#maybe the fire stole your spotlight

[dustbon]

Happy birthday to Julia 💎🎂 2/2

*clears throat in drama*

THE SCANDAL MAGAZINE PRESENTS:

EMERGENCY! THE BAILEY-MOONS SET MANOR ON FIRE IN OWNER’S BIRTHDAY!

[mini side pic #1 showing Octavia Moon suspiciously running away from a grill on fire that was never intended to be used in the party] 

ACCIDENT? OR PYROMANIA? READ MORE!

[mini side pic #2 showing influencer writer actress and birthday girl Julia Tavares (who?) choosing violence and entering Karen mode] 

“I’M SUING HER!” LEGAL DRAMA NOW?

✅ Have a public scandal*

*This isn’t going to be the only scandal Julia will be involved in, but we’re starting strong lol. More gossip and drama to come!

[aftonsparv-bugzz]

this disability pride month, include anosmics and ageusics.

this disability pride month, stop using the s slur, saying "delulu" "delusional" "deluled" ect when you disagree with someone, stop using "sch*zoposting" and just overall treat schizospecs better.

this disability pride month, stop saying "psychopath" "sociopath" and "narcissistic".

this disability pride month, be kinder to people who hallucinate and experience delusions.

this disability pride month, stop stupidifying those who have trouble with "basic skills", people with learning disabilities, ect.

this disability pride month, stop villanising cluster b's.

this disability pride month, stop saying youre such a "pyromaniac" for lighting something on fire or saying youre "a kelpto" because you stole something.

this disability pride month, stop fakeclaiming did/osdd systems.

this disability pride month, stop saying "im so ocd" after cleaning something up.

this disability pride month, stop being rude and impatient with people with intellectual disabilities.

this disability pride month, stop infantilising non verbal people.

this disability pride month, stop treating autism and adhd as the cutesy disorders.

this disability pride month, stop excusing yourself by lying that youhave adhd when youdont. people need those recourses, youdo not get to take them away.

this disability pride month, normalise people with little to no empathy.

this disability pride month, stop using "attention seekers" (especially on your fellow hpds and npds).

this disability pride month, stop reality checking those who dont consent to it.

this disability pride month, stop bullying those who "smell bad" or "look weird" or whatever. (you never know what someones going through)

this disability pride month, stop giving weird looks to those who have bald spots, or cant stop picking their nose, or cracking their knuckles or whatever. (this is mainly focused on bfrbs)

this disability pride month, stop saying "everyone has anxiety" to those with anxiety/panic disorders.

this disability pride month, be normal about zoocanthropes/lycanthropes.

this disability pride month, treat those with personality disorders like youwould any other person.

this disability pride month, just stop bullying little people. just acknowledge people with dwarfism.

this disability pride month, dont stare at that mobility aid user so much. eyes off of them, they dont need to be in the spotlight for a physical disability. (unless they want to xoD /silly)

this disability pride month, stop judging those with facial/body deformities

this disability pride month, be normal about those with physical disabilities, and stop silently judging them.

this disability pride month, stop saying "pride month 2" or "wrath month". we dont even acknowledge disability pride month at all.

this disability pride month, stop differentiating "queer pride month" and "disability pride month" as "pride month" and "disability pride month". they are both pride months so call them by their full names.

this disability pride month, acknowledge not all disabilities are visible.

this disability pride month, give up your seat to someone who needs it.

this disability pride month, actually treat disabled people with rights and respect.

disabled people are people to. you failing to acknowledge that is your abelism. treat us like youd treat any other normal human being. and maybe, just maybe, after this disability pride month, youcan start treating disabled folks like living beings of society and not like your little pity pets/scary monsters/silly cutesy babies.

[luvzshy]

Okay this involves actor Billie

What if she is secretly dating a cast member (reader gf) and at the interview (press for the movie) they are asked questions about their relationships and they answer describing each other but not enough to know it’s each other, but based on their body language and eye contact and the way they admire one another the fans start putting it together online. Billie and gf fuel the fire later that day when gf posts a pic wearing Billie’s sweatshirt.

Or something along those lines. Ik I made it super specific🤣

Silent Signals

The press junket was in full swing, the room buzzing with anticipation. You sat next to Billie on the interview panel, both of you well aware of the rumors swirling around you two for weeks. Being cast together in this major film had sparked endless speculations—about your chemistry, your close friendship, and what exactly was going on behind the scenes. But up until now, both of you had kept things professional, playing the part of co-stars perfectly. No one knew you were more than that.

You stole a quick glance at Billie from your seat, her hands casually resting on her lap, fingers drumming softly against her thigh. She caught your gaze and gave you the smallest of smiles, a private look only you would recognize. It was enough to make your heart race, but you quickly looked away, hoping no one noticed the exchange.

The interviewer smiled, leaning forward. “So, Billie, we have to ask… fans are dying to know—are you seeing anyone?”

Billie straightened up in her chair, her eyes twinkling with amusement. You could see the corner of her mouth lift in that mischievous grin she always wore when she was about to play things close to the chest. “Yeah, actually, I am,” she answered smoothly, and the room seemed to hold its breath. “She’s… incredible. Smart, talented, everything you could want.”

You couldn’t help but smirk a little, trying to hide your reaction from the cameras pointed at you. Of course, she wouldn’t give too much away. Billie was good at this, teasing just enough to keep people on the edge but never revealing the full picture.

The interviewer wasn’t satisfied with that. “Interesting… and how did you meet her? On set, maybe?” There was a laugh in her voice, like she was fishing for something specific, knowing there was more to uncover.

Billie shook her head, still smiling. “Well, I can’t say too much. But she’s someone who understands me, you know? It’s been… really good.”

Your chest fluttered at the words, knowing exactly what she meant by ‘understanding her.’ It was something only the two of you shared, in quiet moments away from the spotlight, tucked in her trailer or late at night in your shared hotel room.

Before the interviewer could press further, she turned her attention to you. “What about you? There’s a lot of curiosity around your love life too. Anyone special?”

Your mind raced, but you kept your expression calm. “Yeah, there is.” You hesitated, feeling Billie’s eyes on you. “She’s… kind of everything. Really supportive, keeps me grounded when things get crazy.”

There was a brief pause, the interviewer raising her eyebrows, clearly intrigued by the vague yet intimate answers. “Seems like both of you are very happy in your relationships. Must be nice to have someone who gets what you’re going through.”

“Yeah, it is,” you both echoed at the same time, and you had to fight the smile threatening to break out on your face.

The rest of the interview moved on to typical press talk—questions about the movie, working with the cast, and upcoming projects. But the subtle exchanges between you and Billie weren’t lost on the fans. As soon as the interview clip hit social media, they were quick to pick up on the shared glances, the way Billie’s eyes lingered on you whenever you spoke, and how your body language seemed to mirror hers without even realizing it.

“Did you see the way Billie was looking at her???” one fan tweeted, attaching a zoomed-in photo of Billie watching you, her expression soft and adoring.

“Them answering the relationship question like it’s not super obvious they’re talking about each other 😭” another wrote, attaching a gif of the two of you laughing together.

By the time the press junket ended, the internet was buzzing with theories. Billie’s name was trending, as was yours, and the hashtag #BillieGF started gaining traction as fans began dissecting every interview and behind-the-scenes clip for more clues.

That night, as you both relaxed in the hotel room, you were scrolling through Twitter, laughing at how fast fans had put the pieces together. Billie was stretched out next to you on the bed, wearing her usual oversized hoodie—the one that always looked comically big on her but felt perfect when you wore it.

“Think they’ve figured it out?” she teased, glancing at your phone.

“Maybe,” you replied, showing her a particularly convincing thread where fans had matched your hoodie to the one she was wearing in old Instagram photos. “I think this might have given us away.”

She snorted, shaking her head in disbelief. “They’re too good.”

Feeling a little bold, you leaned over and snapped a selfie of yourself in the hoodie, making sure to catch the recognizable logo on the front. You posted it on your Instagram with the caption, “Comfy after a long day ❤️”.

The photo was barely up for an hour when fans started freaking out, sharing side-by-side comparisons of you in Billie’s hoodie and Billie wearing the same one in a throwback picture.

“GUYS SHE’S WEARING BILLIE’S HOODIE!!!”

“They’re definitely together omg 😭”

By morning, the internet was on fire. Fan accounts were dedicated to piecing together every subtle hint you and Billie had ever dropped about your relationship. And, of course, Billie couldn’t resist fueling the flames. She commented on your post, “Looking good in my favorite sweatshirt 😏”, making it all but official.

[maochira]

IN THE SPOTLIGHT; First selection; chapter 2: the fire inside of you

Blue Lock x transmasc!reader; reader is referred to with fem terms and pronouns until he realizes he's trans; reader's last name is Hoshino; series masterlist

Blue Lock, block five. Team Z vs Team X.

Chaos. That's the only word on your mind as you watch turmoil unfolding on the field just moments after kickoff. Everyone is yelling at each other and nobody stands on the position that was assigned to them. Including you.

Because you were the one who started it. You were the first one who decided to ignore the positions you and your teammates agreed on. You were the one who stole the ball from your team's striker. You were the one who immediately decided to not give a damn about being a midfielder, even if it was for only this one game.

There is no way in hell you'd play any position you weren't made for.

Despite being surrounded by your own teammates and the opposing players, and all of them trying to steal the ball from you, you somehow outsmart them and begin dribbling to the goal.

You're about to shoot when a voice you don't recognize yells from behind you. "I'm not letting a girl shoot the first goal!"

You can't help but let out a laugh as you get ready to make your first goal. "Hah, keep dreaming!"

Maybe you shouldn't have let yourself get distracted. Maybe you shouldn't have listened to that comment. Maybe you shouldn't have responded.

Maybe you should have focused on shooting the ball.

Barou was quick enough to steal it, thanks to you taking only a few seconds locker to position yourself properly in front of the goal.

The chaos on the field continues. It's no longer the kind of chaos you can control. As much as you try, you can't get the ball anymore. Team X is dominating this game with Barou shooting goal after goal and the rest of his team adapting to his way of playing.

If only your team did the same. If they had agreed to make you the center forward and adapted to your style, you would have-

You're thrown out of your thoughts when Isagi and Bachira begin to coorporate. With a few cursewords under your breath you decide to join them. This might end up convincing them that you'll be the one to lead Team Z to victory.

The match continues. There isn't enough time left for you to win, but you agreed with Isagi's idea of shooting at least one goal to establish some sense of teamwork.

The match still resulted in a 5:2 and Team Z lost. That was inevitable.

Kunigami shot the first goal after Isagi passed to him, and you shot the second goal after Bachira dribbled all the way towards the goal but suddenly got surrounded by opponents. Luckily, you were in the perfect position to receive a pass and shoot another goal.

But still, you lost. A feeling you haven't known in ages.

Japan's Supernova lost.

"Listen here, Superloser", Barou hovers above you, his height only making him more intimidating to you sitting on the ground as you try to catch your breath. "You being the greatest in girls' soccer doesn't mean you have even the slightest chance against me."

You've become used to this already. All you do is stare back at the self-proclaimed "King" as you stand up. A mix of frustration, determination and anger washes over you.

Barou grins and continues in a mocking tone. "What? Too afraid to talk back? If you've got no bite, you're not made to be a striker."

So many things you'd wish to say, but so little coherent thoughts form in your mind. Combined with a pressure in your chest that feels like a spark about to burst into a flame.

This is the final time you'll let someone speak to you like this.

You cross your arms in front of your chest and get a little closer to Barou. "You may call yourself a king, but I've been called Supernova by all of Japan. If it was only you and me without these other idiots on the field, I'd beat you without even trying."

[nymphixs-blog]

So the other day I made myself a series called "Karaoke week" it's a Leo and Aizen (my OC) series! Basically...

Leo runs into his favorite and famous singer Aizen while on his way to going out to Karaoke night with his best friends the two end up being partners after Aizen reluctantly agrees to join Leo and soon a spark was fired and Leo was head over heels for the popular singer...

SHHDHSJDJDJRHRJ

Achem anyways so there was this one specific song I wanna use (It's a song fic PLEASE. I've already had to explain it SO MANY TIMES 😭😭💀) but its "Stupid in love" and it was Leo's first choice during their turn ^^

Uhh...Here I'll just..*Cutely types chapter two instead of copying and pasting it like a normal person*

———

"Come on princess it'll be fun!" Leo said after putting the CD of the song in and handed the microphone to Aizen who chuckled nervously.

"Are you sure I mean it's a little..." The girl replied and tapped her fingers against the microphone awkwardly as Leo blew a raspberry guestering for her to join him as the lyrics appeared on the screen

“Ugh the audacity of this thing to think I need lyrics!” Leo scoffed as Aizen giggled and she was starting to zone out and her ears started ringing fuck fuck fuck! Not an anxiety attack! Now? During all times?

Aizen was about to give up and bury herself in pillows before the sound of Leo singing caught her attention...

"Know it's a little soon, maybe..But I'd go anywhere you take me long as you're calling me, baby they can all call us crazy.."

And that's when it hit Aizen in the face.

She knew Leo was good at a LOT of things but singing? Yeah that was a HUGE shocker. Anyways the way Leo's voice sounded it was.. comforting and God he sounded HELLA good for someone who doesn't sing often.

Aizen perked up a bit before joining Leo for the second verse.

"Hi! You came baby I've been waiting for you all day so lean my way and let me just take away all the pain, I know it's a bit soon for vows paper rings are good for now but no I'm already down the aisle cause I'm so stupid in love..."

Leo smiled at his crush and grabbed her hand intertwining them and stared into her eyes the chemistry was there and everyone in the room knew it.

"let's get married in Vegas we don't need a guest list I don't wanna think to much..Let's get matching tattoos I don't wanna think it through baby I'm so stupid in love book a flight to Paris to run away what you think about sharing our last name? Let's get straight to I do I don't wan a think it through baby I'm so stupid in love"

Both Leo and Aizen were singing their hearts out ignoring the cheering that was happening, his eyes were locked onto hers and vice versa. They never wanted this moment to end, Leo never wanted this moment to end..He was so in love with this girl he'd thought he'd never have the chance of singing with her and now he's living his dream he was in cloud nine and Aizen was his grounding.

The duo were unstoppable, powerful together. Hell Leo would DIE for Aizen- maybe that was a little TOO much whoops...Ah whatever Leo didn't care he was just enjoying this moment like anyone would!

When the song was over Leo chuckled softly and placed his thumb over her chin and caressed her cheek before peckither on the lips officially saying he and Aizen had her again stole the spotlight like he had planned.

Aizen on the other hand was SPEECHLESS she stood there her face completely red and she felt hot before she looked away from Leo and then unfortunately she couldn't keep her eyes off of him and scoffed "Your a jackass you know that right?"

Leo laughed in return and flicked her playfully on the nose, "Yeah yeah I'm YOUR jackass though" He giggled as Aizen rolled her eyes and before she could move her best friend Jennika pulled her into a tight hug, "That was amazing Zen!!!" She complimented before Jennika stared Leo down giving him the

"don't touch my best friend you asshole." Look and Leo cringed before sighing and walked over to their twin brother snatching a ten dollar bill from their hand smirking.

And for once Leo's life was going the way he wanted it to..

———

ERM YEAH THAT'S ALL I HAVE SO FAR SUDNDHRBRNJRKRRKRKRKRKKRRKEELEKEK you can find more on my tiktok page!!! 😭😭💀

[nooowestayandgetcaught]

Fic: “Comedian’s Night”

read on AO3

Fandom: Teen Titans

Rating: T (for violence/blood)

Summary: Robin investigates trouble in Jump City's local performing arts center and gets the unlikeliest backup.

@flashfictionfridayofficial​​

Getting back from Steel City, and Titans East, for a double-team mission against H.I.V.E. Five, Robin has one mission— the Tower's main computer alerts.

911 calls. Emergency service updates. Police scans. He inspects all waiting to be reviewed. There appears to have been a fair amount of criminal activity before and after Robin left.  No spikes. The Team are still on their way back, so Robin does another data check-through with a more critical eye.

Is that… a skeletal-white face mask, great. Great.

Robin can feel the eye-roll coming, tapping on some of the keyss.

Same suit, same cape, same gadgets—

Same old nonsense.

However, a new distress-signal blinks on the flat computer-panel displays.

Trouble right in middle of Jump City?

Robin considers his options, deciding to alert Cyborg who is still driving everyone else in the T-car and going himself. Someone has to.

*

"How's about I introduce myself, ladies and germs!" she shrills over the heightened chaos. "Ya can call me Duela—the Joker's Daughter!"

No—

Robin groans lightly, his entire body protesting as he turns onto his stomach.

"I'm sure am glad I know sign language!" Duela recites, bending the fingers of a woman's hand she melted off. "Comes in prettieeee HANDY!"

Her high-pitched maniacal laughter echoes through the building.

Damn it—

"Some days, I miss my ex-boyfriend," Duela says gleefully, an the innocent man writhing in pain from his bleeding shoulder. Two razor-sharp playing cards embedded in him. "But my aim is steadily improving, wouldn'ya think?"

Robin drags himself back onto his feet to go to the injured man, clamping his fingers over the wound. It's not life-threatening.

"Take your scarf, apply pressure on it… he's okay, okay?" Robin assures the man's frantic date. "You need to get yourselves out of here."

He blocks them from Duela smirking.

Under the spotlights, her emerald-and-purple outfit glitters.

Duela's exposed flesh has a ghastly white sheen. Maybe a chemical alteration?

