#so not Netflix because this isn’t a binge model

[meret118]

But what’s happened now is that this has happened so often with so many shows, that Netflix has created a self-fulfilling loop with many series that probably could have gone on to become valuable catalogue additions otherwise.

The idea is that since you know that Netflix cancels so many shows after one or two seasons, ending them on cliffhangers and leaving their storylines unfinished, it’s almost not worth investing in a show until it’s already ended, and you know it’s going to have a coherent ending and finished arc.

So you hold off watching new shows, even ones you might otherwise be interested in, because you’re afraid Netflix will cancel them. Enough people do this and surprise, viewership is low! And the show ends up cancelled. The loop is closed, and reinforced, because now there’s yet another example cited, causing even more people to be cautious the next time around. And now we’ve reached a point where unless a series is some sort of record-breaking fluke megahit (Wednesday) or established super franchise (Stranger Things), a second or third season feels like not even a coinflip, but more like 10-20% shot, at best.

Netflix’s cancelation policies have informed its viewers that if you want a show you like renewed, you need to watch it immediately, you need to tell all your friends to watch it immediately, and you need to finish all episodes in a short period of time. Anything less than that will result in likely cancelation, with the problem being, of course, that this runs contrary to the entire promise of a streaming service like Netflix in the first place. The core concept of “on demand” streaming was that ability to watch what you wanted, when you wanted to. But now binging a series in its opening weekend isn’t just an option to have, it feels almost mandatory, lest the negative data reflect poorly on a show you might otherwise like.

Something has broken with this model. It’s now created a system where creators should be afraid to make a series that dares to end on a cliffhanger or save anything for future seasons, lest their story forever be left unfinished. And viewers are afraid to commit to any show that isn’t a completely aired package lest they spend 10-30 hours on something that ends up unresolved, which has happened dozens and dozens of times, creating a vast “show graveyard” within Netflix, full of landmines viewers are going to be discovering for years.

More at the link.

------

I've wondered if it's driving creators to their competitors too.

[lizardsfromspace]

What's the worst thing about fandom in the last 20 years, and what's the worst thing about fandom that's always been true of it?

The worst thing about fandom in the last 20 years has been the incentivizing of fandom-as-conflict: not merely as a field in broader culture wars but as the field for endless intra-group battles.

This manifests in many ways: as seven hour videos complaining about The Last Jedi, as Twitter backlash campaigns, but also as stans defending their faves from any and all criticism real or imagined, as the endless boom-and-backlash cycle to any fandom meme or joke you see on Reddit, and as the drive for people to look for evidence other people discussing a thing they like are hysterical illiterate dolts, before anything else.

Or, in other words: a lot of fandoms are full of assholes these days, whose main interaction with fandom is using it as a reason to be an asshole, and to defend being an asshole. The actual “fandom” part of fandom no longer really exists for them. The discourse more or less is their fandom; someone whose main fandom activity is sharing videos about how Steven Universe is a fascist (?) isn’t in the Steven Universe fandom, they’re in the videos about how Steven Universe is a fascist (?) fandom. I mean, the chief fandom for many people is their side in the fandom war. What type of fanfic you write is secondary to what your affiliations are vis-a-vis battles over fanfiction

(One trend I've noticed is people who aren't at the stage where they only talk about what they hate and not what they love, but are at the stage where they can only talk about what they love in relation to what they hate. "I love this movie...and it proves this other movie is bullshit made by a hack". No ability to say just "I love this movie", period, end of sentence. This is how like two-thirds of Film Twitter talks about film, the remainder are all the grindhouse people going "man you've GOT to see Wrong Turn 5")

Another one, that I think is related, is that fandom’s become...more transitory, maybe? There’s Big Fandoms that are inescapable and then everything else feels like it’s here for a weekend and then it’s gone. And we’ve always had fandoms that endure and fandoms that vanish quickly, when the show runs short or turns out to be bad/boring, but we did use to have a lot of enduring if small fandoms for Okay shows most people hadn’t heard of and now you don’t really. Or they burn themselves out fast.

So we’ve reached this stage where fandoms are either so big they have seven hour long discourse videos, or they’re a smattering of fanart over the course of two weeks last August. But that isn’t really the fault of fans so much as modern media release schedules.

A lot of fandom activities of old are just...impossible now, with many shows? The slow build of speculation and fan works and in-jokes and theorizing and analysis simply can’t exist in a world where the premiere comes out the same day as the finale, and you can’t talk about the finale because you have no way of knowing if the person you’re talking to binged it all in one weekend or is still on episode four. That was the kind of thing that sustained the fandom of something that wasn’t a big hit, or even something that was. My fave fandom experience ever was watching the online Lost fandom wildly theorizing for all six years of Lost, and we’d never get “and what if the Smoke Monster is a dinosaur but only the head?” under a Netflix release model. Now at a base level, we either have shows nobody can discuss because nobody’s sure who’s seen or what, or shows where everyone just discusses the finale right away, and where you get One Week of Show and then a massive hiatus, which either kills all momentum or...drives fandom in the direction of hyper-analyzing everything and fighting because, well, what else is there to do? And that plus the outrage cycles of social media plus the fact that “man who yells at Star Wars” is now a viable career choice result in, well. *gestures upwards* All that

(Really, shout out to Cartoon Network for engineering the Steven Universe fandom to Be Like That through their inscrutable strategy of dropping episodes during one random week every five months or whatever)

As for something that's always been with it...cliques and a certain fannish elitism, like, that sees engaging with media in a fandom sense as more creative or analytical or intelligent than your average person. You see it now in the form of, like, people holding up fanfic above published fiction as more representative or authentic (I’ve seen more than one post on here strongly implying queer rep doesn’t exist in mainstream non-fic storytelling???), or going “well, we think about shows, unlike those normies watching sports”. But that was probably way more pronounced a thing in the past, in the 40-50s sci-fi fans were calling non-fans "mundanes" and calling themselves "slans" as an in-group signifier (a reference to a book with superintelligent psychic mutants known as slans). Like at the very least we should be happy no one’s calling non-fans “muggles” anymore. In the evolution from “mundane” to “muggle” to “normie” normie’s probably the least bad one

[rthidden]

o1 More Thing: AI Changes the Game

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That translates to smarter decisions, faster results, and maybe even a little extra downtime to binge your favorite series on Netflix.

The big picture

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According to a well-placed source, o1 isn't just another large language model (we see you, HAL); it's a specialized powerhouse solving niche challenges with the finesse of a brainy sidekick.

As Sam Altman, the big cheese at OpenAI once said, “AI is no longer about building a single, general-purpose system." Translation: o1 knows what it's good at, and it's out to do it brilliantly.

By the numbers

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Yes, but

Hold onto your hats; you won't be switching your daily chats to o1 just yet. It’s not intended for text or translations.

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It's about using the right tool for the job, and knowing when to wield this one could be the key to unlocking its potential.

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So, when will O1 make its cameo in your business?

Get ready to embrace the chaos, stay ahead in the tech game, and look out for it in my next course offering.

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[gleefullypolin]

I am with you all the way with weekly episodes. It would keep the conversation going and it gives you something to look forward to. When the GBBO was on weekly last year, it was definitely a lovely treat to start my weekend. The binge model is bad overall but pleasing in the moment.

That being said, knowing we're getting 4 at once has made me a bit feral and they can't take it away from me now.😄

I did not know about the big family thing in episode 5! Now I can see where people are saying engagement in ep 5. That makes sense if they're following the book at all in a loose timeline. Oh no, your theories seem very flexible and not based in 2 years of constant headcanon like I've seen other people double down on. I think fanon is great and we should all partake but I've seen so many people get their hearts and dreams set on something that has more place in fic than in the content itself.

I think it's important that he finds out about LW before an engagement but I don't necessarily agree with the popular idea of her turning him down first. It's possible, sure, I can see it but I don't think it's needed the way some people talk about it, sometimes it's almost like a punishment to him and I don't think he needs to be punished by Penelope. Seems like he will spend the majority of part 1 punishing himself.

I am dying to know what LOWK says to her to make her make that face tbh. I think he's going to do wonderful things for her confidence and self-esteem and it will move her but it still won't be right and she's going to know that. When Pen, in the books, thinks about how she would have married someone nice and kind to her if they had offered because she knew Colin wasn't for her, it was so heartbreaking. But to see the real life dilemma of that coming to life onscreen--for her because he does seem nice and kind and for Colin because he works himself up with jealousy and fear at the thought of that happening, I think it could be a very satisfying story to tell.

If he catches her running off to do some sort of LW business over the Queen, it will be wild for sure. A lot could happen in that carriage I agree! They could fight/confess/get spicy and then leave us hanging. They're going to leave us hanging either way, we know, but it's in the way they do that tells us how we'll die for a month, ha.

I am ambivalent on the heir plot and I'm sure I'll side eye a large portion of it but still, if Portia does anything well, it's rising up out of a situation that would destroy most others. Ohhh the LW of it all, I don't know if they'll stop her, LW is pretty important to Benedict's story isn't she? My first thought is she will either keep going with help (where did I see someone say something about them possibly buying their own printing press? I don't think I just made that up but also I can't remember the source, ha) or they'll hand it off to someone else. Both seem just as likely as the other to me right now.

The way NC describes it makes me think I'm going to suffer some sort of way and have to take a lap around my house before continuing some scenes, hahah. If it's as romantic as they say it is, it's going to take a minute to get through it. Reminds me of the time I read a first kiss written so well I left the room before coming back to finish reading the chapter.😩

I really have no doubts it's going to be the best season so far.

I have to agree, while I prefer getting a weekly dose of lovely, if they took away my four episodes, I would quite literally hunt them down at this point I am owed my episodes and I will take them all immediately upon their availability. I’ve already blocked my calendar at work as I will be busy watching as soon as I wake up! No time to dilly dally with meetings!

But apparently it was Netflix that chose to at least break it up into 2 parts. So sounds like they realized that maybe dumping the whole thing at once isn’t a good model either.

"We didn't initially plan for there to be a break in the middle. Netflix approached us about splitting the season in two. It's something I think they're trying out across their platform, and it worked out perfectly, actually,"

Jess Brownell was the one who mentioned the season 5 snippet.

I could see there still being ups and downs honestly. Because yes there could be an engagement in 5. We could have LW confession in 4, he proposes just like the books, and she accepts. So, then we have engagement, but Pen still thinks its only because he “ruined” her in the carriage and not out of love. Hence LN always mentioning that it takes them a long time to get on the same page this season. Because then they are together but not together still in 5. He’s only seen the first 6 episodes also and I know that the breaking of furniture must happen post 6 because he isn’t sure if that little mishap made it into the final cut or not so it must be in 7 or 8 which must be post “I love you” relations.

