanato-kun! Then, I’ll be waiting.

Yui leaves.

- Hey, Teddy.. do you think Yui-san wants to give me her blood? Heheh… I can’t wait to taste it again.

[Yui’s room]

- {Phew! I feel so much better after bath. I wonder when will Kanato-kun come.. huhu, I can’t wait to see his reaction when I give him this lovely plushie!}

- Yui-san.

- AHH!!

- … You’re screaming again.

- Oh, sorry…

- {Did she take a bath? I smell shampoo.. and her blood, too. Hurry up and give me your blood.} So?

- Oh yeah! Here c:

Yui gives Kanato a stuffed rabbit toy.

- !

…What is it for?

- I found this in a toy shop today. When I saw this I immediately thought of you, Kanato-kun!

- This is.. for me?

- Yeah! {Now, smile!}

- Thank you.

- Eh? {That’s it?}

- Is there something wrong?

- Um.. no….

- Then if there’s nothing else I’ll be leaving.

- Oh, okay.. Goodnight.

- Goodnight.

[Yui’s room, in bed]

- Hah… I’m so tired. Not only did I get scolded by Reiji-san but also Kanato-kun didn’t seem to be that happy about the gift. Does he hate rabbits? It was a really cute doll, though. I really wanted to see him smile.

[The next day, Yui’s room]

- It’s already late. You shouldn’t be in bed too long even if it’s weekend. Please get up.

- Mmh..? Oh, Reiji-san. Good morning.

- Good grief. Change to your daily clothes Yui-san. Oh and could you please wake up Kanato-kun? I will be going to the city soon to buy some stuff.

- Alright!

[In front of Kanato’s room]

Yui knocks the doors.

- Good morning Kanato-kun! It’s time to wake up~

- …

- I guess he didn’t hear me? I should go inside.

Yui opens doors.

- Excuse me-

Yui saw Kanato sleeping like an innocent boy. At that moment she had forgotten all the bad things that happened yesterday and she smiled brightly. She saw Kanato-kun sleeping with Teddy and the rabbit doll in the middle of them.

She quietly left his room. Her day started out great! She couldn’t be happier than to see Kanato dearly treating the doll she gave him as a gift.

[beomglocks]

colors ; k.th

part of the badlands series!

colors: “you’re ripped at every edge but you’re a masterpiece.”

based off halsey’s badlands album.

warnings and other: museum curator!taehyun, old money!y/n, mentions of depression and grass smoking, little bit of angst i guess??

taehyun sighed as he took down the 11th painting this week. the museum hadn't been very busy in the past couple of weeks, maybe because the weather was getting colder. one part of him figured that many people just wanted to be bundled up at home watching holiday themed movies and drinking warm drinks rather than appreciating enchanting artworks.

he couldn't fool himself though, he knew the truth. today's generation didn't care about the fine arts anymore. a shame, seeing as everything around them seemed to be inspired by it.

kang taehyun worked at his local museum. he had been offered the position by the owner one night while roaming the place. this should've been a red flag looking back. the owner seemed desperate for someone to fill in the position since the previous employee had left without notice. nonetheless, taehyun took the job and didn't regret it one bit.

open 24/7, the red haired boy was always working on the clock. not that there was much to do seeing as most of the people his age or even a bit older didn't hang around museums purely for the joy of it. actually, his only job was to exhibit the newly arrived collections, clean and dust them off, and conduct regular tours and workshops for the public. due to this and the fact that not many people even came by he would take regular breaks.

once in a while you'd see the occasional old person or art expertee roaming around the small museum. if you were lucky, you'd see the local edgy teens posing next to a piece they didn't understand just to get an aesthetic picture. taehyun would also have the unfortunate job of shooing them away or scolding them for getting just a bit too close.

recently his boss, who was the museum manager and maybe the only other person besides taehyun that worked there, had informed him that due to funds and unfortunate unforeseen events, the museum would be closing down in about a month from now. this caused taehyun to fall deep into a depression since this was his only job and he loved it here. the museum was like his second home. he found comfort in the silent images displayed throughout the building. they always told him a story and when new pieces came in he would sit and stare attentively at the new anecdote being told to him.

taehyun smiled sadly at the piece he had just taken down. it was a painting of 2 people kissing however both of their faces were covered by white cloths. this was his favorite and he didn't even have a clue as to why. probably because of the uncertainty of what the other was feeling or because of the fact that the other couldn't see each other's faces through the cloth, that would've made the kiss more exciting in his opinion.

he stepped out of the museum and into the frosty air of the outside world. it was only autumn so why was it so cold? he thought to himself. he discreetly pulled out a prerolled blunt and his white lighter from his pocket. he lit it and stuck in between his slightly chapped lips.

maybe smoking dope wasn't the healthiest thing in the world, especially for a boy so young, barely 19, but it helped taehyun get his mind off the inevitably of losing his job and being homeless for the winter. he shuttered at the thought. he would have to room with one of his friends, he sighed shaking his head. no, he didn't want to be a burden, yeonjun had helped him enough as it is.

he looked at his surroundings taking in the cold autumn afternoon. the trees had long lost their leaves and were bare. the sky was a murky gray color as if it were threatening to rain any time soon. he noticed a girl bundled up in winter clothes near the entrance of the building glance at him. he smiled at her and she jumped at the eye contact, thinking that he wouldn't catch her. taehyun chuckled as he watched her rush into the museum. "back to work," he said out loud to himself.

once the blunt had been almost gone, he smoked what was left of it and headed back into the empty museum. he was feeling light-headed, the effects of the blunt finally taking action, but taehyun was used to it so it barely affected him as much.

he made his way to the girl who was now starting to take off her jacket and scarf. taehyun tapped on the girl's shoulder to get her attention. "hi," he smiled at the girl, showing off his dazzling smile. "if you'd like, i could give you a tour of the museum." well what's left of it anyways, he thought to himself.

"oh...no thank you," said the girl. she smiled warmly at the worker. "well not to be invasive of your decision but it's sort of in my job description," taehyun replied as he rubbed the back of his neck. the girl sighed in defeat, "i guess i have no choice then."

taehyun laughed as he took her coat and scarf to hang up in the public closet, "yep, trust me. they say im not that bad of a tour guide, im quite fun to be around if i do say so myself. i promise not to bore you too much." the girl nodded, not entirely convinced. "if i do end up bored i will hold you accountable..." she took a moment to take a peek at taehyun's name tag, "kang taehyun," she joked.

as they walked through the museum the girl couldn't help but notice that it was fairly empty. "why are there almost no paintings in here?" she laughed hesitantly. "i thought this was a museum?" taehyun stopped walking, turning to her with a sad expression on his face.

"the museum is expected to close in about a month or so," he stated simply. "oh...that's terrible. may i ask why?" the girl responded. "my boss says we've run out of funds or something like that," taehyun chuckled bitterly. "people don't really give a shit about good art these days anyways."

"that's a shame..."

they continued to look through the various paintings that were still up and occasionally the girl would ask to see the ones that were taken down and left on the floor. it seemed the two were lost in each other's company as night started to approach.

"thank you for the tour of this lovely museum taehyun. it was fun but it's a shame such a nice museum like this is closing down," the girl said softly. taehyun nodded solemnly, he just wanted to get this day over with and crash at his apartment. he didn't blame the girl before him but talking to her reminded him of his harsh reality. a notification coming from the girl's bag made both of them jump as they were both lost in their thoughts.