That doesn't make her…

"Joker's daughter?" Robin says scoffing, his vision still a little hazy. His muscles tremble. "More like a wannabe clown psycho."

Her smirk widens.

"And who are you? Hmm?" she jeers. "The Ugly Traffic Light Who Could?"

Robin unclips an ammunition disc, switching it on. 

The activation light blinking red. 

"Green means go, right," he quips, throwing the disc at Duela's feet. 

In moments, a stream of concentrated freezing gas bursts out, and Robin moves. He has to see who else is left before—

"NICE TRY!"

The smoke…

Robin feels it inside of him like a burning sick-sensation, growing heavier. 

His knees start to give.

"Night, night," Duela sing-songs, getting out her bullet-firing lipstick.

Robin's vision blurs.

A gigantic red X shoots through the air, colliding into Duela before she's fired her weapon, pinning her to the stage-wall.

"Is that all you got, kid—"

"Some folks just ain't cut out for showbiz—"

*

A deep, coughing wheeze startles Robin awake.

He lifts off the concrete rooftop, dazedly examining himself.

"Take it easy," comes the static-filled voice. Not far off, Red X has a foot on the rooftop's ledge, gazing out into the neon-lit skyline. "You woke up two times already. Puked the first time, and then, you started mumbling in another language the second. But I'm no expert in Western European."

"…did you kill her?" Robin croaks, ignoring how his heart pounds.

"Came close," Red X admits. "She's gonna be going 'night, night' for a while."

"Is this a detour from robbing a bank, X?"

"Saving your life?" 

A loud tutting noise crackles Red X's mask voice-box. 

"You're going to return the museum's jewels you stole…" Robin demands, weakly climbing to his knees. Red X shuffles his dark, leathered boot off the rooftop's ledge. He doesn’t seem very worried about Robin's hand going for his utility belt. Or rather, for no belt. Red X holds up Robin's belt.

"Finders keepers."

"Is that all that matters to you? Being a criminal?"

Robin hesitates, Red X's finger suddenly pushing under his chin, tilting his face.

"Not all…" Red X says.

The whites of Robin's eyelets go big.

Red X drags his fingertip purposefully, tilting Robin's face further up. No, no—Robin struggles against the humiliated blush, jerking away.

A static-snort of laughter.

"Don't drive under the influence, Chuckles," Red X quips, tossing one of the T-communicators. "Call for a ride. Safety first."

"You…"

"And I'll catch ya on the flip-side."

He takes a running leap off the building, which Robin suspects City Hall, vanishing in mid-air. Yep, definitely the same Red X tech.

Same old nonsense…

Robin presses for Cyborg's number, a little defeated.

Great.

[my-weird-news]

🔥 Oppenheimer: From Nukes to Trending! 😮

Nuclear Nonsense: A Comedy of Catastrophic Proportions Before the bomb, humanity's knack for destruction was like a sitcom that only non-humans were allowed to participate in. We're talking floods, plagues, and divine acts of cleanup on aisle Earth. Sure, we could picture Mother Nature throwing tantrums and nature's fury causing chaos, but when it came to ending the show, our role was more like a forgettable side character. No button-pushing villain who could bring down the curtain on the human race in a snap. Oh, but then along came nuclear power, and suddenly we were handed the detonator to blow up entire cities like oversized birthday cakes. Scientists, in their infinite wisdom, realized we could even accidentally set the sky ablaze while trying to flex our newfound atomic muscles. It was like giving a toddler a bazooka and hoping they wouldn't blow up the living room. And guess what? Pandora's box just threw in the towel. J. Robert Oppenheimer, the brain behind the bomb, exclaimed, "I'm now Death, the cosmic party pooper!" (Okay, maybe he said it with more gravity, but you get the gist.) Imagine the shock! Anyone from Joe Schmo to Jane Doe suddenly had the potential to turn us all into cosmic confetti. Existential crisis level: expert mode. We're talking not just the fear of instant doom but also a sense that the universe had run amok. With a deity, you could kneel and beg for mercy. But human beings? We all know how stubbornly ludicrous we can be. Even if you tried to shove thoughts of global obliteration under the mental rug, you'd be stuck with a permanent itch of anxiety, like that one popcorn kernel wedged in your teeth after the movies. Speaking of movies, Hollywood's always been the ultimate therapy couch for our fears. The bomb and its bombastic world waltzed back into our cinematic spotlight, from "Manhattan" to "Asteroid City" to "Oppenheimer: The Sequel." But this is a dance that's been going on since forever. No surprise that during the Cold War, the era of bomb-tastic paranoia, filmmakers were on a destruction binge—like Black Friday shoppers at an apocalypse megastore. Take "Fail Safe" (1964), for instance, a film where technological fiascos and nuclear whoopsies lead to an explosion of international proportions. The characters debate if wiping out the world is the ultimate way to evict Communism from the party. But hold onto your fallout shelters, because computers mess up and suddenly it's raining nukes on innocent folks. Cold War cinema was all about serious pondering of human folly, but then there's "Dr. Strangelove" (1964), Kubrick's laugh-out-loud lesson that the end of the world might just be thanks to some very anxious, very, um, inadequately equipped men. Flash-forward to the '80s. Movies like "The Day After" and "Threads" kept the nuclear anxiety fire burning. Even Japan got in on the action, producing atomic-inspired epics like "Godzilla" (not the one where he battles a pizza delivery guy, though). Amidst all the doom and gloom, some films dared to tease the edge of sanity without tumbling into the abyss. "WarGames" (1983), a tale of teenage hackers and their accidental playdate with Armageddon, stole Reagan's heart, because who doesn't enjoy a little close call with global extinction? Back in the day, nuclear threats were as common as mullets, and kids did their nuclear drills with the same gusto as they practiced fire drills. Fast forward again, and we're in a world where nuclear nightmares are as rare as unicorns, or at least as rare as functional self-checkout machines. The Soviet Union vanished, and we stopped practicing the "under the desk" Olympics. The bomb's not completely forgotten, but let's face it, these days we're more concerned about tracking our steps on Fitbits than tracking thermonuclear warfare. Still, we've made a U-turn back to the birth of our atomic playground, perhaps to deal with our modern conundrums. We're living in Oppenheimer's world, the power of the gods in our hands. It's like giving your dog the car keys and hoping they won't crash into a fire hydrant. We're swamped in the feeling that doom's a-swirlin' around every corner, which Wes Anderson's "Asteroid City" gets all too well. Bomb tests pop up like surprise birthday parties, just more explosive. And then there's "Oppenheimer," a movie that's less about biographies and more about the boom of power—atomic power, geopolitical power, power to make you question your own power lunch choices. In a nutshell, Oppenheimer's like an all-you-can-eat buffet of nuclear musings, a reflection of how we became the cosmic game masters. But here's the kicker: we tell ourselves stories about our atomic prowess that are as nutty as a squirrel on an espresso binge. We're terrified, yet we tiptoe around the dread like it's a sleeping bear. But, like any good show, the curtain must rise, and now we're caught in a web of apocalyptic worries, waiting for the grand finale. We're the gods and the end of the line, and the world's biggest punchline. ���🔥💣# Nuclear Nonsense: A Comedy of Catastrophic Proportions Before the bomb, humanity's knack for destruction was like a sitcom that only non-humans were allowed to participate in. We're talking floods, plagues, and divine acts of cleanup on aisle Earth. Sure, we could picture Mother Nature throwing tantrums and nature's fury causing chaos, but when it came to ending the show, our role was more like a forgettable side character. No button-pushing villain who could bring down the curtain on the human race in a snap. Oh, but then along came nuclear power, and suddenly we were handed the detonator to blow up entire cities like oversized birthday cakes. Scientists, in their infinite wisdom, realized we could even accidentally set the sky ablaze while trying to flex our newfound atomic muscles. It was like giving a toddler a bazooka and hoping they wouldn't blow up the living room. And guess what? Pandora's box just threw in the towel. J. Robert Oppenheimer, the brain behind the bomb, exclaimed, "I'm now Death, the cosmic party pooper!" (Okay, maybe he said it with more gravity, but you get the gist.) Imagine the shock! Anyone from Joe Schmo to Jane Doe suddenly had the potential to turn us all into cosmic confetti. Existential crisis level: expert mode. We're talking not just the fear of instant doom but also a sense that the universe had run amok. With a deity, you could kneel and beg for mercy. But human beings? We all know how stubbornly ludicrous we can be. Even if you tried to shove thoughts of global obliteration under the mental rug, you'd be stuck with a permanent itch of anxiety, like that one popcorn kernel wedged in your teeth after the movies. Speaking of movies, Hollywood's always been the ultimate therapy couch for our fears. The bomb and its bombastic world waltzed back into our cinematic spotlight, from "Manhattan" to "Asteroid City" to "Oppenheimer: The Sequel." But this is a dance that's been going on since forever. No surprise that during the Cold War, the era of bomb-tastic paranoia, filmmakers were on a destruction binge—like Black Friday shoppers at an apocalypse megastore. Take "Fail Safe" (1964), for instance, a film where technological fiascos and nuclear whoopsies lead to an explosion of international proportions. The characters debate if wiping out the world is the ultimate way to evict Communism from the party. But hold onto your fallout shelters, because computers mess up and suddenly it's raining nukes on innocent folks. Cold War cinema was all about serious pondering of human folly, but then there's "Dr. Strangelove" (1964), Kubrick's laugh-out-loud lesson that the end of the world might just be thanks to some very anxious, very, um, inadequately equipped men. Flash-forward to the '80s. Movies like "The Day After" and "Threads" kept the nuclear anxiety fire burning. Even Japan got in on the action, producing atomic-inspired epics like "Godzilla" (not the one where he battles a pizza delivery guy, though). Amidst all the doom and gloom, some films dared to tease the edge of sanity without tumbling into the abyss. "WarGames" (1983), a tale of teenage hackers and their accidental playdate with Armageddon, stole Reagan's heart, because who doesn't enjoy a little close call with global extinction? Back in the day, nuclear threats were as common as mullets, and kids did their nuclear drills with the same gusto as they practiced fire drills. Fast forward again, and we're in a world where nuclear nightmares are as rare as unicorns, or at least as rare as functional self-checkout machines. The Soviet Union vanished, and we stopped practicing the "under the desk" Olympics. The bomb's not completely forgotten, but let's face it, these days we're more concerned about tracking our steps on Fitbits than tracking thermonuclear warfare. Still, we've made a U-turn back to the birth of our atomic playground, perhaps to deal with our modern conundrums. We're living in Oppenheimer's world, the power of the gods in our hands. It's like giving your dog the car keys and hoping they won't crash into a fire hydrant. We're swamped in the feeling that doom's a-swirlin' around every corner, which Wes Anderson's "Asteroid City" gets all too well. Bomb tests pop up like surprise birthday parties, just more explosive. And then there's "Oppenheimer," a movie that's less about biographies and more about the boom of power—atomic power, geopolitical power, power to make you question your own power lunch choices. In a nutshell, Oppenheimer's like an all-you-can-eat buffet of nuclear musings, a reflection of how we became the cosmic game masters. But here's the kicker: we tell ourselves stories about our atomic prowess that are as nutty as a squirrel on an espresso binge. We're terrified, yet we tiptoe around the dread like it's a sleeping bear. But, like any good show, the curtain must rise, and now we're caught in a web of apocalyptic worries, waiting for the grand finale. We're the gods and the end of the line, and the world's biggest punchline. 🍿🔥💣 Read the full article

[hoediaz]

hiiiiii zoe “in my defense, i really wanted to” <33333 if it sparks inspiration!!

"In my defence," Eddie says, his arms folded across his chest and his chin raised stubbornly, "I really wanted to."

Buck can still feel the weight of Eddie's mouth against his own, burning like a brand. He presses cold fingers to the edge of his mouth, blinks dumbly.

The kitchen is quiet and dark, mostly everyone asleep in the privacy of the bunk room. At this time of night it's only Buck and Eddie, teasing and laughing quietly as they pick through the cupboards for the snacks Chimney hides behind Bobby's spices.

Buck doesn't remember what they were joking about — maybe the call from earlier, when Ravi slipped in mud and took Chimney down with him, or maybe the book Buck's been reading, a domestic thriller that doesn't make any sense — only that one second they were laughing, shushing each other, their shoulders knocking together, and the next Eddie's eyes were lingering over the curve of mouth, Eddie's hand was curling in the front of his uniform, Eddie's mouth was sliding over his.

He's been kissed a lot in his lifetime, by a lot of different people in a lot of different places, but not a single one of them comes close to this: the press of Eddie's body so familiar he could recognize it half-dead, the fire house so familiar he can navigate it in the dark.

"In your defence?" Buck repeats, incredulous. And then: "You really wanted to?"

"Yes," Eddie huffs, his shoulders shifting in a way that pulls the short sleeves of his uniform over his biceps. He's been wearing the short sleeves more and more since finally coming back to the 118, and at first Buck thought it was some kind of symbolic gesture about starting over, like the haircut, but now he thinks it was just to torture him. "Did you hit your head?"

"No, I didn't — you want to kiss me? On purpose?"

"On purp— no, Buck, I wanted to trip and fall on your mouth. Yes, on purpose."

He knows Eddie, knows him better than maybe anyone on the planet, so he knows that he's only being snappish because he's embarrassed, because he put himself on the line to kiss Buck and now they're standing in the kitchen arguing about it.

But Eddie knows Buck, too, knows him right down to the very marrow of his bones, so that snappish defence only lasts a second before he's tilting his head, his eyes softening. "Buck," he says, "I always want you on purpose. Today, and yesterday, and tomorrow, it's just — I just look at you and want you. You can't blame me for that."

And Buck thinks he might cry in his place of work at four thirty in the morning with the borrowed taste of Chimney's Scooby Doo gummies on his lips.

"I think," he says, and has to clear his throat when his voice cracks, desperate and breaking open. He licks his lips, watches Eddie's eyes trace the movement. "I think I might need some more convincing. You know. Just to be sure."

Eddie blinks, and then a grin blooms across his expression, brightening the dark of the kitchen. "Well," he says, taking a step closer, his hands reaching up to frame Buck's face between slightly sweaty palms, "I guess. But only because I really want to."

Buck grins into the kiss, twisting a hand in Eddie's uniform that tugs it gently loose from his pants. It's a horrible, terrible idea, making out lazily against the fridge in the middle of a shift when they should be sleeping soundly in separate bunks, but they do it anyway. It's been too long since they've let themselves indulge in something just because they want it; months for Buck, maybe a lifetime for Eddie.

But it's a bad idea nonetheless, proven so when the kitchen light flicks on, casting a spotlight on where Buck has one hand halfway up Eddie's shirt, where Eddie has both hands twisted in his hair, their lips kiss-swollen and grinning too wide for having been caught.

"Just so you know," Chimney says from the other side of the island, holding onto the recently open box of his gummies that Eddie stole from, "this is literally my worst nightmare and I'm telling everyone."

Eddie only laughs, bright and joyous and half-muffled by Buck's shoulder, and Buck is warm, wanted.

send me a prompt if u would like

[hancydrewfan]

pairing: hotchniss (hotch x emily); vaguely spread across seasons 4-7 warnings: annnnnngst and loooooooooove, my favourite things; smoking and alcohol and canon-typical violence (mentioned) word count: 2.2K Phoebe Bridgers, Patty Griffin, and Norah Jones have all written a Moon Song. Each Moon Song tells its own story of love, and together they form the inspiration of this fic. As per usual: our two favourite idiots in love, how they fell apart, and ultimately how they find their way.

read on ao3 or below the cut!

- phoebe -

The moon was so bright. It was so much brighter lately than it ever had been. Or maybe she just noticed it more now because it was shining down on her like a spotlight. As if she ever wanted to be the star of anything, and now she felt like she was supposed to monologue about something. But she just took another drag from her cigarette instead—a habit she mostly broke, but sometimes fell back to when her world felt tilted in the wrong direction. 

Fear and adrenaline brought them together in the first place, the sound of Cyrus’ fists on her skin still echoing between his ears when Aaron knocked on her apartment door barely an hour after landing back in DC, unable to rest without seeing for certain that she was okay. He wept at the sight of her bruised eye, even darker than it had been earlier, and she let him inspect her wounds, his fingers trailing lightly over her split lip and cracked ribs until a spark stole the air from the room and they could only breathe through the other’s lungs.

He didn’t stay the night, she would never have let him, but she let him in again a week later, and again and again after that. For months she tiptoed around the conversation about them because she didn’t want to break their bubble of solace, until the depravity of the Turner brothers in Southern Ontario lit a fire under her skin, and she told him they needed to figure it out and suggested dinner that weekend. A date that passed forgotten after Foyet desecrated his home and split his family. The beginning of their end. 

Her birthday fell on a Monday that year, and it was the last time Emily remembered his real smile lighting his face. Penelope had begged her to come out with the team that night, a rare start to the week that didn’t have them flying to another part of the country for a case. All she really wanted to do was spend a quiet night at home with a bottle of wine trying to divert Aaron’s attention for an evening, but it was becoming clearer every day that she couldn’t do that alone anymore. She spied Rossi and Aaron out of the corner of her eye, no doubt the one convincing the other to come out just for a night, for the good of the team, so she relented, a small part of her awed that these people thought she was worth celebrating.

She should’ve expected the birthday cake at the bar, it was Penelope after all, but it still caught her off guard, a touching gesture from the people she relied on more than family. They sang Happy Birthday, voices off-key and out-of-sync from the buzz of too much liquor, and she blew out the candles. “Speech!” Derek shouted, but she looked up at Aaron and saw that his smile had reached his eyes for the first time in weeks, and she stuttered, forgetting how to speak, before lamely thanking everyone for the fun evening.

