#since pastel gore is very much an Art thing

[brutal-nemesis]

Goretober VII: Pas-tell Me About It

The concept of this was a crack idea I had on a whim but I feel like it turned out better than I expected lmao so enjoy the @coyotehusk goretober content 🤪

←Previous - Castys Masterlist - Goretober Masterlist - Next→

Ingredients: yes i really did pastel gore in writing, vivisection, beheading, body horror vibes, emeto mention

Honestly, Castys was starting to get kinda bored of vivisection. Like, wow, there were his guts. They’re the same as the last eight times he saw them. Spice it up for once, why don’t you?

Somehow, Kuro must have read his mind, and he really regretted wishing for something different.

What she brought over after cutting him open wasn’t a knife or a hammer or a chisel, no needles or hooks, just…paint. “We already did the art class bit, didn’t we? What’re you gonna do with those?” 

Kuro laughed as she dipped her paintbrush into a glob of light purple. “I’m going to paint, of course. You’ll just have to come up with more jokes.” Castys sighed, sort of watching as she started to brush the paint over his ribs. This was fucking stupid. Who the hell even thought of painting someone’s literal organs? And, like, why? Why the fuck? And as always, despite the awful bizarreness of his situation, he couldn’t do much of anything about it. He just had to lie there as she turned his bones purple. Well, not all of his bones, thankfully, just some.

His lungs were pale blue. It was always strange to watch them move as he breathed,  swelling and shrinking. Smirking, he breathed in and out as quickly as he could, causing Kuro to smudge blue paint on his ribs. She slapped him pretty hard for that, but it was worth it. Not enough to do it again, though, so he kept his breathing steady for the remainder of the time she spent on his lungs.

His liver was pastel green. Green made him think about plants, which made him think about how long it’d been since he went outside. He’d been stuck in this same stupid torture room the whole time since he got kidnapped, and not even seeing the sun was starting to weigh on him a bit. It was the sort of thing he didn’t appreciate as much as he should until it was gone, but at least it wasn’t gone for good. He’d be able to go outside again…someday.

His stomach was a muted yellow. At least this didn’t hurt in itself, just the standard pain from being torn open like a candy wrapper. He missed having candy, and the fucking blood vomit chocolate did not count. Even water would be nice, too, just to wash the taste of blood out of his mouth, but why bother when he didn’t need it to live? Who cares if he felt the pain from hunger and thirst?

His large intestine was a faded orange. Being cut open like this was cold, both because he wasn’t wearing anything besides shorts and because he’d lost quite a bit of blood from the whole process. Oh, and his organs weren’t fucking insulated against the open air, which was probably actually what was making him so cold. Was he gonna end up dying from hypothermia? His fingers and toes were sort of numb, now that he thought about it. Hopefully if he died she wouldn’t start this all over again.

His small intestine was…pink. It was already pink, and Kuro was painting it a different shade of pink, which seemed stupid, but then again this whole thing was very stupid. At least this was probably almost over, since he didn’t have any more large visible organs left, as far as he could tell. What the fuck was she gonna do when she was done? The paint was going to stay inside him if he died, and he’d rather not get poisoned by it over and over or something.

“Alright, I’m all done! I want you to see, but I feel like you won’t really be able to appreciate it from there.”

“From-what the fuck does that mean? Am I supposed to-oh.” 

Kuro hefted the ax, tentacles removing the strap over his neck but keeping his head in place. “Just hold still for a second.”

When Castys came back to life, he was lying on the cold stone floor. He sat up and rubbed his neck, wincing when he felt blood. He really, really didn’t want to stand up and see his old body, still strapped to the table and painted, but Kuro pulled him up by the hair and yanked his hands behind his back with her tentacles when he tried to resist. So he had to look.

It was his corpse, he knew it was, but it didn’t look like him in the slightest. His head was fucking gone, for one, since Kuro had chopped it off and caused him to regenerate a new body from it, which is why he’d left this one behind and didn’t heal it. And the organs were…something. Pastel colors like that didn’t belong inside a person like that, softening the glisten of their organs, almost making them look like candy, something oddly beautiful and disgusting at the same time. He wanted to take a hammer or something to it and destroy it, wash all those colors out in red. Then he could believe it was his body.

“Well, Castys, what do you think?”

“I think you’re the most batshit fucking insane person I’ve ever met.”

“I’ll take it.”

Next→

Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @blackrosesandwhump​ @fanmanga1357-blog​​ @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi​ @hearse-song​ @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101 @yet-another-heathen​​ @galaxywhump​ @starnight-whump​ @his-unspoken-words @misspelledwitch​ @suspicious-whumping-egg​ @pumpkin-spice-whump @painsandconfusion​ @i-can-even-burn-salad​​ @befuddled-calico-whump @whumpinggrounds​ @whump-queen​ @whumpedydump​

[kittycarly]

Uhh... hello Tumblr!!!

First art post in here heh..- I wanted to spand more my social media so here we are! If you follow me/know me from Instagram, TikTok or YouTube well... Welcome to my Tumblr art blog!!

For new people that don't know me, hello i'm ♡KittyCarly♡! You can call me Kitty or Carly or cat themed nicknames i don't mind!!

While I was scrolling through TADC content on here, I stumbled across this amazing AUs and ended up LOVING THEM. I'm not that kind of person that looks for fandom AUs but since Digital Circus is my current hyperfixation, this two became my favorites ><💞

Mushy's Carnival AU is AMAZING! I love every character design and concept, and LOVE the Showtime dynamic between Caine and Pomni!! Especially Pomni's character in this AU, the swap between humans and AI is genius, and love the sentient/non-sentient aspect very much!

AND FREAKSHOW AU OH MY GOD. Bon's AU is so cool!! I'm actually pretty invested in creepy/gore horror themed stuff! (Being 100% afraid while watching and ACTUAL horror movie lmao) the thing that got me to this AU is Pomni's design, I'm a sucker for cute dresses and pastel colors, and the idea of Pomni being a ventriloquist doll instead of a jester?? LOVE IT.

I actually drew this like 2 months ago but forgot to actually post them lol (i uploaded some doodles on instagram, might post them here later hehe)

Carnival!Pomni belongs to @sm-baby and Freakshow!Pomni belongs to @hootbon ✨

(apologies for my intense yapping KJSKFKFKDK)

[headmate-smoothie-bar]

Hello!!! Love to see a new B.A.H blog starting up :>

May I order a lvl 3 c! transfem tommyinnit alter? Preferably one to act as a mood boster?

Thanks for taking my request, very exited to see the results!

of course!!! we put a lot of thought and effort into her, and one of the other shards chimed in with some info from hxs tommy as well lol. remember that beings may not always turn out as described, but we hope that you like cher!

name tommy, thesea, sage, amara

3rdp pronouns she/her, che/cher, nel/nels, 🍒/🍒s (links)

age 16-19

species human

source dream smp, c!tommy

role mood booster, delight (links)

gender/s transfem, happycolorsgender, moonrisegender, happygender (links)

orientation/s aegosexual, panromantic, panplatonic

other ids rosy maple moth xenintation, aeterignis (links)

personality tommy is a very energetic person. she is always jumping around and you rarely ever catch nel without a smile on nels face. as the mood booster, che has made it cher job to ensure that everybody in the system is happy, whatever that means. when 🍒 is fronting, she will constantly seek out activities that would cheer up or at least improve the mood of the other headmates. whilst she yells a lot and may accidentally scare other headmates, nel always finds a way to make it up to them. she makes the world seem like a brighter place to anybody who is co-con with her, as she always seeks out the positives and the things that could help any sad headmates of chers. it’s a very rare day if thesea is not filled with joy and having fun!

other notes she is somewhat separated from source, but still has memories and connections to it. 🍒 may seek out information about 🍒s source while che’s fronting.

signoffs 💥, ⚡️, ‼️, 🎇

2ndp pronouns fru/fruit/fruits/fruitself, nu/nur/nurs/nurself

1stp pronouns i/me/my/mine/myself, mi/mie/miy/miyn/miyself, lu/le/lye/luen/lyeself

likes & dislikes likes: loud music, thunderstorms, shitty memes, junk journalling, arts & crafts dislikes: too much silence, large bodies of water, dead insects

aesthetics bastardcore, scrapbook, pastel gore (links)

faceclaim/s

typing quirk/s she always or almost always types in all caps. che types very fast and may misspell words a lot. nel sometimes replaces the letters with numbers (i.e. a into 4, e into 3) because nel likes how it looks.

a song or three von dutch - charli xcx when i rule the world - LIZ speed drive - charli xcx

pos fronting triggers fun activities, sweet food, mentions of cc!tommy (🍒 likes to see what he’s up to these days, since 🍒 is/has separated from him)

how they are in headspace/innerworld she’s very much a voice of positivity. che will often enter other headmates’ conversations if che thinks they are to negative, lightening the mood. 🍒 may hold positive memories and hand them around to the other headmates when the system is feeling down. nel is very committed to nels role, and will always be around for her other headmates when they’re sad.

how they are when fronting che gets a little more serious when fronting, albeit not much.. nel will usually be drawn to more exciting activities, in order to cheer up and encourage the others. che may come out when the body is in an uncomfortable situation in order to move onto something more fun and interesting, both for herself and for the other headmates. che also often ducks back into headspace briefly, just to check on everybody.

thank you for ordering from the smoothie bar, we had so much fun making nel!! we all hope you like her, take good care of her for us!

[ynfg-review]

Yume Nikki Fangame Reviews: Collective Unconscious

Tumblr | Wiki | Play online

Collective Unconscious is a collaborative YNFG à la Yume 2kki, released in June 2024 on the Yume Nikki Online Project website. It is designed for the platform and its multiplayer system. You play as a person called Minnatsuki, who explores the spirit world via a totem pole in their room.

Atmosphere: Rather than the mystical abstraction of much of Yume Nikki, many of the worlds of Collective Unconscious represent real environments – parks, streets, gardens, buildings – but with something a bit off about them. There’s a calm and peaceful feel to a lot of the game, always with an undertone of strangeness and perhaps a bit of unease. As a collaborative game, however, you never know quite what you’re getting when you move from world to world, and the surprise and variety is one of the best things about it.

Exploration: This game was only released a couple of months ago, so most of the issues I have with exploration are definitely down to it being in the early stages of development. There are a lot of dead ends, including worlds intended as connecting paths which have no connection at the end, and sometimes you can walk quite a long way only to have to retrace your steps if you want to keep exploring. Nevertheless, for a game which has barely been updated since its release, it has loads and loads of content and worlds to explore, and you can still take long meandering routes if you happen upon well connected areas. I have no doubt that with future updates most of these frustrations will be smoothed out!

Art: Collective Unconscious has some beautiful pixel art, and it comes from so many different artists in so many different styles! There are some extremely unique vibes, art styles, and world gimmicks that aren’t like anything I’ve ever seen in a YNFG before. It’s really a game with something for everyone: pretty sparkly pixel art, photo collage sprites and worlds, dim and creepy maze-like areas, cute pastel worlds, and everything inbetween.

Storytelling: Being a collaborative game, CU doesn’t necessarily imply a singular overarching story. The conceit is also that the realm you enter is a collective ‘spirit world’ rather than Minnatsuki’s individual dreams. Nevertheless, there are some common themes that devs seem to return to across the worlds, which is great fodder for the player’s imagination, and I’m sure that when any endings are implemented we’ll get a bit more of a sense of a narrative. Some of the events have mini-stories within them already. I feel that CU is a game which might have lore, rather than a singular story – if that makes sense!

Horror and CWs: Collective Unconscious has a decent number of worlds featuring body horror and disturbing environments, although I think the submission guidelines prohibit very explicit gore and jumpscares. I would say that the calm and peaceful areas outnumber the creepy ones in this game, though. As of now (August 2024), CU has no common chasers, but there are a few worlds with unique chaser events that can spring upon you quite suddenly. I really dislike these, but that’s just me.

There’s a hospital world (although it isn’t doing .flow style medical horror), an area which might imply themes of suicide, a world seemingly themed around bile/vomit, and a ‘blood drive’ world which has a lot of needle imagery.

Best thing about it: the sheer variety of different beautiful art styles on show throughout, and the thrill of a new project set to develop in really exciting ways!

If you like… Yume 2kki, Answered Prayers, the atmosphere and doppelgänger themes of Neon Genesis Evangelion.

[cinnamonnala]

Flipaclip, I use it maybe once in a blue moon

2. Left, I need to force myself to draw right facing people more lol

3. I’m going to say little for me is my middle school years so, Aster’s Trait was my first story and I’ve had it since middle school (I’m an adult now for context)

4. https://toyhou.se/11591188.aishina#41974448 HIM, I love him, but I don’t understand mermaid anatomy yet so, he’s a struggle

5. Depends, if it’s speaking of places like Tumbler, Insta, Twitter, and DA, then maybe 15 percent? Which I’m trying to fix, especially with tumbler. Discord, 100%, all my art goes in the servers I’m in XD

6. Just random designs I see, I have to try very hard to not accidentally rip off designs I see and fall head over heals for

7. Watercolor, I love watercolor art but I don’t have the patience or attention span to learn how to do it nearly as well as others, I’ll admire from afar

8. Hard to say since I loose interest but I eventually come back and force myself to work on it? Like, Aster’s Trait ironically. I have everything mapped, the story is basically done, but I haven’t put it onto paper in any way so, I can’t fully leave it alone, but since it’s done in my head I’ve lost interest in it

9. Since I work in procreate I don’t really have files but I rarely name my canvases. Folders yes, and they’re very practical

10. S W E A T E R S

11. Lots of music, commentary, video game challenges

12. Eyes and Hair

13. A creator who you admire but whose work isn't your thing

14. I love it when characters just have like, a signature thing, not like “oh they always wear that scarf” but more like, this group of characters all have this small minor detail that ties them all together

15. Up in my storage closet Bunk :’)

16. I think I’m pretty good at shading to some degree but it’s a pain to do, especially hard shading

17. Mostly drink, and a cold coke

18. I don’t think I’ve broken many art supplies if any? Though I have gone through a few Apple Pencil nibs before

19. I don’t think I have a favorite, but maybe just aesthetic stuff in general, if it’s a pretty item I can find at least some enjoyment in drawing it

20. This is extremely dependent but hands. I like the way I draw them. Only issue is I can’t handle my lefts and rights so I’m constantly putting the thumb in the wrong place TWT

21. Pastel gore, I really want to do more of it but I feel like I can never hit the right vibe or get ideas that fit the genre. Also just extremely detailed anime styles, I used to draw with way more detail but now my style is much more simple and I kind of regret it? It’s better for animating but, it feels like I’m being more lazy at the same time

22. I need to do more exercises, but sometimes I just roll my wrists and that’s about it

23. Muliply, Add, and Overlay are my best friends

24. No

25. This hasn’t happened to me yet to my knowledge

26. What's a piece that got a wildly different interpretation from what you intended

27. No but I should

28. I’ve done a couple amino contests back when I was younger but otherwise no

29. Cooking shows, murder mysteries, and commentary

30. It’s hard to say, half of it is that I haven’t posted much yet so, I can’t really say

Weirdly Specific Artist Ask Game

Didn't see a lot of artist ask games, wanted to make a silly one.

(I wrote this while sick out of my mind last year and it's been collecting dust in my drafts, I might as well let it run free) 1. Art programs you have but don't use

2. Is it easier to draw someone facing left or right (or forward even)

3. What ideas come from when you were little

4. Fav character/subject that's a bitch to draw

5. Estimate of how much of your art you post online vs. the art you keep for yourself

6. Anything that might inspire you subconsciously (i.e. this horse wasn't supposed to look like the Last Unicorn but I see it)

7. A medium of art you don't work in but appreciate

8. What's an old project idea that you've lost interest in

9. What are your file name conventions

10. Favorite piece of clothing to draw

11. Do you listen to anything while drawing? If so, what

12. Easiest part of body to draw

13. A creator who you admire but whose work isn't your thing

14. Any favorite motifs

15. *Where* do you draw (don't drop your ip address this just means do you doodle at a park or smth)

16. Something you are good at but don't really have fun doing

17. Do you eat/drink when drawing? if so, what

18. An estimate of how much art supplies you've broken

19. Favorite inanimate objects to draw (food, nature, etc.)

20. Something everyone else finds hard to draw but you enjoy

21. Art styles nothing like your own but you like anyways

22. What physical exercises do you do before drawing, if any

23. Do you use different layer modes

24. Do your references include stock images

25. Something your art has been compared to that you were NOT inspired by

26. What's a piece that got a wildly different interpretation from what you intended

27. Do you warm up before getting to the good stuff? If so, what is it you draw to warm up with

28. Any art events you have participated in the past (like zines)

29. Media you love, but doesn't inspire you artistically

30. What piece of yours do you think is underrated

[hekkoto]

Aaaand thats last one from whole collection :> which one was your fav? Or maybe you would like to see other color too? Im still thinking about real pastel ones °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖° I decided to make just red, not bloody color one too ;D perhaps someone liked it but isnt gore enjoyer >XD Or maybe I just try to defend why I did it >XD perhaps yo, here I come with update: heatwave. There is still heatwave. Today and tomorrow will be a lil better but still, weather is unbearable =~= I had some doctors this week, next week I have just one physiotherapy session. I hope to work as much as I can BUT I do barely anything beside sleeping in last days. Im very vulnerable to heat and Im so pissed right now, Im super excited and motivated to work but my body doesnt allow me to work ;-; I hope its just thing that will pass, I wasnt sharing it before but for my health sake I dont have period anymore, to stop PCOS and endometriosis from progressing and affecting me Im on pills [its birthcontroll but I take only pills with highest doses of hormones]. So its possible right now I face hot flushes like during menopause. So in short – Im feeling like shit but beside this Im feeling fine, I even started writing creepypasta :D its something I planned since very long time and I have plan for it done and I just started writing it today between doctors appointments ;p so stay tuned, I will finally use my wattpad acc for something >XD oh btw, it will be also on my YT, I will read it there and probably have some art related to this ;> I think I want first share it on my Patreon, next on my YT and last on my social media, Patrons will have faster access for sure! wanna support my evil dark empire? Im accepting souls on Patreon and Ko-fi! -> Hekkoto Huge thanks to all of my Patrons and people who donate <3

[cheeseandstrawberrytartlover]

Say hello to my HoK! You can read or ignore this! Choose whichever you want!