"ah, that must be my father. he's kind of annoying when it comes to my curfew," she chuckled, digging her phone from her bag. taehyun watched her with a bored expression until his eyes reached her bag. he hadn't noticed this earlier but she had been carrying a louis vuitton bag. his eyes bulged at the expensive item that was so close to him, they got even larger when she fished out the latest iphone from it.

taehyun wasn't poor per se, he had just enough to get by since he was living paycheck to paycheck. however, he had never been in such close proximity to any luxury items. he suddenly felt weird being this close to this girl.

"what do you mean by curfew?" taehyun asks hesitantly. the girl sighs, "my father is one of south korea's richest chaebol's, maybe one of the big three at his point." she rolled her eyes as if this information was nothing. "he's super strict with me because i guess i'm just his show pony daughter whom he can show off to say he's a good father."

taehyun gulped, had he just been casually hanging out with the daughter of one of the richest men in korea? he felt sick at this. she looked up at taehyun's uneasy expression, "oh my god im sorry i just dumped that all on you! i just needed to catch a break so i came here, i didn't mean to drag you into my life story."

taehyun fixes his face, laughing nervously, "no- no its fine really. we all need a break sometimes right? im glad you got to have that time here." the girl smiled up at him, completely misreading his nervous laughter, "im glad i got to spend it here with you taehyun."

"oh before i go!" taehyun watched her pull out a checkbook from her bag and his stomach dropped. he silently watched her scribble some stuff onto the slip and tear it out, handing it to him.

"there's not too much i can take out of my account without my father flipping out but i hope this helps even just a little. whether it be in your personal life or with the museum."

taehyun eyes the check and chokes when he sees 50,000 dollars written neatly on the black line. he swears he can feel sweat going down his face like in the cartoons. "i- i cant possibly take this from you." he moves to hand the check back but the girl refuses to take it back. "taehyun, you love this museum with your entire being. i see the way to look at the paintings and the passion with which you explained them to me. i'd hate to see that taken away."

"plus, if you're gone who's gonna give me the tour when i come back?" she laughs as if this is something casual. taehyun's hands shake as he pockets the check, "i seriously cannot thank you enough...you don't know how much you just helped the museum and m-"

the girls phone dings again and she grumbles, "ugh why can't he just leave me alone. sorry but i think i really gotta go for real before he tracks my location or something crazy like that."

taehyun nods wistfully at the mention of her having to leave. he was really starting to enjoy her company.

"oh by the way," the girl giggles as she pulls her coat on hurriedly.  "was that you smoking weed at the corner of the museum earlier?" the girl chuckled to herself again just remembering it. taehyun furrowed his eyebrows, "why would you say that kind of thing at out loud and at my job?!" he scolded in a playful hushed voice.

"i just thought it was funny and you also smelled of weed the entire tour, i didn't mind though so don't worry," the girl concluded. she was starting to walk away towards out the door now. "i'll walk you out," taehyun offers. "such a helpful employee. is this in the job description too?" the girl jokes, turning to him while a smile on her lips. "well, not exactly," taehyun says smoothly.

she shakes her head, "i'll see you soon taehyun." he watches her walk off into the darkness of the night when he suddenly remembers something.

"hey what's your name by the way?" he shouts after the girl. for some reason taehyun really was hopeful of seeing her again.

"y/n!" came the disembodied voice of the girl he had just met.

[sanchoyo]

danny phantom 14-20 thoughts!! I finished up s1 :D these last few eps were actually really really good!!!

-did. did tucker really just say esperanto was a dead language only spoken as a secret code between geeks. google says around 100,000 people actively speak it. oh my god...it being an auxiliary language doesn't mean its 'just for geeks to speak in code' ...it helps bridge gaps between people who don't have a language in common...

-danny really isn't pulling punches when it comes to fighting the ghost-cop possessed people huh. like he SLAMMED KWAN INTO THE CONCRETE SO HARD. HE THREW PAULINA INTO A BILLBOARD. will that...I mean it WOULD carry over to their bodies non-possessed, right? like if the ghost piloting their bodies gets hurt?? itd be so upsetting to be possessed, lose time, then wake up covered in bruises (and possibly, broken bones??) real horror movie stuff im sure wont be addressed in any way

-tuckers parents seem nice! I like them :)

-WULF IS CUTE AND I FEEL BAD. im so glad the gang realized he was only causing trouble bc of the shock collar walker put on him and helped. also, him wearing that big hoodie with the hood on, and thinking its subtle. we can tell youre still a giant wolfie :) THEN GETTING SUCKED INTO THE PORTAL AAAAH :( anxiously waiting to see Him Again....

-DANNY BLASTING HIS PARENTS THINKING THEY WERE OVERSHADOWED LMFAO GET THEIR ASSES. maddie marking how many ghosts she gets with lipstick tallies on the side of her portal gun? kindaaa iconic tho. (ALSO, SHE WAS LIKE, 2 FT AWAY FROM HIM RIGHT AFTER SHE TRIED TO SHOOT HIM. HOW DO YOU NOT RECONINZE YOUR OWN SON??? like sure, he might have diff hair/eye colors. but like, if one of my family members dyed their hair, and was wearing contacts, its not like id be like 'wHO IS THIS STRANGER!!!' ...he still has all his facial features!! same everything!!! I hate it here)

-paulina being #1 girl realizing danny's a friendly ghost immediately. smart queen. lancer and kwan ran away right after he made this sweet baby face at them:

which is hilarious.

-ok. im not saying his bullying is JUSTIFIED, but. dash looked so pleased with the (cute!) poster he just painted, and danny comes thru the wall and spills paint on his nice letterman jacket. his anger is justified maybe 65% of the time so far...(not the way he handles it, but STILL.) at least lancer is stepping in!! and them making a silly little bet was...cute?? until dash pulled out his GROSS UNDERWEAR AND SAID DANNY WOULD HAVE TO EAT THEM???? WHAT THE FUCK MAN. TUCKER WAS SO RIGHT ITS FUCKING WEIRD TO CARRY THOSE AROUND EWWW. THIS KID IS UNWELL. lancer was right, his animatronic setup was SUPER IMPRESSIVE?? hes actually pretty creative. danny meanwhile is stealing the fright knight's design...I hope dash is taking art classes or smth with his sports

-fright knight is the most bestest ghost so far i LOVE THAT DESIGN. I am biased towards knights, and characters with swords, but he fucks so severely. and should sue danny for copyright infringement for stealing his design for his haunted house. if some 14 yr old broke into MY house and stole MY sword, id also be pissed. his evil winged unicorn rules too with its FANGS. and he just CAN SHOVE THE PORTAL OPEN WITH HIS HANDS??? is he the strongest ghost weve seen so far? idk but hes my fav. SOUL SHREDDER IS SUCH A COOL SWORD NAME TOO. ANY NAMED SWORD ALSO FUCKS. 'flaming bedsheets of DEATH' funny king. ALSO he was polite to dash and tucker when just asking for directions and telling tucker 'oh maybe, just a suggestion, maybe be nicer to me and be more respectful :)' I LOOOVE HIM.

-I noticed this in the Ember ep, but jazz has an electric guitar in her room!! talent musical queen!! its cool to see hobbies just in the bg.