He knocked at her door again that night, and she could feel him trying so hard to be present as he revered her body with soft lips and gentle hands. Holding her close after, he traced his fingers through her hair as he asked, “What was your wish?”

She yawned and blinked lazily. “Hmm?”

“When you blew out your candles,” he added. “What did you wish for?”

“Oh,” she murmured, settling into his chest. “Just the moon.” 

In her haze of near-sleep she could’ve sworn she heard him whisper, I’m trying, but she drifted into a dreamless night in his arms. He was long gone by the time she woke to the smell of fresh coffee, her favourite mug on the counter beside the machine that he’d programmed to her usual morning routine.

She’d realised the truth of her feelings while sitting at his bedside in the hospital, at the middle of the end — she’d give Aaron the moon if he asked for it. But he forgot to ask for anything, so consumed he was with keeping his promise to Haley that trying to hold onto the last good thing in his life became like trying to hold water in his hands, feeling it spill through his fingers. He didn’t knock at her door again after her birthday, and that was the end. Emily let him let her go, resigned to the life of not-quites and almosts that seemed to follow her wherever she went. Days later it was Haley’s bloodstained hair spilling through his fingers as he wept over her broken body.

And now she was here, after the end of them, like a postscript. Smoking in the moonlight on a balcony in Wyoming. The night was brisk and bright, the chill in the air a tonic after a long day of teenage suicide. Aaron’s room was a floor below hers, just to the left. She could see the lamplight from his room spilling out of his window, no doubt as he hunched over his desk with a mountain of paperwork and a bitter coffee to keep him awake, how she knew he was spending most nights lately. A quick burst of wind whistled by, and she felt acutely alone. After a final drag from her cigarette, she stubbed it out and glanced down to Aaron’s room once more, willing him to step outside and feel the night for a moment’s reprieve. Exhaling once more in the cold, she slipped back into her room, locking the sliding door behind her before curling under the covers.

The window rattled with the wind and Aaron looked up from file before him. The moon was so bright, brighter than he’d ever seen before. The night sky was clear in this sleepy town, and he got up from the desk to gaze at stars he hadn’t seen in months, years maybe. After a day of delving into the darkness of humanity, the moonlight felt like a gift. There is still light, fragments of hope scattered like the stars in the night, and the moon… the moon is always there.

- patty -

Aaron was leaving for Pakistan in just a few hours. Penelope had arranged a little goodbye party (“Not a goodbye party, Sir, that means you’re not coming back. It’s a see-you-when-you-come-back-from-Pakistan party, which is hopefully soon…”), but he begged off, saying he wanted to spend the evening with Jack before he left. In truth, he’d already said his goodbyes to Jack that morning, choosing to treat the secondment as if he were leaving for any other case to make it easier for the little boy to understand. He just needed to be alone.

Alone took him to a canteen not far from the military base he’d checked into earlier; he was on his third vodka tonic, the clean burn of the alcohol thrumming to his heartbeat. He felt stupid and hollow.

He’d known something was up. They may not have been sleeping together anymore, but Aaron still knew every one of Emily’s tells, and she was not okay. Late three times in a week, a tiredness to her eyes that concealer couldn’t hide, she was jittery but she wasn’t drinking more coffee. She ate TicTacs like M&Ms and she changed the little scented tree in her car more frequently, telltale signs of someone masking a smoking habit. But he didn’t push her, he couldn’t. He waited for her to come to him, but she never came around at all. 

Knowing now her history with the CIA, it was no wonder she was so skilled at keeping secrets. It didn’t stop him from hating how long it took him to figure it out, just minutes too late. He followed her to that warehouse in Boston where her lifeblood oozed onto the concrete floor. He followed her into the ambulance, blind to the rest of his team. He followed her into the hospital, as far as the surgical staff would let him. He followed her until someone higher up pulled the plug on Emily Prentiss, until she was nothing more than a faked death lost in a sea of bureaucracy and paperwork. 

A bureau-mandated inquiry into the “Prentiss-Doyle situation” as they called it resulted in a two-week paid leave and a month in Quantico spent on consultations rather than on scene. He’d slogged through that time, endless meetings and infinite paperwork dulling his mind. He jumped at the opportunity to leave the country, incapable of feeling much guilt about leaving Jack behind for weeks, maybe months, while he was drowning in his own shame for failing Emily again and again.

He could’ve told her that he regretted breaking up. He almost did, when a shortage of rooms in Alaska put them together. She’d insisted it wasn’t a big deal, they could share the bed, she was always cold anyways. He nearly fell asleep, but then she curled right into him, clutching his shirt like she used to, and it took all of his willpower to not tuck the hair brushing her cheek behind her ear. 

He swallowed the last of his drink, unaffected by the bitter burn in his throat, and dropped a few bills on the bar, grabbing his duffel as he left the canteen to catch what little sleep he could before boarding the long flight. It was a clear May night, and the moon shone brightly behind him as he walked towards the bunkhouse. It surprised him, seeing how much light there was, and he paused for a minute at the door, turning to gaze into the moonlit night. The moon glowed down on him, the same as it ever was. How could something be so far away and yet make the midnight radiate with light? Perhaps the same way she was across an ocean and still in his thoughts every second. Tonight, before the long journey ahead of him, it felt like the moon followed him home.

On a balcony in Paris, a wisp of smoke curls into the early morning air. The last of the stars are winking out but the moon clings to the periwinkle sky, dawn only moments from breaking. Another day feeling stupid and hollow as she numbly goes through the motions of her cover. Her only reprieve is watching the moon disappear into the early morning light, finding comfort in knowing that when it leaves her sky, it follows its path around the Earth to his. She keeps her eyes on the moon until the very end, until the sun’s rays spraying out from behind the old city block in front of her erase it from the sky, hidden again until the evening’s twilight. She takes one last drag before stubbing out her cigarette, sparing one more glance toward the sun as it rises.

- norah -

On a Saturday morning, they counted the marshmallows in his Lucky Charms. The rule was she could have four of any of them except for the rainbows, his favourite. She always took three hearts and a moon. “A heart for you, a heart for Daddy, and a heart for Sergio,” she says.

“And a moon for you!” Jack chimes in, having indulged in this ritual with her nearly every weekend for several months now.

“And a moon for me.” She watches him fondly as he sorts his marshmallows by type, arrayed in as close to a rainbow shape as he could, another part of the ritual. Six months ago she had a bad day and Aaron invited her over for breakfast the next morning. She hasn’t missed a week of marshmallow sorting since. 

“Where does the moon go?” Jack asks, popping a red balloon into his mouth.

“What do you mean?” 

“Where does the moon go?” he asks again, sorting horseshoes into their pile. “I know it comes out at night and goes away in the morning, but where does it go?”

She scours her memory for grade school science. “Well, it keeps orbiting the Earth…” she trails off, remembering a sunrise in Paris. “You know, I’ve seen the moon disappear before.”

Jack looks up. “Really?” he grins. “I want to see! How can we see it, Emily?”

“Well, I’ll have to ask your dad, but we could have a sleepover in the backyard—oof” Jack flies into her arms, and she grunts.

“Oh please Emily, please! I know Daddy’ll say yes if you ask him! He always says yes to everything you ask.”

Emily hugs the little boy close to her, stunned as always over the love he gave so freely. “I’ll ask him, don’t worry!”

- 

And so it came to be that they were in a tent in the Hotchners’ backyard, a house in the suburbs he’d promised for Jack when he’d returned from Pakistan. Jack fell asleep between them, curled into Emily’s side like a little bug. He’d been adamant he’d make it, that he’d stay up the whole night to watch the moon disappear in the morning, but she was under strict orders to wake him, just in case. And she would, she would give that boy the sun, the stars, the moon if he asked for it. Anything to make sure this moment, this life she found herself in, was real. Was hers. 

She turns toward Aaron, sleepy but alive, and sees him looking at her, a soft smile on his face as he rubs his thumb along the hand he holds. Maybe it’s just the way the light catches, but she swears she sees the moon reflected in his eyes. And he was hers.

[blue-mood-blue]

Curses Don’t Care If You Believe In Them

When he was very young, Dion Aquato didn’t believe he was cursed.

He believed Nona believed it - Nona, who had every reason to fear water - and there was no arguing with her. He believed his parents had found a good excuse for keeping him and Frazie close to camp and away from at least one of the dangers little children could stumble into when every few months meant unfamiliar terrain. He believed it was an easier story to tell, should anyone ask why the family avoided fortune-tellers and their past with equal determination.

But Dion wasn’t cursed. He was confident of that from the age of six, when he slipped and fell into a pond his Nona warned him about just an hour before. He’d been in a hurry to get back to camp after too long exploring, his mom calling for him, and the low branch hanging over the water was a temptation any fledgling acrobat couldn’t resist. One quick leap, a swing to the other side, and he’d be back in camp in half the time to face hopefully half the irritation he could already hear creeping into Donatella Aquato’s voice. He’d been practicing. He could do it.

He couldn’t. Even with a running start, the branch was just out of reach; he could feel the rough bark barely brush his fingertips as he plummeted into the water. No one heard the splash when he hit. No one came running to fish him out. Dion struggled to the surface on his own, found his feet, and walked back out.

That was how Dion knew - Dion knew because he would be dead, otherwise.

Life in the Aquato Circus was like that, though; everything was built up into a story to make the show - to make the Aquatos - feel like more than they were. The acrobatics made them weightless, the spotlight made them untouchable, and the curse made them mysterious. From the moment an audience stepped foot onto the grounds until the moment they left, the Aquatos spun a yarn and crafted an impression. And Dion, old enough to know better than to believe, carried on the story of Galochio the way other older siblings might carry on stories of strangers who brought gifts or fairies who stole teeth.

“Galochio, infuriated and humiliated by his inability to imitate the Aquato’s stunning mastery of water -”

“That’s not how it goes, Dion.” Frazie tossed a pinecone. It bounced off of Dion’s forehead and fell into the campfire, and the flames that seemed happy enough to consume it brightened on Raz’s rapt face, where he was leaning in maybe a little too close. 

“Infuriated and humiliated,” Dion gritted out, “Galochio decided his only remaining option - the only way to save his pride and his struggling circus -”

“You missed the part with the high dive.”

Another pinecone accompanied the criticism. It went wide as Dion dodged. “I didn’t miss the part with the high dive, the part with the high dive is stupid.”

“It’s the best part!”

“It’s stupid.” Dion got to his feet abruptly, and before Raz could protest, he continued. “The best part,” he said, walking slowly around the fire, “is what Galochio decided to do. Infuriated and humiliated, he was left with only one option - he would take away the very thing that made the Aquatos special and turn it against them.” Raz watched him circle the fire, leaning away when Dion leaned closer as he passed, completely caught up in the story despite the interruptions. “Better than cutting a tightrope while they were on it or collapsing their tent on top of them, Galochio cursed the Aquatos. ‘You, and your children, and their children, are betrayed by their namesake. Your family will die in water. No matter how far you go, wherever you run, the reflection of the water will reveal you and yours to my eyes -” Dion stopped his pacing behind Raz “- and no matter the distance, it will carry my rage to you -” he leaned close, whispering into Raz’s ear “- and my hand will reach up and pull you under!’”

Dion grabbed Raz. Raz screamed, struggling from Dion’s arms - it wasn’t much of a fight, with Dion’s already loose grip breaking almost immediately amid his and Frazie’s laughter - and scowled at them both. “That’s not funny, Dion.”

“The look on your face,” Dion wheezed.

“That’s not the way Nona tells it!”

Frazie pinched his cheek until Raz waved her away, chuckling. “All Nona says is to stay away from the water. That’s no fun for a campfire story.”

“And your face!”

“Shut up, Dion!” But the fear hadn’t quite left his eyes when he turned back to Frazie. “Does it… really happen like that? Something just reaches up and grabs you?”

Frazie shrugged. “Dunno. Never drowned before.”

Dion could have told him then that there wasn’t any curse. He could’ve told Raz about the pond, that nothing was going to happen and Dion could prove it, that the whole story was just their family’s over-imaginative way of keeping the kids safe.

He didn’t, and it wasn’t because the deeply satisfying look of horror on his youngest sibling’s face was fresh in his mind, or because of the giggles that kept bubbling up while Raz settled on Frazie’s method of solving conflict and threw a pinecone at him. It was because Dion was the oldest, and Raz was so small. It was because he’d heard stories about how easy it was to drown, how sometimes there weren’t any calls for help or any sound at all. It was because Raz was fearless, and that was a good thing when he was getting tossed in the air between his family members and terrifying when he wandered away from camp and no one had seen him for an hour.

Maybe a little fear was okay. Maybe just enough fear to keep Raz safe when the rest of them weren’t around to keep an eye out for him was exactly what family curses were for.

Two days later, Raz tripped. The bridge that crossed the stream next to their campground had a loose board and no handrails, and all of the Aquato children were taught how to fall. On instinct, Raz didn’t catch himself - he rolled, and he tumbled right off of the narrow, wooden planks. It was a shallow stream at a time of year where the current wasn’t very strong, and Dion was just feet away. It should have been fine. Raz should have gotten up, soaked and irritated and yelling at Dion for telling him a scary story that wasn’t true. Dion should have brokered a peace agreement in exchange for finding Raz a towel, and they should have gone to Augstus together to tell him about the work the bridge needed before they had a paying audience trying to use it to get to the show. Frazie should have teased Raz about being the kind of acrobat who trips while walking.

That wasn’t how it happened. Raz had barely touched the water, Dion had barely turned to help him up, when a hand reached up and grabbed his baby brother by the throat. He watched, stunned, silent, as it dragged Raz down below the stream, holding him there while Raz kicked and pulled uselessly. Whatever the thing was that had him, Raz couldn’t get a grip - it was made of water, and when he reached up to his neck, his hand passed right through the insubstantial force clutching at him. It didn’t look like drowning. What was happening to Raz didn’t look like an accident.

Dion was there before he realized he was running. Dion felt the chill of the water hitting his knees before he knew what he was going to do. Dion was reaching for Raz before he ever thought that hand might turn on him instead, but no - no, the curse had evidently decided on who it wanted, and Dion had to tear and pull at Raz like he was stuck in tar before it gave him up. He dragged Raz out of the water, onto dry land, made sure he was breathing and held him while he sobbed all before his mind had caught up enough to begin to understand what he’d seen.

Dion had never thought of the curse as a curse. No matter what the stories said, his or Nona’s, simple or covered in thrilling embellishments, he’d never pictured something that could reach out and take. The past loomed heavy and present over Dion and Raz, panting and clinging to each other in the bright, early morning sunlight of a peaceful, wooded clearing, and for the first time, Dion believed it could see them. Dion believed it was watching.

When he was very young, Dion Aquato didn’t believe he was cursed. He outgrew such childish thoughts.

[userwasredacted]

Can you do NSFW prompt? If it's possible, a drawing or short fic of Rosi "playing with himself" would be ... nice.

And a SFW prompt, just in case, something for a Devil!Rosi, evil or nice, your choice.

I really enjoy what you've done so far, keep up the good work.

I love this prompt so much, you have inspired me to write out the points for two whole different storylines that could possibly become something hahahahaha (Though idk if I have the strength and perseverance to create such a thing)

Honestly I have written out the creation of the setting and goodness I love the lore that I have created but honestly it doesn't really need to be here unless I write the full story hahhahaha

Anyway I hope you enjoy this because I definitely loved writing this

CW : SACRELIGIOUS CONTENT especially since I did talk about Lucifer.

Not beta read, I did this all in one sitting. Ignore the grammar mistakes thanks :D

-----

The first time Rocinante met Lucifer, it was on his 6th Dozen.

As it usually was, being a Royal of Hell meant that occasions that they celebrated became bigger affairs then normal. The 6th Dozen was an important milestone for all demons, especially new demons, because that was the day that they got an inkling of their demonic form that was the basis of their soul.

As they grew and developed their personalities, their demonic form would grow as well to fit their nature, as was per their miraculous origin, unlike those who migrated here from Earth who grew their demonic forms due to their surroundings as their body adapted to Hell.

It was especially important for the original settlers and builders of Hell to have their children have their demonic traits as they were born as angelic as their origins meant them to be. Their 6th Dozen would be the beginning of their pain easing. Perhaps their soft flesh would finally scab over to become simple sores. Perhaps their teeth would finally break into the perfect set that would allow them to hold and crunch the boiling food that never cooled. Perhaps, their wings would finally be free of feathers and fires, allowing them to mostly heal, at least partly. Some lucky ones would have their halo break, finally releasing them of the pain of divinity, of being so far away and outcasted by one that they were meant to love.

These were the hopes of the Donquixote Family, and all the other fallen as they stared at Rocinante in anticipation. He blinked at them through hidden eyes as he took shallow breaths, trying not to choke on the ash exhaust that had been his daily air since he was born.

He wondered if he would get his father’s beaded eyes, glassy with the sheen of mucus that protected them from the debris each time a lava bubble popped. Or maybe he would get his mother’s bone like figure from the loss of muscle mass, that allowed her steps to be lighter and not sink as deep into the gulping pools of ground. Or maybe he would be like Doffy, is bigger brother that everyone had praised for not only having broken his halo into horns, but had also grown claws to grip and stabilize himself and others on to the boiling rocks.

Personally Rocinante just wanted to be able to breathe better.