I do want him to find out about LW before engagement. I don’t want that to be a secret looming over their heads. I want it to all be out in the open when he proposes because he accepts it. He doesn’t have to like it, but he is accepting her. But I 100000000% agree with you, He will be spending 4 full episodes punishing himself to the core already, he does not need to be punished by him refusing him. I disagree with that. I think he is doing more than enough to make up for his careless words to her last season, he has proven that he truly cares for her, there is no need to punish him. She already has shown apparently, she regrets her hasty words in LW lashing out about him, however I still feel like she is not being honest about her feelings about him either.

I read that NC said something I really liked too about how she felt about him saying that last season too and how her immature love for him wasn’t really love either because she hasn’t show him her true self.

Getting giddy just speculating on all of this! I’m assuming 7 & 8 are dealing with the whole LW of it all and possibly blackmail with Cressida or someone else. Still curious if Eloise rubs off on her at all to allow her to play nice or if she will just truly be a nasty bitch and go after Pen. Not sure if redemption is in the cards or not there. But yes we are going to be left hanging and begging for more. Unfortunately, it will be for more than a week but we will have plenty of time to sit and speculate like this again and I guess I will look forward to that.

I have a friend who loves Benedict and is really looking forward to his plot and loved his book, I think I will need to read it to see how much LW plays into it to understand how that would work now that his story is so out of order. I honestly know nothing at all about the rest of the stories. I only recently realized who Sir Philip was and how that played into the whole Colin/Marina story LOL I really was new to all of this. Hahaha!

I guess it would matter for the heir if it kept them in the story for season 4. Then I might care. Otherwise, I am meh about it. Unless it makes mama more kind or her sisters less ick. But it would be nice to see them have their own printing press and working together. I could buy into that.

NC does seem to make us want to suffer, she mentioned a camera man crying…and I said well I have no chance then. I do think I may need to take a pause and my husband will roll his eyes and ask why I am taking so many bathroom breaks during the show.

[weightlosesworld]

Weight Loss To Lose 2 Inches

Losing 2 Inches: A Practical Guide to Weight Loss

Introduction

In a world where waistlines expand faster than our Wi-Fi connections, the quest for weight loss remains a perennial pursuit. Buckle up, my fellow seekers of svelteness, because we’re about to embark on a journey that’s as straightforward as a well-ironed shirt.

1. The Two-Inch Conundrum

You’re standing in front of the mirror, scrutinizing your reflection. Those jeans you bought during the Jurassic era now resemble a boa constrictor’s grip. Fear not! We’re not summoning the spirit of a Spartan warrior here. Our goal is simple: lose 2 inches. Not 20, not 200—just a modest pair of inches. Let’s break it down.

➔ Oriental Blue Tonic Melts Fat As You Sleep.

2. The Calorie Chronicles

Calories—they're like those nosy neighbors who peek through the curtains. To lose inches, we need to create a calorie deficit. But don’t panic; this isn’t a math exam. Here’s the deal: consume fewer calories than you burn. Imagine your body as a budget spreadsheet. If you spend less (calories) than you earn (burn), voilà! You’re in the green zone.

3. The Plate Plea

Your plate is the canvas for your culinary masterpiece. Fill it with colors, not regrets. Half veggies, a quarter protein, and a quarter whole grains—that’s the Picasso of portion control. And please, don’t treat your plate like a buffet at a medieval feast. No jousting is required.

4. The Cardio Chronicles

Cardio—the word alone makes some people break into a sweat. But fear not; we’re not launching you into orbit. Start small: a brisk walk, a dance-off with your cat, or chasing your toddler around the living room. Consistency is our secret sauce. Think of it as Netflix bingeing but with sneakers.

5. The Hydration Highway

Water is the elixir of life and the unsung hero of weight loss. Guzzle it like a parched cactus in a desert storm. Stay hydrated; your body will thank you by revving up its metabolism. Plus, water is calorie-free. It won’t judge you for that midnight cookie.

6. The Sleep Saga

Sleep isn’t just for dreamers and cats. It’s your body’s spa day. Aim for 7–9 hours of uninterrupted slumber. Sleep-deprived brains crave sugar like a toddler at a candy store. So, tuck yourself in, count imaginary sheep, and wake up feeling like a superhero.

7. The Sneaky Saboteurs

Sugar, my frenemy, we meet again. It hides in innocent places: ketchup, salad dressings, and your grandma’s secret cookie stash. Read labels like a detective hunting down clues. Cut back on added sugars—your waistline will thank you.

8. The Plank Pact

Meet the plank, a move that transforms your core like a chrysalis into a butterfly. Hold it for 30 seconds, and you’ll feel muscles you didn’t know existed. It’s like a secret handshake with your abs. No gym membership is required.

Conclusion

Losing 2 inches isn���t a Herculean task. It’s a dance between common sense and consistency. So, my fellow inch-chasers, lace up those sneakers, sip your water, and remember: you’re not losing inches but gaining confidence. Now, conquer those waistbands and strut like a runway model — minus the heels.

An Indonesian scientist has revealed the real root cause of your stubborn belly fat and it’s NOT what you think...

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[bookmytalent]

How to Choose a SAAS Development Company in 2023?

How to Choose a SAAS Development Company in 2023?

You liked a movie trailer, downloaded Netflix, paid for the subscription, and watched it in one go. A few days later, a friend highly recommends a four-season series. You open the app, search for it, and binge-watch it for the next few days. 

Did you notice something? There wasn’t a need to download these movies and series on your device. All you had to do is pay a certain amount for the subscription. And now every time you simply open the app, search for the movie, and enjoy.

And how was it possible? Because of Software-as-a-Service or SaaS cloud technology.

But what is it? And will working with a SaaS development company be a boon or bane to businesses? Let’s dive deep into it.

What Is SaaS or Software as a Service?

Software as a Service is a collection of cloud-based, on-demand software that allows users to access applications. It is a software licensing and delivery service that you can access via your internet browser, mostly without the need to download anything onto your computer, laptop, or smartphone.

Here customers have to pay a monthly or annual fee for the subscription. For example, we do this for any OTT platform or Gmail, etc. And user’s data then gets stored in the SaaS provider’s data center.

SaaS is a great option for startups and small businesses. They do not need to invest heavily in developing customized SaaS enterprise applications.

In fact, surveys show that SaaS has taken over the cloud computing market. According to Gartner, public cloud service spending will increase by 20.7% to $591.8 billion by 2023. And this level of growth is going to influence SaaS trends in the following year.

What Distinguishes SaaS from a Web-based application?

On the other hand, a SaaS platform is a much more complete solution. It consists of the web application as well as the infrastructural facilities and security required to run it. SaaS platforms are frequently provided as a service for a monthly or yearly subscription fee.

All technical aspects of the solution, such as hosting, security, updates, and scalability, are managed by the SaaS provider. This frees up businesses from having to worry about the technology involved. Due to this businesses can entirely concentrate on employing the application to accomplish their objectives.

However, the web application does not have the management and support features that are typically found with a SaaS platform.

Features That Distinguish SaaS Application from a Web Application

Installation of the software:

There isn’t any installation necessary for SaaS platforms. Users only need a web browser to access the software from any internet-capable device. Traditional software applications, by contrast, require installation on every computer that wants to use them.

Supports multiple tenants:

The fact that SaaS applications get stored on the cloud, makes it a platform that can be accessed by anyone by simply paying a subscription amount. This differs from the single tenancy, in which each customer has their own software instance.

SaaS applications are based on a subscription model:

To be classified as SaaS, a platform must be available via subscription. This means that users must pay a monthly fee to access the software. One-time license purchases are insufficient. The subscription must also include the operating system, database, and server software for the platform to be considered SaaS.

A SaaS platform makes APIs accessible:

The SaaS platform model favors a more loosely coupled approach. In contrast to the traditional model for software development, which uses a lot of tightly coupled code. To put it another way, a SaaS platform exposes APIs so that other software programs can access the platform’s features. This enables the development of software applications to be much more open, modular, and allows for greater levels of integration between various software applications.

SaaS applications are customizable:

A SaaS platform is much more customizable than conventional web apps. It can modify the user interface, workflows, and data models to fit the needs of a variety of clients.

What Are the Benefits of SAAS?

Cost-saving:

A customer may have to pay high license fees and other up-front costs if they choose to purchase a traditional software installation. For small and new businesses with limited resources, this can be difficult.

SaaS operates on a pay-per-use model, allowing consumers to pay subscription fees over time and based on usage. SaaS business products are often more affordable and more feasible for clients since renting software on a subscription basis involves less financial risk than buying it outright.

Additionally, the provider installs, configures, and maintains programs for customers who purchase SaaS applications.

Because SaaS products operate in a shared, multi-tenant environment, all users contribute to the cost of updates and maintenance. This helps to finance a high-quality product. And since S aaS technology can be temporarily rented, even big corporations can profit from it.

Provides free trials:

In SaaS models, customers get the benefit of free trials for 14 or 30 days. It allows them to test the program for free and decide if they want to sign up and pay for the subscription.

Customers’ trust can be gained by service providers by allowing them to test the product before buying.  As anyone would be hesitant to spend money on a new product they couldn’t use.

Businesses using SaaS that provide this perk can increase lead generation and grow their clientele.

Offers flexibility:

SaaS models give customers a great deal of flexibility by letting them only pay for the product when using it. There are different type of people in the world. Some has enough money to pay for anything they want, while others can’t. So this model is great for people from any financial background. As businesses can offer a variety of and custom billing options for people from every walk of life.

Customers can easily sign-up and cancel the subscription as per their needs. When necessary, they can also upgrade or downgrade services to add different features.

Convenient to use:

With SaaS, the seller updates the solution and makes it accessible to their clients. Compared to the conventional model, the costs and effort involved with upgrades and new releases are lower.

In contrast to traditional applications, the user is not compelled to pay to install an upgraded version here.

Increases customer engagement:

Customers generally want to use apps and tools that can be accessed with anywhere. Using SaaS, businesses can increase customer’s engagement and it proves to be more benficial for small and mid-sized businesses.

What Characteristics Must a Successful SAAS Application Have?

Every day, a large number of SaaS enterprise applications are created, but not all of them are successful. They lack essential components that connect most effectively with audiences and produce results, which is a major factor. The following essential components should be included in your SaaS application:

Interactive UI/UX interface:

To give the user the best possible experience, make sure your application has an user-friendly interface and seamless operations. Apps that don’t provide a superior user experience fall short on the market.

Excellent Backend Functionality:

The excellence of an application is built on its backend. Do not, therefore, skimp on the application’s technological foundation. Hire a reputable SaaS development company to create your app; they will have the know-how to create innovative, effective solutions for your application’s operation.

Easy to use:

Your SaaS application must be straightforward and simple to use. Concentrate more on your main feature and add the additional features later in the development of your application.

Compatible with cross-platforms:

Building a cross-compatible application is essential for your application’s higher growth in the modern world. Create an application that is compatible with all digital platforms as a result.

How to Choose a SAAS Development Company?