-fright knight's murder castle reminds me of the booby trapped murder castle in zexal!! another supposedly 'for kids' show with murder/trap castles! we love that. if you are a dp fan reading this, give yugioh zexal a try. its also got 13-14 year old protags and involves (alien) ghosts. the cardgame is just a vessel for the plot, which is really good. (I just want more people to watch my fav yugioh, man)

-danny. with a SWORD.

-danny doesnt NEED TO WIN this contest, dash didnt STEAL HIS DESIGNS AND STEAL A SWORD. he also got excited to hear lancer got sent to a dimension with his worst fears too just so he could win the contest? DANNY WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!!! BRO MAYBE YOURE 14 AND HAVENT FULLY DEVOLPED YOUR WHOLE BRAIN YET, BUT...THATS FUCKED. this kid casually says the most deranged things, I do worry for my spooky son. once again, therapy needed. that judo toss was great tho. I wonder if he actually did pick up some martial arts stuff from his mom?

-danny can fly 112 mph!!! thats so fast! I love the lil montage of him and his friends testing his abilities and stuff, very cute and a good way to showcase what he can do by now and how much more proficient he's gotten from ep 1!!! I'm sure he's going to get more abilities :)

-im glad...maddie's at least TRYING this ep. I do feel for her because her husband is a man baby. but the fact it took 16 episodes to get a kinda semblance of any kind of real concern or attempts at bonding. hmm. jack's 'BACK OFF SHES A MINOR' @ the ghost trying to attack jazz. also was very funny. and him wanting to make an action figure of her? are the parents redeeming themselves to me? slightly. they gotta Work Harder

-THE GHOST. IS FLYING. THE PLANE.

-fenton machete. but she doesnt carry a PHONE??? ???

-I mean I expected vlad when you namedrop him earlier in the ep, and also the title card picture, and dalv corp being fucking vlad backwards. but seeing him just pull up on a golf cart made me bust out laughing. WITH the gift baskets prepared. why wouldnt you at least be suspicious. also, if he wants danny to be his lil sonboy, why is he so fucking malicious?? dude you are going about this in such a bad way. stop it. get some help.

-maddie not even hesitating to drag danny out. fucking good. danny is so right, go on the internet to date. get a cat. how do you spend...how many years?? has it been since college?? at least 20, right, since the parents/vlad are in their 40s? hung up on ONE girl. my god, man. incel drama queen. her kung fu IS impressive, but dude. 'we both know hes a creep' SO right. it sucks but they do need a phone and shit being in the middle of NOWHERE. also, just stealing his helicopter was great. <3

-'you must be exhausted carrying the weight of that mistake you made years ago' 'well we all make mistakes. maybe I'll make one now!' WHY DID THIS EXHCHANGE SEND ME. AND VLAD WITH THE BREATH SPRAY EWWW BITCH. 'OLD BAIT BREATH' SOO RIGHT. both danny and his mom playing him HAHAH hes so dumb. or rather, I think he thinks with his emotions too too much and is...actually pretty gullible? lmao he believed danny was ready to give in SO fast. (which is sad hes that hopeful, like you have SO MUCH MONEY YOU COULD EASILY GET ANOTHER GIRL WHO HAS A KID. AND WOULD WANT TO BE WITH YOU AND BE SUPPORTED. GET OVER THIS (1) WOMAN ALREADY IM GETTING SECONDHAND EMBARRASSMENT AAAAH)

-GHOST BEAR GHOST BEAR GHOST BEAR. it was also in the title card, but I still got very excited. we love bears here

-SAM'S BAT SWIMSUIT COVERUP!!! her outfits are simply iconic.

-'i'd tell you to go to the mens room, but I don't think you qualify' top paulina transphobic moments. :( and him wearing a tanktop to the swim park? hmmm! (actually I think she was overshadowed by then, so, KITTY top 10 transphobic moments??)

-kitty just piloting paulina around makes me feel SO bad tho, paulina's gonna wake up and be like 'wtf do you mean I was dating this rando' like youre leading danny on to make johnny jealous, and also just POSSESSING POOR PAULINA. dude take your relationship problems ELSEWHERE. last time we saw them, they seemed like such a cute couple!! wtf johnny!! I mean, she sucks for trying to make him jealous, he sucks for looking at other girls...maybe they need a break, but Not Like This. or, you know, just. better communication...

-and the A-listers having a full packet and a stamp system. who organizes this. kwan fucking owning being the new danny though, this is hysterical. THE TUCKER/KWAN FLOWER FIELD TWIRL. UNIRONICALLY ADORABLE. and him giving it his all for the poetry slam. bless his HEARTTTT.

-Star owns. actually, all of the extra characters are shining this ep and I love it.

-INVISO-BILL??? NOOOO THEY DID HIM SOO DIRTY. DANNY SWEETIE IM SO SORRY.

-johnny and danny bein friends and staging a fake fight (which danny takes too seriously, once again this child has aggression he NEEDS TO WORK OUT) I hope these three stay friends, I said it before but danny needs more friendly ghosts to hang with.

-at this point, Danny's ghost enemies are a lot like, I dunno, batman's rouge gallery is the first thing that comes to mind. they all have their own gimmick and unique designs, but most of them are easy to beat after learning the Moral Lesson. I still get excited when any of them show up again, though. 18 is another valerie episode!!!! :D skulker really said you two will get along if I have to handcuff you together <3 and the gym teacher really said, youre married now, have a flour baby! ngl, I'm not really watching this show for the shipping stuff (which I am very scared to look at the fandom for after I finish this watch through- I feel like there's probably discourse/arguing about ships...) but. I'm gonna put my opinion out there. valerie/danny > sam/danny. maybe I just really love the enemies to lovers trope. And the secret identity stuff adds Extra Flavor.

-SKULKER JUST HAVING THE BOX GHOST AND DANGLING HIM BY A STRING. HILARIOUS. and him watching them with binoculars and making his silly little commentary. AND MAKING THE SACK BABY CRY. LMAO. THIS DUDE IS A BABY KIDNAPPER. skulker is super fun

-danny, you just...collapsed the water tower. and then attacked the nasty burger machine...mascot thingy...out of anger..I KEEP SAYING HE'S GOT ANGER ISSUES BUT. HE REALLY NEEDS A LESSON IN MANAGING COLLATERAL DAMAGE!!! So does valerie!! They're both pretty focused on each other. I mean it's good of Danny to say he's trying to make sure PEOPLE don't get hurt, but... (I mean I guess it's not something 14 year olds WOULD worry about, but as an adult im like, who's going to fix that? how much money will that take??)