(Note that all of the Art is older than a year due to my HoK being associated with my ex and I have not drawn them since me and my ex-partner broke up [Also tried to keep it short])

Cw: mentions of abuse, murder and pastel gore art

Ben living in Bruma.

The battle of Kvatch

Them being stuck in the middle of their transformation into Sheogorath.

How I played them in game was: joins the mages guild after breaking out of prison > joining the arena > main quest and falling in love with Martin > end of main quest > thieves guild > knights of the nine > dark brotherhood struck by grief after purification > shivering isles

---

Their name is Ben.

They use they/he pronouns. (Prefer They/Them)

And they are selective mute and hard of hearing.

They were born around 18 years prior to the events of the Oblivion Crisis to a breton mother and an imperial father.

Their mother died when they were six and their father gave them the blame since she only got sick after he was born.

With 16 they killed their father in his sleep.

They tried to learn magic for around 2 years like their mother wanted but they ended up in prison.

That's when the whole thing started.

They try to join the mages guild, but only work as an apprentice until they had enough. They joined the arena where they easily went through the ranks to subdue their wrath and hate. Ben then recognize that something is wrong with Cyrodiil.

They instantly fell in love with helping people and deeply fell in love with Martin after rescuing him.

Saving the world and losing Martin took a great toll on them. Ben started to take part in small crimes leading up to murder once again until they meet Lucien Lachance.

Ben joined the Dark Brotherhood and realized that he had finally found their found family. They led a double life. Juggling the responsibilities of a holy knight and the dark brotherhood. In the end it wasn't meant to be though.

During the dark brotherhood, they fell in love with Vicente and they even tried to marry at the end. Ben helped stage the death of every member so that they could decide to live in peace or die for Sithis.

Lucien didn't survive which only led them closer to insanity.

They murdered the entire black hand and moved on to marry Vicente, but Sheogorath's portal called out to them.

They tried to live a very quiet life. Not doing anything anymore and being haunted by their past and... the dreams of the future. Ben discovered himself more and more, starting to wear dresses and living in Bruma with Vicente.

But that's when the trouble with the Shivering Isles started. They travelled there. Not expecting much, but still doing Sheogorath's bidding and destroying Jyggalag... for now.

In the end they didn't want to become Sheogorath and they successfully fled the isles which was a big mistake because their transformation into Sheogorath was oddly stopped anyways.

They were pregnant. Only realizing after they had fled the isles, being too busy with... saving everyone but themselves.

Begrudgingly they returned to the isles, leaving Vicente behind and complete their transformation into Sheogorath with the help of the pure Chaotic Creatia all the way down under the New Sheoth palace.

(Reference to "The making of a vestige...")

[justanothercloudinthesky]

hello !! i’m not sure if you have all 12 requests for your match ups but i’d really like one if they are still available !!

i’d like a match up with a haikyuu male if that’s okay.

some physical attributes about me! ∑(ﾟДﾟ)

• i’m afab (assigned female at birth) and my pronouns are she/they. i’m pretty insecure about how i look but i am asian american (chinese) with my black hair down to my back (it’s recently dyed pastel purple underneath). my eyes are a dark brown with eye bags cause i’m often a night owl (my glasses help hide them a bit ;;;) !! i think my most confident feature is my shoulders (i just like how they look)!

• most people like to note how short i am (4’10) and that kind of has lead to me being a bit down about myself from many times others have pointed it out as a flaw.

• i wear glasses cause i’m extremely blind (honestly to the point that the glasses aren’t helping cause i haven’t updated them in..forever) so it’s sometimes easy to catch me squinting because i can’t read-

• i’m pretty casual with my appearance. i don’t really dabble in make up (too confusing) and when i’m lazy, i default to jeans, t-shirt and a jacket (basically comfy attire). i do adore dressing up to impress though! skirts with thigh highs, dresses with sandals and tight-form fitting clothes are my favorites in my explorative wardrobe right now.

personal attributes about me! ( •⌄• ��� )✧

• i am a libra (september 25th) and a infp! i can very much seem like a extrovert at times but around strangers, i get very shy and i am a indoors person. my hobbies include gaming, hanging out with my friends, reading manga, sleeping (this sometimes can be my horrible coping mechanism when i’m upset), and scrolling online to adore the arts (writing, illustrations, music, etc.) !! art is often my outlet for expression which is why i love it! my music genre can be very expansive as i am open to many suggestions. my main genre is mostly pop (english, c-pop, j-pop, k-pop, i like them all!), video game soundtracks and some classical music!

• my love language is quality time (second and third is probably physical touch and words of affirmation)! my giving love language however is probably physical touch with how much my friends like to comment about how touchy i am.

• my pet peeves are usually people who are confrontational and arrogant. i also may be a tiny bit germaphobic so i get protective of my personal living space. i am a huge scared-y cat too (a list of my fears are: the dark, heights, spiders, doctors, storms, the horror genre, gore, and jumpscares/loud noises) so i don’t appreciate when people force me into those kinds of things.

• first things i tend to notice is probably how talkative someone is. i often times like to be the jokester in the group, either making myself or someone else into a funny comment or just tell funny stories so i can sense if someone is actively present or not. i also can notice physical boundaries (like how they hug someone) they may have since i am also a very affectionate person.

• my outlook on life is usually optimistic but i can also become heavily pessimistic easily. i struggle with a lot of self esteem issues and can be very quick to self-blame or self-sabotage. i’m a very daydream-y person and love living in my imagination (basically with rose colored glasses-), so i love believing in the good of people. i used to have a philosophy of giving love to everyone but that’s recently changed from some traumatic events i’ve gone through. i still want to be open-minded and care for people whenever i can assist because that’s just where i’ve found myself to be happy and useful. i’m very curious and unaware because i can be a bit ignorant to my surroundings, i’ve been told that it’s allowed many people to make assumptions off of my actions regardless of my intentions.

• lastly !! i love love love romance tropes and some of my top favorites are love at first sight, soulmates, mutual pining, love in school settings, friends to lovers and maybe a bit of enemies to lovers. i’d honestly love and adore the idea of being in love with someone fluffily !! i’d probably fall for someone from just the first few meetings, if they made me laugh, comments on small things that they notice about me or they just have interest in things i like! ( ๑॔˃̶◡ ˂̶๑॓)◞♡

i hope this list did okay in summing me up. if not, you’re always welcome to peek into my dms! thank you so much and i hope you’re doing well! take breaks and drink water whenever you can! - nami ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭*☆

Thank you for Checking the Weather your forecast is...

Daichi Sawamura!

So, It was incredibly hard to decide between this and second place, I genuinely thing that there's an equally matched amount of compatibility, I had my reasons for picking Daichi, but honestly, 2nd place would adore you just as much. Daichi is the strong-willed and rock-solid base of Karasuno. His level-headed plays and easy-going nature lead him to really connect with his teammates and earn their trust. He commands respect, but never abuses his power, proving himself loyal and kind. He's not afraid to keep people in line, yet has enough compassion to not be too harsh with them.

I genuinely think Daichi adores you as a partner. He'd really think you were out of his league, but would still attempt to befriend you. I don't believe he's incredibly talkative, especially while flustered (which he easily gets around you), but he often makes casual conversation. I think you'd begin to notice the small things, like him increasing the font on his notes or moving things to lower shelves intentionally.

I think that Daichi's love language is a mixture of acts of service and quality time. He is very thankful for you, and is a respectful king. I really think that he likes talking with you over a cup of tea or coffee. If you're comfortable with it, he adores giving you forehead kisses, piggyback rides or just pulling you into his arms. I very much imagine it's like the feeling of putting on fluffy socks right out of the dryer when your feet are cold.

In this relationship, I think that Daichi has a gift of grounding and encouraging you. Anytime you begin to spiral, Daichi's right there to help. You also help him with his own struggles, You calm him when he's about ready to snap and bring such a light of passion he never would've thought he deserved his lifetime. he melts if you ever hug him out of the blue. He gets so flustered when you dress up he once ran into the doorway. Sugawara laughed.

I headcanon Daichi's quite protective of you, especaily because of your optimistic nature and kind heart. He doesn't want you to be hurt while you're around him, and I imagine he sends his death-glare if anyone says anything. He protects you from anything you're scared of and if you have to face it, he holds your hand the entire time. he's honestly a sweetheart though and I genuinely believe that he just wants the absolute best for you.  

All and all, this is a super wholesome relationship, I have a feeling that Daichi will encourage you to advocate for yourself and set up boundaries, and you'll help him let loose a little. I see many dates, including ice skating and netflix w/ gummy bears. I think he'd love to surprise you, and would always give you his hoodie. He adores you, and will do absolutely anything to make you happy. 

Second: Oikawa would also absolutely adore you, I have a feeling there was a rivalry for a bit. I do think he might get on your nerves with his insensitive comments, arrogant nature (despite being insecure) and busy schedule. It's an extremely close second but He might be a little neglectful, as why I chose Daichi. However, I do think he'd treasure you as a friend, maybe never fully get over it, but he'd also want you to be happy. 

Third: Akaashi, this man. He's attentive, sweet, and would be an excellent pairing for you, I don't think that he'd make any moves though and might struggle to not be harsh. He'd genuinely care about you, and I think you and him would be some really close friends.

(on a side note, I thought it was super cool, I'm an infp too and we have similar outlooks. Even though I considered most of the cast as I always do, I was surprised how much this matchup lined up with previous ones I, myself, have gotten.)

[dreamties]

Slashers W/ a Soft Pastel S/O

A/n - So this one actually wasn’t requested, I just thought it would be super cute. And what I mean by “Soft Pastel”, I mean being into soft/pastel/kawaii fashion, I just didn’t know how to phrase it. Since there’s so many subcultures.

Trigger Warning: Slight Cursing (I say f*ck)

Also- these are gender neutral, but a few describe you in skirts/dresses, so if you’re not comfy with that, just skip that part or the whole thing?? :/

I might do more like this for other types of alternative fashion- like punk or something? Or a S/O who has a lot of body mods, I think it would be fun.

Characters: Billy/Stu, The Lost Boys, Helen Lyle, Daniel Robitaille/Candyman, Brahms Heelshire, and Amanda Young.

I didn’t add Michael Myers, but can do so if y’all want it. I just think he’d be very indifferent about it...didn’t think that would be very fun to read.

Billy Loomis + Stu Macher

Stu would be the most like into your outfits

Billy? Not so much. he just thinks you look cute in everything.

but if you did more guro-kawaii looks? they would both be all over that shit. 

it combines more of the grotesque in with the cute- which is just perfect for the boys. they get to see you dawned in all sorts of blood, guts/gore, bandage patterns/aesthetics.

and maybe even tying in different monster-ish elements. 

like wearing funky white or other unnatural colored contacts, really intense makeup(especially around the eyes), and fuck it, maybe you’re wearing faux demon horns.

I think they’d find it kinda hot. if we’re being perfectly honest here.

Now- would you able to get them into it as well?

Stu will ask you, with excitement reverberating throughout out his body and his voice. of course he want’s to at least try it!

so many clips in Stu’s hair. you haven’t even had that many in your hair before!

he may also wear rings sometimes. he thinks all the colors and designs are just so fun!

and on the other hand...

Billy, the guy that basically wore the same outfit for an entire movie? who’s closet only contains jeans and white t-shirts? trying out your style? i don’t think so lol

if you do- somehow- get him to try...

then you might have pressured him into it a bit? very jokingly, of course. 

“C’mon, humor me, babe. Stu’s already dressed and everything!” You try giving him puppy eyes to seal the deal.

“Fine!” Billy says, grabbing the garment and a few clips from your hands. He shuts the door too harshly behind him.

A short silence is shared, before you and Stu burst out laughing. “Do you think he’s mad at us?” You’re hardly able to get it out. Of course he was, but in his own odd way appreciated this adventure.

He comes back a moment later, his white t-shirt replaced with a pastel red one, an especially gory character printed on the front. and a red clip barely hanging on to one of the side pieces of hair in front of his face. You try to suppress a giggle at Billy’s messily put together look.

for the love of gosh- don’t actually laugh when he appears. he is very outside of his comfort zone, and he’s only doing this because he loves you and Stu, and just,, don’t add this to his list of reasons not to try new things.

whatever your reaction ends up being, you’re absolutely obligated to tell them how attractive they look in it(even Billy who looks hella dorky).

(my art)

The Lost Boys

the comparison between their dark, punk-ish style and then the sweet baby pinks and blues, and soft lavenders that adorned your form?? 

it’s just too sweet.

they are completely enamored by your style- even if certain vampires (and I’m not naming any names, but I definitely mean David) may not show his love for your look as openly

Marko- he’d get one cutesy patch for his jacket, so he has like a little piece of you everywhere he goes. also...he genuinely ended up really digging your style? but not enough to abandon his punk look completely. he is still totally dedicated to that.

the other boys will absolutely mess with him about the patch though

all in good fun!

David’s not letting you near his hair with any extra clips or accessories. 

Dwayne enjoys the quiet intimacy shared between the two of you. just sitting together, you might be styling his hair( super loose ponytail or braid- admit it, it would be so cute! and helpful so his hair isn’t always in his face!)...anyways, you’d use a colorful hair tie, and a few clips to help pin back his hair. 

he probably won’t go out with the clips in, but if it’s just the five of you at the cave? he’ll keep it in until it’s time to sleep. 

he loves seeing how happy and accomplished you look after finishing with his hair tho.

Paul is hands down the most likely to get into the whole look and go out in public with it on. 

makeup? hell yeah. it won’t be as intense as yours, and he probably only does the eyes and maybe some shine. sparkly vampire time

hair accessories? all of them

would try combining his look with yours, to have a perfect mess of it.

a light, light  blue mesh top, slightly darker blue jacket(with slight accents in pink, purple, white or black), and his usual sort of white jeans(?) would still look great with it. he’s absolutely rocking that look.

you are ecstatic to finally have someone else to share your passion with! (much harder to find similar folks when you’re a vampire,,)

Helen Lyle

she’s so used to the plain life around her, and she’d been living before you- you were such a breath of fresh air.

of course, you’re darling personality also drew her into you- but your fashion sense? it fascinated her.

she’s not trying it herself anytime soon, but she appreciates the fact that you enjoy it. 

the most she would ever try is a very natural makeup look. and a coat or two of a pastel color of her choice.

she would love watching you get ready. not so much help out though- she just likes seeing the way you approach things. how you choose to pair certain pieces with one another.

she’ll ask questions to better understand your interests! not that it’s weird or wrong that you’re into it, she’s just a very inquisitive person.

you’d wear a lot of blue though- because you know Helen likes that color.

imagine wearing coordinated looks for different events and such. so, when you go with Helen to help out with her Candyman thesis, you might wear candy-themed attire. (of course in this universe,, she wouldn’t die! so no worries of that! you get to keep you’re gf).

if you do gift her something, she keeps it on her bedside table(or dresser). so she can still admire it, and still serves a purpose. fun décor!

all around though- Helen would be very chill, but captivated, about you’re interests.

Daniel Robitaille - Candyman

 his life is so dark and gruesome, and he loves seeing you all dressed up. 

and while he’s dead- long dead- and isn’t really apart of the world in the same sense that you are- it gives him this happy sense of hope for the world.

because there’s this very small thing, that you hold close to your heart, that makes you smile.

Also!!

even if they’re apart of a super awful, traumatic, part of his past- the bees are just a part of the family now.  

so cute yellow/spring/bee themed outfits?? yes. ohh definitely, yes.

As for him dressing up? He’d feel hesitant.

he’s filled with immense joy around you, but is almost scared with someone altering part of his attire or self in any way(rooted back to, again, past stuff).

but part of loving is to take the person as a whole, bad parts, good parts- insecurities- the entire package. and trusting one another.

he has his whole faith in you not to do anything bad.

and so, it becomes a habit for the two of you to spend mornings together, chatting and getting ready. well, you’re getting ready, it’s more for the quality time together for him.

things are little different for Daniel. for many reasons. 

one, he has very short hair. so the clips don’t really work there..

two- he only has one hand, and he’s “working” a lot with the appendages he does have. rings won’t work out because they might fall off- and he’d hate to lose something of yours.

three- he’s not a big makeup fan. he’s happy enough watching you put it on.

and then for his actual attire- he needs the coat to cover his insides. it’s also, in a way, his uniform.

you’ve settled on two things.

making homemade necklaces that can easily hide under his big coat (either sweets or honey/bee themed).

and sewing little patterns on the inside of his coat. other’s wouldn’t be able to see it, but he would know it’s there.

Brahms Heelshire

imagine being super into sorta ‘sweet lolita’, pastel/soft colors, bows, the big skirts, all the sorta ruffles(?)

 and then especially if your shorter than Brahms(which is really,, not hard to do unless you’re insanely tall cause he’s,, 6 foot 3.)- and he thinks you look like such a doll? 

but like,, in a nice way. 

I think he’d get pretty excited if he got to help you set up your outfits!

especially if you praised him for picking out a good combo, or organizing correctly.

and some of Brahms movements are a bit awkward, he’s spent most of his life in the walls and the attic...but imagine turning on his music, and just dancing with him. having him twirl you in his arms a few times.

Brahms loves having your hands through his hair. and if hair accessories means he gets more of that love and attention? then yes,, yes he will wear them.

he just likes feeling taken care of, and along with your usual duties, you help him figure out the soft fashion styles, and how to make it more appealing and suitable for his own tastes.

because- as you insist- you want it to be something he enjoys just because he does, and not just for the closeness. though you can’t deny you love that aspect, too.

i can tell you one thing right here, though. you’re never getting makeup on him. he does not like taking off his mask, even if you’ve been in a relationship with him for a while, he still hides his face a lot.

you’d offered to do his makeup once, since he was staring so intently as you did yours. you’d made the mistake of reaching for his mask. you’d usually ask before doing so, but sometimes you’d slip up.

You apologize profusely, offering your arms out to him for a hug. “There, there, Brahms.” You smile, giving him a slight squeeze of affection. 

he does take your stuff sometimes. 

it’s a little annoying when you think you’ve lost your favorite accessory or dress or etc and then you just realize,, oh, it’s my favorite wall boy again. thank gosh you love him, so you’re not really upset or anything.

he just likes having little reminders of you, it gives him reassurance. upon other warm and fuzzy feelings.

if you’re able to find time in your day though, you’ll make cute little trinkets or bracelets for him. you’ll gift them or purposely leave them out for him-  so you’ll still have some of your stuff when it comes to getting ready the next day.

in short- he’d much rather look at you than partake on his own. 