The success of your application depends on choosing the best SaaS application development company. The following factors should be taken into account when selecting a technical partner for your app:

Identify your project’s requirements:

Choose the type of application you want to create by taking into account the objectives of the app. You might also want to take into account what you expect the project’s budget to be.

Examine software development firms:

Once your project has been conceptualized, you can conduct research and find the best saas application development firms. Check out the review websites, analyze the websites of the development firms, and shortlist a few viable choices.

Analyze their technical knowledge:

Solutions for Saas application development demand knowledge of various technologies. Therefore, make sure the development team you select has sufficient knowledge and expertise in the technologies required for your application design.

Take into account their previous experience with cloud software:

SaaS applications’ success is primarily due to cloud computing platforms. The cloud is now essential to the development and improvement of any application.

Therefore, be sure to hire developers who have experience working with cloud software and who can handle all the challenges associated with the cloud connected to the SaaS product.

Verify their project management skills:

A responsible and dependable project team is capable of completing the application’s development from beginning to end with ease. To give you the best possible version of your application, the SaaS development company you choose needs to possess exceptional project management skills.

Hire a SaaS Application Development Company for your Project!

SaaS application development is growing, so any delays in the creation of your app will only result in more rivals. Therefore, it is preferable to use a reputable SaaS application development company that is aware of the level of maturity required by the current market standards for your application and has designed it for expansion.

You can hire our SaaS specialists, who have built a large number of successful apps that are helping our clients succeed.

Hire remote IT professional from Book My Talent.

[subway-tolkien]

I’m a bit concerned about OFMD Season 2, only because I know—I know—there will be a vocal minority of “fans” who are upset that Stede and Ed won’t be in fluffy domestic bliss by the end of the first episode, turn on the show, and start harassing the writers, cast, and crew. They don’t understand—or don’t care—how serialized television works, the importance of conflict and character arcs to a plot, and that everything won’t be resolved ten minutes into the season. It’s frustrating, and not fair to the creators, writers, and everyone else involved in the show.

Yes, I’m basing this on the utterly ridiculous behavior of those who dislike the main antagonist to the point that they’re attempting to get his actor fired and doxxing/harassing people who do enjoy his character. When you are so myopic and entitled and selfish that you’d ruin someone’s career because you don’t like the bad guy he plays, you’re incapable of thinking critically about the media you consume and probably shouldn’t be watching the show until you learn how to process it. Period.

I dislike Izzy’s behavior, but that’s the point of him. I enjoy and appreciate his purpose in the show because his animosity and ulterior motives help drive the plot and provide conflict for the Good Guys to overcome, which makes for good storytelling.

People are basing their enjoyment of the show on whether it measures up to fluffy fanfic and Booktok trends with Canva covers. This is also driven by Netflix’s binge-watching model, where entire seasons are released at once and there’s no waiting to find out what happens. I grew up with weekly episodes and cliffhangers; I can’t imagine how fans nowadays would handle “Who shot JR?” or most of The X-Files.

There’s this all-or-nothing attitude in modern fandom that if the show doesn’t immediately meet their highly specific requirements, they’ll take it out on the fandom and the show itself. This is made even worse because these types of fans exist in an echo chamber that doesn’t allow for any other opinions besides their own.

The fandom’s already struggling, and I don’t want Season 2 to be its death knell.

Anyway, tl;dr—impatient fans with tunnel vision will inevitably be disappointed when everything isn’t completely perfect ten minutes into the second season, and all hell will break loose.

[hansolmates]

17 going on 27

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

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March 19th, 2011

Thirty, flirty, and thriving!

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aren’t you excited for prom?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong, Kook?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lips locked, kissing Jennie. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

March 20st, 2021

Your first thought is that you feel disgusting. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that you? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are we dating?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So much has changed in the past ten years. 

“Hey, can you please stop crying?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But we’ve always been different people.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jennie?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hoseok simply laughs and gets himself settled for the meeting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Obviously you don’t have any memory of your degree or experience, so instead of feeling like an editor you feel more like a teenager playing dress-up. You couldn’t even sneakily ask Jennie for help because she deadpanned: “I’m not sharing any secrets, doll.” It seems that being backhandedly mean is a theme in your relationship, so after that you rolled your eyes and locked your door. Thankfully you packed a pair of sweatpants so you can comfortably lie down on the floor while you spread out your workspace. Magazines littered the hardwood, all sultry and sexy looking models staring back at you with the same half-lidded stare and overdone makeup. 

It makes you cringe, thinking back to the other day when you were jealous of these people. Now that you have this life, thriving and full of beauty, is that the only thing you want to show to your audience? How can they possibly relate to models who make triple their salary? What about the authenticity? The ingenuity? 

And that’s when it hits you. 

Scrambling to your computer, you search up a photographer that you know will be completely and utterly transparent. 

My Time Studios: Capturing the raw moment. 

You know exactly what you want for next month’s issue. 

Jungkook does not expect to see you through the peephole of his apartment, fiddling with the threads of your clothes and eyes glued to the ground. He mutters a curse under his breath, jamming his fingers between the metal double lock to swing his head out. He doesn’t even bother to open up all the way, just enough to stick his face out. 

“Jungkook, hi!” he still can’t believe you’re around. Jungkook winces at your tone, high and sounding like a teenager. He thought by now you’d be traveling the world, climbing to bigger and better things. Then again, the upper part of the city is certainly an upgrade. He just thought you’d want to be far, far away from him. “I b-brought you McDonalds.” 

You hold up a greasy bag of fast food, and his nose immediately responds to the smell of fresh fries and a quarter pounder (with cheese, of course.) It annoys him that you still know his weakness, but he isn’t going to go that easily. 

“Why are you here?” he asks a little too sharply, hands gripping the doorknob. 

“I wanted to offer you a job,” you get straight to the point, as if you know your time at his doorstep is limited. 

He scoffs, “You? Want to put my photos on Ego? You know my business extends to weddings and the occasional Bar Mitzvah. Why would you want me?” 

You frown, crossing your arms. He looks down at your attire, a nicely fitted suit on top, but the skirt is replaced with grey sweatpants. Comical, really. “I’ve always loved your photos,” you admit to him, “you know that. And they’ve gotten so much better since then.” 

The furrow between Jungkook’s brows softens a fraction, smoothed by the honesty in your voice. You’re right, you always made sure to tell Jungkook how much you loved his other talents. Namely, the photography, and sometimes his singing. He can still remember how easily you slept in his arms watching Sky City for hours, all at the melody of your favorite song. While his teachers and classmates loved to venerate his position on the team and his ability to garner attention, you encouraged him to work on the things that mattered to him the most, even in secret. 

Nevertheless, that was ten years ago. 

“I don’t need your charity,” he spits, “Jimin might be able to be bought by some designer clothes and an eighty dollar steak, but not me.” 

The pain in your gaze is glaringly evident, and you don’t even try to hide that you’re upset as the paper bag falls against your lap. If there’s one thing Jungkook knows he’s good at, is hurting your feelings. 

“You think this is charity?” you whisper, hurt delicately lacing your voice. 

“Are you kidding? Last month you got Xu Minghao to photograph your spread for Ego. He’s photographed the damn Queen of England,” if you notice that he’s babbling about reading your magazine, you don’t show it in your face, “the point is, I don’t understand why you’re trying to come into my life again. I don’t want to get involved in your fancy dinner galas or anyone else from high school. So please, just go back to your picture perfect life.” 

And without another qualm he slams the door in your face, effectively shutting you out. It doesn’t feel as good as he wants it to feel, clearly. He feels even shitter than before. His eyes glaze over to his rickety coffee table, cluttered with bills and credit card payments that should’ve been dealt with a long time ago. 

He slugs himself over to his couch, throwing his body over the couch that’s way too short. His legs dangle in mid-air, but it doesn’t stop him from throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the sunset. The bills can wait a little longer. Seeing you was too draining. 

The nap turns into a full-fledged night’s sleep, and by the time he wakes up the sky is dark and it’s the start of a new day. 12:08, the screen of his iPhone confirms. Feeling even crustier and worse than before, his stomach decides to harden the blow and go straight for the gut. He’s sorely reminded of the food you offered him hours ago. 

Quickly pulling on a large denim jacket, he grabs his keys and heads for the 7-Eleven down the park. Nothing like a frozen pizza to fill the gut, fast and cheap. Despite the fact that it’s dark and late, there're still some stray people in the park. A few homeless, some high school stoners who are meeting in secret, and you are typing away on your MacBook. 

Wait, what? 

You’re sitting on a bench in the park, typing away without a care in the world. Shoving soggy fries that he earlier refused in your mouth, you let a couple stray potatoes hang from your lips as your eyes succumb to the screen. You look positively silly, still in a pink blazer and baggy sweatpants. 

He must have been staring a little too long, because soon enough you turn your head, gasping at his figure. You quickly avert your eyes, but don’t make any move to leave the park. That interests him further. 

Shamelessly, he calls your name. His legs get to you in an instant, towering over your tiny figure. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I’m waiting for Jimin,” your eyes flicker to your open laptop, “and working.” 

At least one of those reasons is a lie. Last time he checked, Jimin always sleeps over at Yoongi’s house on this day. He knows it’s a lie, and you know he knows it’s a lie, but neither of you make the effort to correct it. 

“And what could you possibly be working on at 12AM?” 

“Finding a photographer,” you hunch over your laptop, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t have much time and none of my usual contacts are good enough. This project is… personal.” 

It makes him want to ask further, he can’t lie and say he isn’t intrigued in the kind of vision you’re going for in your next issue. “But why can’t you work at home?” 

“Don’t wanna go,” you reply casually, “it makes me feel lonely.” 

Lonely? You feel lonely? He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated at the display of nonchalance. Back in high school he always encouraged you to feel confident, but not like this. “Hey, it’s nice that you feel comfortable enough to chill in the park at 12AM, but it’s really dumb. You’re lucky you haven’t gotten mugged from all that money you’re carrying around!” he gestures to your fancy clothes and laptop, “and if you feel so lonely, call up one of your rich friends I’m sure they’ll—”

“Oh my god, Jungkook,” you slam your laptop shut, darkening the two of you. “I thought you wanted me to go back to my ‘picture perfect life’, so why do you care?” you get up in his face, standing on the bench so you’re nearly eye-to-eye, “why don’t you pester those kids over there? Tell them to drink their milk and go home,” you scoff, shoving your stuff in your bag. You don’t spare him another glance as you stalk off in the other direction. 

He groans, unable to untangle himself from the mess, “Where are you going?” 

“To a park where you’re not in!” 

Despite the exchange for sweatpants, you’re still wearing shoes not fit for walking. They’re little white pumps, not too tall but not remarkably comfy either. However, that doesn’t deter you from getting the heck out of there, seemingly walking in any possible direction to get away from Jungkook. 

“You’re being ridiculous,” he chastises once his hand clasps around your hand, pulling you around. 