-TUCKER MAKING BANK. and sam and tucker being super emotionally attached to their flour baby and being pretty good parents. that's cute...also him just straight kissing her and being like. WAIT. O_O JDSKAFHD. his mom baking them into cookies was the funniest possible result. tbh I dont feel like this is on tucker, if anything the other kid's shouldve been more responsible! He was just taking an opportunity to get that $$ which I respect

-Danny being more understanding of Valerie's situation in the end (helping her at her job, too, and trying to keep that a secret for her!!!) And seeing them work together this ep, and also her letting phantom get her out of the ghost zone...was very sweet. LOVE that. more valerie eps pls

-me when I realize vlad's big stupid house exploded because of his own carelessness with changing the ghost portal ectofiltrator or whatever: *pointing and laughing*

-me when I realize it means he's gonna go make danny's life hell for it somehow: >:(

-SCOOBY PARODY!!! I feel like there's gotta be some scooby doo/danny phantom crossover stuff, right? also, 'guys in white' men in black wishes

-'oh, that's right! dad married the love of your life! you're bitter and alone!' DANNNNNYY GET HIS ASS ONCE AGAIN WE ARE POINTING AND LAUGHING AT VLAD

-'jack, you captured the ghost boy!!' UMM. he did nothing <3 'we have a weapon's vault??' YOU HAVE A WEAPONS VAULT??? and jack didnt put a handle on the inside. of fucking course he didnt! why would you leave that to your son!! or expect him to clean YOUR LAB when its where you work with probably dangerous chemicals and weapons and hes 14!! give him normal chores, like, I dunno, vacuuming, laundry, dishes...CMON. I hate it here. But I'm glad Jack is more chill about danny while he's a ghost, and willing to work with him for this ep. AND. I DID ENJOY JACK PUNCHING VLAD IN THE FACE. AND GENERALLY JUST OWNING HIM. the ghost punchy fists are actually amazing. like yeah, just punch a ghost in the face. that rules.

-ep 20 opens with the coolest fucking ghost lady design. her tattoos can come off and fight. MA'AM. I like ur nose ring and your cape maam hello 👉👈😳

-sam's grandma is hilarious and the most valid member of her family and I love her. thats my grandma now. and tucker covering for sam by dressing as her. thats true friendship <3 also skipping school to go to a goth circus. just bestie things! sam's parents are haters but for all the wrong reasons.

-'my family has controlled ghosts with this for generations!' WAIT. WAIT FREAKSHOW /ISNT/ A GHOST? I didn't expect that...he's just a fucked up guy controlling ghosts? anyway watching danny shoot at police cars and rob banks while mind controlled. its like, the most stereotypical 'bad' things lmao. (tbh an evil ghost circus troupe is a sick concept)

this gives off big deviantart emo edit vibes

(I'm going to assume evil circus reaper danny has a lot of fan content. people love an edgy au, except this one is canon (even tho its via mind control...having the protag go evil otherwise might be hard, I guess?) but au where he stays with the troupe...that has to exist, right?)

ANYWAY. excited to start s2!! lowkey surprised by how many notes some of these posts have gotten. I've gone back and tagged them all with 'dp thoughts' so they're easier to find on my blog! ^^ and I will probably possibly do (more) fanart on my art blog after I finish the watch of the whole show, so like. @sanchoyodraws follow my art blog :)

[inventors-fair]

Epithet Commentary

So, this ended up being a fairly popular contest. I think the prompt was really open and creative, but limiting enough that it wasn’t overwhelming. You all did a pretty good job with it, and I’m happy with the turn out.

Some themes I noticed? One was board wipes. A lot of legendary creatures have some sense of power or finality to their epithets. They’re all the biggest, or the strongest, or the most powerful of whatever they are. It led to a lot of ways to kill things, and a lot of black cards. I was impressed with the non-creatures as well: I was expecting a lot of enchantments and auras effectively granting the epithet to something, but there were a decent amount of spells, and even a few artifacts. In general I was impressed with the cleverness this week. Some people had a lot of fun throwing curve-balls. Picking cleverest reinterpretation wasn’t easy.

Enough talk, on to the talking! BTW, if there’s two paragraphs for an entry, the first is an art direction submitted by the designer.

@bread-into-toast - Archive Keeper

mood: flightless aven librarian, suspended in a cavernous maze of shelves

I like what you’re going for here. That first ability sounds really cool, and I could see it being sort of a build-around theme. I don’t know about uncommon, though. There would have to be quite a few ways to put cards into a library in the format, maybe a keyword that does it, like if flashback tucked instead of exiled. The exact wording of this would make cascade particularly scary if it were in the same format. I also like the flavor, caring for a literal library, and the art is great. Now lets get to my big issue with this: the activated ability. I do really like that you gave the card a way to trigger its first ability, but I think you went a little too aggressive with it. First, unless the format is particularly bad it it, this keyword is going to always be active. It’s cheap and requires a very easy resource to get. The fact that it stacks with multiple of these guys is also scary, especially with it being uncommon. Second, it’s off-color. I know it’s your own graveyard, so it’s not like it’s graveyard hate, but blue has never done this. White does it a little. Also, even though they’re separate, it does sort of read U: This creature gets +1/+0 and gains flying until EOT. That really isn’t blue. That’s fire breathing. Blue doesn’t get fire-breathing, at least not for a very, verly long time. White gets it very, very rarely, but I think it might be fine here. I know the colors are an attempt to put this card in the colors of “putting things in libraries,” which I think is good, but the exact payoff for doing it isn’t quite right.

@chungus-supreme - Lich Queen

Interesting take on Lich. Almost like a mix of Lich and Recycle. The number of permanents you have when you play this will never change. Unless of course you’re playing reanimator or something. It’s especially scary if you’re playing non-permanent cards. These types of cards are rather hard to judge, since saying “this is very swingy and will either lose or win you the game with no inbetween” is kind of the point. Putting lich on a creature is especially awkward since it leaves her open to wraths or sweepers. I do like how she doesn’t technically kill you, so she works will in lich-tribal decks which are more common than you’d expect. Still, I don’t think these kinds of cards are healthy for the game, even if they are fun and silly. They just lead to very simple “do you have it or not?” scenarios which can lead to sour players. Still, as I said, a neat take on the archetype.

@corporalotherbear - Young Conqueror

Art direction: A haughty young man, surrounded by kicked and humbled servants, wearing a crown reminiscent of the horns of a certain elder dragon planeswalker.

What an brat. I get what this card is doing. I like how the “young” part denotes its small power toughness, but the high mana cost and splashy ability makes it feel powerful. I don’t know if I quite agree with “conquerer” specifically, since it takes away from your opponents but doesn’t give you anything. I think that’s kinda minor. I like the ability itself, and I think it's probably costed right. The lose 1 life is mostly trinket text, but the other two effects are pretty strong. ETB discard is at two mana, ETB one-sided sacrifice isn’t actually super common, but on spells its about 2 mana, so a combined four mana is probably okay once you factor in the three colors (and it being a rare, unlike the cards I’m using as an example). I’m going to ignore the personal part of me that dislikes blink decks and aggressive ETB effects and say that this is something wizards would think is okay. And at least this loses value as the game goes on or against specific decks. So in total, I like it. And it’s a good use of this week’s challenge!

@col-seaker-of-the-memiest-legion - Royal Scion

Well isn’t that a pretty boy. So I get the treasure part. But I don’t get the last ability. You can spend money to save things? I don’t quite get what story you’re trying to tell. Mechanically, the card is fine, but there’s a few tiny issues. First, the last ability I believe can target itself. As in, you can sacrifice an artifact to make itself indestructible. Not very intuitive, but I expect it will happen often. That will essentially make this guy a 2/2 that comes with a 1/1, with a little utility. I guess that’s okay. The second issue is I don’t know where this guy is going. Treasure decks and artifact decks have less in common than you might expect: the former are aggressive and usually base red, the latter are usually slow and base blue. They both occasionally show up in white or black, but neither probably want a small body that gets you a few chump blockers and protect some stuff. At uncommon I could see this in maybe an artifact heavy set or a set with treasure synergies, but I’m having some difficulty. I think this guy is fine, but I’m just not a big fan of it.