Amanda Young

she’s never seen anything like this! :0

everyone she knows, herself included, tend to wear more dulled, plain clothes.

she’s immediately very intrigued by your attire...sort of want’s to try it, but is a bit self conscious and embarrassed to ask.

So!! you start out with small things, and fairly early on you both realize that she loves when you decorate her hair with accessories. 

gifting Amanda a pair of little pig clips!!

or little stud earrings- those would be fricking adorable on her!

and she’s just so happy,, wtf

you dress mostly for yourself, but the more you’re in a relationship with your gf- the more you want to dress for her as well. 

you can see this little sparkle in her eye when she sees you, and you want to keep seeing that look for as long as you can.

you slowly get her into it. your relationship and Amanda’s interest in your style just gives her so much light in an otherwise dim world.

if she did get into it, I think she’d do more creepy/cute. as a way to sort of cope with past trauma. that this sort of “bad” thing (the creepy) can still coexist with the good (the cute). she admires that quality.

just very sweet partners, who happen to love similar types of fashion 

[plaid-shirtsandvibranium-arms]

Those Linked by Destiny (1)

Summary: Bucky, Sam, and Natasha are on a mission to once again defeat Hydra who this time had opened a time portal that unleashed monsters and beasts that were extinct for centuries for good reason. On the way, they try to recruit the only remaining person who had any knowledge on how to defeat these creatures. Her kind also almost extinct. A Witcher.

Fandoms: Avengers, The Witcher

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Witcher!OFC (Female)

Warnings: Angst (coz this is me), Dry Dark Humour, Violence, Gore, Lots of Blood, Burning Sarcasm, Lots of Cussing

A/N: Hello, beautiful creatures! I’m back with a new hurricane of a crossover. This continues on from my completed series There’s More Than One Way To Start An Apocalypse (AvengersxSupernatural) but this can be read by itself. I made this an OFC instead of an xReader since I needed to be specific with how the Witcher character looked. I hope you enjoy and I welcome all kinds of feedback.

No permission is granted to repost my work. Tumblr is the only place I post my writing. If you see it anywhere else please report it.

Masterlist

1: Returning a Favor

The sun was preparing to set when Sam, Bucky, and Natasha reached the small sleepy town. Their clothes were starting to scratch and bite at their skin from the sweat and grime of trying to make it to their destination on foot. They had been taking back roads and keeping to thick forests to keep hidden from Hydra and the monsters they had unleashed. It hasn't always gone smoothly for them.

The Avengers and Team Free Will had split up to tackle three major missions; hunting down every remaining grace powered monster created by the Archangel Michael, re-establishing the Avengers initiative and operations, and this new unfamiliar threat. They had discovered that Hydra was back and had opened a portal that unleashed creatures that were wholly unknown to even the Hunters.

The trio was tasked with gathering as much intel as they could and searching for a friend of Natasha and the Nephilim who they said was the only person who could help them. It had taken them eight months to track down someone who was practically a ghost.

They were all on edge and nearly losing hope, but finally they got a lead on an exact location. It took nearly two weeks to reach the town after a particularly nasty encounter with a cluster of monsters. They were outnumbered and had no knowledge about the enemy to even properly fight. They barely made it out alive.

Sam sat on the forest floor with his back to the trunk of a tree clutching his open abdomen. He was bleeding on the grass and the first aid they had been continuously applying on him was the only thing keeping him alive at this point. They needed to get him patched up properly. Bucky switched his legs to lean more on his left as he crouched behind thick shrubbery beside Natasha. Judging by the sharp pain from his other leg, he was sure it was broken. The female assassin wasn't any better off having taken multiple large slashing wounds to her back.

Bucky suggested that they go back to Avengers headquarters. It was Natasha though that insisted this is where they needed to go. They needed to lie low, heal, regroup, and find backup, but they were running out of time. The more time Hydra was left alone, the worse it was going to get. Bucky was skeptical, especially with Sam clinging on to his life, but he knew that Natasha was in fact right.

In front of them was a medium sized log cabin tucked away in the forest with a garden and a small greenhouse out back. Bucky's enhanced senses could pick up common vegetables and herbs like tomatoes, carrots, and basil, but he also caught whiffs of plants that smelled like exotic flowers of some sort. The house was still fairly close to town with only a 45-minute drive but it was miles away to the next house.

The serene silence of the isolated area was disrupted by peels of laughter from a group of children that were running around the garden. Their hands and clothes were stained with either paint or dirt. Some more gleeful that they had both. Bucky frowned. 

Were they supposed to seek shelter in a daycare?

The children would surely be scarred for life if they saw the Falcon bleeding out nevermind who his two companions were. His worry for his friend’s wellbeing clouded the Sergeant’s capability to grasp why this was where they needed to be.

The slow crunch of tires on the dirt road followed by two soft beeps disrupted Bucky's tired brooding. A mini bus parked beside a weathered brown truck in the driveway. A woman came out the back door clutching a child, that was practically a baby with how small it was, securely to her chest. Bucky couldn't see her face, only her slender figure and the wavy hair that fell down her back in a mess of random pastel colors that seemed to be popular with the youth these days. Her short yellow sun dress flowed with each movement she made.

Bucky's doubts at Natasha's plan grew. How could this hipster possibly help them? The low groan of pain from behind reminded him that they had no choice at this point. They were here now and Sam needed urgent medical attention. He would just have to trust Natasha a bit more.

He watched as she instructed the children to put away their art materials and wash up. He watched as she hugged or petted each beaming child as they boarded the mini bus. He watched as she carefully strapped in the baby in his designated seat while exchanging conversation with the middle aged driver who smiled warmly at her. He still couldn't see her face, but he could hear her laugh at something the driver said. After a final wave the bus full of energetic children started to pull out of the driveway.

Bucky's doubts continued to gnaw at him, but now for a different reason. This woman seemed so kind and carefree. Must they really disturb her peaceful life for their chaos? He turned then to voice his worries to Natasha, but before he could get a word out he felt an unbelievably strong force hit his chest and propel him backwards. He was forcefully pinned to a tree with the air knocked clear out of his lungs.

His first instinct was to fight back, but opening his eyes after the attack he froze when he met with the most peculiar yet mesmerizing pair. Round almond shaped and framed with thick heavy lashes were eyes the color of bright molten gold with irises in dark slits like that of a cat's. He would swear they were contacts if he didn't notice how they stretched and dilated as they retained their murderous gaze on him. Her hair fell like a cloud around her face softening her sharp bone structure and the snarl on her gloss covered lips.

So enthralled was Bucky at her unique features, that it took him an embarrassingly long time to register the double bladed axe she held easily with one hand outstretched flush against the skin of his throat. One small flick of her wrist and Bucky would be bleeding to his death in minutes.

"Why have you brought him here, Natasha?" she said, her voice even and low. Bucky noticed a European accent but he couldn't quite place which particular area.

"You know me?" Bucky met her unfaltering glare with his own.

"Everyone knows you, Winter Soldier," she sneered. "Everyone knows all of you."

Bucky scowled at the name. He didn't appreciate the tone she had when she said it. There was an obvious disdain and anger in her tone that he wasn't sure was warranted.

"Easy, Prima. We need your help," Natasha tried to coax her but she did not advance in case she gets provoked.

"And if I refuse?"

"Well then I'm cashing in that favor."

There was a long tense silence before his throat was reluctantly freed. He rubbed the shallow angry line it had left. The woman with cat-like eyes sighed as she swung the large weapon to hook over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. She rolled her eyes before she turned and gestured for you all to follow.

Bucky noted how Natasha's shoulders sagged in relief. She was worried that her contact might decline. They each took one of Sam's sides and practically hauled his barely conscious form to the cabin. They followed the woman into her home, the receding skyline bouncing light and shadow on her figure. It wasn't even ten minutes ago that Bucky was hesitant to disrupt this woman's very normal life, but normal people don't just carry battle axes let alone have the skill to wield it.

"Natasha," he whispered. "What exactly is she?"

Natasha had told them a little about Witchers in between dashing from town to town, but it amused Prima that Bucky was still thoroughly surprised when they actually met her. Clearly she didn't go into the specifics.

He could hear the smirk in her tone despite still having her back to them. She had heard his hushed question despite walking far ahead of them and decided to answer.

"Perhaps we can discuss my nature when your friend is no longer seeping Water Hag poison from his wounds."

"So that's what that thing was. How do you know it's Water Hag poison?" Natasha grunted under Sam's weight.

"I can smell it and that's the only reason I'm granting you this favor."

Prima rushed inside her home ahead of her guests, going quickly to the kitchen to pull out a large tarpaulin from under the sink. She was definitely going to help them but that didn't mean she was going to damn well leave an Avenger to bleed all over her precious furniture.

She opened the chest that doubled as a coffee table and pulled out thick worn blankets. She was already laying these out on the floor by the fireplace by the time the rest of them came through the front door.

Bucky surveyed the room as he entered. It was a force of habit to commit every detail to memory when entering a new environment. Normally it could mean life or death, but in this instance it was pure curiosity with a healthy mix of suspicion. 

From the outside, the cabin had looked a decent size but from the inside it looked much bigger. He thought that perhaps it was too much space for someone he presumed was living alone.

The house was a mixture of modern and rustic decorated in wood, metal, and splashes of vibrant color here and there. A gray short hair cat perked up in attention from its bedding as they entered. The main floor was open with no walls dividing areas and a set of stairs led to a spacious loft that again had no partitions. Large windows lined the walls providing an almost 360 degree view to the outside. It was almost like being in a glass box, but he knew for a fact that those windows were heavily tinted outside providing the utmost privacy. The state of the home told Bucky a lot about its owner.

"Lay him down here," Prima said pointing to the makeshift cot. "It's best he is by the fire. We need to keep him warm."

Natasha and Bucky gently laid down their friend as instructed. Sam groaned as the material pressed on his injuries and Natasha made quick work of cutting him out of his ruined tactical gear with her knife. His body relaxed the slightest bit after being freed but this also meant that his wounds opened again to spill more of his blood on the tarpaulin.

"It's worse than I thought," Prima murmured. "Take this and apply pressure to the worst of it. I must prepare a few things."

Natasha nodded as she took the towels from her. She rushed through the back door and from its opening, Bucky could see that she went straight into her greenhouse. She was back within minutes carrying a small woven tray filled with plants he couldn't even begin to identify. The cat followed closely on her heels, the small bell on its neck ringing softly.

She headed straight for the other end of the room to what he initially thought was a library and craft area. Looking at it closely now he could see not only books but a wide array of jars, bottles, and small boxes. She grabbed two containers from the shelves and dropped its contents into a wooden bowl. She began mashing and mixing them together quickly before pouring the strange yellowish liquid into glass vials. She grabbed a few more bottles from the shelves before making her way to kneel by Sam's head.

"Help me sit him up. He needs to drink this."

"I'm not sure about this, Nat," came Bucky's worried tone as he eyed their host with narrowed eyes.

"Bucky!" Nat warned. They didn't have time for this.

"What the hell is even in that?"

"Sergeant Barnes, would you like me to educate you on the finer points of alchemy before or after we save your dying friend?" Prima argued, her jaw clenching. "Clock is ticking, Sergeant. The choice may well be taken from you soon."

Bucky's teeth gritted together as his whole body tensed with the decision. His brow was in knots, but ultimately he knew there was only one decision to make. He cursed under his breath but moved to heave Sam into a sitting position.

Prima uncorked one of the bottles and tipped it over Sam's lips carefully making sure that he took every drop. His face scrunched at the taste but his eyes remained closed, too exhausted to open them. His breathing started to speed up until they were shallow huffs and his temperature steadily rose.

"What the hell's happening to him?" Bucky fumed but Prima held out her hand to halt him as she carefully watched Sam's reactions with her strange cat eyes that were now narrowed into slits.

The air in the room was thick with tension and the only sounds were that of Sam's heavy breathing that was rapidly growing more laborious. When it seemed like he was at the height of his torment, Prima acted fast and shoved a second vial of clear liquid to his lips. He almost choked on the liquid but by some grace of the gods he managed to swallow it all.

After the last drop had gone down his throat, his eyes shot wide open before fluttering close as he dropped unconscious against the pillows. Bucky panicked when he couldn't hear his heartbeat and was about to lash out at Prima again when suddenly a faint thump that was fighting to get steadier met his ears in a manner that was uniquely stubborn like Sam.

Prima took a hand to feel his sweaty face and was relieved to find that his temperature was dropping closer to normal. They were past the worst of it now and she was grateful he took well to the potions. It was a gamble. Humans were not meant to take in Witcher brews. She could have just as easily killed him.

"He should be fine by morning. We must allow the potions do the work for now. I'll keep watch in case he needs another dose."

She grabbed one of the other bottles in her stash and tossed one to Natasha who easily caught it. The assassin raised a quizzical brow at her.

"Take only a small sip, Natasha. Pour the rest of it in the bath upstairs and take a long soak. It should help close up your wounds. You are welcome to rummage through my drawers for clean clothes."

"What happens if she takes more?" Bucky asked.

"Well all her injuries and even scars from her childhood will cease to exist. Every broken bone and illness will be cured," she shrugged as she relaxed against a wall stretching out her legs in front of her. She closed her eyes to allow the tension of the last hour to ease off her body as she absentmindedly stroked the cat that had now curled up contentedly beside her.

"That doesn't sound so bad," Natasha mused before carefully taking only the small sip she recommended.

"And then you die," the Witcher chuckled allowing a sharper than usual canine to peak out from her smile.

Bucky was not amused despite Natasha chuckling at the comment before making her way up the stairs. He was understandably wary of anything chemical to be put inside his body after what Hydra had done to him. Their host seemed to somehow sense this so made no move to offer him any concoction for his injuries.

"Bathroom's through the door behind you should you fancy a shower, Sergeant. There should be clothes in the cupboards too but they might be a tad tight. I'll go into town in the morning to purchase more appropriate wear for you and your friend. First aid kit is under the sink."

Bucky gave a small nod as he silently walked to the door she gestured to. As he meticulously washed the dirt and fatigue from his body, he found his thoughts straying to their unusual host. He had realized that her accent was classic old European, with the kind of vocabulary that prim and proper upper-class citizens used. What did not make sense though was how a European socialite would have the practiced ease of wielding a battle axe. Her cat eyes alone tipped him off that she was not merely human. The more he thought about it, the more everything he knew so far contradicted with each other. He was no closer to figuring her out when he stepped out of the bathroom adjusting the shirt and jeans that clung to him.

He saw the Witcher sound asleep on the floor, her head lolled to the side and her mouth softly parted. There were a million questions he wanted to ask her, but he couldn't bring himself to disrupt her peaceful sleep. He instead made his way to crash on the sofa. Sleep came to him as soon as his head met the arm rest. He drifted off with the Witcher's eerie eyes the last on his mind and a nagging feeling that there was something about her that was strangely familiar to him.

Masterlist | Tags are Open

[ibelonginthepast]

Hunk for the character ask thing??

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HUNK!!!! FINALLY!!! I am such a ho for him sorry

Sexuality Headcanon: i have no particular fixed pref, he could be straight, but i like to think he's bi throughout. I think he is a believer of fluid sexuality, so he doesn't really fits himself in a label. He goes along with whoever he likes.

Gender Headcanon: I sometimes like to hc him as a trans man (ftm). He/him pronouns. He was cultured into toxic masculinity. He has had his struggles with it. He was teased for being soft because of his anxiety issues. His tendency to be emotional and expressive. He has had been a victim of toxic masculinity constantly, even adopted it and perpetuated it further for a while before giving up. He is passionate about healthy masculinity and really understands it now. He is a fierce feminist and in for breaking the patriarchy.

A ship I have with said character: the thing is i hate Canon. I dont like the first sight first meet fall in love kind of thing they did with hunk and shay, but with what I headcanon shay as, I think she is perfect for him. He would balance her head on approach to stuff, and she will balance his tendency to ponder. He is a total simp for shay. He's a sucker for a simple calm life, while shay is on the ambitious side, and he fully supports her.

A BROTP I have with said character: hance is a given. heith! I will fucking die for this. I love thinking up stories of how Keith, despite being the one to struggle to open up, will inevitably fall for hunk. Hunk is just so approachable, so welcoming, so loving. I see hunk as also very fierce. He will stand in front as a literal physical shield to protect the ones he loves. He is dedicated when he loves and he never gives up on anyone. This is something he will share with Keith. One of the only people who will relate with Keith on a soul level on this. Punk!!! I love it. So much. Hunk is just amazing at platonic relationships. Hunk takes care of pidge a lot, they are his sibling. They simp on tech together ofc!! Even tho Shiro is everyone's dad, hunk cares for him, brings him his energy drinks and blankets all the time cause let's be real Shiro is low-key wishing death all the time and does not care for himself. Hunk is one of those peeps who scream SHIRO! NO! everytime Shiro makes a bad joke about death. Hunk's caring nature extends to everyone. Allura again is bad at taking care of herself, and he helps. He defo teaches allura samoan box braids!!! Coran too. Hunk bakes with coran sitting beside, chatting unrelentlessly but here's the thing, Hunk doesn't tolerate it. He genuinely likes listening to people and knowing them. One of the reasons he goes so well with Lance.

A NOTP I have with said character: humph he could go with anyone ngl. Shunk is extra weird to me, Shiro is a dad through and through i ew shaladins.

A random headcanon:

Despite what people think, hunk thinks he struggles with words. He uses food to express love. If he feels distant with anyone, he cooks for them.

Hunk does get tired after caring for people so much, but he has healthy nice fam around him who he lets take care of him too. He knows he needs to care for himself, and after some time of struggling with it, he now proudly take care of himself as well.

Hunk has struggled with severe anxiety. He has had panic attacks, complete meltdowns. His family was a bit pressurizing in terms of his career and all, and he has always felt responsible to get an excellent job in the stem section to make his parents proud.

He got into stem because of his parents, but he developed his love for it later too. He genuinely started finding STEM very interesting.