There’s a little resistance, as you try to hide your face to no avail. Jungkook fumbles a little, not thinking you’d be crying. But tiny, shy tears are pooling around your eyes, looking flustered at your display of emotion.

“God,” you mutter to yourself, “I feel like such a kid.” 

That strikes a chord in the twenty-something man. The last time he saw you in the flesh was when you were both kids. Young, unbridled, and stupid. Well, only Jungkook was the stupid one. 

“Do you want me to take you home?” Jungkook offers, feeling guilty about his roughness. 

You shake your head. “No, I told you I don’t want to.” 

“Can I at least call you a cab? Or a friend so you won’t get lonely?” 

“Jungkook, if I had that option would you think I’d be here right now?” he’s trying, he really is. But you’re equally as miffed about this whole situation and at a loss. The two of you engage in a staring contest. It only takes a few seconds for you to crumble, and he frowns when you shiver in your thin blazer. 

Instantly, he rips off his jacket, pulling it over your body. It’s huge on you, swallowing your body and hopefully containing some of his residual heat. 

And finally, he relents. “If you want, I’ll come over and stay until you fall asleep.” 

“Okay,” your eyes widen in instant agreement, pulling something out of your pocket. “Will you drive?” 

His eyes widen at the shiny, minimalistic car key. Your sudden one-eighty has him second guessing his decision. “You drive a Tesla?” he gapes, taking your key like he’s holding the Hope Diamond. 

You got your license in February. One month ago, and only because the instructor felt pity on you since it was your second time retaking it. The fancy car terrifies you, and you’re sure Jungkook has much more experience driving (over ten years worth.)  

You shrug, “Not very good at driving. Haven’t had much practice.”

“Um, the car drives itself?” 

“It does?” you tilt your head, dazed, “wow, technology is amazing.” 

He shakes his head, putting a hand on your back so you can lead the way. You must be tired, because it seems like your head isn’t entirely there anymore. He takes charge, buckles you in and takes a couple minutes to fumble with the car settings. Nevertheless the drive home is smooth (and it takes all of Jungkook’s willpower to not squeal in excitement when the Tesla does in fact, drive itself.) 

You lead him inside your loft like a tiny zombie, throwing your shoes to one corner and throwing your jacket on the kitchen table. 

“Must be hungry,” you can’t even form complete sentences, “there’s food in the fridge, Kook. Sorry if it’s not to your taste.” 

Shuffling away to your room, Jungkook is left to gawk at your apartment. The baseboards of your walls are crusted in pretty pearl designs, swirling around the whole expanse. There’s a television that stretches the wall of the little living room, with a sound and video game system he’s only seen in movies. Your tables are meters and meters of granite, and he wonders how the floor of your apartment can hold all this weight. 

But he supposes it’s because there’s nothing much to hold. No pictures line the walls, only vague looking art to fill up blank space. There’s no touch of warmth despite the heating system under the floor that relaxes his toes. For such a big home, he can only imagine how small you must feel in it. 

Your fridge is just as empty, decorated with a couple of sad-looking salads and some protein shakes. He sighs, grabbing two chicken salads and a banana shake and bringing it to your coffee table. It’s a little two quiet for his liking, so he turns on the television real low just to make the room feel a bit fuller. 

Halfway through one salad he realizes he probably should’ve made you eat as well. Even though these salads aren’t remotely filling, they’re much healthier than some soggy fries. A piece of limp lettuce hangs from Jungkook’s mouth, suddenly feeling guilty for soaking up all of your amenities without inviting you. After all, it is your house. Wiping some sauce from his lips he dusts off his pants, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he makes his way to your room. 

Calling your name, the only reply is the whir of the heater. He only cracks the door a tad, but he sees you slumped against the edge of the bed, bare feet hanging from the end. You barely made it, your clothes strewn across the floor, an oversized t-shirt ruched across your barely covered thighs. Without a thought he quickly scrambles to move you closer to your pillows, and then wraps your body in your plush duvet. You’re out like a light. 

You’re sleeping, so Jungkook should go home. That’s what you two agreed to. He goes back to his late dinner (early breakfast?) mindlessly listening to an infomercial on rare dollar coins. He’ll leave after he eats. 

He didn’t leave. 

Jungkook awakes to a scream, your shrill voice echoing all the way down the hallway into your living room. It takes a second for him to register the empty white walls and the fact that he’s not in his apartment, but eventually it goes back to the point that you’re in distress. He jolts, scrambling off the couch to run to your bedroom. 

“What is it?” he exhales into your doorframe, socks sliding. 

Your hair is in a disarray, shirt rumpled and face scrunched in pain. You shove your phone in his face. “Since when did Iron Man die!” you cry, genuinely horrified at whatever entertainment article you’re reading. 

He slumps against the wall, running a hand over his dry face. “Since Endgame, obviously. That was literally two years ago. Is that why you woke me up?” 

“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t know!” 

“Have you been living under a rock or something?”

“Or something,” you frown, throwing your phone across your bed, “I guess I should go get ready for work.” 

Jungkook watches as you shamelessly hop off your bed, uncaring that your shirt has ridden up, revealing the full expanse of your thighs and then some. You pull out a pair of sweats from a shopping bag, nicking off the tag to put them on your legs. 

“Do you have work?”  you ask casually. 

“Uh, no,” Jungkook coughs, crossing his arms. It’s been awhile since he’s had a solid gig. Two whole weeks have been spent doing more personal work which was fine, but at the same time his bank account could beg to differ. “I’m off today.” 

“Oh, alright,” you shrug, “do you know where I can buy a good camera?” 

“Why?” 

“Gonna go take pictures,” you snatch your wallet and keys from your bedside, stuffing it in a fanny pack. He watches you curiously as you zip your bag shut, muttering something about how you can’t believe that fanny packs are back in style. Swinging the strap over your back, you brush past him. “You can stay if you want,” you add pointedly, before you slip into the bathroom. 

Jungkook doesn’t understand as to why he’s slipping into sensory overload. The house is a shell of itself and the antithesis of a rainbow. Maybe it’s the fact that he woke up ten minutes ago or how you look completely peaceful and want to leave as soon as you wake up. Or how shocked you were that Iron Man has passed and you’ve completely missed Phase 3. Or that you’re not even thinking about breakfast or not wishing him a farewell, practically throwing him into your apartment like a second home. 

He wobbles back to the couch, trying to look as nonchalant as possible as he drapes the fuzzy blankets over his body. He flips through the channels, before finally settling on an old episode of Sky City. 

When you walk out into the living room, you scrunch your face in pain when you make eye contact with Kim Seokjin’s on screen appearance. Oh, how things change. Jungkook knew how much you loved watching Sky City, indulging in the protagonist's attractiveness. 

“Y’know,” Jungkook says over his shoulder, “if you leave me here, I could steal whatever I want.” 

“Go ahead,” you reply flippantly, already slipping on your sneakers. “There’s nothing of value here.” 

What is wrong with you? 

“Wait!” Jungkook throws all his pride at the window, unable to conceal his worry for you. Half your body is out the doorway, and you’re looking at him like he’s grown a second head. His voice takes up the entirety of the room, startling you. “I need to come with you,” he finally settles on, looking serious. “You’re going to buy the wrong camera.” 

“Okay,” you concede immediately, throwing the keys on the couch, “you drive.”

Jungkook must know something’s wrong with you. 

You don’t know how to act around him. Your heart is hurt and your body is a decade older than it was a week ago and everything in your life and mind is a complete wreck. It still aches to look at him, despite the fact that you want him around, all the time. You wish you could know a little more about your adult life, you feel like a proverbial Bambi sitting in a car worth more than your childhood home. It’s a wobbly, shaky road to adulthood, and you’re not having it. 

Jungkook sleeping over is the last thing you thought would happen last night. You didn’t even think he’d relent to coming to your house, since he was pretty hellbent on not being your photographer. 

But now he’s driving your Tesla again, after you instructed him to park the car where you parked it last time. That way, you can go back to the playground you were in the night before. You have a vision for the issue and it starts there. Fiddling around with the expensive camera Jungkook picked out, you feel his gaze burning into your shoulder. 

“Am I doing something wrong?” you ask archly, “I read the manual and everything. Or are you just being a perfectionist again?” 

“What’s wrong with being a perfectionist?” Jungkook shoots back, putting the car in park. As soon as the car stills in the parking lot, he grabs the camera from your grasp like a petulant child. “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t break it. Face it, you’re terrible at technology.” 

“Excuse me! I have a Samsung 25+ and a Tesla!” 

“Yeah? So why did I catch you struggling to use your pay feature on your phone when we grabbed coffee?” 

“It’s new,” you mutter under your breath. Everything is new to you. 

With a growl you snatch back the camera, and Jungkook for once doesn’t act like a baby with a sharing complex and relents. Of course, Jungkook manages to calibrate the camera and figure out the color balance before you could. This only annoys you further, wondering why Jungkook is still sticking around after all this time. 

“Alright,” you step out of the car, slinging the camera around your neck. “Thanks for driving me around, your apartment’s just down the street, right?” You dart your hand out, and Jungkook reluctantly hands over your key beeper. Maybe it’s because he seems to love the car so much, that he has a hard time giving it back. “I’ll see you around.” 

“Wait,” is that his word of the day? Wait wait wait. 

“What is it now, Jungkook?” 

He’s never seen you so full of negative emotions. You’ve been waiting for him to tire of you all day, from your clipped replies and unease ever since you two stepped out of your apartment. 

“Um,” he looks embarrassed, scratching the back of his head, “are you really going to take pictures? You always took really blurry pictures in high school.” 

The mention of high school has you icy, gripping the matte black digital camera to hold your feelings at bay. “Yes, I’m going to go take pictures because the photographer I wanted so rudely rejected me,” you revel in the way he shrinks, probably regretful already. “So if you’ll excuse me, I have a deadline.” 

He continues to follow you, all the way to the park. You make your way to a little garden, and start to take some test photos next to the little daisies that decorate the patch of dirt. You practically feel Jungkook breathing down your neck, feeling antsy everytime you click the shutter. Ignoring him is difficult, especially when he makes little noises of discomfort when you presumably do something wrong. 

“Jungkook, are you going to say something?” you seethe, not caring that the heavy camera strains your neck when it falls against your chest, “or are you just going to make me wait.”

Jungkook’s face is scrunched up, and finally he blurts, “I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry for what?” 

“For saying your life is picture perfect,” he sputters quickly, looking very sweaty. Jungkook always got sweaty when he did things a little too hard. Playing sports, thinking, campaigning on video games. “I—I didn’t mean it. I don’t know. I guess I was just upset at myself and I took it out on you.” 

“Well why are you upset at yourself?” 