@demimonde-semigoddess - Heart of Fire

Love the art there, it’s very evocative and really seals the card. I’m also surprised to see cipher; I’ve always thought the mechanic was cool, but it’s hard to do well. I think you may have fallen into the trap as well. This card is very strong. Two damage will usually be able to get at least a single blocker out of the way, and then you get to cast this card again for free most of the time. Most cipher cards were costed as though you were going to get two free casts a turn. The “draw a card” one costs four mana, for example, because it usually comes out as a divination + a curiosity rather than a cantriping curiosity. So this card ends up being really close to a reckless rage that you can go face with and can be recast. Think about Direct Current, which was also a sorcery and also cost you another resource and was 3 mana but still saw lots of limited play. I do like the fact that the card deals damage to the creature it’s encoded on, but because of how cipher works it’s hard to make it feel necessary. Unless the creature has trample, the damage is pretty much going to be all or nothing. Dealing small amounts of damage to your own creature is most relevant before combat. Doing damage after doesn’t usually matter unless it kills it. But it still makes it a cost: you can get another copy of it, but it’ll cost you a small creature. Despite all of my issues, I still like the card. It’s creative and flavorful, it’s just the sort of card that could dominate games, and should not be at common.

@dimestoretajic - Torch of Defiance

I don’t know what to say. It’s a good card. It’s got a very basic pump with a slightly fancier extra ability, and it feels flavorful. The defiance part is a little weak, but I get it. I also think you maybe could have upped one of the costs, or made the equip not have red. As is, it’s stronger than a lot of menace-granting equipment, and it even lets you spread it around. But maybe that’s just me wanting to play it safe. Anyway, card is good! I’m very happy with this one.

@fractured-infinity - Shifting Flame

What an amusing little card. The name helps me picture something, but not an equipment. However, seeing it, I actually like that interpretation. The idea of “wielding” a flame is a cool idea. The effect is cool, though a little weird. It reminds me a lot of balefire dragon, a 7 mana mythic, but maybe the fact that it needs a body and time to set up helps bring it down. I do enjoy some of the safety valves, such as it being double red, meaning it's harder to put it on a deathtoucher, and how it’s all or nothing, so you can’t remove the absolute minimum and have an easily repeatable board wipe. I’m still unsure how much I like this card exactly. Outside of balefire and shockmaw dragon, this effect is pretty rare. At a minimum, it turns a creature into shockmaw. Getting a blazing volley every turn is stronger than it sounds. It makes it hard to build up a board or get your smaller creatures bigger. I do like that, the longer this sits out, the more likely it turns into “equipped creature must be blocked.” Even with all the setup required, I’m a little scared of a reusable one-sided board wipe that just sits out until it's necessary. Granted, I’m not as scared to print this as a lot of cards, but I’d just want to see how it plays first. I think you made a cool card with a unique ability that could end up being a little too hard to come back from without direct answers.

@gayagendaofficial - Heretical Healer

For the art, I imagine a human man pulling a corpse out of a grave. The corpse is not yet fully out of the grave, but the man is already measuring it and preparing to saw off a limb.

Wow, this card is nuts! It’s a repeatable reanimator with very little effort. First, let me address some templating. After the “mill three cards” text, you can have the next sentence be connected. As in, “mill three cards, then you may...” Also, you don’t need to say “under your control” because it’s already coming from your graveyard, so it’s kind of assumed. Okay the card. So, if you play this card, as long as you have two creatures i your graveyard, this reanimates a creature. If you’re playing four of these guys, it’s entirely possible to play this, mill another, then reanimate it, then mill a clone, then clone this guy and do it again. If you’ve ever played when Gyruda combo was a thing, I could see this doing something similar. However, the card itself is pretty cool, and I think it’s worth saving. One option you have is just increasing the cost: I would suggest up to seven mana. Another thing you could do is restrict what you can reanimate, sort of like Gyruda. Perhaps it can only exile or only reanimate the cards it just milled? Or maybe come up with some other restriction, like it having to be a creature with a certain mana value or something. In summary, I like this card’s design, but it’s a little too easy to just be way too powerful in a good enough deck.

@ghoulcalculator64 - Dungeon Warden

I love cards like this. O-ring effects that care about what you O-ringed. How very “imprint” like of you. However, the connect doesn’t quite feel right to me. The two effects feel like they’re pushing in completely different directions. Banisher Pirest effects are best in aggressive decks, where having a removal spell on a creature is super relevant, and you can hopefully kill them before they get their creature back. The card draw half of this feels really weird in that style of deck. It seems really strange to have a ticking time bomb like this that just sits there to draw you cards. The high mana cost doesn’t help with that, but I don’t think it could be any cheaper, either. There’s also the fact that it can target your own creature. That feels really antithetical to the design, and can lead to shenanigans that are really counterintuitive to new players. That also sort of ties to one of the first (yet less legitimate) complaints about the card, which is that I think the last ability needs better flavor. I remember in the Discord you mentioned it was supposed to represent interrogating a prisoner for information. But if that were the case, wouldn’t you be exiling your opponent’s graveyard? And if you are allowed to target your own stuff, would you be interrogating yourself? Like I said, this is a little more nit-picky-y, but it really makes that last ability feel disconnected. If I hadn’t seen the Discord message, I wouldn’t have known what it was representing at all. I’ll also say that referring to “the exiled card” even though the card exiles a lot of cards is confusing, but I don’t really know a way to fix that. With all that said, I still don’t think this is a bad card. It’s well designed, creative, and although I say it pushes in opposite directions, sometimes that makes it more viable as a “Plan B” sort of card.

@gollumni - Sun’s Nemesis

Boy, this guy sure does hate the Sun! A little direct on the interpretation here. The white mana symbol is literally a sun, and red mana is… hot. I do love it being a shade, that feels like such a great flavor choice. Mechanically, gotta say I don’t like this card. There’s nothing an opponent can really do once this card hits play. The only real “fun” I think you can have with this card is playing a blood moon, but I don’t know if blood moon leads to fun games anyway. It’s also strange to have a card that does literally nothing but be an overcosted flyer in a lot of matchups. I think the fact that this triggers on every mana is also a bit much. If it cared about the spells being cast, even if it cared about mana costs, that would feel more fair. But right now it’s just so all or nothing, and so easy to make a mistake on. It also will lead to some more annoying players saying “do you tap it for blue or for white?” when a player uses their hallowed fountain to cast a colorless artifact. I get the style here, and I think it’s a really fun way to make a nemesis of the sun, but I think this card leads to unfun games.

@helloijustreadyourpost - Torch of Defiance

I do like the flavor of this card, and the art really helps with that. I like the fact that it just keeps getting stronger and stronger as the game goes on. However, I think it needed to make them stronger. In order to get the first counter, you need to pay a total of 5 mana and have your creature die from damage, all before getting a single amount of value from it. After you do that, though, it can finally start to snowball. Unless they have a bounce spell. What I’m saying is that this card is really fragile. Compare it to Malefic Scythe, which is cheaper, lower rarity, starts with a counter, and works with sacrifice outlets. While I know the damage clause feels correct, I think it’s putting too many restrictions on this card. If you wanted to avoid combos, I think “and it wasn’t sacrificed” would have really helped with that. You could also let counters be put on it when any creature dies form damage, not just the equipped one. I also think you have some extra space to put text on the front of it, so it could grant something while it’s still empty. Menace would be the most obvious and on color, but about anything could work. I could also see it starting with a counter. I like the auto-attach, but it’s really all this card has going for it, and I think it’s hard to take advantage of this card enough to be worth putting it in a deck.