He contributed in making of fun robots in school's stem centres all the time. He had a teacher who was obsessed with making anime monsters, and even though hunk himself hates gore and shit he had fun making those and sometimes watched those weird ass animes and talked about how those wild ass writers were defo on weed while writing the script. He bonded over weeb stuff surprisingly with Shiro ;)

He hasn't been the smartest forever, like pidge. He actually worked his way to it. He is very dedicated, hard working and passionate.

He has undiagnosed ADD, but it hasn't interferred with him fitting in much. He has been able to do his work, and he recognized some tricks to focus early in life. His anxiety drives him to work as much as it distracts him. he just discovers his ADD later in therapy.

He makes pretty notes. He has an unhealthy obsession with pastel yellow highlighter.

Hunk is very well equipped with samoan tattoo art designs and understanding them. it's something his grandparents taught him since forever. His grandfather did tattoos and he saw them when he was little. He wants to get atleast some sort of soga'i miki. He's been always conflicted about wanting Pe'a cause its so beautiful and masculine in expression and not wanting it because it's so painful and permanent.

Because he has lived in America his whole life, he has struggled with his national identity a lot. He gets taunted by by family in samoa for being American and for speaking english better than samoan. He doenst always fit in well in america either for obvious reasons. He has struggled with feeling like he belongs. Its something he bonds with Lance on.

He is passionate about dismantling the social organization in samoa and its ill effects. He understands the systems and talks about their unfairness. This is something his distant and traditional family members get annoyed at him for.

He talks passionately about the freedom struggles of samoa and the samoan civil wars. He likes listening to stories of freedom fighters of samoa and great leaders. He is very critical of European colonization and takes no shit from europe apologists.

He is low-key a Satanist and likes to tell people about how God was super sexist to Lilith and how absolutely bullshit her banishment was,, how Satan is the coolest first feminist and made her the queen she is, and how Satan is the coolest dude for being the first rebel and equalist. He talks about how he gave us knowledge, and it created the world we are in rn or else we would still be all dumb and naked in the garden. His family is Christian and religious, he has read stories from bibles and come to the conclusions himself.

General Opinion over said character: i am horribly sad but I swear to God one cuddle from this cinnamon roll will cure me of everything

IMP NOTE: I am not samoan, but I read about countries where my favorite characters are from sometimes. I have started reading about che and communist Cuba for Lance too ;) All this info is from the internet, and I cannot say for sure its all good and true. If I am wrong with anything, please point it out.

THANKS FOR THIS! Now go drink water <3

[finkthecobra]

Name: Sidney the Skunk

Aliases: Sycamore the Skunk(birthname, don't call him this unless you really want your legs broken), Sid

Gender: male

Sexuality: gay

Age: 21

Height: 3'7"

Weight: 88lbs

Birthday: June 29th

Parents: Flora Skunk and Barkley Skunk, estranged 

Birthplace: Sunset Park Zone

Current Residence: Central City

Alignment: chaotic neutral 

Personality: confident, firm, genuine, independent, individualistic, perfectionist, realistic, shrewd, aggressive, impersonal, noncompetitive, outspoken, proud, stubborn, tough, abrasive, callous, crafty, cynical, erratic, faithless, morbid, nihilistic, rude, tactless, unfriendly 

Likes: piercings, tattoos, working out, outsider art, body horror and gore, punk rock, chicken wings, stealing, old monster movies, hanging out at the dump, bonfires, testing/annoying people, fistfights, causing trouble, black coffee, mosh pits, finding new bands to listen to, intimidating others, watching boxing matches, playing cards

Dislikes: kids, cutesy things, pastel colors, people who think piercings are unprofessional, cowards, being woken up, tryhards, authority, dogs, cold weather, tight spaces, getting wet, strong perfume, fudge, baths, stagnation, self righteousness, parties, alcohol

Fears: losing himself, guns

Skills: pickpocketing, hand to hand combat, stench spray

Skill Type: Power

Strength: 8/10

Endurance: 5/10

Energy Projection: 0/10

Willpower: 5/10

Agility: 5/10

Luck: 3/10

Intelligence: 5/10

Transformations: none

Willingness to Fight: very high

Willingness to Kill: very low

Willingness to Flee: low

Willingness to Surrender: nonexistent 

Description: A rowdy punk who causes trouble wherever he goes and is always looking for a fight. He has no regard for others or their rules and acts solely in his own interests, which are typically money or simply because he got bored. He has a violent temper and always seems to be sporting a nasty scowl, complete with a furrowed brow. He's made a little hideout for himself in the Central City dump where he crafts tools, traps and even little sculptures out of garbage. Though he harbors latent artistic talent, he's much more interested in your wallet than your praise. He takes great pride in his stench and takes it as a compliment if you can smell him before you see him.

Sidney, or rather his birthname Sycamore, was born to Flora and Barkley Skunk, two laissez-faire, passive flower children who abhorred anything resembling conflict and advocated for calm, peaceful communication and free love. They were very loose with parenting Sidney, often allowing him to do whatever he pleased. They wanted to be his friends first and foremost and felt it would be harmful to punish him. Overall they were disengaged and though they loved Sidney very much, they were far from good parents. Young Sidney would often hear his friends say they were jealous of him and his "cool" parents. They envied the fact that Sidney could do whatever he wanted. Ice cream for breakfast? Playing video games until 2am on a school night? Wearing pajamas all day? They thought that sounded amazing! But for Sidney, it was fun, sure, but he didn't feel like he had parents. He had friends. Sidney grew impulsive and aggressive and his behavior would only worsen with time. Sidney would grow into a resentful, nasty teenager lacking the structure and guidance he needed. He would change his name from Sycamore to Sidney and rebel against any and all authority, wanting to tear down structure as it stands out of anger and the desire for real parents. From skipping school to screaming at his parents to mugging strangers on the street and everything in between. As soon as he turned 18, he packed his things and left for Central City. He almost wanted his parents to throw a fit about him dropping out and leaving home but they didn't. They supported his choices and wanted their little flower boy to follow his heart. He hasn't spoken to them since. 

"The hell d'you want? Lookin' to get your face punched in or somethin'? Outta my way, loser."

"Ever see Return of Chaos? Wicked movie. Chaos uses his powers to manipulate the water in this guy's body to blow him apart from the inside, it's rad."

"Aww, lil' boy thinks I'm disgusting? Don't like my piercings? Guess it's a good thing I'm here for me, not you. Might go get my lip done again this week, just for you, babe."

"Nice tat, mate. Where'd y'get that done, Primal Instinct? They do great work, real clean. Got my sleeve done there."

"Oi, got enough perfume, lady!? Y'reek of hairspray and bug killer!"

Piercings

*On his reference image, his piercings are colored in red to make them more visible*

-industrial, x3 in each ear 

-orbital, x2 in each ear

-anti tragus both ears

-upper lobe, both ears

-stretched lobe, both ears

-transverse lobe, both ears

-tragus, both ears

-daith, both ears

-forward helix, both ears

-conch punch, both ears

-eyebrows, x3 rings x2 vertical bars, both

-bridge

-nasallang

-septum

-tongue

-medusa

-spider bites

Tattoo: a sleeve on his left arm depicting a Caterkiller and two Flicky skulls on a checkered background

Attire: wide black spiked bracelets, spiked black steel toe boots, several silver rings on his fingers

[namjoonspiration]

Saudade

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Summary: After your parents died, you are the sole heiress to a booming electrical company, and your grandmother has put you to the task of making connections. Although, Park Jimin didn’t seem all too happy to see you.

Word count: 16.8k

Rating: M

Genre: fluff, angst, 1920s AU, non-idol AU

Warnings/Tags: Short, non-descriptive mentions of parental death and miscarriage (i.e. no gore or graphic material); so much angst; mentions of amnesia, apathy and heartbreak; lots and lots of kisses. It’s not really a hardcore story. I purposefully tried to keep my story from being too heavy.

Author’s note: This is my first BTS fanfiction, so please go easy on me. I tried my best at editing, so I apologize or any blaring grammatical errors or word misusage. If you liked it, please leave a comment or a heart. It’ll help me continue forward with my other projects 🥺👉🏻👈🏻Enjoy!

Masterlist

You were the picture of perfect togetherness. Your grandmother had made sure of it. You must present yourself as the rightful heiress to the family fortune if you are to be accepted by these people. Rightful heiress? You’re the only heiress. These people can be quick to judge. No, really? The thought hadn’t crossed your mind all day. The maids had entered your room before the crack of dawn to get you ready for battle for a brunch that wouldn’t start for another several hours.

White satin T-strap shoes with crystal embellishments adorn your feet, which stand in a precise parallel position. White gloves fit perfectly to your fingers, hands fold neatly right over left, which hold your soft pink Chanel purse. Your loose, straight-fit dress of a matching color falls below your knees. Underneath are the ungodly itchy flesh-tone tights that you had despised since you bought them. Your hair, which is painstakingly curled and styled into a bob to the give the illusion of the short trendy hairstyle nowadays, was half-hidden under a white cloche hat. Pearls--all of which tapped with every step into the mansion of magnificent grandeur--adorned your ears, neck, and wrists.

It was hard to focus your eyes on anything in this place. At any point, dark rich colors of purple, red and dark brown jumped out to blind you, making you feel as though the sun didn’t come out this morning. Portraits upon portraits of the family line the walls, along with countless gold plaques. Oddly shaped awards and random busts perch on pedestals. Clearly the people who owned this house--the Parks--were not shy about displaying their achievements in the industry and within their family. But then again, who lived in the East Isles and didn’t have the main entrance of their home brag about their elite status for them?

You didn’t. Yes, because you weren’t a narcissist. You were also “new money.” Your family hadn’t been in the electrical business for generations...  People seem to forget it’s still a relatively new thing.

To be honest, you didn’t really care you were here. The pomp and circumstance didn’t make your heart jump or your fists clench. In fact, nothing these days invoked much emotion from you. You’re not sure when you started feeling that way and why it was so prevalent. Maybe it was after your parents passed away a couple years ago. Your grandmother came to live with you to help you transition into your new life. You had asked her repeatedly how your parents died, but she never could bring herself to tell the story. You mourned your parent of course, but after a while, you just stopped feeling most emotion.

So, as you walk behind your grandmother--who was talking to Mrs. Park presumably--you wondered about the food you might get to eat. If anything brought you real satisfaction and pleasure from living this lifestyle, it was the meals. However, you don’t think scarfing down food will win you any points with these people today. Your job was to network today, make connections to build your way up in the world, or so your grandmother had put it. Once again, you didn’t care, but your grandmother very much. did. So, you decided that you would do your best for her. Your apathy may get you most days, but you know in your mind without a doubt that doing this for your grandmother would make her happy, thus should make you happy. Even if you didn’t feel it.

Hopefully, Hwasa, your life-long best friend, is here. She should be. After all, her family doesn’t own the largest portion of the country’s textile industry for nothing. She was always best dressed and loved getting a kick out of the other ladies gawking at her perfectly stitched clothes that were ahead of the trends.

“Y/n,” your grandmother calls, waving at you come forward to her side. You obey, and the butler opens the door, announcing your arrival. Good lord... You felt like fresh meat being served to the wolves. But, of course, the scene before you is masqueraded in pastel colors, silk furniture, glimmering flute glasses, and smiling faces to make the whole situation seem less grotesque than it felt.

You survey the room to find most eyes on you. Ladies piled around the couches in front of the open floor-to-ceiling windows had stopped chattering and sipping their tea. More of them clustered in small groups had stopped their conversation as well, some even daring to give you looks of disapproval. However, there were some that might as well have been deaf to the announcement, much to your gratitude. Young children still run around the room or played their games on the lawn just outside the open French doors. Old men continue with their odious laughter and cigar smoking. Even the young men don’t spare you more than a glance or two.

Except for one.

A young man with dark blond hair dressed in a dark blue suit, gently cradling a flute in his ringed hand. Perhaps more striking than his blue-gray eyes are his full pink lips, which were slightly parted to reveal one slightly crooked tooth in an otherwise perfect row of white teeth. You have never seen a man with a face such as his. But what is even odder is the way his eyes shone as he looks at you.

You tilt your head slightly, holding his stare. What a weird way to look at a stranger.

Your curiosity about his strange behavior only goes so far. Suddenly, the brightness on his face is gone, replaced with a deep frown and a scowl aimed towards his shoes.

So much for trying to appear approachable and “make connections.” You had not learned anyone’s names yet, and it was already going south.

Your grandmother tugs on your arm, steering you over to the ladies surrounding the couches. Then the introductions and small talk begin. You only had enough motivation to explain the premise of your family business and some future projects and contribute to some of the minor gossip being shared. You didn’t want to be doing this at all, but your grandmother had put in so much effort today to make sure this went swimmingly. She was also putting up with it so you and she could continue to live comfortably.

Every so often, you survey the room again. After almost two hours into this, the men have filed out, probably to have a crack at the gaming tables, and the children have been laid down for their afternoon naps. You thought you even needed a nap yourself. Or maybe it was the conversation. In any case, you excuse yourself to freshen up.

Once outside the room, you take a deep breath, inhaling the air free of heavy perfume and bad breath. You wonder around the seemingly endless hallways, looking at the paintings and occasional pieces of art. Anything to delay going back to the gathering.

Then, you hear harsh. whispering. Slowly, careful of the noise from your shoes against the floor, you approach the voices and peer around the corner.

To your surprise, it’s your best friend. She is talking furiously with a man, whose back is almost completely facing you, his hand propping himself against the wall not too far from her.

“Hwasa?” You call, stepping out completely from the corner. She jumps at her name, and the man stiffens. She looks over the man’s shoulder in your direction and smiles brightly at you.

“Y/n, is that you?” She steps around the man and greets you with a hug. “It’s so wonderful to see you! It has. been way too long.” You relish in the brief happiness you best friend’s hug gives you. Then, your smile falls. She notices when she pulls away and follows your line of vision.

He is looking directly at you. The young man who actually isn’t happy to see you after all. “I must be interrupting something,” you state blatantly. “You know, Hwasa if you wanted to be intimate with the son of the house, you should have demanded he take you to a less-traveled part of the home.”

They both look at you in surprise, and it’s enough to make you cringe. “How did you know he was the son?” Hwasa asks.

“The paintings.” You look around the hallways, twirling your finger. “Kind of obvious.” Hwasa lets out a laugh. The son breathes out a sigh--not sure if it’s relief or something else--and then chuckles to himself. “What’s so funny?” He stops but doesn’t respond. “Hwasa, your man is very rude.”

She smiles sweetly and laughs off your comment, “Oh, he’s not mine. I’m way above his standards. And I don’t like men who can’t bother to be polite and introduce himself properly to a new friend,” she hisses in his direction. “Come on, let’s have a proper introduction.” She grabs your hand to lead you closer to the man. “Y/n, this is Park Jimin. His family is in the metal industry--”

“Old family steel,” you mutter, but both fo them apparently hearing it.

Jimin looks at you curiously, “How’d you figure that? The paintings?”

You shrug, “I just knew that. Maybe it somehow came across my vision when I was admiring all the participation trophies at the door,” you say, with probably a little too much sarcasm. His eyebrows rose, and you saw Hwasa try to hold in a giggle. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Park.” I think. “I’ll just leave now, so you two can finish your private conversation.”

Hwasa stops you, her mood cheery again. Probably to mask the shocked and confused feelings coming from Mr. Park. “It’s alright, y/n. I need to do my pleasantries with those in the sitting room. Why don’t you get to know Jimin more? I find him to be one of the more tolerable ones in this lot. I’ll see you later.”

Once Hwasa is gone, you continue to look around the hallway, but Mr. Park is just staring at you as if he’s trying to figure you out. You notice he’s somewhat taller than you, his sun-kissed skin looking even deeper in color in this oddly lit hallway.

“Are you mind-reading skills working?”

He is caught off guard. “What?”

“I was wondering if you had discovered anything about me while you were burning holes into my head.”

He scoffs. “You’re awfully blunt.”

You simply shrug again. The emotionless part of you felt dominating today, so his comments and strange looks don’t affect you. You think back to Hwasa’s bright personality and heart-warming interaction when she greeted you. It sparked some brief brightness in your stoic heart, but only briefly.

He clears his throat, trying to fill some of the awkward silence that has blanketed the atmosphere. You look at him expectantly. He raises his eyebrows in response. “Y/n, may I ask you something?”

“Please address me as Miss Y/l/n as we’ve only just met.” You’re quick to speak. He shifts awkwardly on his feet. You soften your tone. “But go ahead.”

“Would you like to have dinner this Friday?”

“Dinner? Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Park?” You are taken back. What an incredulous question. And he had commented you were the blunt one...

“Uh...” He trails off, confusion rippling across his face. “Yes, I am.”

“Mr. Park, may I ask you something?” You don’t even give him the chance to nod. “When I first arrived, you seemed very unhappy, and dare I say, disgusted, at my presence, and now you’re asking me to have dinner with you?” It seems that Mr. Park is giving you quite the first impression as you feel anger start to flare in your chest.

His eyes widen in panic. “No, y/n--I mean Miss Y/l/n. Please do not misunderstand my earlier interaction.”

“Misunderstand? How could I have possibly misunderstood you when you looked directly at me and appeared as if I insulted you?” You fire back.

“I apologize. It was not like that. You just reminded me of someone who broke my heart.” He rushes out in a hurry to redeem himself. Well, it didn’t seem clear to him that he failed until a few moments later when he squeezed his eyes shut and palmed his forehead.

You practically gawk at him. “I’ll give you the effort of trying to save yourself Mr. Park, but I will not give you a second chance to redeem yourself over dinner.” And with that, you walk off, heels clicking against the mahogany floors.

What a spoiled boy. He’s probably never had a woman reject him before. It brought you satisfaction that you were probably the first. Never has a man looked at you with such distaste and then try to woo you with dinner. You don’t know what he wants from you, but he wasn’t going to get it.

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

The rest of the gathering stretched into the late hours of the afternoon. You didn’t see Mr. Park or his parents for the rest of the day. Hwasa grabs you before leaving the party, telling you to meet her for lunch Friday on Brouton Street.

And you do, and it turns into more of a shopping spree than a lunch date. Not that you were complaining. You never complained when it came to shopping and trying on the latest fashion trends out of Europe. You stepped out of probably the thirteenth ship you’ve visited today when you notice it was already two pm, and you still haven’t eaten lunch yet. You were waiting outside the shop while Hwasa was paying for her new bracelet.