“I’m upset because I—I don’t know, it’s complicated,” he plops down on the nearest bench, and while you follow him, you don’t let yourself sit next to him. If you do, you know your subconscious will want to wrap your arms around him and comfort him. That would probably be the worst possible action to perform. “I don’t really do the whole photoshoot thing. Like I said, I’m just doing some weddings and parties here and there. I shouldn’t have said those things about Jimin and how you’re only talking to us out of charity. It’s my fault for not considering how complicated your life could be too,” he looks down at the ground, shameful, “so if you still want me, I would really like to photograph for Ego. And I would also really like that camera back.” 

Unable to resist, you reach over to give him a pat on the shoulder. “I forgive you,” you reply numbly, thinking he was going to apologize for something else. You suppose he’s forgotten about that fateful prom night, just like everyone else. “It’s actually not for Ego, at least not yet. My boss is pitting us against each other, the best idea wins the cover theme.” 

“Don’t worry, we’ll win,” his face eventually breaks into a grin when you remove the camera from your body. “Come to daddy, baby,” he cooes, holding the shiny new camera in his hands like a newborn. 

“Gross,” you twitch, although you’re feeling all the more relieved knowing Jungkook will now be taking the visual reins. “You haven’t had a chance to look at the contract made up, but being paid five-hundred okay?” 

“Five-hundred a week?” 

“No, per day,” you correct, “why wouldn’t I pay you just like I pay the others?” 

Jungkook’s dark brows fly to his forehead. He practically chokes on his spit at the way you put Jungkook in high regard. A blush overtakes his visage, proud and pink as he rushes to get away from you. 

“You don’t even know my concept,” you called after him, chasing the midday sun. 

Jungkook is already in position, fitting the lens between two buildings. The afternoon sun looks like an egg yolk, melting between the clouds. “Well then is it?” he asks, bending down on one knee to get the perfect angle. 

“Well, yesterday when I thought of the idea I just wanted to be reminded of how easy being a kid was,” you don’t even know if Jungkook’s listening properly, given the rapid click click clicks of the shutter and Jungkook constantly moving around to get as many shots as possible. “I realized that not everyone can relate to the models or the clothes we advertise on Ego. Why would I want to see people I actually admire? Like, my friend’s older brother. Or Jimin, president of the drama club. Or even Jungkook, captain of the lacrosse team.” 

“So, nostalgia. The 2000s are back in style, I like it,” he replies simply, tilting the camera towards you, “pose for me.” 

“What? Jungkook,” you frown, holding a hand over your face. He doesn’t relent, continuing to snap you in different angles. 

“Oh! That was a nice one,” he turns the camera to reveal the screen of your furrowed brows, hand over your face, “looks super grunge. Totally a throwback look.” 

“Jungkook, I don’t model. I’m just the one who throws the ideas.” 

“Yeah, but. Wouldn’t it be cool if the readers of Ego could see the genius behind the paper and ink?” he gestures vaguely to your outfit, “and you’re wearing Fila. So that’s like, kind of designer?” 

“I don’t know,” you hug yourself, “I’ll think about it, okay? Let’s focus.” 

“Fine,” Jungkook stops buzzing around you, putting the camera down and following you as you walk back to your car. You don’t think you really need anymore park photos, and Jungkook seems to telepathically agree as well. 

“We need to plan some outfits and some backgrounds. I’ve already arranged a meet up tomorrow in front of our old high school with a couple of models. The school is on a grade-wide trip, so we’ll even have access to the track and field. I was also thinking disposable film? We could scan those.” 

“Alright, who are your models?” 

“Oh, you know. Just friends from school. I wanted it to be as authentic as possible. Taehyung flew back from Hamburg last night, so he said he’ll come. Jimin, obviously.” 

“Well you only had like, two friends in highschool.” 

“And you,” you clip on with a frown, “so don’t dress like a potato sack tomorrow, okay?” 

“I’m not modeling.” 

“Well, I’m still looking for a celebrity model to tack onto so. Don’t look like a chump.” you stick out your hand, while Jungkook pouts at your outstretched limb. If he feels sore that you called him a chump, he doesn’t comment on it when he clasps his larger hand in yours. “Partners?”

“Partners.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me your celebrity model was him?” 

“I specifically told you not to dress like a paper bag. Why did you continue to do so!” 

“You didn’t specify that your model was Kim Seokjin!” 

The current conversation is hushed, hissed between large reflective light panels and a parked car that held all your rented equipment. Currently, Taehyung, Seokjin and Jimin are huddled on the bleachers of your old stomping grounds, laughing at whatever funny video Seokjin has pulled up. They’re all dressed in variants of the same sweatsuit, a combination of Taehyung’s choosing since he’s one of the many color coordinators at Ego. 

But you haven’t started yet, and you would like to get some morning shots in before it gets any warmer. Jungkook is still petulant, pretending to buy time by balancing his tripod. He’s wearing his Birkenstocks, so old they’re definitely the same pair from highschool, and yet another black sweatsuit. 

“Seokjin’s like a big, fat cheeseball,” you assure Jungkook, who’s actually shaking from being in the presence of a celebrity. “No reason to be nervous.”

“That man has literally been part of our Sitcom Sundays for three years,” he gripes, “of course I’m nervous!” 

“Just go to the car. If you want to change I’m sure Taehyung’s brought something that fits you.”

“Well if they see me change they’re gonna see I’m trying too hard,” Jungkook pouts, he actually pouts. 

“I can’t,” you turn around, your Miss Frizzle-esque solar system dress whirling around your waist. The stars twinkle, glittering into Jungkook’s eyes. “Jungkook, do whatever you want. But we need to start in ten! No, five! I’m not paying you to try on Balenciaga and Off-Brand!” 

If Jungkook is shocked by your sudden snippiness or need to get things wrapped up, he doesn’t say anything to it. For once, he’s quiet about his needs and you’re thankful for it. Once he’s gone, you have a chance to breathe. It’s all wholly overwhelming to dive right into the job. Your brain is still in 2011 unfortunately.

“Babe, everything alright?” 

Seokjin appears behind you, having ditched Jimin and Taehyung after he saw you and Jungkook argue. He smooths his hands over your biceps. You’re still unsure over the exact nature of your adult-self’s relationship, but it seems that sans sex you two are relatively close with each other. 

“M’fine,” you mumble tiredly, trying not to stiffen under his hold. You suppose Jimin isn’t going to be the friend you confide into this lifetime. “I’m just nervous. We’re doing all this work and it can potentially go down the drain after this week. What if my idea’s stupid and we’re wasting time? Jennie texted me that her concept is going to be killer and now I’m scared this concept is too aesthetically soft and people don’t care about nostalgia anymore and I feel like simultaneously throwing up and crying—” 

“Whoa whoa, who’s replaced my confident editor and where did she go?” Seokjin decidedly goes with the notion that you’re definitely not fine. He swings his neck back and forth, peering behind the bleachers and over the football field. “My confident editor would never talk bad of herself like this! She commanded a whole crew of fifty within seconds when she did the Kim Taeyeon shoot in Milan! She never cowers under a challenge, the challenge cowers to her!” and in his gallancy you no longer try to shy away, in fact you even giggle at his silly way of comforting you. “And most importantly, she’d never compare herself to a wench like Jennie.” 

Seokjin doesn’t hesitate to swipe the moisture right under your waterline, making sure any traces of your crying are undetectable. “W-wait,” you sputter, “you mean, me and Jennie aren’t actually friends?” 

He chuckles, pulling you into a hug. “Even now, you’re such a good actress.” 

You let Seokjin continue to hold you as the pieces in your empty mind come together. If Jennie is truly not your friend and you two have been faking it all this time, how serious is it? And if so, are you the competitive type? You know for sure Jennie is, and will she stop at nothing to make sure she gets the spread? 

This fear is combined with an equal amount of sadness. You were a little excited to have a lasting friend from college, but your mother always told you to never believe anything on the internet. You suppose those selfies of you and Jennie on your Instagram are nothing but a facade. 

But at the very least Seokjin’s care for you isn’t fake, and you’re thankful that you have at least one friend in this life. If you didn’t do this time skip, would Seokjin remain your only friend? You try not to think too hard about it, “Thanks, Seokjin. I really appreciate you.” 

“Will you appreciate me tonight then?” Seokjin makes a move to kiss your neck, and the moment is promptly ruined. 

Shoving him away you say firmly, “Touch me like that again and I’ll rip your dick off in front of this whole crew.” 

“I love it when you get feisty,” Seokjin melts, but salutes you like a drill sergeant as he runs back to the men on the bleachers. 

It’s then you feel a presence looming over your shoulder. Tall, dark, and emanating. He’s changed, in favor of some fitted jeans and a plain white shirt, paired with black boots. Jungkook is behind you, glaring over your shoulder at Seokjin. So much for showing off your professionalism. Crap, how much of that did he hear? 

“Jungkook, I–”

“Let’s start,” he mutters gruffly, stepping past you to get to the equipment. 

You slap a hand over your face. It’s going to be a long day. 

However, the hours following are probably one of the brightest hours of your life since you’ve appeared in your future-self’s body. At first Jimin was anxious at your invitation, despite being in the high school plays and being okay at public speaking, he didn’t know he’d have the potential to be a model. A couple test shots and some coaching from Taehyung, Jimin is a natural, his photogenic energy strong enough to compete toe-to-toe with Seokjin. 

You also have to hand it to Taehyung, who has been running back and forth between modeling and choosing outfits for the boys. Jimin and you didn’t run in the same group as Taehyung back in high school, but time changes things and if given the opportunity, you would’ve loved to be friends with him back then. 

By the time you are done for the day and you feel like all the possible shots have all ready been taken, you circle around the school. You previously went inside empty classrooms, posed in the cafeteria, even pretended to reenact your school rendition of RENT in the auditorium. 

Everything is mostly packed up and put into the car by the time the sun is setting, and you just wanted to perfect this one shot. 

The gymnasium looks a lot smaller than it did as a child. As a teenager, you constantly feared getting hit in the face by a stray wiffleball, or throwing up during the pacer test after the 100th lap. But now, it just looks like an old gym. 

“It smells like sweaty balls in there,” Taehyung curses, adjusting the patterned button down by smoothing down his chest. He jabs a finger in the boys locker room, where Jimin comes out with another new outfit. 

“I think the sandwich I left in senior year is still there,” Jimin adds, pulling the collar around his burgundy knitted sweater. 

The back of the gym is decorated in balloons. Overnight you managed to build a balloon ring off of Pinterest, one of your proudest moments as you made Jungkook haul the rainbow colored arc and shove it into the trunk. Seokjin is sitting directly under the arc, decorating a letter corkboard. It’s one of those cork boards all the teachers display in class, often decorated with some witty quote or a basic “Welcome to Mr/Mrs/Miss _____’s Class!” 

Jungkook is setting up the camera on a tripod, wanting to do it the old fashioned way. Aside from the freakout he had in the beginning when he realized he was photographing Kim Seokjin, he’s been quiet and strictly professional throughout the whole ordeal. It’s amazing to see this side of him, as he seamlessly transitions from shoot to shoot knowing exactly what he has in mind for each photograph. His direction is soft but impactful, and the boys have no problems following directions. 