@hiygamer - Cursed Huntsman // Primal Hunter

Fun fact: I have signed foil copies of both of the cards you used for art here. I will not let that color my opinion of the card. Luckily the card is pretty good anyway! I love a good, simple, well-made vanilla. This isn’t technically vanilla, but it’s close (it’s also not french or virtual vanilla, for those wondering). A 3/3 for 3 is a little under curve, but a 5/5 for three is pretty good, exactly what you want from a werewolf. I’m not sure how I feel about the exact flip condition, I kind of feel like a simple “transform this when X dies” would work very well, but then you get some awkward state-based damage effects for the big guy. My biggest complaint with the trigger as it is is that you can play the huntsman post-combat and have it flip right away. The original werewolf clause specifically worked against that, so that it would actually feel like you were transforming a card that had been on the battlefield and not just going straight to the end. I’m also really impressed by the names, which feel like perfect mirrors, sort of like breakneck rider // neck breaker and daybreak ranger // nightfall predator. I don’t normally do judge picks, but I really feel like this is a card I want to see. I like it.

@hypexion - Hate Seed

Now that’s what I call a bad seed! Love the art, by the way, as does my fiance who walked into the room a minute ago. I like this as a card that sort of sits out here and “grows,” much like a seed. It’s pretty easy to grow this guy, especially in mono-black. Playing this one turn two, then playing any number of bobs, sign in bloods, or group pingers like Spawn of Mayhem can get this guy massive by the time you pop him on turn 5, not to mention actual damage! Most cards like this put some sort of restriction on the loss of life, such as paying life, only life you/your opponent loses, or once-per turn. I think it needed something like that, because even without building around this card you can often get it above 10 power by the time you hatch it, at instant speed no less! And with trample! Oofta! From a purely design perspective, I’m glad you put the counters on it, and at the right time, rather than just making an X/X, both because those are hard to remember and also because it helps this card double dip on counter synergies. However, I worry a lot about the memory issues of the first ability, since loss of life comes in many forms and could be confusing to many (i.e. is it more counters for more damage? Does multiple creatures in combat count? What if I gain life at the same time?). Also, and this is really a nitpick, but I think this either wants to tap to activate or be an enchantment. So in total, I think this card is better than it looks and more difficult to play correctly than it looks, which makes for a generally good card but one I’d be worried about printing.

@i-am-the-one-who-wololoes - Mirror-Breaker

Art direction: On the right, Mirror-Mad's "main" spirit (the one in the hallway) is exiting a mirror, who is being ruptured by this fact. On the left, with their back on the ground, someone is terrorized, a hand raised up as to defend themselves from the angry spirit.

This is a type of card we don’t see a lot of. At a minimum, it’s a big hastey one-hit-wonder. But you can hang onto it for a while if you’re smart! I like the literal interpretation of the name. It literally breaks mirrors. And if it doesn’t, then it gets angry and leaves. You can even use it as an artifact sac outlet if you somehow need that. I’m a little unsure about the deathtouch. It seems very unlikely that 5 power won’t kill, and with flying and 1 toughness it’s rare that they’ll double block and need you to spread damage. If anything, the deathtouch is more relevant for blocking. It’s actually kind of strange that this has a downside for attacking, despite having haste and flying and five power, but you can just have it sitting on the back line, read to trade for any creature they have. I don’t think people would do that, but it’s strange how much it kind of rewards you for not attacking. The strange mix of things happening on this card and the different directions this card is being pulled make it hard to put this in a deck.

@jund-berserker - Locus of Rage

I like what this card is trying to do, but it’s way, way too good. At a minimum, you can cast this, name a number of a card in your hand, then cast it. You get a three mana bolt (which is plenty playable, especially in limited at uncommon) and the inevitable ability to do it again. If you name 1 or zero, you can likely win the game with this the turn or two after you play it in almost every eternal format. Compare this card to Aria of Flame, Imminent Doom, or Eidolon of the Great Revel. All these cards are less consistent and harder to build around, or are symmetrical. This just lets you turn half the spells in your deck or more into free lightning bolts. Also, the fact that it triggers on your opponents’ spells just feels mean and oppressive. However, like I said, I like what ou were trying here. I just think that if this had said 1 damage, or maybe 2 damage but only going face, maybe this would be okay, but right now it’s just too good.

@loreholdlesbian - Slumbering Isle

I like the description of a volcano being a “slumbering isle.” That’s a really clever way to reinterpret that. However, I think the “isle” part was either taking too far or not far enough. Basically, I don’t know why this taps for blue beyond the name. It’s sacrifice effect is entirely red. I’d say add a scry or something, but we already have Surtland Frostpyre. This is especially a strange case because lands, as we all know, are colorless. So it’s not like it’s a break or anything, right? But Maro has said that activations costs follow the same rules as cards when it comes to colors. If this activation requires blue, it should do something blue. Alternatively, maybe drop the blue entirely from this card. Or, if you want to make it feel really flavorful, drop the blue from the cost but make it only tap for blue, to really sell the idea of a normal island turning into a scary volcano.

@maizenolo - Lunarch Marshal

That’s cute. Lunarch, moonfolk, that’s so clever. And it’s really cool that you gave it the moonfolk ability to bounce lands. However, that signature ability is… bad. It’s not particularly fun to keep bouncing lands. As with you card specifically, I have two issues with it. First, I don’t think blue gets +1/+0. The only cards that really do it usually have some other thing attached, usually unblockability, so just a flat buff seems weird. I don’t think it’s a color break, but it doesn’t feel blue. Second, this ability is so repeatable I’m worried players are going to overuse it and it will lead to frustrated players. If you just want to hit for three a turn, you’ll slowly be going down lands. Worse yet, imagine you attack your opponent late in the game and they’re at five life. You can bounce all your lands, and maybe they’ll die, but if you get hit with removal you’re going to lose the game, all because of this ability. Is it unfair to blame the designer for a player misplaying a card? Probably, but it’s our job as designers to encourage players to make the right decisions, because the better decisions they make, the better game they’ll have, and the more fun they’ll have. That's the end goal as a designer, isn’t it? I think a good way to get around this is to increase the mana cost, limit it to once per turn, or make it not as useful on repeat uses. For example, if it gave +1/+0 and unblockable, I think it would be less likely that a player would repeat it (though it would need to be costed differently). I think moonfolk are really hard to design. Still, I like the way you answered the prompt.

@misterstingyjack​ - River Guide

I like this card, but I also have a lot to say. First, the first ability is weird. In general, cards that get better based on your opponents lands have been phased out. There’s nothing your opponent can do about it for the most part, so it just feels mean. However, a single card ebing drawn isn’t that bad, and it’s especially interesting here because drawing a card is the one thing blue decks most want to avoid letting their opponents do. They want to one for one with counters. So this is more of just a strange hoser ability. The last ability has one obvious issue: you can exert something without tapping it. Currently, as written, after activating the ability, the island would still be untapped. But that’s a simple fix: just say “tap and exert an untapped island you control.” I kind of feel like you could have avoided the exert keyword, since it doesn’t really fit flavorfully and it’s not an evergreen keyword. I maybe would have just said that it doesn’t untap in the ability itself. But anyway, the card itself. I think it’s… fine? It’s sort of like a mix of key to the city and the first Thasa card. I think this is one of those cards where it either does nothing in the format or is a four of in a top tier deck. It really depends on the format. But I think independent of all that, I think it’s an okay designed card. And the flavor is spot on, very clever.