As seconds and hours ticked by, the guests became restless, picking at their food and taking sneaking glances at him. Words were softly exchanged as the excitement started to turn to nervous sorrow. His parents anticipation turning to muted despair. Rocinante, of course, fidgeted where he was, trying not to let tears fall as he hacked out another handful of black phlegm. He wasn’t sure what he could do. Was there something he was supposed to have done to make this faster? Something innate? His breaths started to quicken and he stole a panicked glance at Doffy when the guests started to take out all of the salves, bandages, medicines, and barely dirty water, things that he hoped to be free off today.

Doffy of course, started to grab the spotlight when he began showing how fast his wings were molting and that it wouldn't be long before he lost his feathers completely. He was already stronger than many boys his age and they knew that life would be easier for him, so they happily indulged him.

Rocinante let out a soft sigh of relief when that happened, and he slowly, inched his way out of the elevated chair, ignoring the scalding sensation as his hands touched the burning granite and hopped down, barely managing to avoid a sunken pit, filled with bubbling tar. Limbs heavy as always, he staggered his way to an empty room.

It was there, that he met Lucifer for the first time.

The thing that struck Rocinante most about the ruler of Hell, was how beautiful he was. Not in any of the ways he was taught was beauty of course, with the romanticized idea of smooth skin, silken hair, and all that jazz. He thought the Devil was beautiful, because of the way his deflated eyes softened at him, similar to how Mother and Father did when they thought he and Doffy were not looking. The way his ripped and split lips stretched slightly into a tiny smile, not enough to draw blood in them, but enough to be noticeable. The way he knelt to be on Roci’s level, ignoring the hissing stones that his knees were on and how the smell of boiling flesh started to permeate the air.

“Hello little one.” The Devil said

“Hello, Sire.” Rocinante answered

When a large, blackened, bloody claw was held out, Rocinante pattered over to him as if in a trance and place his small fragile, one in it. He was slowly scooped up. Face closer to the devil, he reached out a hand and placed it on the drooping, ribboned flesh of his face.

The Devil raised an eyebrow, allowing a chunk of his skin to rip away.

“Are you not scared, little one?” the Devil said.

“I am not, Sire” Rocinante answered.

Rocinante could feel the rumble in the chest of the King as he gave a raspy chuckle.

“Why are you not scared?” the Devil said.

“Because you are kind, Sire.” Rocinante answered.

For a moment there was silence as Rocinante considered the devil and the devil considered Rocinante, smile slowly disappearing, eyes drooping.

“Why are you sad, Sire?” Rocinante asked.

“Because you will be in pain, little one” The Devil said.

“Will I always be in pain, Sire?” Rocinante asked

“Those who are in Hell, will always be in pain” The Devil said.

“Will I get my demonic trait soon, Sire?” Rocinante asked.

“You already have, little one” The Devil answered.

With that, the Devil turned to the door and made his way over to where the party was, his useless lumbering wings, dragging along the floor.

Rocinante in turn reached for them and tugged on them with his tiny, trembling, soft hands.

When the Devil walked into the room, it quietened immediately, as every fallen stared at them.

He walked over to Donquixote Homing and gently as he could, deposited Rocinante in his fathers arms, slowly nudging the child away from his wings. He offered his congratulations to the family, and a warning that the road ahead of them would be tough.

Rocinante could hear none of it through his soft sobbing. He could hardly noticed the soft murmur that spread across the room, or the pitying glances thrown his way. He barely noticed when his parents placed him on his cot and activated the bubble that would help filter the air, just a little bit.

He could hardly concentrate on Doffy’s words, when he entered to talk about something or other, giving monotonous responses each time, but never letting go of the grip on his shirt.

That night, as both Rocinante and Doffy slept, the Donquixote parents made plans in hushed whispers about what had happened, desperately trying to find a way to keep their son safe, the words of the Devil echoing in their minds.

He would never have any relief from his pain in Hell.

In the morning, Doflamingo would be struck by the sight that Rocinante’s eyes were no longer blue, but a deep crimson red.

--to maybe be continued or not idk man-

As for your nsfw requests, you can head over to my twitter with the same handle and I've already drawn out some self service Roci :D maybe you'd like that hahahah

Thanks once again for the amazing prompt!

[exosmuttytalk]

Exols Secret Santa 2020

This is my Exols Secret Santa present for @jissoyaa​ 

I hope you had a wonderful and warm Christmas and that you enjoy my belated present!

PROFESSIONAL

Characters: Byun Baekhyun, unnamed OC.

Rating: Mature (but not a lot)

Word count: ~3000

Summary: Adapting to a new job is never easy, especially with an attractive boss criticising your every move.

As soon as the last chords of the song stopped playing, Baekhyun stormed off the stage, clutching the earpiece he’d ripped off mid live performance. You bumped into each other at the turn of a corner and that only seemed to increase his anger despite the fact that the person he was looking for was, in fact, you. His fingers wrapped around your wrist to raise your hand and he forcefully put the earpiece in your palm.

“I don’t think you have noticed, but this has been shocking me since the music started,” he explained harshly.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe the wire isn’t connected properly…?” You trailed off as you started to examine the faulty piece. 

“I don’t know if it’s connected or not, that’s your job and not mine. This is a beginner’s mistake. Please, do your job.”

Despite not having raised his tone, the severity on his words made you recoil enough for him to swiftly walk away in direction to the dressing room. You were in the verge of tears when you saw two of the other members walking down the hallway in search of their own rooms. Kyungsoo gave you a sympathetic look. 

“It’s okay, those things are awful. We’ve all been shocked once or twice, at least.” 

You faked a smile in response. 

“I’m sorry in his behalf. He’s not usually like this, but it’s been an exceptionally hard time for him.”Junmyeon’s excuse for his friend didn’t really make up for the fact that the short time you had been working as a manager for Baekhyun had been, simply put, awful. Although you had already been working in the industry for quite some time and had acted as a manager temporarily for other idols, you had only been able to half-ass his demands and had been the cause of delay at least a couple of times. The pace at which they worked was way faster than what you were used to, and Baekhyun hadn’t been merciful. The stress was starting to get to you.

“Thank you both,” you straightened up and gulped your tears. “But he’s right. I haven’t been on top of my game, as you deserve. I’ll do better and everything will be better.”

“I’ll try to talk to him,” Junmyeon nodded understandingly.

......................

Water, bottled, check.

Sweetened green tea, bottled, check.

Red tea, in bags, check.

Instant ramen, check.

Fruit (strawberries), check.

Towels, hands and body, check.

Outfit cases 1, 2, 3, check.

Lapel microphone, 2, check.

Hand held microphone, 2, check.

Earpiece and batteries, 2, check.

It was the third time you went through the papers that listed everything necessary in the dressing room and the second time you stopped at that exact point to check on the item which had caused the most trouble last time. You had not yet seen Baekhyun again and had only contacted him through text messages to tell him the time he’d need to be at the venue and ask for any other requests, which he had only answered with a formal “no need, thank you”.

You were still fumbling with the earpiece when the sudden opening of the door startled you and made you drop what you in your hands between your feet and the just arrived Baekhyun. His eyes dropped down to the shattered earpiece on the floor and then slowly back up to meet yours.

“I had to wear that today.”

His fixed stare was already starting to wear off the confidence you had worked so hard to build over the last two days. You stumbled over your words until an idea popped into your mind. It was okay. You were prepared for such a scenario.

“I have a backup earpiece. In case anything happened to the first one.”

“Hmm,” Baekhyun nodded seriously, his eyes were scanning the rest of the room and came to a halt when he found the basket of assorted fruit, which displayed a hefty amount of the strawberries you had found through another member of the staff he liked. “Everything seems in order. Please, go find the stylist.”

.........................................................

You got to watch the interview the group gave from the outer part of the stage and couldn’t help but notice how different Baekhyun’s demeanor was in comparison to when he talked only to you. As it had been normal through the years the group had been on the spotlight, Baekhyun stole the spotlight with his bright smile, bubbly personality and witty comments. Polar opposite of the cold, distant and sometimes downright mean person he had been to you. It would’ve come as a lie if you told yourself you weren’t the slightest bit disappointed by this turn of events.

By the time Exo debuted you had already been working in the industry for some time and knew pretty much everything there was to know about the idol life. Still, you couldn’t help but be smitten by the presence of one particular member. That initial infatuation, luckily for you, subsided through the years and let way to a deep appreciation and admiration for the man that now was technically your boss. The same man who had motivated you to do better in your own career and who was, ultimately, the reason why you had chosen to take the plunge and apply for SM. The same man who had turned out to be…standoffish, for lack of a better term to describe him.

It definitely was a disappointing turn of events, but you were determined to be the better person and the better professional. 

As the performance unfolded, you watched Baekhyun intently; prepared in case a situation like the other day’s should arise again. But it didn’t. Everything went swimmingly and the group was all bows and smiles as they exited the stage. 

You tried to disguise the smug expression in your face when you walked up to Baekhyun and handed him a hand towel and a bottle of water before he even asked for it, but your smile grew wider when he seemed surprised to see you there and well prepared for the occasion. 

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” you asked solicitously.

“That’s all I need now, thank you.” 

“Would you maybe like to have lunch in the dressing room? The catering service seems pretty good here, better than the dry noodles, I feel.”

“Uhh…yes, I think that would be nice.”

“I’ll take care of that,” you responded before turning around to leave, crossing eyes with Junmyeon, who was showing off his best reassuring smile towards you. 

........................................

Precariously balancing the tray holding the plates of food against your hip, you knocked loudly on the door of the dressing room for the second time. Still no answer, so you pushed the door open and came into the seemingly empty room. The room offered the same neat appearance as when you left earlier in the morning. You had already started arranging the plates on the countertop when rustling came from the door at your back that lead to the bathroom.

After considering the possibilities, you tiptoed as silently as possible towards the door, hoping to get out of there as soon as possible. But it was too late. The door slid open and out came Baekhyun, one of the towels you had carefully arranged that morning wrapped against his waist and wet hair sticking out in all directions.

His eyes met yours and no one said a thing, but you were trying to calculate how likely this was to be the last straw that would finally get you fired.

“That’s a lot of food,” he said, diverting his gaze towards the food arrangement.

“I knocked,” you answered without processing his words.

“Yeah, I know.”

“But I knocked twice.”

“Yeah. I know.”

His nonchalance about the whole thing caught you off guard, your hand in the door knob as you watched him move across the room to the table, still in the towel and seemingly not caring about his partial nakedness. The spicy side dishes caught his attention first and he started eating right away. He picked one of the empty plates and handed it over to you, not much thought into the action. His eyes went back to search for you when you didn’t pick the plate. He was still chewing when he said:

“Eat up. We can’t be throwing that much food away.”

He filled up a plate of his own and sat down in one of the rotating chairs, looking at you standing there, awkwardly.

“Are you gonna turn me down?”

“No! No, no!”

You rushed to the table and filled up part of your plate. As unusual as the situation might have been, it was already two hours past your lunch time and the food looked delicious. You sat down and started eating in silence, trying hard not to brazenly look at the half naked man in front of you.

“Look, I wanted to talk to you,” he blurted before taking a gulp of water.

“Okay…”

“Junmyeon has…brought to my attention how unwelcoming I have been since we started working together.”

“I wanted to talk about it to you too,” you interjected. He seemed surprised but you didn’t back down. “I don’t want to beat around the bush anymore. I know you don’t like me. I have made mistakes, I’ll admit that. Still, if you feel I am not a good fit for the position, I’ll ask the company to reassign me with someone else.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary. It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not my fault?”

He just shrugged as a response.

“Then why are you being such an ass?” 

Your hand darted up to cover your mouth as soon as the words came out.Baekhyun just looked at you fixedly. Then, he left out a small chuckle that grew little by little until it became full blown laughter. The ridiculousness of the situation puzzled you, so you just stayed silent until his laughing fit subsided.

“He, he…he… You have some temper huh?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that,” you eyes dropped down to your lap where you still held you plate, heat creeping up to your cheeks.

“No, no! It’s okay, really. I found it really funny. Are you going to cry!?” he slid across the floor towards you to grab your free hand.

The sweet gesture caught you off guard, but you didn’t get to pull you hand away before he let go off it first. He stood up and walked around the room, his hands clutching the hair at the back of his head; but his expression was neutral again when he sat back down on his chair.

“My previous manager had been with me since the beginning. He didn’t leave; he was fired after he had some issues with a superior. We all interceded for him, but there was no use. He was like family to me and it’s been hard adjusting.” His eyes traveled aimlessly through the room and he let out a sigh. “But it’s not your fault and you have been improving. I’m sorry for being unfair.”

He seemed genuine and you wore your heart in your sleeve. You reached towards him and grabbed his hand the same way he had tried to comfort you earlier. Mind you, your intertwined hands were resting on top of his toweled thigh, dangerously close to…

“I should get going!”

You stood up as if you had been shocked, sending the plate that sat on your thighs to the floor. Immediately after, you kneeled down, trying to pick up the mess and leave as soon as possible. Baekhyun also wanted to help, and leaned in at the precise same moment as you did. Your heads bumped into each other and the impact made you fall down on your butt.

“Oh, God, are you okay?”

As he rubbed the sore spot on his forehead, he held his hand out but miscalculated the strength he’d need to help you stand up, which made you bump into his chest and hold onto him for balance.The sequence of blunders had left you at a loss for words, but he still sported a mocking half smile as he looked at you intently. Being so close to him, you were able to smell his shower gel.

“So… do you forgive me?”

“Yes! Yes, of course,” you answered taking a step back. “I am looking forward to working with you, Baekhyun.”

“Me too,” he answered while shooting the first genuine smile you’d seen on his face.

That smile made your heart skip a beat and time seemed to stretch as you looked at each other in silence. The possibility of leaning in to kiss him crossed your mind.

“Do you think we could maybe, sometime, go out for a drink? As in, together?”

The proposal came so much out of the blue that you responded in the only way you could think of. You leaned in and kissed him.

It was short and quick. A simple peck on the lips that was enough for a spark of fun to appear in Baekhyun’s eyes, and after waiting for the approval in yours, he went back in for a second kiss. Hours or seconds could have gone by and it wouldn’t have been any different to you. As soon as his hot breath grazed your skin, all your precautions were out the window. His hands that caressed your neck and your back made you forget you were making out with someone who could finish your career off and you didn’t care. The murmured curse he let out when you pressed your body against him in a fit of boldness gave you butterflies in the stomach you hadn’t felt since you first saw him on a screen.

The door knob poking on your back made you realize he had been pulling you around the room as he kissed you. He looked at you with a serious expression despite the flush on his face and his disheveled half dry hair.

“Do you want this?” he asked with a husky voice you hadn’t heard from him before.

You only nodded in response.

“Then do me a favor and lock the door.”

Your hand slid between the door and your back, searching for the lock while never leaving Baekhyun’s eyes. He responded by slamming you against the wall to proceed attacking your neck. His lips were soft and warm against your skin, but he would nibble slightly when you least expected it; the contrast making you crazy. The blouse you were wearing had been pulled out of the waistband of your pencil skirt and his hands already explored freely the skin of your back and your belly. As he began unbuttoning the blouse, you grabbed onto the hair on the nape of his neck. He let out a malicious chuckle and introduced one of his legs between your thighs pinning you even more against the wall and creating that delicious friction you craved.

“You’re such a tease, who would’ve told,” he said with a smug expression as his hands slid under your bra to fondle your breasts.

“You don’t fall short of that either-”

The last word came out as a moan when Baekhyun leaned in to capture your right nipple between his lips. It took no time of him sucking, licking and biting for you to be a wriggly mess. His other hand, which had been occupied in your other breast glided down across your stomach to toy with the zipper that held your skirt together. Instead of taking it off, he slid his hand past the fabric of the skirt and your underwear and carefully stroked around until he found the wetness that had been pooling for quite some time by then.

“Look at you! I’ve barely kissed you but you’re already so wet.” He pulled his hand out to raise his fingers towards your open lips. “I’ll take care of that.”

The hint of mockery in his voice drove you wild and you licked your fingers with delight as he looked you on like an eagle watches its prey. Soon enough, his fingers were back where they had left and they wasted no time. Baekhyun set a relentless pace that had you panting for air in just a few minutes. You were holding onto his shoulders for leverage and left some scratches on his soft skin. His forehead was pressed against yours, eyes closed, breathing off each other. A single drop of sweat rolled down his cheek. His fingers inside you were working magic and you could feel the buildup starting to form in the lower part of your belly. Your only warning came in the form of another tug from his hair and, as soon as he heard what you were going through, he covered your mouth with his free hand and helped you ride your high.

You opened your eyes to find him still holding you against the wall, looking at you with an illegible expression on his face.

“You have beautiful eyes,” he said with a sheepish smile before letting go off you.

Despite having the door locked, you suddenly felt the urge to get everything back into place and get the hell out of there. You readjusted all your clothes and took a quick glance in the mirror to decide your hair needed to be put in a bun in order to look presentable again. When you were done, you turned around to face Baekhyun, who was sitting down again and observing your rustle.

“So will I be able to see you again soon?”

“Yeah, hmm…You’ll see me tomorrow morning. Radio show with CBX, remember? I’ll text you the reference this evening.”

A satisfied expression spread over his face as he approached the door to open it for you.

“Thank you. That’s very professional.”

___________________________

@exolssecretsanta​

[polythremed]

wheres the essay op i want whitsun bugs

there might not have been an essay before, but there is now! bugs and inverts are hugely overlooked. however, the victorians loved insects! they were huge inspirations in art, shells were used in fashion, so what would be more vogue than a giant bug for a pet?