You survey the bustling street, thinking about what you wanted for lunch when you spot a pair of men that seem to have all the ladies giggling to themselves and their friends. Even wives are looking twice, much to the discomfort of their husbands who definitely noticed, but weren’t immune to looking a second time as well. As they got closer to you, your vision focuses.

Mr. Park.

You couldn’t resist rolling your eyes at the name. What a surprise. Next to him is a dark-haired young man you didn’t know. They were dressed to the nines, complete with hats and walking sticks--more for fashion rather than function.

They spot you, and the young man gives you a big, boxy smile and a wave. Your eyebrows shoot up, and you look around to make sure he wasn’t waving to someone else. By the time you stop looking around, they’ve approached you. The strange young man seems ecstatic to see you while Mr. Park looks embarrassed. Serves him right.

“Hello, Miss y/n.” The young man greets you enthusiastically.

You blink. “I’m sorry, have we met before?” And why didn’t you greet me formally, you wonder. You glance towards Mr. Park. His lips are pressed, hand tightening on your walking stick.

The young man laughs charmingly, but somewhat nervous. “Oh, right. It’s just... my friend, Jimin, here mentioned you!”

“Did he?” You smile, sweetly. Almost too sweetly. Mr. Park’s jaw clenches. “How did you know what I looked like?” You inquire further for the fun of it.

Mr. Park quickly cuts in. “I--we saw you b-back there,” he gestures down the sidewalk. “I said, oh that’s y/n--Miss y/l/n. We met the other day...” He looks anywhere else but at you in the eyes. You narrow your gaze at him.

The store’s door opens with the ring of a bell, and Hwasa joins you. “Taehyung! It’s so good to see you again.” She gives him a quick hug. You notice some of the other women walking around you are gawking or giving her death stares. “I hope your time in Paris was spent well. Have you met my best friend, Miss y/l/n? She’s new to town. Her parents made quite the fortune in the electrical sciences, and she is their sole heir. Y/n,” she gently wraps her arm around yours, “this is Kim Taehyung, a true artist. He has his own exhibit in Paris to display his work. He also dabbles a bit in photography.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Kim.” You smile.

“Please call me Taehyung. Mr. Kim is my father,” he laughs, showing off that boxy grin of his again. You have to admit he’s a very charismatic person.

“Alright, but please address me as Miss y/l/n for the time being. I understand Jimin may not have told you my last name, but I would hate to see his rudeness rub off on your seemingly polished character.” You tack on a smile at the end, hoping Mr. Park feels the jab.

Indeed, he does. Mr. Park sputters, muttering “polished” under his breath like it was the last word he’d use to describe Taehyung. You ignore him.

“Yes, Miss y/l/n.”

Hwasa interjects, “Well, y/n and I are famished. Would you both care to join us for a late lunch?”  Before you could protest, Taehyung agrees enthusiastically. Hwasa takes his arm, leading the way back up the street. You pout. You wanted to eat with your best friend only, who you haven’t seen in forever. Mr. Park notices your sad expression and offers his arm to you. You simply look down, tightening your grip on your bags before following Taehyung and Hwasa.

Jimin rubs his face in frustration, watching you walk away without a second glance. He can’t keep tiptoeing around you. He made himself a royal fool and an ass last week at the gathering. He needed to fix this if he wanted to get closer to you.

Mr. Park catches up to your side. “Miss y/l/n,” he speaks politely.

“Yes?” You offer.

“I know we got off on the wrong foot, and I apologize if you find my behavior to be untoward. I was not very good at expressing myself the other day, and it bothers me greatly that you would think that I find you unpleasant when I really don’t.”

You consider his words. The apology was genuine, you know that. You also. know that he found you pretty. Or at least Hwasa had told you as much. You complained to her earlier about Mr. Park’s behavior at his. house. She had laughed, claiming it was because he found you attractive. You were confused as to what made her say that. She explained that you were all he could ask about before you found them in the hallway.

You didn’t know what to say. Hwasa wouldn’t lie to you. It certainly made your heart flutter that Mr. Park, an uncommonly handsome man--discounting his behavior--would find you attractive. You can’t say you didn’t stand in front of the mirror for a while after that figuring out what he liked about your appearance. In the end, you credited his odd behavior with the fact he found you pretty. While that did not excuse his rudeness, his present apology has rerouted the course of your thoughts. He genuinely seemed like he was trying to make amends.

“Alright, Mr. Park. I forgive you. I understand that sometimes introductions and first impressions can go awry. Especially if the man finds the woman astonishingly pretty and charming.” You gently fiddle with your diamond earring.

“Pretty?” he asks, chuckling.

You stop walking and turn towards him, “Do you not find me so?” Your tone is accusatory.

He looks a bit panicked. “No. I mean, yes. I--” You take a step closer.

“You what, Mr. Park?” You ask, looking into his blue-gray eyes, which are traveling all across your face before landing back to your eyes. Your brain has already started to take back every meaning you put to his apology.

“I think you’re more than pretty.” He finally breathes out, tension slipping from his shoulders.

Your heart pounds so heavily against your chest, your composure slips. A blush rises to your cheeks, partly from relief and partly from embarrassment. “I apologize,” you say, suddenly your voice much softer.

He didn’t seem to hear it. Instead, he smiles, eyes twinkling. “I think you’re very beautiful, Miss. y/l/n.” Oh, your mind blanks momentarily. Now you felt like the fool. Your cheeks become hotter, pulse racing faster. He said it with such nakedness. He didn’t beat around the bush about it or tease you into guessing how you looked in his eyes. You lay a hand on your cheek, surprised at the heat. Hopefully he would think it’s the weather. It has been unusually warm lately. Your flustered state is clearly evident. Mr. Park grins cutely at you. While your head is still swimming, trying to process the abrupt change in your interaction, he gently takes your shopping bags from you before shifting it to hold in his hand that holds the walking stick. He offers his arm again, “Shall we catch up with Taehyung and Miss Hwasa?”

Your eyes snap to his. Your cheeks are still flushed, lips parted.

Jimin thinks it’s the most beautiful sight he’s seen.

Suddenly, as if you fell into a drunk stupor but without the disorientation and wild behavior, you feel warm and… fuzzy, like you were covered in a soft blanket. You haven’t felt this kind of happy feeling in what seemed like forever. And he does look incredibly cute with the way he was smiling at you.

Returning the sentiment, you take his arm. The muscles hiding underneath his peach colored suit jacket felt strong in your hands.

You two leisurely stroll, having lost Hwasa and Taehyung after they turned the street corner.

“Do you know where we are eating?”

“This little French restaurant between Main and Central. Le Lacroix Pâtissier.”

He hums contently, “I love their almond croissants and apple tartlets.”

“Really? Those are my favorite dishes! Are those your favorite?”

He shakes his head. “But I had a friend who insisted I try them once, and I ended up really liking them.”

You were pleased. “You have good taste, Mr. Park.”

“Please, address me as Jimin.”

Your smile to yourself. “Okay, Jimin. Since we are moving onto a first name basis, you may address me as y/n.”

He repeats your name. It rolled softly off his tongue. You like how it sounds very much coming from him. And you, without knowing it, tightly your hold on his arm, leaning more into his solid form as you continue to the restaurant.

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

After that Friday, you meet Jimin every week for several weeks at the same restaurant. First Taehyung and Hwasa joined you—you insisted Hwasa come with you to keep you from making a fool of yourself in front of Jimin—but after about two weeks, they claimed other commitments. However, you didn’t mind at that point. You grew really comfortable with Jimin. You talked about everything together—your favorite dishes and restaurants in town, your families and their businesses (okay, those were brief topics of discussion), your interests (you found out you both like dancing, upon which he offered to take you to a dance club sometime), your future plans… Of those, which then led course into deeper topics—marriage and love.

It was a strange conversation, and it wasn’t brought up during lunch. He actually had invited you over to his estate for tea and a meal of any foods that you could want—more of a change of scenery decision if anything. You were concerned that your favorite food might not be so favorite if you kept eating it for several weeks on end.

Following the delicious meal, he suggested a light walk outside. He led you out of the back of the mansion to the small private beach. You both kicked your shoes off, walking in the sand, letting the fine, white grains sift over your toes. You two strolled side by side, enjoying the sun’s warm on your faces, the summer air and each other’s company.

Then, Jimin had asks the question. “Has your grandmother proposed that you marry anyone yet?”

You shake your head, laughing to yourself. “My grandmother wouldn’t put that out there. At least not yet. I think she thinks it would be too soon after the accident.”

Jimin turns sharply towards you, concerning etching lines into his handsome face. “Accident?”

You nod sadly. “Yes. My grandmother told me I fell down the stairs several months ago, and I hit my head. She said it had frightened everyone we knew. She was concerned about my recovery from it all. I don’t think I’ll get married until life returns to normal,” you trial off. “But, actually… I don’t really know what normal is anymore. Not after the accident. It’s like I woke up in the completely different world, and I don’t know what I’m doing. There’s always this awkwardness I can’t get past. It’s like I’m walking on eggshells.”

You weren’t sure why you were telling Jimin all this, but you knew you could tell him, and he wouldn’t make fun of you for it. He wasn’t that kind of person. He seemed very open with you, so you supposed that in your heart, you could be vulnerable with him too.

After the silence became too long, you looked up from your feet and saw Jimin wiping at his eyes. “Jimin, are you crying?” You lay a hand on his arm to stop him from walking any further, and step in front of him. He bows his head lower, and you crane your neck to the side to try to see his face. After a few moments, he breathes in deeply, bringing his head up. He looks at you with eyes, pink and puffy from rubbing at them, and a slight upturn of his lips accompanied by a chuckle.

“The sand and salt keep getting in my eyes. That’s all.”

“Would you like to go back inside?” He shook his head. “Are you sure?”

“No, no, I’m alright. I’m sure I’ll be okay now.” He smiles at you, attempting to reassure you. He blinked away the redness in his eyes. Besides, you look too beautiful in the setting sun for us to leave, was what he wanted to add.

You return his smile. Then, you’re just staring at each other, taking in the colors the evening sky paints on your skins and in your eyes. Then, you ask him, “What about you, Park Jimin? Has your mother arranged you to marry anyone?”

“She did once, to the daughter of a man who owned a successful old railroad company.” He admits.

“Are you still to marry her?”

“No,” he hurriedly states. “I didn’t want to from the start. I eventually pushed it off enough that they let it go. They said they couldn’t wait around forever.”

“Why didn’t you want to? I’d assume a business like that would pile onto your wealth, and she couldn’t have been that hideous.” You inwardly cringe. Why would you try to reason with him?

He laughs, almost bitterly. “You wound me, y/n. To think that I would think about money and looks to be the top priority in finding a wife.” You open your mouth to assure him you don’t think so lowly of him, but he beats you to it. “But I know that’s not like that. You merely considering the things we have to think about in our world. And I know that’s not how you truly think either. I know you wouldn’t marry for money.” You hadn’t realized how close he was until he was gazing intently into your eyes.

“Then what would I marry for?” A soft, curious question.

“Love.” There is no hesitation in his response. He believes it whole-heartedly. Then, he pulls away. “Just as I once tried to do.” He reaches down in the sand, picking up a shell.

You didn’t expect that. “What happened to her?” Jimin’s jaw clenches and unclenches, but not in anger. This was really difficult for him. You suddenly regret asking about it.

Then, he says, “She left. And I haven’t heard from or seen her since three months after I proposed to her.”

“Why would she leave?”

He shook his head, “I don’t think she had a say in leaving, and so she left quietly.” He gently brushes the grains of sand from the shell, exposing its pure white and rose color.

“I’m so sorry, Jimin,” you say after several moments of silence. I’d never imagined that something so horrible could happen to two people in love.”

He rakes a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter anymore though. What is done is done, and I can only move forward to find that love again. Except this time, I’m never letting it escape from me so easily.” He sounds resolute, so sure of himself and you can’t help but admire him. He smiles, holding the bonnet shell out to you.

You accept it gratefully, pleased with the small gift. Glancing at Jimin, you see his cheeks have turned pink. Your mouth curves into a smile. You take his hand in both of yours, the shell pressed between your palm and his. His skin feels smooth, and although his hands are smaller than the average, they feel no less strong and comforting. You squeeze his hand lightly in comfort. The bonnet shell imprints a small circle in each of your hands, serving as a little promise of your connection with him. “You’re a good man, Park Jimin. And I hope you find what you’re looking for.” He smiles at you sweetly. But to his unhappiness, you let go of his hand much sooner than he thought you would. However, it didn’t take long before you realized how much you missed it too.

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

You don’t see Jimin for the next week and a half. He left to accompany his father out West for several days to learn more about the family business. When he mentioned it, you couldn’t help but pout, which he immediately felt guilty about. He told you that he’d very much make up for the missed Friday lunch tenfold. He promised the next Friday lunch you two would have all the food, chatter and enjoyment as a month’s worth of lunches. Upon this, you giggled and said you would expect nothing less.

During the days he was out of town, you quickly grew to miss his company. After only missing one lunch, you quickly realized how much more time in the week you wanted to spend with him. Those lunches on Fridays, along with the regular community gatherings, just weren’t enough. You wanted to see him every day. He brought brightness back into your days, made you feel warmth and happiness again. And when he talks with you about the hard stuff in life and is so honest with you, it’s like he’s filling in the empty spots in your life. Where your lifestyle of material and money is only the surface of your being, Jimin looks deeper and sees you as the person you are. He never wants to talk about business or money. He always wants to know about you. And you can’t ignore the way your heart flutters when you’re answering one of those many questions about yourself and you catch him so content listening to you.

He would relax in his chair, head slightly tilted to the side, lips turned up in a pleasant smile, his eyes gleaming with interest and admiration. Never once would he look away from you when you spoke. You always had his undivided attention. And the more and more you think about, you love it. His caring heart towards you, his kind words and gentle soul, the ability to be open around him.

But it was also more than that.

You like Jimin so much that you feel you’ve known each other longer than four months. It feels like a lifetime that you’ve known him.

You told Hwasa about it one afternoon while painting in the sunroom of your home, unsure what it meant. She merely giggled at you and said, “Y/n, you’re falling in love. And you know it, too.” You did know in your heart, but you couldn’t help but feel the shock of it all. But also, the doubt given your circumstances.

“But Hwasa, how do I know what love feels like? I feel empty most of the time. I don’t even know if I can know what love is.”

Hwasa stopped you right there, “I know where this is coming from, but you don’t have to you worry about that. No one knows what love feels like until it hits them. Besides, you just told me that Jimin makes you so happy and you miss him so much when he’s not here. Trust me, don’t think I don’t see the moping you’ve done for the past couple days. That’s emotion. You’re feeling everything for him with your heart, and there’s no reason to doubt that, no matter what.” And that was why you loved your best friend so much. She was a grounding force and always has been since the accident. Always a level-headed thinker and confident woman. A true role-model. You gave her the biggest hug, thankful for her friendship. Without her, you thought you would have reasoned yourself out of your love for Jimin.

Finally, after said week and a half, you are walking with Hwasa and your grandmother in The Grand Hotel for a large gathering of all the affluent families in the East Isles.

Of course, you and all the other ladies wouldn’t be in the same room as the men. Instead, the women would be drinking tea, tasting little cakes, gossiping and playing a few rounds of light-hearted card playing while the men ate their hearts out and smoked cigars while testing their gambling skills. They would talk of business, family dealings, blah, blah, blah.

Just as the last of everyone was filing into their respective places, you were trailing behind Hwasa and your grandmother to the tearoom. Then you felt a hand grasp your arm.

You gasp, whipping around to see Jimin with a playful look on his face. Your face breaks into the biggest smile, and he pulls you into an empty hallway in the hotel. When he let go of your hand, you pull him into a hug. “I missed you, Jimin.”

He hugs you back with equal the comfort and emotion, his strong arms pulling you tightly to him. “I missed you as well.” He pulls away and that’s when you noticed his disheveled state.

“Oh, my goodness. Jimin, did you just come from the train station? Your collar isn’t even straight.” You grasp the edges and aid him in fixing it.

“I apologize for the long trip, but it gave me enough time to think about how I’m going to make up for it.” He smirks lightheartedly.

“Oh, really? How?” You asked curiously, smile creeping up on your face. You finish with his collar and brush your hands down his shoulders and arms to smooth out the wrinkles in his jacket.

“We’re going on a picnic tomorrow at the best place in the East Isles. I’ll pick you up tomorrow from your house around lunch time.” He looks hopeful about the idea, but you can’t help but figure from the confidence he exudes that he already knows you’ll agree.

You bite your lip to prevent from smiling too much like a fool. “Okay! That sounds wonderful. I can’t wait.” You dare yourself and kiss his cheek quickly. You’re about to dash off before he could see your face turn scarlet, but he catches your wrist.

He slides his fingers down to grasp yours before bringing the back of your hand to his lips. They press a soft kiss there. He keeps his eyes on you, and your heart won’t stop fluttering. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he smiled at you in farewell.

You practically skipped to the tea hall.

Once there, you sit with Hwasa at a table with four other finely dressed girls. “Oh, good you’re here y/n. We were just about to start.” She hands you a little stack of cards. All of you begin shuffling and laying out cards onto the table as the game begins.

The red-haired girl dressed in a powdery blue color directly across from you seems smug. Hwasa notices it too. “Something you would like to say Florence?” You remark.

She shrugs her shoulders, but the smirk doesn’t leave her face. “I think I’ll be married by spring.”

“Oh! I suppose congratulations are in order then. Who’s the lucky man?” The petite girl at the end of the table chimes in.

“None other than Park Jimin, of course.” Your blood turns to cold steel in your veins. It takes every effort for you not to reveal too much of yourself. Hwasa stiffens next to you. “What other man is there to marry?” Florence has turned her attention directly to you, eyes flashing with spite. Your eyes narrow only enough that she would notice. What was she going on about? Did she know about the time you were spending with Jimin?

Thankfully, being the well-versed girl Hwasa is in social graces, she merely laughs. “Florence, you are funny. Park Jimin has not committed himself to a woman since he was rumored to be in love with someone almost two years ago.” You felt your head swim. Did Hwasa know about Jimin’s lost love too? She was pretty close with Taehyung, who was close with Jimin. Maybe she only knew the rumor. Regardless, your heated rage turns cold, remembering how devastated Jimin looked talking about her.