@naban-dean-of-irritation - Fractal Bloom

Oh no! Math! This card adds up quickly. It doesn’t quite double your counters each turn, but it gets pretty dang close. This is a really scary card in two ways. It’s very scary when it’s going off, but it’s also really scary to put in a deck. This card really needs to be uilt around to be useful. Yes, this means having cards that have counters, but it also needs a bit of a payoff, still. You can spread counters around, which is nice, but it’s slow enough that you aren’t going to be using it aggressively. At the same time, you don’t want cards that “spend” counters, like Fertilid, because the counters need to stick. So you’ll mostly want this for doubling the power of trampling hydras. I think this card is a little weaker than it looks. I wish this card had a better fail state. I wish it had some very minor but possible way to add counters. Perhaps an expensive activated ability, or that it puts a minimum of one on a card. As is, the card could very easily do nothing, especially considering it costs six mana, requires a board, and doesn’t do anything until your next turn, giving your opponents a lot of ways to interact with it. I think this could probably cost 5 mana, maybe even four if it has a more restrictive color cost. In general, “win more” cards like this are only really fun if they do win you the game quickly or if there’s something do with them when you aren’t using it to win.

@pocketvikings​ - Defiant Hero

Art Description: We're seeing our hero from the back, charging the Big Bad and facing whatever spells are being thrown at them.

I get it, it’s a hero! Like heroic! But the fact that it triggers on opponents makes it feel like it’s not just a hero, but a defiant one. One who fights through the trouble. I’m having trouble making up my mind on that last bit. Part of me thinks it’s useless. If it makes your creature indestructible, why would your opponent ever cast a removal spell on it? The indestructible will never be relevant because it will always be there. Which means it is relevant. But it also just sort of feels like hexproof from spells? But not if its exile or -X/-X effects. Though opponents are probably very often going to fall for “give your creature -2/-2 oh woops its too big now” which, while clearly on them is something that should probably be avoided. Basically, it’s an ability that is either never going to be used, feel like it isn’t relevant, or only be useful if your opponent misplays. That’s all kind of awkward. Lastly, and this is a big one, this card isn’t rare. This feels a lot worse than Tenth District Legionnaire, which is at uncommon

@rasputingold​ - Hunger Tide

So this one’s a bit wild. The insect token is a little closer to its origin card, Grist, than I would have liked for this contest, but I can look past that. The fact that you get one for every creature on the battlefield is crazy powerful, though at least they can’t block so you don’t immediately get chumpers forever. I kind of wish there were more of a limiter there, either non-insect, only opponents control, or only you control. As is, this barely needs anything to get nuts. The last ability is very hard to parse. More often than not, it will just be “each player sacrifices a creature,” since it takes 6 insects before they need to sacrifice anything more than 2 toughness, which I feel is about average. I also realize that it being symmetrical balances both the ability and the card as a whole, since you’ll eventually lose all your insects, but it all seems so weirdly roundabout. Lets say you have a creature and they have two when you play this. You add 3 creatures, pass, come back to you, you sacrifice two of your insects. Those insects have done nothing but make math hard. I’ll also say the fail state of this card is still amazing. It’s been a while, but The Abyss is still a four mana card, and this is very nearly strictly better than it. I will say, though, I really enjoy the execution of the story here. They come in slowly, but eat away at smaller creatures until they eat the big ones or die off. It’s a very, very good mechanical representation of a locust swarm. I just think its too complex for any normal magic set.

@real-aspen-hours​ - Monstrous Raider

NOTE: this is a render created by me. Originally submitted as text.

Vampire Barbarian is a terrifying thought, but a cool concept. I like the fact that this seems so willing to fight that it will stop trying to win the game in order to kill something. I worry that an on-board way to repeatedly deal with creatures is too strong, though. If your opponent ever has just one creature in play, it’s going to be really hard to deal with this guy. They NEED two creature in play, but the fact that this kills one every turn makes that hard. Also, I’ll say that the template is probably different than what you’ve got, looking at a card like Soltari Guerillas. Still, the two toughness at least makes it pretty easy to kill, so it’s a pretty high risk and a pretty high reward. So while it’s probably fine, I worry that this could lead to really frustrating board states.

@reaperfromtheabyss​ - Cradle of the Sun

This is cute. Love the feeling of a cradle here, and how different it feels from the original. I also have a soft spot for cards like this: Colfenor’s Urn, Cold Storage, Endless Sands. They all have such weird utility. I like that you kind of skip to the end with this card: rather than playing this, wrathing, then getting your creatures back, you play this, wait for a wrath, then wait for them to build their board, then wrath while un-wrathing. It’s such a weird concept and would probably make for some interesting games. Don’t get me wrong, I like it and I love the concept. I just have no idea how it would play. In general on-board wraths lead to long, drawn-out games because no one wants to dedicate to a board state. The fact that this lets you continue to do so is neat, but could be frustrating. At the same time, you’re leaving yourself to get blown out by artifact removal if you’re not careful. So yeah, as a whole, I like it, but would really want to playtest with it before I printed it.

@scavenger98​ - Battle Seraph

So I’ll start off with the obvious, which you even admitted to, which is that this is very close to the card its based on, basandra. Same cost, same type, some power. But the rest is very different! The comparison to Omnath is pretty clear, and I’m glad that card exists to give us a clear idea of the templating. Other than the “is” needing to be “are” I think you got it right. As for the exact ability, I think it’s kind of messy. For omnath, the three abilities felt very linked, even if it was just because they all had the number four. Linking them helped you remember what they do: I get 4 of something, just gotta remember what. Here, the three abilities feel very disconnected. One gains life and is dependant on how much damage was dealt, the second makes a very specific token, and the last is a generically good effect. The triggering condition is also really weird. It doesn’t care which creatures, so you have to pay attention to exactly what happens on every turn to every creature. The fact that the first ability cares about how much damage is also really weird and hard to do. You have to count every damage done to everything every turn. But, if your opponent pings a creature in response, you don’t gain any of it, just the ping. The next two abilities I kind of like. A little token is nice, and I like how it makes it easier to trigger in the future by not having first strike. The last ability is almost definitely out-of-color, but considering how much work it takes (first strike, normal combat, and a spell/ability all dealing damage to creatures) maybe makes it worth it. I’m probably wrong, and it’s still probably not okay to let Boros draw cards, but you gotta try. So as a whole, I really want to like this card, and I really like the directions it's pushing, but I think it’s just really, really hard to keep track of what this card is doing while it's in play.