(Punch, September 29, 1877)

the bulk of this talk will be under the cut but tl;dr is that arachnids still offer a lot of potential, beetles and moths live in the neath and were popular at the time, and there are a lot of lesser-known bugs that fit fallen london

also cw for bug images because there’s a lot of them beyond here, this is for people with good taste only

firstly: arachnids

FL has a lot of arachnids and this year’s whitsun saw the introduction of a squirrel with a scorpion tail! i think it’s a fun design personally, but arachnid companions are Not obsolete. the most relevant arachnids are crabs, and crabs are more varied than you might think!

(image by abc.net.au)

the yeti crab was the first crab to come to mind, related to hermit crabs and living in hydrothermal vents in the deep ocean. it means we’ve got another underground beast, and could you imagine this as a spired crab? it could be the product of shapeling arts, and the yeti crab’s famously hairy arms have the potential to be used as arm warmers or 1890s uggs for the discerning londoner!

there’s also the japanese giant spider crab, which might be more lanky than it’s neathy angler crab cousins, but look at those legs! how big do you think it is? how about taller than the average person?

you have to understand how badly i want to be this man they also inhabit vents near the bottom of the ocean (the crabs, not this man), they’re omnivores and one specimen’s measured in at 3.8 metres (12ft) across its outstretched legs! it’d probably be a dreaded companion by the sheer size of it, but imagine the walking sticks you could get from those legs

arrowhead crabs and horseshoe crabs are also runners up for this!

mites also came to mind, being small arachnids- the mite above is an adult female tea mite, and not much is known about mites! they’re primitive but have a terrible reputation, and FBG have shone the spotlight on other unloved creatures in the past. there’s also Caveat Emptor which tells us that the bazaar has parasites which are probably like mites? you could have your own romance vampire, surely nothing could go wrong

and if you’ve come here for spiders, how about the pelican spider? with a pelican-like head, pelican spiders prey exclusively on other spiders! isn’t that a fun way to counter sorrow spider infestations? introducing new species is a good thing, right?

higher tiers of this companion could start to own the whole pelican thing. i’ve seen monster designs of spiders with human heads but never a spider with a pelican head!

(image by me)

all he needs is some love and spiders

close arachnid contenders that i want to mention before this whole post is made up of eight-legged companions: camel spiders, harvestmen, and whip scorpions!

secondly: beetles

as john b. s. haldane once said, “god has an inordinate fondness for beetles”. and he’s right because there are more known species of beetle than types of mammal

in fact, the victorians fucking loved beetles (and butterflies but we’ll get to that)

we have phosphorescent scarabs as luminosity items and a few mentions of beetles in airs texts and in sunless sea, the latter where a beetle has been eating through your ship’s supplies. being from england, i have a vague idea of what sort of beetles would end up in london!

there are still stag beetles, rove beetles, and even cardinal beetles, but these by themselves might feel pretty basic. they’d be good t1 companions, but why not have a companion that’s a whole insect keeping setup? there’s even some colourful beauties like the scarlet malachite beetle which are now incredibly endangered

but if you want something Huge and Large and easily convertible into a fashion accessory, hercules beetles have a lot of potential! horns that can be used for knives in dockside brawls, or you could take most of the bug features and place them on a furry animal like a guinea pig since seas already gave us the guinea page

these beetles could also add diversity for the phosphorescent scarabs- and speaking of phosphorescent beetles, why not look to fireflies? they aren’t fire and nor are they flies, but to carry on with FBG’s habit of “slapping animals together to see what happens”, you could easily make something with the features of a firefly larvae

or you could take the even more interesting approach of having a grub the size of a cat, for example. hercules beetles have some of the largest larvae and the feast of the rose gave us maggots, so why not have one of these babies but the size of a cat? and glowing? they’re a possible light source that might make you more bizarre or respectable

a close runner up that i wanted to mention was diving beetles and how freaky they can get if they’ve adapted to the zee but the sabretooth longhorn beetle is going to close this segment as an embodiment of a dangerous and respectable companion- it already looks like it’s been carved out of wood! i think a carved polythreme beetle would be incredible

(see also: bombardier beetles, weevils, oil beetles, tiger beetles, harlequin beetles, trilobite beetles, and giraffe weevils!)

moths, and less commonly found underground, butterflies

another love of the victorians: butterflies!

butterflies are basically moths by a different name (there are way more moths than butterflies) and we do have canon dreams where a frostmoth the size of your head appears in your window, and wouldn’t that be useful for hunting in parabola? much like the beetles, there’s a lot of diversity that can be explored especially if we add shapeling arts

white plume moths are also found in the UK and just look at those wings

we can have a usual approach of adding the wings to something else, like a particularly unlucky bat, or just have something bizarre with the moth itself! more eyes? more eyes has been a common theme lately, or you can combine an insect with an arachnid and give it whip scorpion hands

these wings would be one hell of a decoration because white plume moths are considered to be micromoths

on the other end of the spectrum and taking the role of a respectable companion, the white witch moth is considered to be one of the largest insects on earth because of its wingspan! maybe they’re a more risky cousin of the frostmoth, maybe you could turn the markings on these wings into shifting sigils? don’t set your moths on fire

(image by Acrocynus)

white witch moths themselves have a lot of diversity while cup moths are another contender for an animal you could combine with another animal

(image by itchydogimages)

why not add the tail of a squirrel to this one? or a scorpion’s tail? a lion? with enough of these, you could end up with a very striking tawny coat. this thing is the embodiment of being neathproofed. even if they’re opposites of frostmoths and are associated with embers because of it, or if the tail is closer to being a candle!

moths are also good at mimicking in order to defend themselves, which is why you see so many moths and butterflies with eye patterns on their wings. birds hate eyes so much so there’s room for some real eyes on your brand new butterfly or moth companion

but some moths also mimic snakes, so for any fingerking fans out there: behold the atlas moth

this is such a mithridacy companion. can you imagine the t3 version of this where the snake heads are alive? we have a two-headed terror bird, so why not snakes on a moth? there’s even jokes to be made about one head telling truths and another telling lies, maybe the only head that could tell you the difference is the moths!

for butterflies themselves, we have butterflies that drink the tears of alligators and tortoises- so melancholy butterflies that only appear to feed on lacre? (and they might not be butterflies down here, you might’ve already mistaken a day-flying moth for a butterfly, not that the difference matters for much in the neath)

another strong mention is vampire moths if we’re carrying on the theme of insects drinking odd things, but a vampire moth with bat wings could be wonderful at ruining the lives of taxonomists

luna moths are also massive and could be more fitting now that we know who the creditor is, and that whitsun is talking so much about the bazaar and the masters

other lesser-known but interesting insects

we don’t entirely need to cover bees and wasps but it would be nice to have a piece of media showing wasps in a way that doesn’t present them as evil, but wasps could wait until hell is really significant again since wasps and bees are incredibly cool cousins. and thread waisted wasps!

(image by Bev Wigney)

get a load of that! these don’t even have the ability to sting humans, what would a thread waisted wasp-themed spindlewolf look like? how much shadowy with something with these colours give you? imagine the corsets inspired by these things

assassin bugs are another dangerous option considering how good they are at hunting other insects, and the neath wouldn’t be complete without more creatures that burrow underground and can find themselves in this weird cavern

(image by Fir0002)

their forearms are specifically developed to dig! perhaps they can dig through a rival’s belongings, or perhaps you can fashion their claws into brass knuckles or a belt buckle?

(image by faraaz abdool)

another fashionable, lesser-known invert is the velvet worm! we have plenty of slugs in fallen london, but you know what they’re lacking? legs

about 200 species of velvet worms have been described and they’re already quite rare! they all fall under the onychophora name and there isn’t anything else like them. you could easily have some persuasive with this, or if you turn it into a stole that can hold however many hands you want!

(image by docj96)

also, thrips! i found out about these today and apparently you’re likely to hear about them if you’re into gardening. sometimes they have crab claws for forelegs, so hey- more bazaar similarities! they have an interesting method of flight (clapping their wings together) but this might not bee too impactful unless you want a novel way to raise your investigating

flies are also criminally underrated, but i couldn’t tell you how many flies live in fallen london. stalk-eyed flies, however, are gorgeous things that would work so well as t2 companions! you could even go all out with a horsefly taking on attributes of an actual horse

(image by minden pictures)

the stalk eyed fly sees you five minutes before you can see it

there are genuinely so many more that come to mind (even neathy types of mantis- orchid mantids that have adapted to blend in with mushrooms! imagine!) but a good way to finish this off is with a love story

there are centipedes who will guard and hold their young close to them! giant centipedes are protective mothers and you can get hundreds of companions in one- or perhaps just one companion who really misses her hundreds of kids. and they hold their eggs just as carefully whilst waiting for them to hatch!

isn’t that a good love story? there’s a lot you can combine this with, but i’ve spent most of today writing this one! do with these creatures what you will, i definitely enjoyed talking about neathy possibilities for insects!

(bogleech also has a fantastic article on insects that should be used as the basis for pokemon designs, if you want even more out there bugs be sure to look here)

[pinknerdpanda]

Surprise

Word Count: 1250 Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Dean. He’s definitely a warning. Fluff. Beta’d by: @princessmisery666​​ - i think I left you off my last one and I feel terrible about that. You always have the right words to make me feel good about anything I do. I can’t imagine 2020 without you. Thank you so much.

A/N: This was written for @shy-violet-soul​​ for her request for Merry Manda’s Christmas Drabbles! Vy - I love you so so much and I hope that this makes you smile. You deserve the world and I am so thankful for your presence in my life.

Surprise

“Where are we going, Dean?”

Dean grins at y/n from the seat beside her before training his eyes on the road again.

“Just hold your horses, princess. You’ll see soon enough.”

Y/n huffs. Surprises aren’t exactly her favorite thing and though she trusts Dean implicitly, the anxiety of not-knowing makes her grumpy.

“Oh come on, don’t be like that,” Dean implores gently. “I promise it will be worth it. We’re almost there.”

When Dean had told her earlier in the day that he had a surprise for her, she’d expected a gift, maybe. It is Christmas Eve after all. But when he’d ushered her into the Impala without preamble - or gift in sight - she’d been immediately put on edge.

Not that that was anything new. The last year has been…challenging, to say the least. The entire world seems to be on fire. Everyone is angry about something and despite her very best efforts, y/n has been hard-pressed to feel that Christmas cheer she’s been so accustomed to in years past. Between losing Cas, Chuck going insane, Jack taking over his bat-shit crazy grandfather’s job - and doing it much better, in fact -  y/n and the Winchesters have hardly had time to catch their breaths. Christmas actually seemed to have snuck up on all of them. It’s hard to remember what day it is when every week feels like a month.

Dean reaches across the bench seat, his hand finding y/n’s and their fingers intertwining. 

“I know how you feel about surprises and as much as I want to surprise you, I’ll tell you where we’re going if that would make you feel better.”

Y/n studies his handsome profile. After everything that’s been thrown at him, Dean remains one of the kindest and most considerate people she’s ever known. He’s always put everyone else’s needs and wants above his own, and even though this surprise is for her, he wants to surprise her. And Dean deserves to have what he wants. She can handle a few moments of discomfort and anxiety if it means Dean will be happy. Her nerves be damned.

Y/n shakes her head and gives his calloused hand a firm squeeze. 

“No, it’s okay, Dean. I trust you.”

Even in the dim light provided by the streetlamps, y/n could swear she sees his eyes shine a little brighter, their green depths sparkling like the purest of emeralds. And for her, as he squeezes her hand back, that’s enough. 

Minutes later, Dean turns off the main street and into an unfamiliar residential area. Three rights and a left and the darkness is broken by thousands of twinkling lights. Ahead of them, a line of cars is inching down the street, and Dean takes their place in line. The wind is brisk as y/n cranks down the window and gazes outside, but she's too mesmerized by the sight before them to feel the chill.

The entire street - every single house - is absolutely covered in Christmas lights. A sign at the corner reads “Candycane Lane” with a radio station listed below the bright red letters.

“Surprise.”

Y/n whips her head to face Dean. There could be lightbulbs covering every square inch of every home in the city and it wouldn’t compare to the joy lighting up his face in this moment. If his eyes were sparkling before, they are ablaze now. He meets her gaze for a moment before fiddling with the radio and turning it to the station suggested on the sign. A second later, the car is filled with Frank Sinatra’s voice crooning “Jingle Bells”.

“Dean, this is…” y/n exhales shakily, at a loss of words. 

“Oh! Almost forgot!” Dean twists in his seat, reaching into the back and pulling out two small thermoses and handing one to her. “Homemade hot chocolate, with extra marshmallows, of course.”

The music changes and the sounds of Trans-Siberian Orchestra replace Sinatra. It’s at that moment that y/n realizes the lights around them are blinking in time with the music. It’s like the most meticulously choreographed dance, but with Christmas lights. Every crescendo, every beat, every note is accentuated with a flash or blink or color change.

The sight is breathtaking. 

Stunned, y/n looks between the lights, the still unopened thermos of hot chocolate in her hands and the giddy man in the driver’s seat beside her. Her brain can’t even begin to process the words to describe what she’s feeling in the moment.

The car in front of them creeps forward and Dean follows. The house now on her side features a giant inflatable snow globe with some form of snow billowing inside around a smiling polar bear donning a santa hat. Three tinsel-clad penguins flank it on each side, each one holding different things - candy canes, presents, a stuffed bear. The roof is covered in large snowflakes that blink in time with the music and the tree behind the globe is fashioned with strands of lights that give the illusion of snow falling.

Dean grunts in satisfaction and y/n turns to find him nodding his head, staring approvingly at his thermos. A fine line of hot chocolate clings to the scruff on his upper lip. 

“Damn good, if I say so myself.” He looks at y/n and his face drops, brow furrowed. “What’s the matter?”

Bewildered, y/n stares at him for a second before throwing herself across the seat and wrapping her arms around him. 

“Nothing,” she sighs, face buried in the crook of his neck. “Nothing's the matter, Dean. This is...I can’t even describe it. ‘Amazing’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

A car behind them honks and y/n jumps, pulling back and realizing that the car in front of them had moved forward a few spaces. Apparently they were holding up the line, but y/n couldn’t find it in herself to care. 

Dean grunts and inches the car forward, mumbling something that sounds vaguely like ‘asshat’ under his breath. When they’ve pulled up enough, Dean turns to y/n again.

“So you like it?” Dean quirks an eyebrow, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Like it?!” Y/n practically shouts. “I love it! Dean, this is incredible. I didn’t know there was anything like this around here!”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah I didn’t either. I heard someone at the post office mention it the other day and I just knew I wanted to bring you here.”

Y/n stole a glance out the window again. The song had changed again; a beautiful, symphonic rendition of “O Holy Night”. This yard held a large, though simple, nativity scene, a single, bright spotlight shining down upon it. 

Turning back to Dean, the burn of tears stings the backs of her eyes. “Thank you, Dean.” Her voice is barely above a hoarse whisper.

Dean clears his throat, driving forward once again. 

“Wait until you try the hot chocolate, then you’ll really thank me.”

Y/n reaches over then and laces her fingers through his again. 

“Seriously Dean. This is perfect. Thank you so much for bringing me.”

Dean’s cheeks glow pink under the numerous freckles kissing his skin.

“I just figured this year has been shit and we could both use some Christmas cheer.” He squeezes y/n’s hand gently. “Thank you for trusting me and letting me surprise you.”

Leaning forward, y/n places a kiss against his stubbled cheek. 

“Merry Christmas, Dean.”

Like what you see? Want more? My SPN Masterlist is here, and MCU is here. Thanks for reading! :)

FYI I’ve updated my tag list, so if you don’t see your name below and want to, send me an ask. Weirdos are for everything, Heroes is MCU and Hunters is for SPN.

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[bibislut]

First Dance

Draco Malfoy is prepared for a night of polite conversation and catty gossip, all dressed up in designer clothes and glitzy jewelry. After all, that's what you get at a gala. What he is not prepared for, however, is Harry Potter saving him from his ex.

Words: 2148

Warnings: Strong Language

Read on Ao3 here

-------

Draco’s eyes widened, the minute movement the only break in his perfectly schooled stance. He watched Potter walk into the ballroom, as did everyone else, the whole room pausing for a moment to take in the Auror’s entrance. He was dressed well, the deep blue velvet blazer fitted perfectly to his torso, accompanied by matching black shirt and trousers. He looked incredible, as he always did in Draco’s opinion, a little nervous too, but his Gryffindor confidence shone through. Potter smiled politely at the waiter and took a flute of champagne off of the offered tray.

Pansy slinked in beside Draco, looping her arm through his. “The saviour returns.”

The blond had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at her dramatic words. “Indeed.” They had both bumped into Potter at work before, so it wasn’t as if he’d ever disappeared. The Gryffindor was simply more out of the spotlight these days. Draco flicked his eyes back to him. He had already been swarmed by nosy housewives and their adoring daughters. Poor bastard.

The slytherin took another sip of his scotch as he let his gaze drift around the room. The annual gala was held to raise money for orphaned wizard children, but many just used it as a way to show off their wealth by out-donating each other. At least the children would get something nice out of it, Draco thought. He stole another canapé from a waiter.

Pansy made a choking sound beside him, and he turned to see her staring down someone across the room. He followed her gaze, nearly choking himself.