“Okay boys, everyone under the arc!” 

Working like this is a rush you can’t even imagine. In high school the path you were in the process of choosing wasn’t clear cut up until this point, but now you know exactly what you want to do for the rest of your life. 

Seokjin holds the finished corkboard in the middle, a proud Class of Ego in white block letters. 

Jungkook only gets a few shots in before Seokjin bemoans, letting the corkboard fall in his lap. 

“Guys, this picture’s gonna stink.” 

Jungkook’s appalled, “Excuse me—” 

“Because you two aren’t in it!” Taehyung agrees easily, “c’mon, JK. Put your camera on timer mode and let’s have all of us in it!” 

A blush melts on Jungkook’s neck, all the way to the tips of his ears. “What? No, that’s silly Tae. I really don’t—agh!” 

The three men are in a controlled frenzy, aiming to get their mission done. Seokjin rounds the camera and makes quick work of enabling a timer and a burst shot. Jimin pulls you by the waist, tugging you ungracefully to the center of the arc. Taehyung is doing a pretty good job of hauling your muscle hunk of a photographer, pressing his shoulders across yours. 

And finally, Seokjin hands you the corkboard. “You should be holding it. After all, you’re the brains behind it!” 

At first it feels awkward, squished between new friends and old friends. First loves and last loves. Despite his warm bicep pressing against you, Jungkook is akin to a sheet of cardboard, arm-to-arm and stiff as a board. 

“Alright people, let’s move it!” Seokjin yells unnecessarily loud, the noise echoing throughout the high walls. “Last couple shots here, and we’re not re-doing it because I’m tired as hell! So look alive and pretend to like each other!” 

The first click of the camera stuns all of you, akin to many terrible school photos where the flash disarms you and your face twists. But that click suddenly gets Jungkook into gear, and you feel him slide a hand over your shoulder, squeezing you toward him so you’re pressed against the side of his chest. He still smells like floral fabric softener, and that makes you smile. 

And suddenly you feel like you’re seventeen again, surrounded with the people you care for the most. 

“So, the tabloids are true huh?” Jimin smirks, waving a flimsy fry in your face. 

“T-tabloids?” you sputter, dabbing the ketchup off your cheek. The greasy burger slips off your grip and onto your plate.  Your expression says it all, it’s painfully innocent and genuinely confused as you attempt to swallow the cheese and lettuce as fast as possible. 

The crew sans Seokjin is eating a very late dinner with you at the restaurant of their choice. They put it to a vote, while you desperately wanted some McDonalds everyone else voted for a more high end restaurant. After all, you’re paying. 

“Ah, don’t try playing coy with us,” Taehyung jests, “the office talks.” 

“Well, whatever you’ve heard isn’t true,” you huff, crossing your arms. “At least, not anymore.” 

“What?” Taehyung bugs out, “I thought you loved your no strings attached relationship with Jinnie.” 

“I guess I did,” you frown, deflating against the plush booth, “I don’t know. I don’t know what I liked back then.” 

You resume eating your burger, trying to ignore the worried look Jimin sends you. He reaches over the table to press his thumb to the little 11s in your forehead, a product of stress. “Does your head still hurt?” he asks. 

Jungkook’s chewing slows considerably. He’s been strangely quiet this evening, opting to order a handful of appetizers and gorging on every single edible thing on the table like a glutton. But at Jimin’s question he turns his head to look at you, “Why would your head still hurt?” 

“She hit her head when she went out drinking with Seokjin last week,” Jimin supplies, “messed with her memory.” 

“Chim,” you frown, gently shoving him off you, “I’m fine now. Pretty much caught up. Just reevaluating my life choices, okay?” 

“How could Seokjin let that happen?” Jungkook asks, putting his fork down. 

“He wasn’t even there,” you shake your head, trying to clear Seokjin’s name as fast as possible. After all, this lie is completely fabricated, a blanket to cover the magical properties your true nature being here has. “I’m fine, Jungkook. Don’t worry about me.” 

He huffs, resuming his meal. “Wasn’t worried,” he disarms, reaching over the table to snatch a mozzarella stick. 

You cover up your disgusted expression by wiping your chin with a soft blue napkin. Jungkook is really out here inhaling the whole table and being a bit of a jerk. 

“Well,” Taehyung claps his hands together, regarding all of you with a closed-lipped smile stretched so wide you’re worried he’ll break. “This is nice. I can’t imagine a time where I’d be reunited with you three. It’s weird. But a good weird.” 

“Ditto,” Jimin echoes, lifting his glass to clink with Taehyung’s. Throwing an arm over your shoulder he remarks, “could’ve never imagined my ‘ol best friend would’ve wanted to pursue fashion.” 

“What?” you glower, pinching his thigh, “I love fashion! I spent months planning my Clueless Halloween costume and our summers cosplaying!” 

“Right, Cher,” teased Jimin, “that yellow plaid suit that made you look like a bottle of mustard?” 

“You little–” 

Taehyung begins to laugh when you start to tickle Jimin in the sweet spots, causing Jimin to curl his leg around your ankle and pull you onto his lap for a hair pull. It’s all in fun and nothing hurts, but you’re so caught up in it you’re sure people are worried about your well-being. Even Jungkook is laughing, egging Jimin on while Taehyung weakly attempts to pull you away. 

If you could rewrite the last ten years of your life, this moment would define the remake. 

“Why are we here?” 

“For research purposes.” 

“Are you sure the actual purpose is because you don’t feel like working in the office?” 

“Jungkook,” you groan, tired of his infinite amount of negativity. “This was our senior trip! Of course I want to get a couple shots in before my big presentation.” 

“You’re risking my baby’s life,” Jungkook cradles the digital camera closer to his chest, swaddling it between its felt case. Ever since you purchased the camera, Jungkook has been unable to let it go. This adoption is both equal parts cute and strange, and you’re a little too scared to ask for it back. 

“I promise, no big rides,” you roll your eyes, “your baby will be fine.” 

The local amusement park is a fan-favorite amongst the city-goers, a reprieve from the hustle and a chance for you to spend your copious amounts of money on overpriced sugar and popcorn. The last time you went here was two weeks ago—in your mind. In Jungkook’s mind it was over ten years ago and he probably doesn’t even remember the time spent roaming the artificial floor and the infinite amount of bubbles that seem to eject from the air to add to the whimsical charm. 

Jungkook isn’t even paying attention, citing it as an artist block because he’s going through sensory overload with the amount of stimuli in the crowd. Screaming teenagers wailing under him from a nearby rollercoaster, the smell of sticky caramel apples pumping through the diffuser stands, and the amount of gaudy color that decorates every single logo of the park. 

He plops himself down on a nearby bench while you wait in line to get some food. It’s early in the morning and a weekday, so you figure this is the best time to get some photographs in without any passerbys. You figure Jungkook will get the hang of it once he has some food in his stomach. 

“A funnel cake?” Jungkook is bewildered when you return with the confection in hand, “it’s ten A.M.” 

You raise a brow, knowing how much Jungkook loves sweet foods. The funnel cake especially, he ate at least three when you went to your senior trip, one for every meal. But you’re an adult, or at least posing as one, and you shrug loftily, plucking a hot piece of fried dough from your plate. “Alright then,” you reply, “I’ll just eat the whole thing.” 

Once the cake touches your tongue, you can’t help but make an exaggerated moan in pleasure. You can feel Jungkook squirming like an earthworm next to you, either from the scrumptious smell of funnel cake or the way you’re so enthusiastically eating it. 

“W-wait,” Jungkook’s stomach growls at the perfect moment, “I want some. But I don’t want to get the camera dirty, pass me a napkin.” 

“I can just feed it to you!” you quip innocently, immediately ripping off a piece and shoving it between Jungkook’s pink lips. You feel a little slick in the finger, saliva briefly coating your digits before you pull away. You swallow, feeling a familiar tingle in your tummy and a sickening heat low in your belly. 

You fight back a sigh, wondering if your libido also did a massive growth spurt in your twenty-seven years of age. 

Jungkook is placated at the touch of food, and you take turns feeding yourself and feeding him while more customers trickle in the park. Confectioners sugar dusts Jungkook’s long-sleeved tee, the white color staining the dark fabric. You reach to pat his chest, ignoring the toneness that still remains from high school. 

“Alright, let’s ride,” you declare, pulling Jungkook up once you’re done eating. 

“Do we have to?” 

“What happened to the adrenaline junkie I once knew?” 

“He realized being an adrenaline junkie doesn’t make money and he should stay on the ground.” 

“Alright, Negative Nancy,” your reply has no bite to it, and suddenly you wished you invited Jimin or Seokjin before Jungkook. Jungkook may have the talent, but he certainly doesn’t have the attitude. You don’t even get why he’s still defensive, after all you thought he apologized in the beginning. It’s not like you’re the problem. 

“Gimmie your hand,” your thoughts cut out when Jungkook offers his large hand in front of yours, palm up. 

“Why?”

“C’mon,” he whines, settling for snatching your hand instead. His palms feel larger, rougher as they enclose your smaller hand. “Now hurry up and walk in front of me. I’m gonna take a picture.” 

You already have a feeling as to what this picture is going to look like, so you scrunch your nose. “That is so cheesy.” 

“It’s for the nostalgia factor, now hurry up and pretend we’re on a date.” 

You roll your eyes but relent, jogging a few steps ahead so you can get into character. This pose used to be a popular one, where the sweet boyfriend would be dragged around by the girlfriend’s hand, tugging him to wherever she wanted to go. It’s super cliche but if Jungkook figures it’ll fit your theme, you’ll do it. Eventually you forget that you’re holding his hand, and point ahead to some rides you want to try out. 

“Oh, Jungkook! Remember that one?” you point to a teacup ride, with guests spinning vigorously through their own seat. “Jimin got so sick he fell asleep in the car for an hour!” 

Jungkook doesn’t reply, so you turn around and face him. Click. Jungkook smirks at his little trick, which makes you rip your hand from his and walk further. 

“Hey, hey,” he chuckles, the first smile of the day. Food really does make him peaceful. “The shot looks good, you look good.” 

“Could’ve just asked me to turn around and pose,” you huff. 

“Then it would ruin the fun,” he replies, “now c’mon, let’s ride the teacups. For old time’s sake.” 

Ten minutes later and the both of you are soon regretting that decision. You’re once again slumped on the bench, this time unable to keep your head up so you rest it on Jungkook’s shoulder while he leans on your head. 

“Haven’t rode that since I was a teenager,” Jungkook moans, holding his stomach. “Remind me not to eat so fast before getting on that kind of ride.” 

You mirror his expression, feeling green. “Is this what late-adult life feels like?” 