“Doesn’t matter,” Florence sneers. “Clearly she is long gone. Or maybe she never existed in the first place. I heard a rumor he was using that as an excuse to get out of his previous arranged marriage anyway.”

Hwasa raises her eyebrows, her gaze scrutinizing. “And now you’re saying you’ve magically brought Park Jimin out of his despair and you two are hopelessly in love?” Hwasa harshly fingered the edges of her cards.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” She replies with bittersweet venom. “Try not to get jealous, Hwasa. I’m sure Taehyung will propose to you when he finally impresses your father with a fortune earned from his artistic talents. Although I don’t know how long that will take. I heard his exhibit caught on fire last month, torching most of his work. A shame he will have to start over…” Your eyes snapped to Hwasa. She hadn’t told you about the fire. Nor did she ever mention just how close her and Taehyung were.

“Florence,” Hwasa tosses her cards on the table, the paper landing with a smack on the polished wood. “I need you to get your head out of your ass for a minute and listen carefully to what I have to say.” You are shocked at her choice of words. Some women at the table behind you glare in Hwasa’s direction, but she ignores them. “Firstly, Taehyung and I are not getting married. We are close friends.” Florence falsely pouts. “Secondly, Taehyung has more talent and grace in his pinky finger than you have in your entire body and then some. So, I suggest you shut that trap of yours before you wake up and find every single one of your father’s department stores foreclosed.” Florence’s face was the perfect cross of fear and royal anger. With that, Hwasa straightens her spine and stands up. “If you are confused about what I said, I hope you figure it out because I won’t be repeating myself.” Her red-painted lips are set in a deep frown, most of her rage having left her. She heads for the door, her shoes clacking loudly from her firm steps on the marble floor. Most of the women in the room have paused their games to watch her leave, some even going as far to disapprove of her sour attitude.

“Poor Hwasa. She’ll die an old maid if she keeps that attitude.” Florence remarks with unrestrained smugness. You are ready to slap her into next week for her treatment of your best friend. It’s time she gets a reality check.

“I don’t think you should be wasting your time worrying about the wrong person,” you say coolly.

She scoffs, “Is that right, y/n? If I shouldn’t be worrying about Hwasa, who should I be worried about?”

“Yourself, obviously. I forgot that you can’t put two and two together. I’ll remember next time to spell it out directly for you.”

“Get to the point,” she hisses.

You lay your cards down and fold your hands neatly on the table. “My point is you’re not marrying Jimin. Not in the spring, not in the year, not in your lifetime.” Florence’s face nearly matches her hair color. “In fact, I dare say Jimin doesn’t even know that you are planning to ask him for his hand.”

“I won’t be the one asking, you stupid girl. By the time I’m done with him, he’ll be begging me to marry him.”

You force a smile. “If you insist. I’ll just give him a fair warning about his eminent doom tomorrow during our picnic date.” Florence’s expression twists into surprise. “Oh, and while we’re on the topic of you, I’ll mention how I accidently walked in on you and—what was his name?” You tap a finger thoughtfully to your chin. “John Withers!” You snap your fingers. “You two were in quite the predicament at his sister’s birthday a few months ago. Petting parties and dancing tongues and all that.” Florence gapes at you like a fish, her face overtaken with terror. The other girls looked at her in shock.

Caught in a lie.

You smirk. Your work here was done. Gathering your purse, you send a wink her way before strutting out of the tea hall. You knew you had hundreds of eyes on you, including your grandmother’s. You know you’re going to owe here an explanation later. Everyone in the room probably heard what you said about you and Jimin, but you could care less. You never had such pleasure in telling someone off.

You find Hwasa standing outside in the hotel courtyard smoking a cigarette. She sees the look on your face as you approach, and she grins wickedly. “What did you do?”

“I may have called her out on her lie and mentioned me spending time with Jimin. You should have been in there. Her face was priceless.”

“That’s my girl,” she takes another drag from her cigarette. “Want one? Special edition tobacco. Tae got them for me in France.”

You consider it, eyeing the delicately arranged rolls in the silver case. “Sure. I think I’ve earned it.” Hwasa laughs, handing you a roll and helping you light it. You feel your body release all the rage and spite with each pull. As you eye the cigarette in your fingers, you can’t help but think about what was said about Hwasa and Taehyung’s relationship. They were awfully close, and you had to admit the idea of them marrying had come across your mind sometimes. You had no idea about Taehyung’s finances or career, or even that his relationship with Hwasa was enough to warrant her father’s attention. You couldn’t help but feel bad for Hwasa; however, at the same time, you knew she’d test her father’s patience to its limits. She’d refuse every single marriage he’d set until he gave up. It didn’t matter if she didn’t marry. She had an older brother who would inherit the family business and take over. You wonder if this was a part of her plan. Even if she and Taehyung didn’t marry, they would be lifelong companions.

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

“She said that?” Jimin yells over the vroom of the engine. He throws his head back and laughs. “I’ve never heard such a lie before. I was the one who first caught her and John Withers together. They were having a petting party in the back of his car during a party a few years ago.”

“Really?” You yell back, holding onto your hat. “That’s so disgusting! I’ve seen him before, and he’s so greasy looking.” You make a face of sheer disgust, making Jimin laugh even harder.

“Yeah, he is! But, y/n, are you sure she wasn’t just saying something like that to get a rouse out of you?” He inquires, one hand relaxing on the steering well as he drives. “From what you’ve told me how she acts towards you it seems that way.”

“I have no idea! I really don’t know what the whole point of that conversation was,” you laugh. “Even if she was, I don’t care. I like you a lot Jimin, and I wasn’t about to let some girl try and spread false rumors about you.” You look out the car, trying to hide your blushing cheeks.

“Y/n,” he calls you. You turned your head, looking over your sunglasses at him, with your hand resting against your cheek. You answer with a small hum. Between the road and you, he spent as much time as he could gazing at you. Despite his own pair of dark sunglasses, you could still see joy twinkling in his eyes. “I like you a lot too,” he finally says. It did nothing to slow your racing heart or help you cool down, but you didn’t care. Not with the way he could barely keep his eyes off you.

You bite you lip, barely suppressing a huge smile. You lean back in your seat, gazing up at the blue June sky. It was a perfect day for your picnic with Jimin. Not a cloud in sight. A slight breeze blowing through every now and again to relieve you of the sun’s beating rays. The tall grass fields dotted with white and yellow flowers made soft hushing sounds with the wind.

Soon, you and Jimin arrive at the place he promised was the most beautiful place in the East Isles. And it was beyond beautiful. Jimin opens your door and takes you hand to help you out of the car. He was pleased to see your expression of awe as you took in the scene in front of you.

Flowers of all colors poke through the grass—a luscious green carpet—and lead to a small, crystal clear river. The water flows gently after soft brown rocks and into a pond at the end. Birds chirp, some of them chasing each other in the air before perching on the delicate branches of nearby trees. You think this is heaven.

Jimin grabs a large basket and blanket from the car. You seemed entranced by the scenery, and he giggles at your reaction. He slides his fingers down the back of your hand, breaking you from your trance, and threads them with yours. He leads you further into the grass to a perfect spot partially shaded by foliage. He expertly unfolds a thick blanket onto the grass and unpacks the basket, pulling out plates of all your favorite foods and wine. You kick off your shoes and sit down on the blanket, fixing your skirt to neatly cover your legs.

“I didn’t know what you wanted to eat, so I just had everything made that I know you like,” he smiles sheepishly.

“You must have been taking notes after our meals.”

“That and I feel like I know you well enough that if I had to guess out of these foods is your favorite I could.”

“Really?” You challenge, chewing on some grapes. “Which one then?”

“The cheese Danish,” he states without hesitation.

“Nothing else?”

“No, just the pastry itself. Even if you were in a new place with the most fantastic patisseries in the world, you would always go with a cheese Danish.” He replies with such confidence. He knew you so well.

You smile in delight. “I see your mind-reading skills have improved Park Jimin,” you tease, grabbing the cheese Danish from its plate and taking a huge bite out of it. Jimin laughs at your expression when some of cheese falls out of the pastry due to your aggressive eating and you try to catch it. He hands you a cloth napkin to wipe your hands.

“You’re going to spoil lunch!” he joked. “I have proper lunch dishes to eat before dessert. Glazed salmon with a spring mix salad and raspberry walnut dressing?” he offers.

“Yes please,” you grab the plate excitedly, your mouth watering at the sight of such a delicious looking lunch. You and Jimin eat through the first dish with ease, both admitting to each other that you each had skipped breakfast this morning in order to eat lots of food during your picnic. Then, you finally got to eat your cheese Danish, savoring every bite. After your stomachs were nearly full, you both drank wine, nibbling on an assortment of grapes, cheese and buttery crackers. You and he moved to the bank of the river, letting the water move soothingly over your feet. Conversation flowed with ease, discussing literally about everything that popped into your mind or led from one topic to another. Somehow you had gotten from topics like how you had a green thumb as a child and how you would be upset every time the birds ate the seeds you freshly planted to Jimin helping a man fix his car when in broke in the middle of downtown the other day. The man offered Jimin to take one of the puppies his dog gave birth too recently as a thank you.

“And you didn’t pick one?” You ask, surprised.

He laughs. “No, I said I didn’t need a puppy.”

“What about me? I wanted a puppy,” you deadpan.

Jimin’s face morphs into bewilderment. “You’ve never said to me that you wanted a puppy!”

You giggle at his reaction, putting a hand on his arm. “I’m teasing you, Jimin. I don’t expect you to think of me all the time.”

“But I do think about you all time. I should have picked one.” He rubs a hand over his face in frustration and regret.

“Jimin, it’s okay! I was only giving you a hard time.” You push his hand out of the way from his face and gently brush away the hair that had fallen into his eyes.

He watches your face as you focus on fixing his hair. Then his eyes slide to the hat on your head. He hates how you covered your hair with that ridiculous accessory. He knew about your voluminous curls that were pinned and restrained to the current trend. It made him unhappy.

He pulls your hat from your head and tossed away somewhere in the grass. “Jimin, what are you…” you trail off as he begins to pull the pins from under your hair. Somehow, he knew where each one was, as if he’d done it a million times.

As he removes each pin and your hair falls over your shoulders, he keeps his eyes on your face, gazing into the mesmerizing dark caramel color of your eyes. A blush paints your cheekbones. Slowly, you become your real self—the one that Jimin knew so well, but you had forgotten about.

When the last pin was removed, Jimin smiled lovingly at you. “I like your hair down. You shouldn’t wear it up so much. I love your curly hair. It kind of reminds me of one of the puppies I saw.”

“It had soft curly hair like mine?”

“Yes. The man said they were called Lagotto Romagnolo dogs. Ironically, they’re an Italian breed, but I only found that out after I said to the man, they sounded like a type of pasta dish.” Jimin explains, and you laugh softly. Comfortable silence fell upon the atmosphere. The sun warms your back, and the trickle of the river soothes you into an almost sleepy state. You turn your head and lay it on Jimin’s shoulder.

You sit there like that for several minutes, watching nature go about its day, sipping on your wine. Your wine glass then becomes empty, and you say as much. Jimin said he would get you some more, gently laying a kiss against your hair. Any relaxation you felt from the wine dissipates and your nerves spark. You lift your head up, and Jimin swoops in for a kiss on the cheek. He smiles cleverly, grabbing your wine glass from your hand before getting up to fill it with more wine. You couldn’t help tracking him with your gaze. From your sitting position, you finally get a good view of his body, particularly his backside. It’s a nice backside, you thought to yourself. As if he felt your eyes on him, he glances over his shoulder and totally catches you checking him out. He winks at you, and you shyly shift your gaze to the river.

Suddenly, your head feels so fuzzy. Your mind drifts, like you’re falling into a dream. You rub the heel of your palm against your temple, squeezing your eyes shut. When the sensation passes, you open them again, gazing back into the water.

Then, a dream comes to you, and it’s such a vivid dream.

You and Jimin are in the river, splashing water at each other. He wraps his arms around your waist. Pulling you to his naked chest, he spins you in circles in the water.

The sensation in your head turns into a pounding, and you gasp at the pain. You lay your hand against your forehead, your skin feeling hot. You feel your pulse beating against the side of your neck. You twist in your seat, craning to see Jimin. He’s putting the cork back in the bottle. He looks up and smiles sweetly at you.

Another dream flashes before your eyes. You see the bodies of a man and a woman locked in a passionate embrace, kissing and holding tightly to each other. Underneath the woman is a familiar blanket and patch of wildflowers.

Then, it’s gone and so it the pain. Jimin’s face with creased with concern. He jogs over, abandoning the wine glasses. He kneels in front of you. “Y/n, what’s wrong? You look hurt.” He searches your face, your arms, your legs, your torso. But he finds nothing wrong with you.

That was because nothing was wrong.

You were remembering. Everything.

You pull Jimin in for a kiss, and your world bursts into a kaleidoscope of memories.

All of them were so vivid.

Your parents. How your father’s electrical business took flight. The money and the new lifestyle that came with it. Hwasa and the dance clubs. The parties and gatherings for tea. And then Jimin—he was in most of them.

The first time you met him, almost five years ago, similar to the situation months age when you “first met” him at his estate, being presented as new money. Except he never looked away from you when you walked in the room. He looked at you with the gleam in his eye like he does now, as if he’d fallen in love with you right then. And you too had found it difficult to look away. He was so handsome. Dressed in a black suit, with the pants so perfectly fitted that it made his legs look unbelievably long. His hair was styled to expose his beautiful face to the world. It was much darker back then, making his blue-gray eyes even more striking.

You had met him every chance you got. You were both inseparable. He was always so polite and sweet. Then, one night he confessed to you under the moonlight at the architectural park downtown and gave you the best kiss of your life. You secretly met up for picnics and boat rides, soaking in the luxurious things in life together, making happy memories. And you fell deeply in love. You had even gone to this place—the meadow with the crystal river. Jimin insisted taking a swim, immediately stripping down. You were worried someone might catch you, but he owned this land and assured you that no one would disturb you two. You looked away when he removed all his clothes before entering the water, and you insisted Jimin do the same. And he did. You remember the exhilaration thrumming in your bones when you removed the last of your undergarments. Never in your life had you imagined that you would be walking in a meadow and swimming in a river stark naked, much less in front of a man you weren’t married too.

When you got in the water, it was chilly, and you had said as much. Jimin had offered to warm you with a suggestive smirk. You had felt boneless at the thought but decided to tease him instead. You smiled mischievously before splashing him with water. Thus, a water battle ensued, and he ended up capturing you in his arms and tickled you to death. After admitting that you teased him on purpose, he finally stopped tickling you and insisted he just hold you in the water. He wrapped his arms around your waist, and you rested your head on his solid chest. He pulled you around the pond, humming and laying the occasional kiss on your head. You complained that you were getting too cold and hopped out of the water onto the picnic blanket.

You flopped down on your back, smiling up at the sky. Jimin laid down next to you on his side, head propped up on his hand so he could look at you. Water droplets fell from the ends of his dark wet hair and collected on his skin. You turned your head towards him and offered a soft smile. You reached your hand closest to him and brushed it soothingly on his forehead, pushing his hair from his eyes, which were slowly taking in your body. His eyes had grown darker with passion each passing second. Eyes locked on yours, he placed his hand over your heart, feeling the fast racing of it. Jimin saw your expression change, more reflective of his. “Jimin.” Your hand moved to his full lips, stroking the bottom one with the pad of your finger. “Please.” He leaned forward, kissing you passionately. Jimin conveyed his love with every touch.

Your one and only true love.

You feel your soul rush back into your present body, pulling away from Jimin. You were breathless and panting. His eyebrows are scrunched together in worry, eyes bright with fear “Jimin, I remember. I remember everything,” you rush out.

A million emotions flash across his face—happiness, sadness, confusion, fear, joy, pain, relief, but love outshines all of them. Tears form in his eyes that quickly fall down his cheeks. You feel your own tears on your face.

He cups your face in his bands, thumbs wiping away the tears. “What are you feeling? Tell me.” He speaks so softly, and it breaks your heart.

“Everything. I remember everything that I couldn’t from when my father’s company succeeded until now. I can’t explain it. I remembered things. I didn’t feel like I had any gaps in my memory before. It’s like I couldn’t remember that I was missing memories of you, my parents and my friends.

“I… I didn’t just fall down the steps, did I?” You ask. He shakes his head gravely. “I was in a car accident.” And as you explain the details, you see it clearly in your mind’s eye.

You were driving home with parents after a weekend getaway to the coast. Your dad was stressed and needed to get out of the city. After the weekend was over, you were riding in the car with your parents back into the city. Your dad was driving the car over the bridge when another car smashed into your family’s vehicle. Everything happened so quickly, you don’t remember seeing your parents. All you remember was falling so far, so fast and then hitting the ground before blacking out. Then, you woke up in the hospital with your grandmother by your side surrounded by doctors.

“My parents died that night, didn’t they?” Your voice cracks with the question.

Jimin frowns deeply. “I’m so sorry, y/n.”

“I already knew they were dead, but not how they died or when.” Then, you see their faces in your mind. “Mom… Dad…” you sob, covering your mouth to prevent from crying out. The full force of the loss hits you. Jimin quickly situates you into his hold, grounding you while you grieve for your parents.

You remember the family meals and time you spent together; the happiness on dad’s face when the business took off; the times when your parents got on your nerves, and now you wish you hadn’t argued with them so harshly; all the times you had mom-daughter and dad-daughter conversations. It all ended too soon.

You’re not sure how long you cried before you finally calmed down. Jimin was rocking you gently, cheek against the top of your head. The sun had started to go down. Jimin finally speaks, his voice forlorn.

“I went and saw you in the hospital. I heard what happened the next day. I hadn’t seen or heard from you. I called your house so many times, but no one answered. So, I went over there, and your staff had gotten a call from the police. They said your parents had died in the crash. I grieved for them.

“But you had managed to survive. Somehow by some miracle, you landed on a wooden platform not too far below the bridge. I thought they were going to say you fell in the icy water and that they wouldn’t find you. They took you to hospital, and you were unconscious.

“I visited you every day. I brought you your favorite flowers. I held your hand and told you everything I loved about you. And that I wanted you to wake up so badly so I can hear your voice and fully convince myself that you were still here. You didn’t wake up for almost a month. When you did, I was on my way to see you. I heard your voice from down the hallway. I was so excited. Finally, I could hear your voice again and kiss you. But, as I got to the door, the doctors had been explaining your condition to your grandmother.