Balveer was the latest of Draco’s romantic escapades, and held a striking resemblance to a certain navy-clad wizard across the room. He was sinfully gorgeous and sweet and kind - and did absolutely nothing to Draco’s heart. They had broken up a few weeks prior, and despite their relationship only lasting a few months it had been more than messy. It was safe to say that the man did not return Draco’s feelings of ‘only friends’.

“Shit.”

“Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.”

“I need another drink.” Draco groaned. He left Pansy’s side and began making his way through the crowd, worried Balveer would sense his gaze on him. A few feet away from the bar, someone backed into his path, and he nearly tripped. Draco grabbed onto the body for balance, looking up into the eyes of Harry Potter.

“Shit. Sorry, Malfoy.”

Draco released his grip like his hands had been scorched and ran them through his hair. “Potter.” He cleared his throat. “Please accept my apologies. I should have been watching where I was going.”

Harry tilted his head. “It’s fine, it was my fault anyway.” He looked down at Draco’s empty glass. “Let me get you a drink to say sorry.”

Draco offered him a polite smile. “It’s quite alright.”

“I insist.” Potter looked over his shoulder. “The bar’s just there, right?” He said, taking off with a wave of his hand.

Draco followed, his tall stance and cool looks hiding the knotted ball in his stomach. Was Harry Potter really about to buy him a drink? He wondered if Pansy could see him, pictured the shocked smirk on her face. She’d no doubt pester him for every single detail later, and there was no doubt he’d spill them all. If there was any of course; maybe Potter would just pass him his drink and leave.

“What do you want?” Potter sniffed the glass. “Scotch?”

Draco stood beside him, leaning casually on the bar. “You really don’t have to.”

“I want to.” The darker man shrugged, as if his words hadn’t just sent a jolt of lightning through the blond’s body. He wanted to?

Potter signaled to the waiter and ordered the same for himself. “You seemed in quite a rush.” He said nonchalantly.

“No, I did not.” There was no way he did, Draco thought, he was always in control.

“No you didn’t. But you almost barrelled me over, so you must have been quite determined to get here.”

“Since when were you so astute?”

“I’ve been working on it.” Potter had the audacity to smirk, and Malfoy’s heart nearly exploded. Merlin, he had a good mind to wipe that look off of his face.

He shook himself out of it as the server pushed their drinks towards them, he was going to end up making a complete fool out of himself, he could feel it. “It doesn’t matter.” Draco murmured, taking a sip of his drink. The familiar burn warmed his throat and eased his nerves.

“Well, whatever it was. I hope the scotch helps.” Potter chuckled and Draco found himself giving in to a small smile.

“It certainly will, as will the next one.” He drawled. How long could he put off talking to Balveer? Unless he found somewhere to hide, the answer was ‘not as long as he’d like’ - and Malfoys didn’t hide.

“I’ll let you into a secret.” Potter said quietly as he raised his glass to his lips. Draco watched him swallow and gulped. “The longer we talk, the longer I’m saved from talking to other people.” He whispered the words, his green eyes dancing with humour. “So please do me a favour and get it off your chest.”

Draco couldn’t help it; he let out a chuckle. “Since when am I your preferred match for conversation?”

“I don’t know. But you certainly make a change from these other posh gits - I can at least remember your name.”

Draco chuckled again. Who knew it would be so easy to talk to his ex-enemy? Sure, they hadn’t been at each other’s necks in a long time now, but still, banter? It was enough to make one’s head reel. “Let’s just say that there’s someone here tonight that I’d like to avoid.”

“Messy ex?”

Draco almost choked. “How did you know?”

“Really?” Potter asked. “Just a lucky guess.”

Draco grimaced internally. What was he doing? He shouldn’t be so obvious about his emo-

“Draco?”

The blond’s heart sunk, and he slowly turned his head, offering a politely surprised smile. “Balveer! What brings you here?”

“Mother insisted.” The man rolled his eyes playfully, before his face grew more serious. “I was wanting to talk to you.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” Draco ignored him, turning to Potter. “Harry this is Balveer, Balveer, this is Harry Potter.”

“Ah, excuse my rudeness, Mr Potter.” Balveer extended his hand.

“Not at all.” Potter smiled, shaking his hand. He pulled away and looped his arm through Draco’s.

Draco and Balveer both stared down at their linked arms, both as equally shocked. What on earth was Potter doing? The heat radiating from his was delicious and zapped any sense Draco had to pull away. In fact, he practically leaned into it.

“I really don’t mean to be rude, but Draco’s been promising me a dance and Merlin knows he’ll wiggle his way out of it if he can.” Harry chuckled, giving the Slytherin a playful smack on the arm.

Was he…flirting? No, he couldn’t be, surely? Draco flicked his gaze up to Harry’s eyes and found them eerily cool. The ball was in his court.

“Yes.” Draco turned to smile at Balveer. “I’m afraid I did promise.” He said apologetically.

“Lovely to meet you.” Potter nodded, half dragging Draco towards the dance floor. They left the poor man in shocked silence.

“What are you doing?” Draco hissed.

“Saving you.” Potter whispered back. “That was him, right? Your ex?”

“Yes, but-”

“So now he thinks you’re with me. Problem solved.”

“Problem solved? This creates a million more problems!”

“Not least, the fact that I can’t dance.”

“You can't..?” Draco pulled him to a stop. “You’re telling me that you just insinuated a made up relationship to my ex, practically promised him a show on the dance floor, whilst also telling the whole bloody world that you like men - which will be in the papers all year by the way; not least because you’re with me, just to save my embarrassment? And you can’t bloody dance?!”

“Well when you say it like that, it sounds badly-thought-out.”

“That’s because it is!”

“You’re going to cause a scene, Draco.” Harry hissed, stepping closer as the witches and wizards around them stopped to watch.

“It’s gonna be a bloody scene in a minute when the two of us show up, uncoordinated and gay!” He hissed back.

“Well, we can’t back out now! Let’s just get it over with.” Potter took his hand, and Draco lost all sense. His whole body felt like it was on fire. Ignoring the fact that his insanely hot crush was now holding his hand, he was about to go dance with him!

He must be dreaming, hallucinating, passed out drunk at home, because this could not be happening!

He followed Potter to the dance floor just as the faster waltz turned into a slow dance. At least they couldn't mess this up?

Draco leaned in close, taking Potter's hand and giving into the absurdity of the situation and the butterflies in his stomach. "Let me lead." He said lowly in his ear. The brunette nodded with a shiver, and Draco placed his hand on his hip.

He led them slowly in time to the music, the two not doing much more than swaying. He'd been dancing at events like these since he was young, and was moderately skilled. Potter on the other hand, kept narrowly avoiding stepping on his feet. Their bodies were pressed tightly together and the heat gave Draco tingles all over, the warmth spreading all over his body and leaking slowly downwards towards his groin.

He ignored the feeling, not wanting to embarrass himself further by revealing his feelings to the other man.

"I'm going to spin you now." He murmured.

"You're going to what?"

Draco didn't respond, stepping back and lifting his arm as Potter spun around. The other man let out a surprised chuckle and Draco found himself smiling. He brought them back together, pressing their bodies against each other once again. Potter smelt incredible, earthy and spicy, and Draco wondered if he could get drunk on his scent alone.

"I shouldn't be enjoying myself as much as I am." Potter conceded with a coy smile and Draco blushed deeper. What had the world come to? Was this really happening?

"Me neither." He whispered.

They moved together for another few moments, their breaths falling in sync, their faces close together as they watched each other, silver orbs staring into emerald ones. The two men lost themselves to the music, to the feel of each other. Draco felt like he was floating, like there was nothing in the world except for this completely insane, yet perfectly sweet, moment. Finally, the music came to a close. They broke apart, joining in the applause for the musicians.

In the heat of the moment, neither had bothered to look at anyone else; too absorbed in each other. Prying eyes and low whispers followed them as they moved to the edge of the dance floor, and Harry worried at his lip.

"Don't tell me you're regretting your decision."

"Not as much as I should be." The darker man leaned in close and Draco got another whiff of his intoxicating scent. "I had too much fun."

Draco gave him a shy smile. "Let's get a drink."

They moved through the crowd, followed by those endless whispers, and Draco spotted Pansy waiting at the bar with a smirk. "Good evening, gentlemen." She nudged their two abandoned drinks towards them, having obviously been watching their interaction with Balveer. "Quite a show you put on."

"He's always known how to do that." Replied Potter.

"Says you, saviour boy."

"My, my. Such amorous flirtation. One would think you'd been doing this for say, a few weeks now." Pansy smiled devilishly. "Or at least that's what I told Balveer when he asked."

"You didn't." Draco stuttered. Why did he have such meddlesome friends?

"What was I supposed to say?"

"She’s got a point." Potter raised his glass towards her.

"Thank you."

"Merlin, I cannot be dealing with you two teaming up against me." Draco groaned.

Pansy smirked at him, picking up her wine glass. "I shall leave you two to it then."

The two men watched her walk away before Draco turned back to Harry, suddenly anxious. What would happen now?

"Want to get out of here?"

Draco actually choked on his drink this time. Potter patted his back with a laugh.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I meant we should get away from all these eyes and go do something less… on show. More relaxed. We could go for a pint? Or a coffee?"

Draco shook his head with disbelief. “This is not how I thought things would go tonight.”

“Is that a yes?”

“That’s a yes.”

[tae-cup]

A Mile in My Shoes | KSJ Oneshot

Pairing: Platonic!Seokjin x Reader

Summary: You hate Kim Seokjin, that arrogant bastard, and he hates you just as much...right?

Genre: Body swap!au, enemies to friends, Fluff, angst, Solo artist!Seokjin, Solo Artist!Reader

Warnings: N/A 

Rating: PG, content wise, teen for language

Word Count: 9k words

Network: @castlebangtan​

A/N: Yay! 100 followers celebration finale!!! Thank you everyone! I’ve got some other stuff cooking as well so hopefully I’ll be more active! 

Other: Masterlist

Kim Seokjin. You hate Kim Seokjin. Why? Well, it was sort of his fault. 

           The flashing lights of the award ceremony, the buzz of the crowd, the packed audience, did nothing to subtract your attention from the person on stage. With a bedazzled white t-shirt and violet purple hair, Kim Seokjin sang on stage. His charisma was no doubt exquisite and his singing technique was divine...but he was a total ass. 

            It suited him, being the number one pop star in the past year; and he was still growing. He was a prideful creature and had been sweeping the award shows, your awards being stolen from right out under you. You were sure that he was out for you ever since the misunderstanding a few years ago. 

          You weren’t actually sure why he still hated you. You had worked your ass off to try and fix what was wrong, but he had ignored you. So, technically, the feud that continued was childish and completely his fault.

            Alright, maybe you fed into it a little, but you were still annoyed and quite honestly tired of it. Jin was a handsome man. His personality was anything but. 

           You rolled your eyes as Jin did a hip thrust, to the screams of his fans. The cameras were still focusing on you throughout the experience, your feud well known. He came right up to the edge of the stage and looked you in the eyes as he spoke.

“Did you see my bag? Did you see my bag? My bag’s filled with trophies. How you think bout that? How you think bout that? Haters are already giving up. My success is already so golden-”

            You tuned him out, a small fire of rage boiling in the pit of your stomach. Why was he still holding onto this stupid feud? If anything was clear, Kim Seokjin hated you, and you hated Kim Seokjin. 

             The after party was a nightmare. You sat at the bar, drink sloshing around lazily in the glass. Heavy bass drummed against your frame. Kim Seokjin was the center of attention, his broad shoulders and puffy lips high above the crowd. 

“How are you feeling, Y/N?” A reporter shoved a microphone into your face. 

              You groaned, not responding. You had a terrible conscience. If someone asked you a question, you felt obligated to answer truthfully, maybe that’s what got you into this mess. It was just easier if you kept quiet. The last thing you wanted was to add onto the feud even more. 

              Seokjin surveyed you out of the corner of his eyes. You always stole the spotlight, even when he had swept the awards. You were still the one getting interviewed the most, getting the most press. They all wanted to know your reaction. He hated you for that. At the same time, he admired your self restraint. 

“Jin, what do you think about winning all the awards you were nominated for?” A reporter appeared. The broad shouldered man waved to the security. 

“Who let paparazzi in?” He muttered under his breath as the reporters were escorted out. 

               A part of Jin really missed being a newer artist, like you. He couldn’t just write and produce his own songs anymore, he had a team for that. Everything needed to be approved by the higher ups and he always had to be happy. Meanwhile, you had made a name for yourself by saying what you wanted and making the music you wanted. Sure, you didn’t win awards, but at least you had that freedom. And he was jealous of that. 

               He brushed away the revelation and weaved his way through the crowd. The party had died down a little and his little posse had trickled out. His little gang of friends had left or were doing something else. 

               Taehyung was with Jungkook ordering and consuming copious amounts of food. Namjoon and Yoongi, well known producers, were huddled over a notebook and whispering lyrics to each other. Hoseok and Jimin had each gone home early.

              Hoseok claimed he needed to practice, being the main dancer for Taehyung, and Jimin claimed he needed to check on his pets. You were sitting alone at the bar, ready to fall asleep, but your night wouldn’t be complete if you didn’t have a run in with Jin. 

“Drowning your sorrows?” Jin plopped into a seat, leaning against the bar with a smug smile. 

“Who says I’m drowning? I’m doing just fine.” You threw back the last sips of the drink. 

              He eyed the empty glasses littering the counter. The bartender was slowly going through and cleaning them up. Jin was a little worried, but he...he didn’t like you, as a person. You were self centered and hypocritical, but perhaps he was the same. 

“How many of those have you had?”

“Unimportant.” You gestured for the bartender to pour another and the man looked warily at you. 

“I think you should stick to water, miss.” The bartender smiled gently. 

“Nah.” You shouted, not realizing how loud your voice was. “Just do your job and pour another.” 

           Jin sighed and put a hand over your glass, gently peeling your fingers back. “No, he’s right.” He said sternly and handed the glass back to the bartender, who looked thankful. 

“You’re an asshole, Jin. Just let me be sad without gloating for once.” You deflated, slouching in your seat. He scoffed and looked away. 

“You’re just being a sore loser. I won every category I was nominated for. How many categories did you even get nominated for, let alone win?” He bit back, drumming his fingers on the table. 

“Fuck you.” You pointed at him, finger pressed hard against his chest.

          Then you stood from your seat, shouldering your bag, and stormed out. Your phone pinged with unseen messages, all from your manager. 

           Jin rolled his eyes, but he did regret his words slightly. It had been so long, he wasn’t even sure why he was mad at you anymore. Why were you in a feud with him anyway? The man checked his phone. Three schedule reminders popped up and he grimaced. It was already 1 A.M. and he needed to be awake in five hours. He stood and bowed, saying his goodbyes to his friends, and leaving the bar. 

             He waited outside for his driver to pull around the block. It was quiet, the muffled pounding of the bass inside the bar leaked out. He wished he had your guts once in a while, to just say what he wanted. He wished he could be like you, just for a moment.

             A light streaked across the sky, a comet passing by. His eyes widened in awe as the meteor shower began. It was...beautiful. 

-

             Meanwhile, you were lazing drunkenly over the window sill in your living room. The house was dark, the curtains open to allow for moonlight to trickle through. Some may be scared of the dark, but you always liked it. The peace of being alone, surrounded by nothing to distract you except your mind was appealing to you. Why? Who knew. You ran your finger along the dusty window sill. 

You glanced at your phone. Your agent had messaged several times. 

Why didn’t you win anything, huh?

Next time, you better win an award or…

They’re going to pull you from the label. 

They thought you were going to be big, Y/N. It’s such a shame.

So many people were rooting for you. Maybe in another life.

            You groaned and powered off your phone. How annoying. Your career was going down the drain, you had followers, but your music wasn’t getting the right platforms. It seemed that no matter how much you tried to get recognized, no one else cared. Your only worth was your feud with Seokjin. 

“Goddamnit, Jin. Would you lend me just a bit of fame? Just a little? Let me breathe, give me a break.” You hissed under your breath.

            You took a few steps back and collapsed onto your mattress. The meteor shower began, the brilliant streaks of white lit up the sky. It felt like the world was laughing at you, blessing you with such a beautiful sky on the worst night of your life. 

             This was not his house. Jin sat up straight. He felt different for sure, but then again, he did drink a bit last night. The man stood, wobbling slightly. How much did I drink? He thought, stumbling to the bathroom. Did he catch a ride with someone? He didn’t remember much. What did he do? 

“Hello?” He called out hoarsely, only to yelp in surprise. 

             His voice was high. High and female, definitely not his voice. It was also...familiar. Jin threw open the door to the bathroom hurriedly. He rushed to the mirror, only to shriek in surprise. 

              That’s not my face….OH MY GOD THAT’S NOT MY FACE. He internally screamed, stumbling back. You were staring back at him. He rubbed his arms and looked down at his body. He felt his cheeks heating up. Yup, this was...this was a woman’s body. But how?

                He slapped his hands over his cheeks. His face, his beautiful face! Okay, so that was a little vain. Jin studied himself. No, You were certainly...not hard to look at, that was for sure. He patted down his body. Then there was a ring from the bedside table and he vaulted over to pick it up. Your phone was ringing, his number flashing boldly. 

“Y/N?” He whispered. 

“Oh my fucking god, seokjin, what did you do this time?” His voice hissed over the line. 

“This has to be a nightmare. Oh god, please wake up.” He cried slapping his face. 

“Hey! Don’t ruin the merchandise!” You shouted. 

                 Then another realization hit him. You could ruin his career. He needed to accept that this was happening and get his priorities straight. You were in his body. You had all the power...and you hated him. 