“Yep,” Jungkook replies, unbeknownst of how shocked you are at how weak your body has become. “You wake up with back pain, pre-arthritis from all the typing you’ve done over the last decade, and a lot of stress. Definitely not the fantasy you’d imagine from your 20s.” 

“You think you’d be less stressed if you kept your lacrosse scholarship?” 

“Nah, I think I saved myself,” Jungkook shakes his head, “before I could be any more awful than I already was.” 

You refuse that notion, sending him a bitter smile. “Well, look at me. I became awful right after high school.” 

“I didn’t mean you—”

“I know,” you hold up a hand to stop him. The two of you follow a red path up the hill, leading to a simple cable car ride. It’s a slow travel ride, made to get from one side of the park to the other with a beautiful view over the lake. “But you see those tabloid articles. They must be true.” 

“I—I didn’t think they were all true,” Jungkook’s lying through his teeth to make you feel better, but you don’t care. “Why do you sound unsure?” 

You shrug, “Probably wasn’t sober for most of my bad decisions,” considering your friendship with Seokjin and his boisterous drinking attitude, you wouldn’t be surprised, “If they weren’t true, I believe Jimin and I would’ve stayed friends. I can’t imagine why I left my home like that. But I guess it doesn’t matter too much because I came back. And I mean, we’re here together doing work,” you gesture between the small space between each other, “I think that counts for something.”  

The two of you walk in silence for a bit, contemplating. The line to the cable car isn’t long but it’s slow, considering the cable only moves a couple meters a second. The take-off area is a risen slab of concrete, and the cars are continuously moving so you have to hop on one car as soon as another guest exits. 

There’s a little bit of space between it, a centimeter gap that could be nerve wracking if there’s no staff around. You think nothing of it as you fiddle on your phone, waiting for the staff member to let you and Jungkook in on the next car. 

Jungkook enters first, taking great care to cradle the camera in one hand so it doesn’t sway against the car. The car swings a little as well, and Jungkook holds out a hand for you to grab. 

Instead you focus on how the once bright glassy pink is sun-ravished, faded and rusting on the metal door flaps. The color is almost pearlescent, vastly different than the vivid color you saw two weeks ago. You almost want to reach out and touch it, wondering where that quality went. 

“Bun, be careful!” 

The tip of your heel nicks on the stepping stone, slipping like butter as you topple forward. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up, hauling you into the car just as the metal door locks into place. The hard plastic of the camera digs into your chest uncomfortably as you plop on top of Jungkook, between his legs as half his thighs rest against the uncomfortable seat. 

“Were you not watching where you were going?” Jungkook huffs, blowing his bangs over his forehead. 

Instead of an artful answer you blurt, “You, you called me Bun.” 

His eyes widen at your response, and his grip loosens around your body. His eyes dart anywhere but your face, his cheeks ruddied and stained coral as he moves to remove you from his body. “It was a slip of the tongue,” he coughs, turning on his camera and getting shots of the lake. 

You huff in response, sticking to your side of the carriage. “I missed it,” you murmur to the wind, although you make yourself loud enough for him to hear. 

You try to bury your sour expression in your sleeves, just to hide how absolutely childish you feel. You don’t even care that Jungkook is trying to take pictures of you looking out the view, only trying to eradicate the feelings that are still down deep in your blood. Even the twenty-seven year old Jungkook is charming, albeit in a completely different way. 

The grown, mature Jungkook toots to his own horn. He isn’t concerned about a team or an image, and gave it all up to pursue an art he loves. The lacrosse jerseys exchanged for bulky long sleeves, the sport for a camera, and a mask for his true image. 

“Let’s go,” Jungkook takes your hand again when the ride stops, not letting go until you’re on steady ground. You figure he must think you walk like a toddler barely on her first mile. 

Would Jungkook like you even as an adult? With all this money, this power and this confidence you envisioned as a seventeen-year-old, it still doesn’t feel enough for him. In fact, you feel like a sore thumb sticking out, decorated in silly rumors and expensive clothes that separate you far from your roots. 

“Hey,” Jungkook touches your arm, pointing to a basketball carnival game, “remember this one?” 

“Yeah,” forcing a smile, you follow him to the small crowd that starts to form around the basketball game. The baskets are a short distance from the player, but so high up that it’s hard to tell the shape of the hoop. “I tried to tell you that it was completely rigged. From an angle you can see it’s still oval-shaped.” 

“And I told you it didn’t matter if the hoop was an octagon, I’d get you that prize,” he jerks a thumb to the prize booth, where a blue Piplup plush sits proudly with all the other starter Pokemon. “And I did.” 

“It’s still in my room,” you reply proudly, even though Jungkook is acting almost immaturely smug. “I, I mean it’s still in my room in my parent’s house. It’s probably lonely because my parents have been on a cruise for almost two weeks.” 

He raises a brow, eyes drifting to the booth. “Should I win another one to keep your bed in the city warm?” 

“That sounded oddly sexual.” 

“You know what I mean,” and Jungkook’s rolling up his sleeves, handing you the camera. 

“Jungkook,” you whine when he pulls out a roll of bills from his pocket, as if he prepared for this moment, “Jungkook c’mon—I don’t need any stuffed animals. Ugh.” 

You swear that the majority of your day is spent watching Jungkook blow cash on a low-quality stuffed animal with packaging pellets for the inside. Turns out carnival technology has also enhanced over the years, and it takes both your whining and the clerk’s whining to stop Jungkook from blowing his entire wallet to get one basket in. Eventually the staff relents and lets Jungkook take a Piplup keychain instead, glumly handing it over to you. 

“I like this better,” you chirp, clipping the ring onto your car keys, “now I can bring Piplup everywhere.” 

A small, barely there smile appears on Jungkook’s face. 

The rest of the day melts away like that, and before you know it the sun is slipping into the horizon and you’re being dropped off at your apartment. Jungkook even insists to walk you to your door, because your prizes are heavy. (Yes, he went back for the oversized Piplup.) 

It’s all too familiar, the way the walk upstairs is achingly slow, as if the moment is stretching itself down the hallway. How Jungkook looks so prideful holding the fruits of his labor, following you with a tug of your hand because the prize is too big for Jungkook to see straight. 

At the same time it’s different. The way you wobble around the hallway because you’re a little tipsy from wine flights is noticeable, even cute. How easy it is to not feel nervous when you clutch at his hand. How you two look like a seasoned couple, coming home from an all-day date. 

It ends at the front door, and you crack it open so you can slip your prizes through the crack. 

“Thanks, Jungkook,” you hold up the SD card that held all the precious memories of this week. 

This is where you part ways. You’ll spend the rest of the night editing your presentation, while Jungkook promised to go to a bar with his friends. A little part of you hoped you’d be invited, but you knew that would be impractical considering you have work in the morning. 

“Break a leg,” he says, leaning on the balls of his feet with his hands in his pockets, “you’ll do great. You’ve always been meant to do great things.” 

The investment he lays on you is insurmountable, and you feel yourself flush with simultaneous excitement and anxiety. Unknowing how to calm your nerves, you give him a small “thank you” and put your hand on the knob to slip away. 

“Wait—” 

You blink, a deer in the headlights as Jungkook swoops down and kisses you. 

You’ve received kisses—kisses reserved for a twenty-seven year old, before. Seokjin is an eager lover, and you felt it that fateful morning and even during your photoshoot when he tried to be sneaky and pull you away. Fleeting bites, kisses to the neck that are wet and hot.

Jungkook’s kiss does not feel like that. It feels like home. It feels like coming home after a long day of work, wrapping yourself in an old afghan and a hot cup of tea. The feeling of hot laundry, fresh front the dryer and smelling of floral softener. It tastes like ten years lost in a void, returning to your senses and lighting you up.

He holds you as if you’ll disappear right in front of him. Large hands cup your face, like a precious thing he never wants to let go. Your hands can do nothing but grapple after his, nails digging into his skin. 

“Good night, Jungkook,” you send him a lovestruck smile, a puppy love face. 

“Good bye, Bun,” he replies simply, jogging down the hallway. 

Being twenty-seven starts to feel a little more like heaven. 

Jennie used to annoy you in high school, but now she just down right scares you. 

Her presentation is one straight out of a thriller, with red shadow lights and neon green splattered in the dark room. Her models are intense, her designs are beautiful but overwhelmingly chaotic, and the whole affair is rather grotesque. The headline Fashion Suicide glares at you in a morbid scarlet font. 

Hoseok sends her a tight-lipped smile, and presses a button on his desk. “I need my antacids, Krystal,” Hoseok deadpans. 

Nothing betrays Jennie’s wicked expression, in fact her smirk widens at Hoseok’s fear. 

You on the other hand, are cool as a cucumber when you walk up to the front of the conference room. In fact, you barely have to say anything as the presentation presents itself. Jungkook took the liberty of making a video compilation for you, one that they could use in YouTube and Instagram promotions. 

“This, is preserving our youth,” you declare proudly, letting the video play. The music that accompanies it is very coming-of-age, like a yearbook slideshow of all the pictures you took. Taehyung, Jimin and Seokjin hold their arms around each other in matching attire, looking like friends for life. There’s even some videos of you and Jungkook at the park, playfully arguing at each other. “I’m tired of seeing people who could care less about my life, who I can’t relate to.” 

“This issue is for the unsung heroes—my best friend’s older sibling, the captain of the football team, and the black sheep with a dream.” 

The video cuts to Jungkook, looking ultra cool at the camera while he’s dictating Seokjin’s moves. It was taken on your phone, and you’re zooming in on Jungkook’s serious face before it breaks into a laugh, eyes crinkling and bunny teeth showing at whatever stupid thing Seokjin said. 

And finally, the video fades into a mock cover. The five of you are beaming at the camera, cheek-to-cheek as you hold up the placard: Ego: Class of Youth. 

Needless to say, the issue is yours. 

You ignore Jennie’s icy stare as you leave the room to negotiate with the creative teams on a set schedule. However, it seems that you can’t get a bit of rest when Jennie waits for you in your office.

“Jennie, get off of my desk,” you frown, watching a coffin-tipped nail flicking against a photograph of you holding hands with Jungkook in the amusement park. It hangs on a corkboard, standing up with all the other ideas that you and Jungkook have spent the last week meticulously planning.The black enamel scratches at your smiling face. You are not having this, not after all your hard work and all the meetings that have just been planned. 

Her feet dangle in the air, kicking back and forth as she sings your name. “You’re still such a child,” she sighs dramatically. “In fact, I think your cute little-wittle idea would suit something more like Highlights or Disney Monthly.”

“You’re just upset I did better than you,” you cross your arms.

Jennie’s nail slices your visage in half. 

“You’re right,” Jennie turns a 180 and gives you a bright, candy-coated smile. “Your idea is so good, it doesn’t suit Ego. In fact, I’m sure the editors at Mono will pay a pretty penny.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Ugh, you are such a fake.” Jennie giggles, “now, did you send this idea to Namjoon yet? Their publishing date is two weeks before ours, so I’m sure they’re getting to work on this whole Throwback Thursday spread.” 