“You suffered a serious brain injury and had amnesia. They assessed you couldn’t remember what happened in the last two or three years with other long-term memories having been forgotten. They found you could no longer associate emotions with most of your memories anymore. After the doctors left, you had already fallen back asleep. Your grandmother saw me and stopped me at the door. She knew that I had heard everything, and she insisted that I stop visiting. You hadn’t asked for me, and that based on the doctor’s evaluation, it was unlikely you remembered me at all. I didn’t know what to do. I thought I should have been in there, trying to help you remember, but your grandmother forbade it. And, in the end, she was right.

“You had just gone through so much, a lot of it you didn’t remember. You didn’t need me, someone you would have thought was a stranger, to come in and try to convince you that we were in love. It wouldn’t have brought you back. I wanted you to love me, not because I told you, you did, but because you do. I wanted to give you the chance to discover love again. Whether it was with me or not.

“It killed me to see you walk into my house again, several months after the accident, and reintroduce yourself and everyone pretend as if they didn’t know what a wonderful person you are. That day a couple months ago, when I had seen you… It was like seeing you again for the very first time. Then I was reminded I had lost you, but you were still here, not knowing that you still had me in the palm of your hand.” He softly circles his fingertips on your palm. “Besides,” he smiles ruefully, “what would you have done if I came up to you and said I was your fiancé?”

You hiccup from your tears, “Fiancé?”

Jimin swallows thickly, nodding. “Yes. I had proposed to you that Christmas. We were in the sitting room in front of the tree. We were just sitting there. You were looking at the candles and ornaments on the tree, commenting how pretty they were and that you’d want Christmas to be this beautiful and peaceful in your own house one day. When you said that, it made the ring that I had kept in my pocket for weeks feel heavier, and my heart was racing so fast I thought you would have thought something was wrong. But nothing was wrong. I was with the most beautiful, kind, intelligent woman in the world, and I wanted nothing more than to be in the future she was talking about. So, I got down on one knee and asked you, y/n y/l/n, to marry me—to allow me the honor of cherishing you every single day until our last.”

“And I said, ‘Yes, I will marry you.’” You sob, but it’s happy tears.

“And I kissed you and told you I would never leave your side ever, no matter what came our way. I guess I just hadn’t imagined that, that something would come so quick and with so much loss.”

You looked deep into his eyes, soothingly caressing the side of his face. “I’m here now Jimin. And I promise I’ll never leave you again.” You had forgotten the most beautiful moments in life—your memories of your parents, Hwasa, and Jimin—but you didn’t know that you had. And ever so slowly, Jimin was bringing you back to him.

However, despite your promising words, he was holding back something. He got choked up again, fresh tears shining in his eyes. He let out a shuttering breath, “Y/n, there’s something else about those months leading up to the accident.”

You trembled, anxiety lighting every nerve. “What is it?”

He covered your hand on his face with his and wiped at his eyes with his other hand. It took him a few moments to gather himself to say it, and it came as a shock—

“You were pregnant.”

Your world stilled and began to spin. “I was pregnant…” You repeat it quietly to yourself. Your mind spun into the kaleidoscope of memories again. You remember you hadn’t asked for your napkins at the beginning of the new year. You remember telling your mom about your missed cycles and explaining to her that you and Jimin had already been together before. You hadn’t told Jimin yet because you didn’t want to tell him until you saw a doctor and said it was official. And you and she were going to tell your father about it, but he was so stressed when he got home. That was the Friday of the weekend getaway. You both decided that you would tell him together when you got back home on Sunday you when he was in a better mood. Except that never happened.

“The doctor had said you were 12 weeks along. It made sense. After I proposed to you that night, we made love, but we decided not to use protection that time. I was so excited I didn’t think to ask if you were taking a contraceptive medicine. I assumed you were, so I didn’t think about it. You didn’t even show at all during those 12 weeks. The only way the doctors found out was because you miscarried. The trauma from the accident was too much for your body, so the baby…” Jimin couldn’t say it, breaking down into sobs. It was still too much for him to talk about.

And for you. You began to cry as well. “I’m sorry, Jimin that I couldn’t protect our baby.”

Jimin hushed you immediately, looking deep into your eyes. “This wasn’t your fault, y/n. You have to know that and believe that. I would never blame you for what happened. I’m not upset that you didn’t tell me because you weren’t ready to yet. And that’s okay. I mourn our son or daughter every day, and I still love them as much as when I found out they had existed and as if they were here.”

You cried for the loss of your parents and the pain your grandmother felt of losing her son and daughter-in-law. You cried for your unborn baby. You cried for Jimin, who had to hold in everything he knew and felt so you could figure out who you were again. He could have told you he was your fiancé but didn’t because he wanted you to love him and accept his love without controlling your heart.

“I know we’ll never be the same people before the car crash, but that doesn’t matter. I would go to the ends of the Earth for you, y/n. And if that meant we would have to start over and fall in love all over again, I would do it a million and ten times more. I was reminded of things about you that I had forgotten that I shouldn’t have and the little things in the experiences that we have together that made me love you all the more. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Jimin. Even when I couldn’t remember anything, I was falling in love with you.” He kisses you passionately, quickly muttering about he waited so long to hear you say those words again. Your faces are warm and wet with tears. You each kiss them away on the other’s face until they are gone. “I don’t have enough words to describe how incredibly patient and loving you are with me. You didn’t deserve to go through all of this.”

“Neither did you. We just know now that our love has conquered all. It has transcended tragedy, doubt, heartbreak and stolen memories. You’re mine, and I’m yours; and I’m never letting you go again.” You kiss each other sweetly, the pain of the past melting away with each press of your lips. Neither him nor you were sure how long you stayed perched in his lap just brushing kisses across each other’s lips and whispering promises.

“You know,” you start, brushing his hair from his eyes, “there’s no way I’m letting you leave me tonight to go to your too-far away house. You’re going to go to sleep with me in my bed tonight, and the night after, and the night after, and—”

He interrupts you with a laugh, his eyes squishing into cute crescent moons. “That sounds like a fine idea.”

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

After quickly shoving the picnic basket and blanket into the car, you and Jimin drove to house. It was nearly 9 o’clock at night. You had been gone practically the entire day. You wondered if your grandmother was worried.

Thankfully, when you tiptoe through the house, your hand holding Jimin’s, the only person you encounter is Hwasa, who had been staying with you the past couple days ever since she got in a fight with her parents. She sees your intertwined hands and says, “Finally you two confessed your feelings. I was concerned I was going to lose my bet with Tae. Although, y/n, I would keep the noise level down, your grandmother is sleeping—”

You didn’t even give her the chance to finish before you pull her into a bone-crushing hug. “Thank you, Hwasa. For being the greatest friend ever.” Hwasa returns the hug. She looks over your shoulder at Jimin, who simply winks at her. Even in the dark of the night, you and Jimin appeared radiant. “We have so much to talk about, Hwasa. But let’s do it tomorrow morning over breakfast.”

She beams at you, finally understanding what was going on. “I’ll be up bright and early. You two get some sleep, and I’ll phone Tae in the morning to bring some extra clothes for your guest. Goodnight, you two.” She exits the corridor, her silk kimono floating behind her like an extra shadow.

Once in your room, you and Jimin collapse on your bed. The only sound was the delicate chorus chirped by the crickets out in the garden by your window. You gaze at each other, listening to the other’s breathing, until you both fall asleep.

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

You and Jimin meet your grandmother and Hwasa in the seating room the next morning. Taehyung had stopped by briefly to drop off Jimin’s clothes. He said he gave the excuse to his parents that Jimin was stayed the night at his house after a much-too-fun game of pool. The staff had laid out extra breakfast and tea per your grandmother’s request. There was a lot that needed to be said before life could move forward.

Your grandmother and Hwasa explain the whole point of the plan they had set when it was discovered you had amnesia. It was very similar to why Jimin agreed to go along with it. It was to let you rediscover yourself and grow into a new person that fit the life that you knew. Nothing would have been more miserable than being told who you were and what you had to do. It was difficult getting the community around you to agree to it, but in the end, most felt awful about the terrible ordeal you’d been through. Everyone loved your parents, who were honest and hardworking, so they decided that if pretending to meet you again for the first time was the best way to help you recover it would be so. Thus, began your new journey.

You talk through the difficulties you had. The emptiness and loss of emotion that came with the “gap” memories your brain had created to lessen the trauma. This world hadn’t felt real to you in most aspects until you had more interaction with your best friends and lover. Even though your head had forgotten your memories with them, your heart had known them. And you were so grateful you had Hwasa, Jimin and Taehyung to anchor you back. You can’t say that you desperately wish to turn back the clock to change the events that happened. Firstly, that would be futile and a waste of energy. Second, although your parents have passed on from this world and entered paradise, you know you will see them again someday. You’re happy that your memories came back and you have those to remember them by.

This whole journey has only grown your love and appreciation for every moment and person in your life.

After many hugs and tears with Hwasa and your grandmother, Jimin politely asks if he could have a moment alone with you. Hwasa walks arm-in-arm with her out of the room, beginning to chat away about Paris. Before leaving, Hwasa looks over her shoulder and smiles at you both. You smile back at her, pink coloring your cheeks.

Jimin stands from his chair and holds his hand out to you. You take it, him helping you to your feet. He gazes at you, seeming focused and determined. You grow a little shy, and giggle. “Quite the morning, right? Probably one of the most eventful breakfasts in my life.”

“Yes, I think so too,” he states, but sounding only half-present. He’s engrossed in memorizing the features of your face, and the brightness that is radiating from you after just rediscovering who you were. He thinks that you only get more beautiful with each passing day.

He presses a kiss to your cheek with plush lips, the softness of it drawing a light gasp from you. His lips move closer to your’s, pressing another kiss to your cheek, but firmer this time. His steady hands come up to hold your waist. You tilt your head towards his, your lips brushing his as they come in for a third kiss. You’ll never get used to this. The passion with which Jimin shows you, even with the most delicate of touches. Your hands slide from his shoulders to around his neck, pulling him closer.

When Jimin breaks the kiss, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, holding you as close as he can. You lay your hand against his, fingers gently stroking through his hair in comfort. It occurs to you for a second that he might not believe that you’re really here, that you remember everything about your love for him. “Jimin, I promise I’ll never go far away again. I’ll stay so close by your side you’ll start to think you’ve got a second shadow.” You whisper to him. He chuckles against your neck. You feel him relax against you, his weight growing heavier in your arms.  Then, he’s letting go of you, sinking to the ground.

To get on one knee.

“I know you won’t, y/n. And I promise I won’t be the only one who thinks they have a second shadow.” He smiles at you endearingly.

You laugh at the turn-around of the joke, but you feel hot tears already prickling at your eyes. Happy tears.

“You’ve already heard most of what I’ve wanted to say for so long, so I’ll keep it short and get to what I’ve really wanted to do since you came back into my life. Y/n… Life had thrown us a huge curveball, but we made it out on the other side. Never did I imagine that when I met you again that I would mess up so badly,” he tells you, and you laugh at the memory. “I was just so in love with you, and I didn’t know how to act around you without wanting to convey my love. And then, you called me rude and refused dinner, and even though you were made, you were so beautiful when you were. Of course, that didn’t help me get my thoughts straight because I was so head over heels for you. Then, the next opportunity came to make it right, and I knew I couldn’t miss my shot to be around you again. I’m so glad I didn’t because I know you’re the only person in this entire world that makes me feel the way you do. And, if you’ll allow me again to honor and cherish you for the rest of eternity…”

He reaches into his pocket to pull out a velvet box, not once taking his eyes off of you. Jimin opens the lid to reveal the diamond ring that once made a home on your left hand. Details of his first proposal to you rush in for a moment. Between that memory and the present, Jimin still looks very nervous, albeit in an endearing way, but wears all of his love for you on his sleeve.

“Will you marry me, y/n?” The tears finally escape his eyes as he asks you for the second time, one of the most beautiful questions in life.

“Yes, Jimin. Always.” You sink to your knees in front of him, hands reaching to pull Jimin in for a passionate kiss. He wraps you against him tightly, dropping the velvet box to the floor. You both kiss for what seems like forever between the two of you until you hear a very Hwasa-like cheer from outside the door. You and Jimin, pull away laughing.

He takes the ring out of the box and slips it on your engagement finger. He marvels at it, “You make this ring ten times more radiant,” he grins cutely, earning another laugh from you. “I’m serious! When I was picking one out, I was concerned that I’d never find one that matched your bright spirit, and then I realized that it was impossible. No diamond or gem will ever shine brighter than you.” He lovingly pinches your cheek.

You pinch his in return. “You’re so cheesy. I love it,” you smile at him and kiss him again. “Let’s get married next week. I don’t want to wait too long. I think we’ve done enough waiting.”

“I couldn’t agree more. I’ve already got the best place in mind for our honeymoon.”

“Really? Where’s that?”

He smiles knowingly.

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

You are married on the following Tuesday, only five days after Jimin’s proposal. The news of your marriage had hit the papers the next day, thanks to the Parks who were finally happy to see him finally getting married. Between Mrs. Park and your grandmother, everything from flowers to food and cake to wedding favors was planned to perfection. Hwasa called in every favor from the best dress designers in the city to create the most beautiful gown imaginable. It was very necessary, she explained when you had said you only needed a simple gown. And she was right. Because when you walked out of the church on Jimin’s arm on that bright sunny day in June, you looked like royalty in the photos. Many citizens in the city were excited to finally see a big wedding happen again. They cheered and tossed flower petals when you and Jimin descended the church steps to head to the car for reception.

The next morning, you and Jimin left home together when the sun rose for your honeymoon. You briefly rode to the airport, where you and Jimin boarded a small plane. You asked him repeatedly where he was taking you, but he would simply grin and kiss your hand. He was probably much more excited than you, if that was even possible. You felt as if you’d been on a high for the past week since the proposal. Life couldn’t have been any better.

But, of course, it got even better.

When Jimin said you both had finally arrived, you are pleasantly surprised.

Santa Bella Island.

You’d heard about it before from friends and family. Crystal clear, blue waters with warm, white sand speckled with seashells. Pleasant summer weather that was a tad hot during the peak of the day but left a gentle breeze by the time the sun fell in a cascade of pinks, oranges, and purples. The sunrises were even better.

You stood against the threshold of your private villa, drinking in the morning sun as it started to peek from the ocean’s horizon. You sipped quietly on a cup of tea, letting the sun’s early rays warm your skin. Jimin was still sleeping on the bed, body wrapped around the sheets, which were sufficiently wrinkled from last night’s late activities. You giggled to yourself, fingering the silk of your robe.

It was so perfectly peaceful here. Birds chirped happily as they began their morning songs. The waves lapped softly on the sand. The palm trees swayed with ease. Jimin was snoring softly on the bed, his cheek squished against the pillow and lips parted. You couldn’t believe that you get a whole month of this with your husband.

Husband. You smile to yourself. That will never get old. It brings warmth to your cheeks every time you think about it. You murmur the word to yourself, testing out how it rolls off your tongue. It was so strange to say, yet it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your husband must have heard you. Caught up in the sunrise, you’d only heard soft footfalls against the wood floor that signaled Jimin’s wakefulness. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your back to rest against his bare chest. His head rests on your shoulder, tilted to nuzzle against the side of your neck. “Good morning, my lovely wife,” and he places small kisses along there.

“Good morning, my darling husband. Did you sleep well?” Your free hand comes up to stroke his hair.

“I did,” he murmurs against your hair. He reaches over your shoulder to take the cup from you and set it on the table. He wraps both arms around your waist from behind you, fingers massaging your skin through the silk of the robe. “Although, I was hoping I would get the chance to wake you up in a very husband-like kind of way,” he says coyly. You giggle, biting your lip. You hold your left hand closer to your face.

The two white diamond rings—for your engagement and wedding—glitter perfectly in the morning sun. You marvel at the striking beauty of them.

“My forever is with you y/n.” Your husband whispers in your ear.

“You’re my forever Jimin.”

[toga-himiko-fan69]

Since u prob see a lot of toga art and edits, here's a silly little question :)) what are your pet peeves when ppl draw/edit toga? And what makes u immediately love the thing? (I sound like a journalist I'm sorry skkskskd I'm just curious)

I dont know if I have any particular things that bother me. I guess if they change her so much that she doesnt still feel like Toga that isn't great, but people dont do that often.

Probably the thing that I'm most excited to see is Toga being violent, like when she's all covered in blood and holding a knife. Any kind of weapon is equally good though, and the more gore she is responsible for the better! I love it when art makes her look scary! It's also very fun to see her dressed up in an outfit I've never seen her in before. Toga looks great in almost any kind of style, so when an artist does something creative with her fashion style it tends to go well. There can never be enough goth, punk, pastel, or decora Togas!

[luckymenheraboy]

✧༺♥༻∞Welcome! disclaimers and warnings ✧༺♥༻∞

✧༺♥༻∞good evening, morning, noon, or night! ✧༺♥༻∞

My name is Allen or Sovi/Sovicat, and this is my menhera, yami kawaii,Yandere, medicore, pink, pastel goth, and candy gore blog! I also often use this blog to vent-- THIS IS VERY MUCH A PERSONAL BLOG, and I don't encourage following all that much. I VENT HERE!

I Identify as apart of the yandere community, specifically under the shuuchaku-gata and ison-gata subtypes. Although I may reblog ANIME yandere content, this is only as an aesthetic- and I in no way romanticize being a yandere. Anime and real life yandere are very different from each other, and shouldn’t be confused for each other.

I use Yami kawaii, Yandere, and the other somewhat related themes as a coping mechanism for my mental illnesses, ranging from depression to anxiety to ADHD, BPD and for my general trauma. The themes shown on this blog are what I use to cope with the awful thoughts that come into my mind, expressing myself in a way that’s more healthy and keeps my hands and sometimes mind busy. It’s also a way for me to feel a bit empowered or artistic in my deeply dark problems and mindset. I in no way romanticize or fetishize the themes of yamikawaii or any of the other aesthetics (and for this, my blog is SFW only and always will be at least in the sexual sense.)

My blog also includes a lot of positivity or recovery posts, since this is technically my coping and recovery blog for my relationship trauma and GID. I highly encourage positive recovery messages and such, and you will find plenty of it on this blog.