“Nice clothes, Jin.” Your sarcastic drawl crackled through the speaker. Even he could hear it, despite it being his own voice. 

“They’re all custom fit.” He bragged, marching over to your closet. “What do you have in here? Trash? Oh, this could easily pass as a paper bag. Was beige in style when you picked it out?” He said snarkily, throwing some clothing behind him and onto the bed. He ignored your protests. 

“Jin! Get! Out! Of! My! Closet! Also you better not have touched my body you perv!” You shouted so loud that your voice broke off. 

“What? I’m just doing some reorganizing. Besides, you think I want to touch your body? You flatter yourself.” He said, throwing another beige item out of the closet. He pretended he didn’t hear you scolding him from over the phone. 

 “It’s like you only shop during fall and then go into hibernation.” He commented. “Which is likely, considering how many albums you’ve released.” He muttered, but oh boy had you heard him. 

“At this point, I don’t care, Jin.” You grumbled over the line. “I’m about to be dropped anyway.” 

              The beige sweater in his hands tumbled to the ground. Sure, he knew you had been struggling, but was it really that bad? He was at a loss for words. The man took a deep breath in. 

“Why?” He asked, concern evident. He slowly put down a pair of blue jeans. 

“I’m not as successful as they thought I would be.” You explained, defeat in your voice. “If I don’t win an award at the next show, I’ll be dropped. Also, why is Taehyung crashed on the couch?”

              His eyes widened. A lot of the group crashed at his mansion after a long night out. It was easier than driving them all to six different locations. 

“Shit.” He muttered. “Okay, just, just act normal, alright? I’ll be there soon and maybe we can explain this to them.” He whispered, hanging up and searching through your closet for a decent outfit. 

            This was not how you wanted your morning to go. You stood, dressed casually and waiting by the front door anxiously. Your arms were crossed and you tapped your foot. Taehyung stumbled around behind you. 

“So you’re telling me that you’re Y/N and not Jin?” He asked. 

“Yes.” You said shortly, having already explained it a million times. “You’ll see when he gets here.”

Taehyung took a seat at the counter, his blonde hair falling in waves around his face. He drummed his fingers on the marble surface. His dark eyes glanced you over. 

“How much did you drink last night, Jin? Are you feeling alright?”

“For the thousandth time, I’m Y/N, not Jin!” You huffed angrily. 

“Okay, okay, you’re Y/N then.” He held his hands up. “But just let me know when your little act is over, okay?” He winked. 

               You resisted the urge to scream in rage at his lack of understanding. With the twinkle in his eye and the mischievous look on his lips, you couldn’t tell if he was messing with you or genuinely not believing your story. Your lips twisted into a deep frown and you stalked over to him, ready to talk some sense into him when the door flung open. You turned around, face shifting. 

“Aish, a frown really doesn’t look pretty on my face.” A voice came from the doorway. Your voice. You were used to looking up at Jin, now you looked down. Was that really how you looked? You felt self conscious suddenly. 

“Are you trying to give me wrinkles before 30 or something?” Jin sighed, leaning against the door. “Besides, why didn’t you lock the door?”

“That’s my fault.” taehyung piped up, suspiciously looking between you. 

“Yah! Taehyung you really need to be more careful about that! What if someone tries to break in while I’m asleep! And technically, you’re breaking in.” Jin huffed. 

Taehyung’s eyes widened. “No way, that’s totally something Jin would say. Are you shitting me?” 

“I’ve been trying to explain this to you for the past 30 minutes, Taehyung.” You paced angrily. 

“It’s not breaking in if I have a key.” Taehyung smiled lazily, flashing the golden piece of metal. “But are you being serious? That you’ve...switched?” 

“Why else would I be talking to him.” You gestured to Jin with your head, annoyance staining your features. 

“This is why I don’t scowl.” Jin chimed in, walking over to you and smoothing out your face. “It looks awful.” His fingers brushed against your cheek. 

“Awful? I’m offended. This is my body you’re talking about.”

“Technically it’s mine. So don’t go commit arson or something while you’re in there.” Jin crossed his arms. 

“Trust me, I have bigger things to worry about and do.” You shot back. 

“Will you guys just shut up?” Taehyung slapped the counter, causing your attention to shift once more. “How the fuck are you guys going to change back? Jin, you have a million interviews this week about the awards show and Y/N has, I don’t know, songwriting to get to?” 

“Ah, fuck you to, Tae.” You frowned. 

“Am I wrong?”

“No.” You mumbled in response. 

“Anyway, I think I can fake it until we can figure this out.” You said, lifting your chin. “It won’t be too hard to act like a narcissistic ass who pretends not to be.” 

“Hey!” Jin shouted his protests. A ping from a cellphone caused you to jump. Jin recognized it and began to search his pockets before realizing he was you. 

              You seemed to get the memo and you pulled out the phone in your pocket. It buzzed with a calendar reminder. 

“An interview in an hour?” You said quietly. Then you dropped the phone onto the counter. “Oh my god, there’s an interview in an hour.” 

“It’s really weird to see such expressions on Jin’s face.” Taehyung mused. 

“Shit shit shit.” You, wait no, Jin said. “That’s the one to discuss the music in my album and talk about the awards show. Since it doesn’t seem like we’re going to solve this in an hour, don’t fuck it up.”

“Excuse me, it’s my album now and I will say what I like.” You pursed your lips. 

“I don’t expect you to understand the lyrics and songs in my album.”

“The lyrics written by your team of lyricists? Yeah, I won’t think twice about the meaning of ‘girl you look so fire’.” You air quoted. 

“You think you’re so much better because you write your own lyrics, huh? Well, it’s ridiculous. Stop trying to be an outsider when you’re very much in the public eye.” Jin stated, but his words held a ring of truth. 

                You were, indeed, very popular, why did you feel the need to be ‘special’ and pretend to be all unique and weird? It drove him mad and he counted it as another reason he disliked you. You didn’t respond to his statement, instead remaining silent. 

                Yes, you were fuming inside, but it was only because you felt like kicking yourself. There were so many times you had been offered premium spots, but you had turned it down, thinking it was too mainstream or times when you could have made a chart topping song and instead you chose the more casual songs. 

“Fine.” You admitted defeat. “I understand where you’re coming from. I’ll try my best not to fuck this up.” You said earnestly. “But in return, please just...don’t look through my desk.” 

“Why not?”

“It’s personal. Should there be another reason?” 

“Fine.”

“Do we have a deal?”

“Deal.”

            The interviewer was an idiot. He only ever asked you the most obvious of questions. There’s no depth or deeper meaning he’s looking for other than for you to gloat and cause more drama with...yourself. 

“You completely swept the show this year.” The man lightly clapped and you mimicked it. 

             You were already sweating under the pressure of the lights and the knowledge that you had to sound like Seokjin. Not only did you have to sound like Seokjin, but you also had to give the right answers. 

“That’s amazing. You’re one of the fastest growing artists of the century. It’s incredible, really. How does it feel, knowing that millions have their eyes on you?” 

              Suffocating. It’s so hard to breathe. Was this what it was like all the time? You almost felt bad for Jin, but at the same time you wanted to roll your eyes. The interviewer was just trying to butter you up so that you could spill any juicy secrets.

               Sadly, you don’t think he would buy the ‘I switched bodies with my arch nemesis and now we’re here.’ secret. 

                 Speaking of which, how did you get into this mess in the first place? And how were you going to get out of it? Was it something to do with your wish the other night? The meteor shower? But according to all the body swap movies you’d seen before, he must have wished for your life as well. Which seemed absurd. Why would the Kim Seokjin want to forfeit his life to body swap for some nobody artist like you? 

“It’s honestly such an honor, you know?” You tried your best to respond like him. You could almost see him face palming. “It’s surreal. I still can’t believe it’s happening.” You continued. “Everyone remember to stream Dynamite!” You plugged, flashing a dazzling smile. 

              It seemed to be the right move because the crowd went wild. 

“Now, Jin, you haven’t mentioned Awake, your latest song. I know Dynamite and Mic Drop have been huge successes, really, but Awake you rarely mention. Maybe you can give some insight into your thoughts behind the song? I know I want to know.” 

               Okay, maybe you were wrong. The interviewer was smart as shit. And now you had to analyze Jin’s lyrics. You had heard the song a couple times and it honestly wasn’t that bad. You could make something up and continue on with the interview. You remembered he mentioned once a while ago that it was completely written by himself, no lyricists, nada. So you supposed you should honor that. 

“As you know,” you started carefully. “Awake is one of the few songs completely written by me.” You kicked yourself for your wording, but forged onward. You took a deep breath, thinking for a moment.

 “It’s about...it’s about struggling with insecurities. I’ve always felt like my voice wasn’t good enough, my music would never make it, that I don’t cut it in the industry. I feared I would just be another pretty face stuck onto generic pop music.” You found yourself rambling, releasing some inner frustration you had in yourself. 

“Awake was my form of release. I pushed all my negative thoughts and energy into the song. My doubts, my fears, and what I long for. It speaks of my...my desperation to continue, even when I felt like things were bleak for me. Something inside told me to keep running, keep creating, and I did. That’s why I’m thankful I’m able to be where I am now.” You concluded. “And that’s why Awake is such a personal song to me.” 

               Obviously, a full lyrical and psychological breakdown of the song had not been what the interviewer was expecting, but he seemed pleased nonetheless. 

“Wow, so it must mean a lot to you?”

“Yeah.” You answered half heartedly, feeling emotionally drained from that speech. 

“So I heard from the daily idol that-”

                  His words muffled and you answered his questions monotonously. Why had you gone into so much detail? It was like a switch had been flipped. The lyrics weren’t bad. In fact, the song was good and you could see yourself easily sobbing over it, but it just had to be written by Jin. It was such a shame, yet at the same time, it showed that Jin could write meaningful lyrics if he wanted to.

                    The only reason he needed a lyricist team, you concluded, was pure greed and laziness. That only gave you more reason to dislike him, but, as the song said: My happy times asked me this question; You, are you really okay? it asked me. And after all of that, were you really okay with hating Kim Seokjin? 

Your phone pinged. You glanced down at the screen to see one text from Jin. 

Did you mean what you said?

                Jin was really hoping you hadn’t completely fucked his career. He was also hoping that your agent would stop texting you for one minute. Instead, he was bombarded with questions like ‘are you writing?’ ‘What are you doing to improve?’ ‘You better win more at the Grammys, got it?’ ‘Are you going to lose to Seokjin again?’ ‘Why aren’t you answering?’ 

                  He wanted to slam his head into a wall. Why would you ever put up with this? He mindlessly scrolled through earlier texts. At first, it seemed the relationship started off alright, but every now and then toxicity would come through on the agent’s part.

                   Soon enough, it just devolved into you not answering her texts and her berating you. From your attitude, however, her berating was as good as yelling at a wall. Even he knew that you wouldn’t budge. But...you loved your career. That was obvious enough. You loved your job, you loved making music. What would happen if that got taken away? 

                 Well, it wasn’t happening on his watch. He refused to be the reason you lost your job. So he did what he promised we wouldn’t. Jin searched your desk drawers. He had a feeling he knew what it was you were hiding, but he wanted to make sure. It was better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission in this case.

                 He rummaged around before he pulled out an old and tattered, leather bound, notebook. Inside were songs and lyrics dating all the way back to when you would have been in middle school. The handwriting got progressively messier, but your lyrics were...beautiful. 

                  As he read over them, he was swept into another world. From cloudy skies to hazy summer afternoons, he read through your journey. The songs were cheesy at first, but then they slowly delved into darker subjects. 

                 You wrote your mental health struggles, your relationship issues, your anger, everything was placed in this one leather notebook. It felt wrong to hold this much power, this much information, in his hands. Yet, they were technically your hands. Did he feel bad? Yes. Was he ever going to bring it up? No, because he valued his life. 

“Y/N? Open up, I’ve got to brief you on the photoshoot!” A voice shouted from the front door.

                 Jin looked up, startled, and gently placed the journal where he found it. Then he rushed to the door. 

“Who are you?” He barked. 

“It’s Lisa, who else? Now open the door, we don’t have a ton of time!” Her voice was hurried, so he reluctantly opened the door. 

“A photoshoot?” He breathed, confused. 

“Yes, the big photoshoot for your comeback. Did you hit your head or something? This is all you’ve been talking about for the past month.” The girl, Lisa, rolled her eyes. 

“More like switched bodies with my worst enemy.” He grumbled. 

                The blonde haired girl narrowed her eyes and he remembered his place. You were doing a good job at pretending to be him and it hadn’t even occurred to you, it seemed, to try and ruin his career. So the least he could do was to return the favor. 

“What?”

“Sorry, nevermind.” He waved it off. How did you usually act with people? He never could tell. You were always snarky with him, but after reading your lyrics and walking around in your body, you didn’t seem to carry yourself that way. 

“Well, as your agent, I really need you to get it together, alright?”

“You’re my agent?” He gaped. After seeing the way she treated you, it was all he could do to stop himself from rushing at her. 

               But he wouldn’t have the same strength he had when he was in his usual body. It was a little concerning how casual and easy it felt to be in another person’s body. It was like it was growing on him and he didn’t like it one bit. Jin was getting comfortable and the feeling of unease had been lost on him. 

“Indeed I am. Y/N, are you sure you’re alright?” 

“I’m fine. Really.” He managed. The man settled himself on the couch while Lisa went over the requirements. 

“So we’re looking here for a more mystical approach. I know it’s a lot different from your usual no nonsense approach, but this could be good in repainting your image and getting you into more drama. A little birdy told me Jin is doing the same concept, so hopefully you’ll attract some buzz.” 

“Shouldn’t I…” He wasn’t sure how you spoke or treated your agent, so he fought for the right words. “Shouldn’t I look into distancing myself from the Jin drama?”

             To his surprise, your agent furrowed her eyebrows. Lisa seemed appalled by this. 

“Y/N. We’ve been over this. Jin is keeping you relevant, keeping you in the public eye. Your feud causes people to draw sides and therefore, we get more publicity. So don’t you understand? Jin is the reason you’re anybody.” the woman sniffed. “Focus on getting as many followers as possible before I set up the formal meeting to settle it, okay? Trust me, this is a mutually beneficial feud.” 

              Jin frowned. You had all these beautiful lyrics, songs that meant something. Was the feud really that important? 

“So I’ve got some reference photos here.” Lisa threw a pile of photos onto the table. Jin just stared. How did they get these? They weren’t even released yet.

“Where did you get these?” He still had to get used to the higher tone of your voice and it was quite honestly disconcerting. It felt like he was nervous all the time. 

“You know I have my connections.” She winked. 

             Jin picked up a laminated photo and turned it over in his hands. He didn’t know what to say, this was all insane. 

“Hello?” The woman snapped her fingers several times. “You okay? It’s like you’ve been replaced or something. Hellooooo? Y/N? Are you in there?” 

“You don’t know how right you are.” He mumbled. 

“What?”

                Jin blinked rapidly, trying to regain your sense of personality. Right, right, how did you usually act? He hoped he hadn’t just royally fucked you over. Sure, this may not be his body, but he felt a sense of responsibility, being the temporary caretaker. 

“Ah, nevermind, nevermind.” He waved it off with a little laugh. The woman narrowed her eyes at him, but continued on. 

“You’ll arrive on set at least two hours prior in order to get you all set up. Then we’ll shoot. You’ll have a fifteen minute break and then we’ll do it again. Then you’re free. I know it’s a lot harsher than you’re used to but-”

“That’s all?” He was happy to be in your place at this moment. You had it so easy! 

“Yeah, as I said, it’s a little intense but-”

“Pshhh I’ll be fine.” He reassured her and though she looked skeptical, she just nodded and gathered her things. 

“Be there, 6:00 P.M. Goodbye, Y/N.” She dipped her head and slipped out the door, slamming the wood behind her. The wall shook. 

“What a sourpuss.” He let out a sigh of relief and deflated, leaning against the couch. His phone buzzed. 

            Taehyung’s number flashed on screen. He mentally prepared himself and then picked up the call. 

“Hello Y/N, or should I say...Jin!” Taehyung’s mischievous voice crackled through the speaker. 

“God, I don’t need another reminder.” He grumbled.

            He had successfully pulled off the ‘I hate everything about this’ look. But in truth, he didn’t hate this. It wasn’t so bad and it was a nice vacation. 

“Yeah, yeah, anyway, I did some research and well, the truth is, I found nothing.” Taehyung admitted. Before Jin could register this reality, the man on the other side continued. “But there’s gotta be a time limit. Maybe some other kind of limit. I’ll look into it.” 

“Get on it, Kim.” Jin barked, growing tired of the conversation. “If you have nothing else important to say, just hang up.”

“Wow, so mean, Jin, to one of your closest friends too! Maybe Y/N was right about all that asshole stuff.”

“See!” You echoed from the background of the call. 

“Is that Y/N? Y/N! Get on the phone right now, we need to have a talk about this!” 

“Don’t you have a photoshoot in a bit?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Aw man,” Your voice came through clearer as Taehyung passed you the device. “I was really looking forward to it.” 

“Looking forward to stealing my concept?!” 

                 There was a long pause and you let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, Jin. I didn’t know until last week and it was too late to change.” Your voice was soft, gentle, and, dare he say, guilty? 

                 He smoothed the wrinkles between his brows and paced between the couch and coffee table. 

“It’s fine. You obviously don’t control your life.” 

                  You actually felt hurt by that. Your expression went stony and cold, your grip on the device tightened. 