@shakeszx - Wielder of Mysteries

Love the flavor here, great use of an epithet. I’m wondering if this would finally be the card to make this ability work. For reference, Mind Reaver and Grimoire Thief have tried this sort of “use your own cards as counter fuel,” and neither have been all that playable outside of combos. This guy has no combo potential, but boy does he mill! Each end step and each opponent means milling four cards a turn, more in multiplayer (though this guy doesn’t do much else in EDH, the most popular multiplayer format). The fact that he doesn’t doesn’t sacrifice to counter really sets him apart. Putting the card in the graveyard so it isn’t a hard lock is something I appreciate, and I’ll say here that you probably could have said that as the cost to save some space (i.e. 1UU, put a face-down card exiled by ~ into its owner’s graveyard: counter target spell with the same name as that card). My guess as to what kind of deck would play this is some sort of flash deck that can leave up the mana or maybe a control deck that tries to leave this in play as a mill win-con. I don’t know how great it fits into either of those with it’s squishy wizard body, but at least it has a place. I wish there was a way to make this safer to play. Maybe give it ward or more toughness or even more power and flying so it has something to do rather than sit there and hope to be useful. I think this is better than other cards that do the same thing, but I don’t know if it's quite good enough to see play.

@snugz​ - The Hidden Realm

Very clever to put this on a land. Lands are almost never legendary, even if they feel like it or have “The” in the name. As for this card specifically, I don’t think you realize what this does. When you tap it for mana, it phases out. It will phase back in at the start of your untap step. That means that this is a five color land with no downside other than that it can’t be untapped and used again if you’re using it for colored mana. In fact, it’s a lot better, since your opponent will never be able to target it with removal, rare as that is. So yeah, this card is way too good. Five color land with upside.

@starch255​ - Tower of Triumph

Gotta say, was not expecting this one, and not just because I did not know that path of mettle’s back half had an epithet. I love the towers. It was one of the first “whoops, we forgot to finish that cycle because we didn’t even think of it as a cycle” cycles. I’m a little unsure of the templating here. I feel like there needs to be an “each” or “all” in there somewhere to make it clear that you’re not just “activating abilities” but activating at least one per card. This is one of those funny cards where taking it as face value is hilarious. Requiring 48 mana and 6 overcosted cards in play to win the game is essentially impossible. However, having 6 bad cards in play, then playing Galazeth Prismari or Flame Fusillade and paying 8 mana may be more doable, if not “intended.” So this card has a casual, obvious, fun-but-not-viable way to sue it and another less difficult way to use it. I still wish it had some fail state. Maze’s End, for example, has a long and slow win condition tied into it, but it also fixes your mana slowly. Thassa’s Oracle can let you fix your draws. Win conditions tend to be more fun and more playable if there’s something you can do with them before winning, especially for a card like this where it will need to stand on the field a little while probably and therefore risk getting hit by removal.

@takemuse1 - Sengir Thrall

I cannot find any card that has the epithet “Sengir Thrall.” I think you may have either misread the prompt or submitted to the wrong contest. Either way, the card seems fine. I like what you’re trying to do here.

@teaxch​ - Celestial Wind

I remember the wind cycle, even had a few, for some reason. Here’s a card that hits a bunch of stuff. Get rid of up to three things, get back up to three things. It’s a little wordy. I think it’s possible to make this non-modal, but my suggestion would be “Choose one or both: -Exile target artifact, target enchantment, and/or target creature. - Return target artifact card, target enchantment card, and/or target creature card from your graveyard to the battlefield.” It still reads a little complicated, but at least you wouldn’t have the super weird blank space on the upper right of the card. The functionality of the card actually fits the rest of the cycle pretty well. It’s okay. It’s hard to make a nine mana card that feels worth it that doesn’t just win you the game. I think if you’re playing this you’re mostly going to be using it for the reanimation, since it will be pretty rare for your opponent to have all three permanent types, but there’s better ways to reanimate each of those types, and having a mix of types makes the deck harder to build. You really need at least four modes firing for this card to be even playable, and that’s not easy. Obviously multiplayer is where this card shines, especially EDH, but even there I don’t know if you want a nine mana card unless you can cast it for free, and again, there’s better cards to do that with. I think this card is trying to make up for its cost with its versatility, but there’s a difference between a card always having a use and a card always being useful. This will never be a dead card, but I don’t think it’ll ever be exactly what you need. Final note: compared to Blood on the Snow and Casualties of War, this could pretty easily be a rare.

@walker-of-the-yellow-path​ - Artful Provocateur

I read your submission comment before the text box and you got me excited for a card with provoke. Instead, it’s got goad, which is the opposite but also the better keyword, so yeah, that’s fine. I like the second ability, it’s got a lot of flavor to it and I could see it being a key card in some decks, like Marisi EDH. The last ability is fitting in a goad-style deck, and works well with the theme. The first ability I don’t think I’m a fan of. Spending a treasure to cast this guy feels weird, since you’d need the extra mana anyway to activate the ability. And if you’re not activating the ability, then you’re just attacking with a 2/1, which is not worth sacking a treasure most of the time. I’d say that it’s neat trinket text to encourage players to play this in a treasure deck, but the middle ability already does that. But I’ll stop focusing on that for now. I like the last two abilities and how well they play together and how nicely they fit in a deck. I like the creature types as well. I wonder a bit about the rarity. Repeatable goad only happened by attacking (which means it didn’t repeat often) or by having it permanently on a single creature, even at rare. The timing is also going to be strange, since you’ll be waiting until the declare attackers step 90% of the time, meaning your opponent’s must be constantly aware of you goading one of their creatures as soon as they move to combat. That’s going to make combat a nightmare. Limiting to sorcery speed would be great. If this is meant to be a conspiracy style set, I think this card is doing way too much at uncommon. If this is meant to be in a commander precon, I kind of understand it as attempting to combine multiple themes. In fact, this seems like it’s trying to combine the two commanders of the RB commander deck they just released: Prosper having a treasure theme and the Eye Tyrant having a goad theme. Still, that first ability seems really tacked on and will lead players to misplay. I like what the card is trying to do, but it needed a bit more restraint.

@whuh-oh​ - Eternal Pilgrim

Love the art here. This is another take on a pilgrim, our second, and a completely different interpretation. This guy mills you and gains you life, at a minimum one (unless he’s killed in response), then lets you reanimate something, even if it’s just a land. So, first things first, this definitely need to be a rare. It’s such a complex ability, and does a lot of things that shouldn’t happen regularly in limited. The way it snowballs, turning tapped creature into more creatures into bigger creature, or at a bare minimum ramping. I also reeeally wish this were green. I feel likeit’s pretty likely you’ll be reanimating lands most of the time, unless you’re built around these guys. Self mill and life gain are also both green. This is not to say this is out of color, I just think it fits better. I also kind of wish it restricted your reanimation to just cards milled. That would encourage you to really get X up there, instead of just laying back, activating two of these guys in response to each other and getting back the same two two-drops you just blocked with. I want there to be a little more going on here than just slow, repetitive value.

@wolkemesser​ - The Untouchable

I mean, I don’t want to touch him. A very direct interpretation of the epithet. He can’t be targeted, and if you touch him you die. I like the minion typeline, it’s a rare one, but it really fits the deathtouchiness of this guy. However, that’s about all I like. Deathtouch and trample don’t exist on the same card for a reason. It’s an incredibly niche and awkward interaction that confuses new players. Putting this at uncommon means it’s likely new players are going to have to interact with that. Plus, it having shroud means it will have to be blocked in order to kill it, meaning it will almost certainly come up. I do appreciate that the shroud makes it less likely you’d need to do it with more than two creatures. But trample also doesn’t fit the feel of the card. It doesn’t really make it less touchable. It also isn’t needed for power levels, it’s already strong without it. I think this card is a perfect encapsulation of the epithet, but I wish it wasn’t as unfun to have in play.

~

-Mod Mr. ShinyObject