With that being said, you’ll find the following things ALSO reblogged here, so please be warned! it may be a coping mechanism and a way of expressing myself for me, but it can be triggering to others.

✧༺♥༻∞ CWs for this blog include!✧༺♥༻∞

Themes of death or general grieving

✧༺♥༻∞

Potentially concerning text, discussing obsession and other yandere themes (That may include discussion of violence against ones self or others.)

✧༺♥༻∞

DRAWN depictions and discussion of self harm or suicide/suicidal tendencies (most especially the appearances of nooses, guns, scars, and so on)

✧༺♥༻∞

discussion or vent art depicting abusive relationships (most especially mentally)

✧༺♥༻∞

Medical themes, depictions of hospital equipment and medication and needles

✧༺♥༻∞

Candy gore (and ONLY candy gore. although it is still in and of itself gore, just bright and colourful and sometimes sparkly. because of my persona representation, this can most definitely include eye trauma, as he (or technically I) is missing the right eye.) this blog does not post the usual kind of traumatic dark gore, because I cannot handle it. there is only candy or pastel gore here.

✧༺♥༻∞

depiction of potentially frightening injuries or patch jobs, including bloody bandages and cotton wads, eyepatches, stitched up scar tissue, stitches, and large holes or empty eye sockets)

✧༺♥༻∞

depictions and discussions of gender dysphoria which can sometimes involve nudity.

✧༺♥༻∞

[sir-severance]

connective tissue - mlandersen0

this is my piece for the fantastic Slenderverse Zine (2019). this was a pleasure to write, and i am honoured to have been a part of such a wonderful project. you can check out the zine here, and read this fic on AO3 here. 

a quick disclaimer - i hope it's quite clear that i do not support the views which the character Shaun Andersen expresses in this fic. this is an exploration into mental health stigma, the entitlement of neurotypicality and the damage which can come about from both sides of any relationship within which someone is suffering because of mental illness. i am not interested in any discourse. please take this fic for what it is, and if you disagree, feel free to write your own. likewise, please heed the content warnings.

thanks, and i hope you enjoy <3

cws: mental health, mental illness, ableism, sickness, anxiety, depression, blood, twins, abuse, therapy, gore, terror, horror

Shaun’s parents often address him in the same breath as talking about Michael, as if the two are immutably connected, their meaning solely defined by virtue of each not being the other. But the parental Andersens could not always retain this facade of equality in front of their youngest child. No, Shaun found the documents when he was ten, long after Michael’s departure.

At the time, the words he found staggered him with polysyllabic ambiguity:

Monochorionic.

Parasitic.

Anemic.

But one phrase unfurled its roots and lodged itself into the squishy whorls of his brain.

The night of the discovery, little Shaun Andersen ran screaming into his parents’ bedroom, tears and terror marring his face the way fresh understanding of horror always does. When his mother hushed Shaun, held him close and begged him to explain what was wrong, the boy’s answer made the colour flood from her face.

All too soon, Shaun found himself confronted with yet more walls: walls so staggeringly bleached that, to Shaun, the paint served not as a reminder of cleanliness, but of spores and fungi and bacteria, swelling into turgid contaminants ready to burrow through his skin and pick his bones clean.

“Twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome,” the therapist reads from her notes. She smiles at Shaun, with too many teeth. “Where did we hear such big words, hm?”

Shaun keeps quiet. In the time since Michael left, the value of silence impressed its qualities upon him. The art of disquiet is something everyone knows about, but few possess the gall to produce. Shaun maintains fixed eye contact with the therapist, while revelling in the security offered by his glasses. There’s a plastic quality to her dimples: an artificial construction of pleasantry that only a child could see through.

She doesn’t care about you.

Shaun believes there’s relief for both of them when the light goes out of her eyes.

“It’s okay, Shaun,” the therapist says. Her voice quavers noticeably. “I think you’re a very smart boy. You’d like me to tell you the truth, wouldn’t you?”

I think you want to tell me the truth and not have to deal with me, Shaun thinks. The therapist continues on regardless:

“Sometimes, when people have babies, things can go wrong. The baby might come out sick, or a bit different.”

The therapist watches him for a response. Shaun tries his best not to blink. Her mouth twitches.

“When a mom has a baby inside, the baby gets their food from an organ called the placenta. It’s kind of like a phone charger — it gets plugged in to the wall of the mommy’s tummy, and when she eats, nutrients from the food are transferred to the baby. These nutrients are transferred by blood. Do you understand?”

You’re talking to me like I’m an idiot. This doesn’t feel professional at all, is what Shaun  Andersen understands. How old does she think I am?

“With twins, sometimes they share one placenta, instead of having one each. And sometimes, blood gets passed between the twins.” Her face creases, like she’s recalling something unpleasant. “This can mean that one twin doesn’t get enough blood — they’re called the ‘donor’ twin — and the other gets too much blood, making them the ‘recipient’ twin.”

The therapist actually looks away before going on, and Shaun is sure it has more to do with practiced decency than genuine upset.

“Michael received the blood your other brother didn’t get.”

It sounds like she’s reading from a script. Maybe she prepared this. Wanted to scare me and  take me off guard so she can get into my head. I’m not going to say a damn thing. Fuck her.

“I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did, Shaun.” The therapist’s mouth twists in a grim approximation of sympathy. “But it’s just a fact of life.”

A fact of life that Michael devoured his twin in the womb.

It’s only now that he’s in some lightless attic, face-down on the floor with his skin prickled against the cold, that this wash of memories coats Shaun with their accusatory foam. There’s a peculiar, pickling scent prodding at his gag reflex; this room reeks of mold and misery. It’s as if the air itself is frothing from an unseen mouth. For Shaun, this triggers a memory encased in nausea. A taste identical to the sour pills the therapist gave him that day spills onto his palate: anti-anxiety medication.

Shaun vomited the first batch he took, so he ceased taking them all together. Instead, he replaced each pill in his medication box with chalky, pastel candy, and made a big show of swallowing one in the morning and one in the evening.

He’s just like Michael, really. As long as there are witnesses, he’ll put on a show.

Splinters impale the meat of Shaun’s mouth, and sawdust cakes his tongue. He hacks and coughs, and writhes on the floor. His knees manage to find purchase in the gloom, but his muscles tremble and quiver with the effort of kneeling. He’s been bashed and bruised, dragged carelessly and tossed aside like a used rag. Tenderised meat before the slaughter.

And Michael’s going to be the same.

Shaun’s breath pulses out in panicked bursts. He can just about see his exhalations curling away in the freezing cold. No, he can’t be this weak — he must shove it back, quash the feeling. He’s worth more than this. If he goes back on the things he said to Michael now — horrible, hateful things — then he’ll never be able to live with himself.

So Shaun breathes steadily, working his way around the anxiety attack the way his therapist never showed him. As his heart rate steadies and adrenaline drops, all that energy and fear circumvents his guts, and heads a frontal assault on his brain. This leads to a conclusion burning through his mind with perfect clarity

This is all Michael’s fault.

Shaun never knew the name for whatever disease ravaged his brother’s mind. Not that he ever asked. The less he knew about Michael’s... abnormalities, the better. He remembers phrasing it that way to his parents, when he finally said no to another trip to see the remains of their estranged son.

Each week flowed the same way: stilted conversation between siblings, and pained platitudes from their parents. All meaningless little words of encouragement deliberately skipping over the elephant in the room — or, rather, the room containing the elephant, with its queasy walls and claustrophobic bars on the windows. No one in there ever used words like crazy or sick — in fact, they gave you a sheet of words to refrain from using when in the presence of the patients. All the relatives and guests of the inmates were expected to behave in this fashion.

This nauseated Shaun. He knew his brother was still in there. And he knew better than anyone how Michael liked to play his little games.

Regardless, Shaun tried his best to make Michael talk, and find something recognisable in the muddy depths of his eyes. But every visit, the dark deepened. No matter how many toys he tried to share, no matter how many stories he’d try to tell, and no matter how many times he affirmed to Michael that they were best friends and one day he’d get out of the hospital so they could play again... he stayed the same.

The final straw comes one dismal, rainy Friday afternoon. Shaun and his dad sit next to each other, opposite Michael with a table acting as barrier between them, saying nothing.

An aide took them both aside before they entered the main facility, and explained that Michael is being trialed on another type of medication. The visit is going as miserably as the weather foretold.

Michael looks barely human. Something is altered in the familiar shape of his body, like a bent coat hanger hastily reformed into an approximation of its original structure. The older Andersen brother slumps back in his chair, his skin several shades whiter than the wall behind him. His mouth is cracked with dehydration, and his hair is tangled with sleeplessness and grease. But worst of all are his eyes. They sit listless and devoid of comprehension, with blank pupils gazing aimlessly at his family, through them, and beyond them. A candle snuffed out before shrinkage of the wick.

Shaun remembers the emptiness of his therapist’s eyes. The glee in outwitting her. The pleasure of looking into those sad, brown depths.

There is no joy in peering into Michael’s skull.

Without warning, Shaun’s temper seizes him with all the ferocity a young boy’s hormones could. He slams his clenched fist down on the table, rattling metal. All conversation in the room ceases, a veil of corpselike silence.

Michael, however, doesn’t react. He doesn’t even acknowledge the sound.

The words jump from Shaun’s mouth like oil from a sizzling pan, murderous in their venom.

“You’re such a freak.”

Before the aides can reach him, Shaun’s dad grabs him by the shoulder and yanks him out of the room, into the hallway. Shaun can tell he’s furious, but there’s so much anger pumping through his blood that he just doesn’t care. He needs to do something, anything, to puncture the film over Michael’s eyes. Anything to make him so much as flinch.

But Michael remains unaffected.

As expected, the facility removes them both immediately, and Shaun is given a one-month visitation ban. This doesn’t bother Shaun in the slightest — in fact, he feels victorious, and righteous in his fury. There’s no way he’s coming back. Not this time. Michael squandered his last chance.

Even so, he’ll never forget his last view of that room, before his father pulls him away.

Tears spilling freely down Michael’s stony face.

From then on, the pre-trip talk with his parents is a minefield to navigate. They try so hard to make everything light and cheery, to speak about Michael like he’s still a part of their family, but Shaun overhears them speaking about their visits when they think he’s not listening. Now, more often than not, Michael’s arms are bound throughout their visits. Other times, they’re only able to converse with their son from behind a pane of tough glass.

Sometimes, they came home early.

‘Oh, Mikey’s feeling a touch under the weather today,’ their mother chirps. ‘But he says he misses you lots and lots!’

Her happy tone belies the true quality of their visit. It doesn’t matter. Shaun never asks for further details. Eventually, Shaun is old enough that his moods are ascribed to the terrors of puberty, and he is left to his own devices.

In retrospect, the seven years between Shaun’s Michael-detox and their first meeting as adults seems superfluous. The difference the years wrought upon Michael shocked Shaun.

Where once there existed a timid, chubby little kid with the brightest of smiles, now stood a gangly, hollow-looking man, with eyes like pits of coal. Though the corners of Michael’s mouth upturn upon seeing him, Shaun doesn’t register any warmth.

Somehow, this infuriates Shaun more than his brother’s tears ever could. He’d always assumed that even though his brother is older, Michael would remain the same size — adulthood somehow being barred for the mentally ill. Resentment boils away in Shaun’s stomach seeing how much taller his brother is, how clean-cut his features are. But this isn’t the thing which incenses Shaun the most.

It’s that, in those eyes, those chasmic clefts gouged out in his pale flesh, Shaun saw quiet patience.

Intelligence.

Forgiveness.

Just the mere hint of any kind of pity from his brother makes Shaun’s thoughts curdle with rage. How dare he be okay? He’s supposed to be sick! Isn’t that the whole reason why he got  locked up in the first place?

Shaun knows these are irrational and angry thoughts, but would rather cut out his own tongue than internalise them as ‘unfair’. He slaved away the better part of his life playing second fiddle to his parents’ worry and concern, always visiting Michael, paying more attention to Michael... all while their favourite son plays the part of a theatre dummy.

So Shaun makes the decision there and then. He is under no obligation to take care of this man forced upon him by blood — but he will. He will be the most selfless, compassionate human being his brother has ever seen.

Then they’ll see who has the right to forgive.

The walls of the attic Shaun can’t see feel like they’re closing in on his aching body, dragging themselves closer with hidden, noiseless claws. If you hadn’t lied about seeing the  Tall Man, he wouldn’t be as sick as he is, his thoughts hiss, and he thinks that the walls are growing mouths and speaking to him, indicting him, readying to pluck his head from his shoulders and smack it on a pike.

Yet, as his fear increases, tiny increments of light make themselves known in Shaun’s vision. Eventually, he’s able to zero in on a shape just out of each — something large and mostly crimson, with a long curved blade extending from its middle. Sickly, distended panic courses through Shaun like a white-hot fever when he recognises the shape.

It’s a fucking chainsaw.

The enormity of the situation crashes into his nervous system. He’s being laid out, prepped and ready for consumption. Oh God, he drugged me to tie me down and cut me open, and then he’s gonna go find Michael and do the same thing-

Keep it together! Express some reticence, for fuck’s sake. You’re not going to break down. You’re not going to give in. Michael’s the one who hurt you, kept hurting you, all this time. Without him, you would have a real family. A home. A future. Not biting the dust spilled on some dank  basement.

The attic betrays nothing but the acrid stench of death. People have died here. People have been tied up and carved open like autopsy specimens, all for the gain of their sadistic owner. Shaun, despite his terror, continues to squint at the weapon.

You’re about to bite the dust anyway...

When Shaun sees the blood staining the steel, he screams.

Another flashbulb memory comes searing into his head: his brother’s wafer-thin form keeling over in the snow. That chokehold of panic throws Shaun into immediate action, forcing him to run and cradle the body of his brother. He’s so desperate and terrified, not knowing if this is really Michael, what this body could be capable of...

And yet Shaun grabs hold anyway, all grudges suddenly forgotten, and oh fuck it must be Patrick, because his nose is bleeding and his limbs are as heavy and wet as the white beneath their boots. Shaun hauls him the best he can, inwardly cursing his lack of strength, and as he drags Patrick over to the frozen table he can only pray his mental fortitude is made of stronger stuff.

“I came here to apologise.”

“Really.”

The sarcasm pours out of Shaun without a second thought, so heated it almost scorches the icy air. But there’s no way he could ever dam this wave of fury.

‘There’s still a lot you don’t know...’

It takes everything Shaun has to not to let his poker face flicker, but the rage beneath makes him want to seize Patrick by his lapels and bash him against a wall. How dare he. This freakshow of a bodysnatcher can’t even keep his brother’s body alive and well long enough to stand up while having a conversation, and yet has the nerve to patronise him?

Shaun hears, ‘I’m sorry for Stormy,’ as if from the other end of a tunnel. All that’s brewing in his head is the conundrum sitting in front of him. Two personalities, one body. They’re interchangeable now, one and the same. Twice the twin, half the skeleton. Michael, playing patient zero to a contagion which wrecks and wrings until bloodied flesh is all that’s left behind. Patrick, a disease forged in the womb and soaked into the being of a boy who could have been something different.

Should have been.

Never will be.

No one could reconcile the two but Shaun.

So it must be a sickness, an illness, a disease. And everything bad that ever comes from sweet Michael’s mouth is a result of his condition.

If that’s the case, is it so awful to want to be as far away from them — from him — as possible,  whoever — and whatever — he is?

Patrick is only sharing the broken-down condo which remains of his brother’s body.

Taking back his stolen property.

And where does that leave Shaun?

As the unspoken martyr, of course.

There’s only so much room in my head for bullshit, Shaun seethes. I’m not going to live my  life cleaning up after him — not for Michael or Patrick.

And that’s it - that’s the one thing that people never let him have. The realisation which hits upon their return to the motel, where Michael cowers beneath the words spat from Shaun’s molten mouth. He always possessed a thought process blessed by rapidity, but a tongue cursed to be silver. Shaun is nothing but a host to a panoply of pain as essential to him as his own veins.

As essential as the blood flowing between Michael, and the brother he never met.

When Shaun storms out into the cold, determined to be somewhere, anywhere that puts great distance between him and the entity Michael/Patrick Andersen, he feels the full force of the Virus, nesting, breeding, multiplying beneath his skin. There’s no room for guilt and worry and pain — just the cure.

To never be near his brother again.

When Shaun saw Patrick’s nose bleeding, he had to swallow back bile. He knew in an instant that their brother never left, not really. Once, connective tissue held the bonds of their brotherhood fast. The transfusion continues. The real question is — who is the donor, and who is the recipient?

Even his own family emphasised the importance of their blood-bond, unable to comprehend Shaun’s behaviour.

“He’s your brother, Shaun, and he needs your help,” his mom tells him one night, barely holding back the tears. “I know he can be difficult to deal with, but this isn’t his fault. He didn’t ask to be sick.”

And Patrick didn’t ask to die, Shaun wants to scream. No one blames Michael for  cannibalism, do they?

Now he’s facedown in the wood, sawdust clinging to the hot streaks his tears leave behind, and that mortifying image which plagues his nightmares comes looming large from the recesses of his mind; two twin boys, floating without care in a shared amniotic sac, their umbilical cords respectively attached to the same fleshy hunk in lieu of a beating heart.

Shaun feels like his foetal never-brother. Severed. Shrink-wrapped in his own sac, the very thing keeping him alive. And then eventually swallowed whole.

It’s time for Shaun to cut the cord for good.

Why couldn’t you just be normal? The tears start for real now, fat and salty and rolling down Shaun’s face in a tempest. His internal monologue is louder now, drowning out the background noise of his softer (yet much more insidious) conscience.

Stormy would still be here if you weren’t so fucked up... I could have had a normal life if it  weren’t for you...

There’s no time left for forgiveness. Because of Michael... Patrick... because Shaun willingly exposed himself to this pathogen again and again, he is going to die here, in this glacial attic, with no one around to know or care.

But, as the lights are turned off, and a dark, unfamiliar laughter fills his every sense, a set of horrid thoughts riot in the screeching crowd of his brain; the thoughts that could never quite be buried.

Michael didn’t know what he was doing... Michael didn’t know what he consumed…

Shaun once made the mistake of asking his mom what his other brother was going to be called.

No-one ever asks to be infected.

Shaun’s eyes shut against the darkness for the last time.

“I always liked the name Patrick.”