“Yet you’re the one with every single part of your day scheduled down to the second.” You pulled the phone away bitterly to look at the piling notifications. 

“It helps keep me on task.” He defended lamely. 

“Why? It just seems...stressful. You have no free time. Honestly, it’s reckless, that’s what it is. One day you’re just going to collapse. You’re such an idiotic ass, you know? And don’t think I can’t feel the soreness in your muscles, Jin, because I can-” 

                 His hands clenched into fists. Who were you to judge his lifestyle? Sure, he’d made fun of your wardrobe, but he hadn’t tried to insult you as...a person. 

“-If I stop moving, I feel restless. It’s better to just wake up and gogo go until I can’t, then fall asleep. Do it all again. If I stop moving, it feels like death. Was that what you wanted?” 

“No Jin, I didn’t mean to pry I-”

“Just stop talking. I never thought I’d see the day I was sick of hearing my own goddamn voice.” He said coldly and hung up.

              You didn’t understand at all. And how could you? Sure, you were in his body, but it wasn’t like you had the years of training instilled in your brain or the knowledge that he accumulated through the time he’d been a star. He checked the time. The photoshoot was soon, and he planned to be there right on time. 

  “Why did you give me the stupidest smile.” You groaned, arm falling over your eyes in embarrassment. 

“Hey, I work with what I got and I worked you hard. This just must be all you got.” Jin huffed, leaning back in his chair. “And what was up with that speech about Awake?” 

“I meant every word.” You said firmly.

            He was quiet for a moment, not having a retort. You didn’t like dragging things out and it was bound to come out sooner or later. 

              What terrified you was how easy it was to be Jin. It was like trying on clothes, but these fit better than anything you’d ever worn. Sure, it had been disorienting in the beginning, but now you’d learned so much about Jin. How he liked his coffee, what shoes he wore for which events, what his favorite shirt was, how he treated his staff, etc. The more you found out about Jin, the less you had to hate about him. Still, his ego was insufferable. 

                The whir of the fan in the room rotated and filled the silence. The greenery of his house was nice, but you preferred the ‘I’m poor and want to be fashionable’ feel your apartment had. Thus, you had agreed to meet with Seokjin to discuss the situation at his, your, place. You didn’t want to think about him rooting around your things, but honestly at this point, you might as well be naked around each other. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen it by now. 

“I keep thinking about that night, Y/N.” Jin mumbled. “Why were we switched that night?” 

                  You remained silent, pulling your arm away from your face and staring at the white ceiling. There was a crack in it that ran all the down the hallway. The paint was fading as well, giving away to the garish blue you had covered a year ago. There was still a stain in the left corner because Jennie had once projectile vomited up there when she had too much to drink. You shuddered at the memory. 

“Maybe it had to do with the meteor shower.” You shrugged. 

              The new depth of your voice wasn’t disconcerting anymore and seeing him walking around in your body was fine, as long as he wasn’t screwing anything up, you could care less. 

“Maybe.” He hummed in response. 

“You know I still hate you.” You said, but you weren’t sure. 

               You wanted it to be that way, desperately, but nothing could be the same after whatever this was, was over. You wanted to go back to hating Seokjin’s guts. 

“I do too.” He responded, but there was a lack of bite. 

“I hate you. I hate your arrogant ass, your ego, and your guts.” You rolled over, locking eyes with him.

               He was gazing at you, amusement in his features. You thought that you should look amused more often. Since the feud broke out, you usually wore a scowl or frown. 

“But I hate myself more for being jealous of you.” You pointed at him. “Don’t you understand? Having an ego is a blessing. Being arrogant is a privilege. Normal people don’t get to just go around, brag about their accomplishments and be rewarded for that.” 

                   He laughed softly, the high pitched noise tingling your ears. There were parts of him that showed through, even when he was in your body. 

                 The first was his mannerisms. They were always more egotistical than what you usually went for. It was like he physically couldn’t choose wording that sounded humble. 

                 The second was his smile. He still smiled the same way, lips peeling back to reveal pearly white teeth. It looked so unnatural on your face, but it suited him, always had. 

                 The third and final one was his laugh. He would still laugh the same squeaky windshield wiper laugh. It was contagious. 

                   The man stood and took your finger, which was still pointed at him, and slowly lowered it. He wrapped his hands around your own and held on tightly. 

“Now why would you be jealous of me?” 

                You forgot his eyes. Despite them being yours, his eyes did not change. In his eyes, you saw sincerity, an emotion you once thought too complex for him. 

“I’ve lived in your body for well over a week, Jin. You have a busy schedule and I’m exhausted at the end of every day, but...there’s security in that. You don’t have to feel like you’re hanging onto the end of a string that’s about to break 24/7.” 

                He nodded, seemingly mulling over your words. 

“I’m jealous of you, Y/N.” The man said. It was so odd seeing words forming from your lips that you had not made. “I’m jealous of the way you can do what you like, the way you can speak your mind and no one cares. I’m jealous that you can make the music you want. Y/N, I’m jealous because your lyrics are beautiful, meaningful, and you’re allowed to sing them.” He continued on gently. 

“You saw my lyrics?” Your throat went dry. 

             Those lyrics were your safe haven. They had been invaded by foreign eyes, yet you didn’t really mind it. He was in your body, living your life. He would have found it sooner or later. 

“Yes, I did.” He dropped your hands. “I’m sorry, I know I said I wouldn’t-”

“No, Jin, it’s...it’s okay.” You smiled. Your gaze wandered, trying to looked anywhere but him.

“Now where do we go from here?”

“We just do our best, I think, roll with the punches.”

“The awards show is only a week away.”

“Then we do our best.”

“And if we don’t ever change back?”

“Jin,” You caught him firmly in your gaze. He froze and you wondered if that’s really what you looked like when you blushed. “We’ll do our best and everything will work itself out, I’m sure of it.” 

“I trust you, then.” 

              The makeup artist brushed another streak of gold across your cheekbones. You held perfectly still. 

“Almost done!” The artist squeaked, brushing over your chin now. The fine tips of the brush tickled your face and the gold dust floating through the air made you want to sneeze. 

               The roar of the crowd was a dull thud in the background next to your heartbeat. You were up next, the act before you just finished up. You could see the stage and the lights set for your turn.

               You had spent the past week memorizing every detail, memorizing the lyrics, practicing your instrument of choice. It had been hectic, but it would be worth it. You were going to show the world you were a changed person. You took a deep breath, shaking out your arms and legs as the makeup artist drifted away. 

                 You tried not to sweat or breathe too heavily as the large screens lit up to announce the next artist. As much as you wished it was your name showing up on that screen, it was not. Your name would be later in the program. No, right now, you were Kim Seokjin, superstar, worldwide handsome, and the most awaited performance of the night. 

“Kim. Seok. Jin.” The announcer said, letting the stadium fill with cheers. You could only ever dream of this success and you thanked Jin for lending you his body. 

                     On the stage, a grand piano rose to the top. It was empty, just waiting for someone to play it. You knew he was watching in the audience, waiting for his song to play, waiting to see how you sang it. You were thankful his vocal capabilities carried over to you through his body. You walked on stage and it was so quiet, you could have heard a pin drop. The audience was rightfully confused. 

                   The past week, you had been brainstorming a way to make his piece stand out against the generic pop songs of the others. Blaring music just didn’t seem...it didn’t seem right for this song. It deserved a slower, more subtle production. So you set about learning it on piano. You had practiced until well into the morning every night and you were exhausted, but you knew it by heart. 

                   You sat on the bench, the wood creaking loudly. It was like the audience had faded away and you were alone, practicing over and over, singing until you couldn’t any more. You smoothed out your pants and took a deep breath, hands hovering above the keys. Then you looked at the camera and gave his signature wink. Which led to a roll of laughter and shrieks from the crowd. Then it went quiet once more. You could have sworn you heard his laugh. 

                   You played the first chord. Then the next. No going back now. Contrary to the audience’s belief, no dancers would come out halfway through, the music wouldn’t suddenly kick in. No, this would be the breather, the quiet song amidst the chaos. You took a deep breath, begging and praying for his godly stable vocals. 

“It’s not that I believe it, but that I want to try holding out. Because this is all that I can do.” You began to sing Awake. 

                  The song that helped bring you closer to its creator, the song that reminded you of the beginning of this mess. Yet, it no longer felt like a mess and more like a blessing. You had never thought it would be going on this long, though. Maybe Jin was right, maybe this would be forever? You played the next notes, hands dancing over the keys in a practiced and steady rhythm.

Three Years Ago

“Oh, Jennie, please can you grab my lyrics? I left them on the desk, they’re really messy so you should recognize them!” You called to your friend. She nodded and hurried back inside to fetch the papers. 

                  At BigHit Entertainment, you planned to be a producer, nothing else. You wanted to produce music, make tons of money off royalties, and retire early. That was the plan, until they suggest you try out to be an idol. 

                  You didn’t work well in a group, far too stubborn, so they set you on the solo track. You were currently writing your first album and your debut was coming up fast. 

                   The entirety of your body ached. Your legs were sore from running and your feet hurt from standing all day. Your arms screamed in pain when you tried to lift anything due to the amount of dance practice you’d been in.

                    The thing that was the worst, was your throat. You weren’t a singer, okay. You sang a bit, but not a ton, and even with vocal lessons, singing for upwards of four hours a day was taxing on your body. The things that really helped were your friends and sleep. 

                     Sadly you got neither of those things. Without being in a girl group, you barely knew anyone and you had maybe four hours of sleep a night with studying and practice. Besides, you had maybe one person you could consider a friend; Jennie. And you had another you could consider a rival.

                       Kim Seokjin. Multi-talented, sculpted like the gods, and arrogant as shit. He only ever rolled his eyes when you were around and he never had anything nice to say to you or anyone else. He kissed ass as well. Just another thing you hated about him. 

Okay, so hate was a strong word, but you very much disliked him. He just never seemed to like your guts, no matter what you did. At first, it had been intimidating, but now it was just annoying. 

“Well, well, well, Y/N.” Speak of the devil. 

“Just get it over with.” You groaned, turning to face the handsome prick. “What do you want?” 

“Just some company.” He said innocently. “I’m waiting for the bus to the dorms as well.” He explained, brushing a hand through his hair. 

“Sure. Well, I hope you enjoy silence, because that’s what I love best.” You dug around your bag and withdrew your earbuds. 

                  You plugged in your phone and popped in one bud just as Jennie came running back. She was barely sweating, even after running up and down the stairs for your notes. Cardio was intense for the more dance based girl groups. 

“Here you go!” She said, oblivious to the tension around you and Jin.

“Oh thank you.” You shot her a weak smile. 

“Bye!” She waved, rushing out the door to her waiting members. 

                    You watched her leave, begging her to stay with your eyes. Once her van was pulling out, you sighed. Great, now you were stuck with Jin. You glanced down at the papers. Oh shit. These are not your papers. You cursed under your breath. 

“Whatcha got there, Y/N?” He broke the silence, peering over your shoulder. 

                      You immediately slapped the papers to your chest. What if he thought you were stealing? When could you sneak back and put them away? 

“Let me see.” He whined, craning over your shoulder before finally stepping in front of you. “Is it lyrics? It’s okay, I just want to hear!” 

“N-no!” You stuttered, folding up the papers. “Just schoolwork I forgot.”

            He narrowed his eyes, the playful look gone. Maybe you should have just told the truth. 

“Show me what you have in your hands, Y/N.” He said darkly, his voice smooth and monotone.

             You felt like a child about to be scolded. When you didn’t respond, he reached forward and plucked it out of your hands. 

“Oh I see. So now you’re just stealing from me.” 

“What? No!”

“Then why do you have my lyrics in your hands?!”

“I was going to return them I swear!” 

“Yeah, right.” 

Before you could explain yourself, he strutted outside. “I won’t forget this, Y/N.” 

              A paper fluttered to the ground and you rushed to pick it up, but he was already gone. The paper was in a puddle and you hurriedly scooped it up. The ink was already ruined. At the top of the page, the words Awake by Kim Seokjin were bleeding down the page. 

               The audience was hushed, confused by the somber tone. Still, many people had smiles on their faces or perhaps a little tear in their eyes. You continued the song to the end. The melody carried over the quiet stadium like a ghost. The haunting appeal drew more in every second. Televisions from around the world tuned in to watch, eyes glued to the screen. So this is what it feels like to have the world’s eyes on you. 

                 Backstage, Jin watched the performance silently. His eyes remained on the screen, even through his makeup and wardrobe. His own sweet voice pierced the room. Was that how he sounded? He always joked that he was ‘the best singer’ but in his heart, he never believed it. The man smoothed down the dress. It complimented your body well, and he was reminded that this was indeed your body and not his. 

                 Whenever someone called ‘Jin’ or ‘Y/N’, both of you would turn around. It was actually pretty funny to watch. Your agent cursed. 

“He’s going to sweep the awards again with a ballsy performance like that.” Lisa muttered. 

“I never knew my song could be sung like that.” He murmured. Then he straightened up, playing your part dutifully. “It’s too slow, honestly.” he rolled his eyes and Lisa snickered along with him. 

“Half of the staff are sleeping.” Lisa mused, before turning back to check over her list. 

Jin took a deep breath. “Lisa.” He turned to the woman, who didn’t even look up. “I want to end the feud with Jin. It’s unnecessary and hurting my career and reputation beyond repair.” 

              The woman blinked a few times. Then she laughed. 

“That’s hilarious. If you can somehow convince Jin to let that happen, then by all means, be my guest, but I’m sure he also realizes how necessary you are to building his career.” 

“I’m sure he’ll agree.” He said coldly, lacing his fingers together. Lisa narrowed her eyes before turning back to her list. 

“Like I said, only if you can convince him, because I won’t.” 

-

              The piano slowly faded to silence. You held your breath, standing and bowing. It was quiet for a moment, then a roll of applause fell over the audience. It felt like waves crashing over your body. You smiled sheepishly, blowing a kiss to the camera for fanservice points. Then you exited the stage where Jin, I mean, you, were getting ready to go on next. 

                 He eyed you as you stepped out. Then, just as you were about to slip by, he grasped your arm. 

“Good job.” His voice was quiet. You nodded at his words, taken off guard. He dropped his hand and you softly whispered back.

“I never stole your music, you know.” You said, saying what had been on your mind for the past three years. 

“I know.” He said, his grin fading. 

“Good.” You said stiffly. “Good luck out there, Y/N.”

He shot you a cocky smile and strutted out on stage. 

 “For best artist of the year, the nominees are…” The announcer stood on stage, a golden envelope in hand. “Kim Seokjin.”

                A roar of applause came from the crowd and fangirls squealed loudly. You winked at the camera and then face forward. A short montage of Jin played on screen. 

“Y/L/N Y/N.” 

              You watched a compilation of yourself and applauded their work. They made you look pretty nice. There was a similar ripple of applause. 

“Kim Taehyung.” 

               The same occurred, but he remained stoic throughout the montage. His eyes flicked warily over between you and Jin. 

“And Jeon Jungkook.” 

                   Rinse and repeat. 

                   You held your breath. 

“And the winner is…”

                    You made eye contact with Jin across the way. You were seated directly in front of the stage and he was seated further to the left. He smiled and nodded. You felt your heart rate accelerate. Was it you? It was the last award of the night, it had to be you. And yet, you would never feel that rush of applause, never get to make that speech, because of this stupid curse. Maybe it was your fault for wishing it. 

“Y/L/N Y/N!” The announcer shouted and you watched Jin stand from his place. 

                       You watched him step up the stairs careful not to trip on the dress, and take a stand at the microphone. In his hands was a trophy, it’s cool metal gleaming. How many times had you wished to hold that trophy? To feel the weight of it in your hands. 

“Hello.” He spoke, the mic rang a little and he chuckled. “It is such an honor to be receiving this award. I would like to thank my parents, for supporting me,” Now that was a bold faced lie, but you let him off the hook. 

“My agent, for helping to boost me to success, and all the hardworking staff at BigHit for making this dream come true.” 

                        It was the usual speech. Boring. You would have made it far more memorable. You tried your best not to let jealousy blind you in this moment. 

“But my real speech here is for anyone who feels they can’t do what they like. You see, I know a girl who writes beautiful lyrics, lyrics that take you to another dimension and music that does the same.”

“Yet, our industry does not reward simply passion for the craft, it rewards your dedication to your company and the ability to follow directions.”

“We, as artists, need to learn how to inspire confidence in ourselves and others, so that we can make the music we want to.” He took a deep breath. “Your greatest fear...maybe even your greatest enemy,” He found your eyes in the crowd. 

“May be your greatest weapon.” 

                 And in that moment, he took a step forward towards the mic and you felt a tugging sensation. You blinked and you were standing at the mic, your eyes trained to the crowd. 

                     You were you again. And you got to enjoy the standing ovation, the swell of the crowd like a rising tide. Yet, your eyes still went to him. You didn’t hate Kim Seokjin anymore. 

                     You admired him, you were jealous of him, but you found yourself liking him. That laugh of his, which you would have thought annoying, was now a tally mark of reasons why you enjoyed his company. 

                      You found him in the crowd, despite the dimness of the lights. He was still seated, getting his bearings. A smile easily made its way onto your face and you met eyes. The man simply smiled at you and raised his glass. 

Maybe I, I can never fly I can’t fly like the flower petals over there Or as though I have wings Maybe I, I can’t touch the sky Still, I want to stretch my hand out I want to run Just a bit more

 Some people I wanted to tag! @youarejesting​ @moccahobi​ @yoongi-sugaglider​