You can’t believe the words coming from Jennie’s mouth. Before all of this, just how awful of a person were you? How could you sabotage your company on the regular, just to get paid a little extra dough for a rival company? It makes you think about what could’ve possibly changed. Had leaving your friends without a care in the world made you into this lost adult, grappling at the seams for attention? In college, did Jennie coerce you into being manipulative and backstabbing, and because without Jimin and needing confidence in a friend, you reluctantly agreed?

The coffee from this morning starts to back up in your throat, but you immediately tamp it down. No, you can’t be pushed around like this. You can’t keep pushing people around. You don’t want a life like this, and if you ever return to your old life, you’ll damn make sure you’ll create a future without Jennie in the picture. 

“I’m not going to send anything to Mono, and I’ve already fessed up to Hoseok,” you lift your nose in the air, voice impeccably clear for someone who’s absolutely bluffing. But Jennie’s face hits the ground, immediately buying your lie. You suppose you did become a good actress after ten years. Maybe Seokjin taught you a few pointers. “So if I were you, I’d swallow your tongue before words get around. I worked it out but don’t be surprised if a pink slip comes your way.” 

Turns out that no matter what, high school never ends. There will always be backstabbers and freaks and geeks. A mean girl that you subconsciously try so hard to appease, a grade that defines your life, and drama up to the neck. 

“He doesn’t like you, y’know,” Jennie whispers, but the words are loud and clear and you know exactly who she’s talking about. “Never had, and never will.” 

“You’re wrong,” you hold your hands, clasping them together to keep them from trembling, “he likes me.” 

So you leave the office, determined to prove yourself. That kiss last night was nothing short of magical, and it took a lot of strength for you to not drive up to Jungkook’s apartment in the morning in the hopes for another one. You pick up a pizza near his place, filling it up with your favorite toppings on one half and his favorites on his. A bottle of peach champagne is nestled between your arms. In the bathroom while waiting for your pizza, you’ve wriggled out of your tight suit and into a blue hoodie and bicycle shorts. Tonight, you’re celebrating. 

You’re vibrating as you’re knocking eagerly on his front door, excited to tell him the news. You hear a rustle from the couch, and some blankets shifting about. He must’ve passed out after going to the bar, how cute. 

But when the door opens, the vision in front of you is far from cute.

A woman, with cat eyes and a slim figure, tilts her head at you. She’s dressed in a large white shirt, transparent enough to show her lacy black bra and panties. Bruises decorate her neck and thighs, like red and purple gems. Her long black hair swishes, slightly frizzy at the bottom. 

“Can I help you?” her voice is sultry and velvety. “Are you looking for JK?” 

It’s obvious as to what transpired. Jungkook dipped after kissing you and fucked another woman. A woman who’s the complete opposite of you. Someone flirty and sexy and willing to give Jungkook what he wants. You don’t know who you should be mad at. 

“Who’s at the door?” Jungkook calls from the inside, and you nearly drop your bottle at the sound of the rasp. They must’ve had a fuckfest if they’re just waking up now.

Your cheeks are burning. Your heart is aching. And the vile that bubbled up from Jennie’s tirade is now resurfacing. From the way your eyes are watering, you must look like a crybaby. 

“Say, JK,” the woman closes the frame tighter around her small head, preventing you from seeing inside and for Jungkook to peer, “do you have any pathetic ex-girlfriends?” 

“No,” comes the muffled reply, “come back to bed, it’s getting cold without you,” the pizza starts to burn uncomfortably against your grip, “why the random question?” 

“Dunno, seems like you’ve had at least one.” 

At that moment, your savior appears in grey jeans and a beige hoodie. Jimin walks up to the floor, clutching a bag of groceries. It’s not hard to put two and two together as he spots you looking incredibly small in front of the strange woman, trying so hard not to break down. 

Your tears finally fall when Jimin reaches you. “Wrong room,” you mutter under your breath, quickly following your old best friend when he shoves you in his apartment. 

No words need to be explained when Jimin leaves the groceries on the coffee table and he’s pulling you onto his lap. You clutch him like a koala, rubbing mascara and blush all over his clothes as you sob. He pats your back and soothes your hiccups by offering you a glass of water. The stages of your meltdowns are pretty cut and dry, even after ten years. He still encourages you to finish the whole glass. He makes sure you have something to eat. He cuts your pizza into little bite sized pieces and feeds you. He doesn’t pressure you to talk until you’re ready, although he has a hunch as to what’s going on. 

And when you talk, he doesn’t expect a firm, “Take me home,” from you. 

“O-okay,” Jimin agrees immediately, pulling you into a sitting position. “Uptown, right? We can call an Uber or something and order from a restaurant.” 

“No,” you reply firmly, “Home-home. I want to go back to my parent’s house.” 

“That’s fine too,” he squeezes your shoulder, accepting the fob you hold out to him, “it’ll take about an hour, but I think the drive will be nice.” 

So you two sneak off into the sunset, clutching twin slices of pizza as you roll away into your Tesla. Jimin is right, ten minutes into the drive and you’re soothed by his smooth driving and the scent of fried cheese and dough. Your friend has been calm all this time, so you figure this is the right time for him to pop off. Again, this is also part of your breakdown routine. 

“Say, does this thing do calls?” Jimin asks, fiddling with the settings on your steering wheel, “Tesla, call Jeon Jungkook.” 

“Jimin,” you say weakly, although the little malicious side of you wants to goad him on. You don’t bother to fight the best friend territorialism, you just watch as his hands clutch at the steering wheel as the speakers ring. 

Jungkook picks up on the second ring, “Hey!” he says brightly, and it makes your chest pang to know how oblivious he is, “how did the presentation go?” 

“Fuck you, Jungkook!” you cover your free hand on your ear at Jimin’s shrill yell, louder than the speakers that carry Jungkook’s voice. “Fuck you for breaking my best friend’s heart twice!” 

The silence is deafening. It’s scary, like you could slash a butter knife right through the tension. 

Jimin continues, “I can understand high school because you were a real doofus, but this! You fucking lead my best friend on, only to fuck another girl right under her nose! She came all the way to your apartment from a long-ass day at work to celebrate and you ruin that day! I thought you’ve grown for the better but turns out nothing has changed since prom night. You’re still the stupid, confused little boy that doesn’t want to admit how they really feel,” you gasp at the blow, watching Jimin’s gritted teeth as he zooms down the freeway on a mission. “Good fucking riddance, Jeon!” 

Jimin punches the “hang up” button. A couple seconds of heavy breathing, and he turns to you with a gentle smile. 

“So, you want to listen to Taylor Swift’s new album?” 

Your room is lost in time. The Hunger Games novels are stacked on your shelf, looking old and worn. A Glee poster hangs over your four-poster bed, the yellow and red faded and the corners hanging by a thread from the old tape. The sheets are a pale pink, ruffly and definitely not in style anymore. When you sit on it, it creaks uncomfortably. 

You hug yourself, tucking your knees in as Jimin marvels at the room with an equal amount of awe. 

“If you could, would you go back to high school?” Jimin asks, sitting at the edge of your bed. 

With a lazy shrug, you smile at your collection of polaroids that are hanging above your vanity. You’re still hurt, but the pain is no longer rolling in waves. “Maybe,” you reply, “probably would’ve taken you to Europe with me.” 

He chuckles, “Is that the only thing you would change?” 

“If I knew what I knew now?” you tilt your head, “I don’t know.” 

Jimin gets off your bed, pressing a kiss into your forehead. “I’m gonna raid the kitchen and see if we can make something for dinner, yeah? Since your parents are on vacation and your fridge is probably empty, don’t  judge me if there’s only Totino’s pizza rolls and nuggets in the freezer.” 

When Jimin leaves your room, you quietly close the door and lock it. You lean against the cracked wooden door, falling onto the carpet and letting the tears fall. Is this what the rest of your life is going to be like? Evading pain and working too hard and trying everyday to stay afloat? Is adult life always going to be this difficult?  

These past two weeks have been nothing short of a rollercoaster. Major highs and major lows, and after today you thought you reached the end of the ride. However, it’s looking like the ride has no destination in mind, rolling in waves and finding a new hill or loop to catch you off-guard. 

“Are you kidding—how did you know we were here?” Another corkscrew. 

“You’re a turtle on the road, Jimin. Now move out of the way.” 

Jungkook’s voice startles you, and you tense when you see the gold door knob jiggle. Of course as strong as Jimin is, he’s no match for Jungkook. You hear Jimin grumble to curse Jungkook out, and the sound of him stomping down the stairs. 

“Hey, open up. Please,” Jungkook’s voice is weak and strained, and you only hug yourself tighter as the knocks continue. “Or, don’t. It seems like you can listen to me perfectly from here. I can hear your breathing.” 

You don’t say a peep, preferring to let everything fizzle out. Hopefully Jungkook will give up, say a pathetic sorry and be on his merry way. You don’t know why he’s followed you all the way over here, why would he bother coming when the damage is already done. 

There’s a slide of fabric across wood, and you can feel the door shake against your back as Jungkook leans on his side out in the hallway. 

“Back in high school, Jennie proposed that I date you to get back at you for stealing Jennie’s sewing sample and getting the higher grade,” you close your eyes, letting the story unravel. “She wanted to build you up before breaking you down, and back then I was vulnerable and thrived on attention, so I thought nothing of it.” 

You hear a breathy exhale from his side, as if it pains him to continue, “But obviously, it wasn’t true and I only realized it until I was way too deep. I liked you, so much. Heck, I think I might’ve loved you. We were so wrapped up in this relationship I even convinced myself it was real, until Jennie said she’d crush you at prom night.

“I should’ve tried harder to convince us not to go. I should’ve told Jennie to fuck off. I should’ve come clean. I should’ve done something,” his fist bangs against your door, the vibrations of the impact thrumming in your back, “seeing you so beautiful in that dress all heartbroken because I didn’t act sooner. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Hearing him pour his heart out is like watching your memories in his shoes. The pieces find homes and paint a picture left unfinished. 

“And then when you showed up at my doorstep, I was so angry. I knew you felt it. But I wasn’t upset at you, I was upset at myself. I felt so fucking guilty. I hated how easy it was for you to let me back into your life. I hated how easy it was to fall for you all over again. I knew how much I didn’t deserve your forgiveness, but you gave it to me and I was too selfish to refuse. I had so much fun, the most fun I’ve had in awhile. 

“I’m sorry I kissed you. I didn’t intend for it to I just, I couldn’t help myself. And then I was so scared that I turned away and made the second biggest regret to date.

“But it proves that we’re not meant to be together. I don’t deserve you,” the last part is hushed, a nail in the coffin, “we can’t turn back the time, but if I could I would change it all. I would be by your side and make your world even better than it is right now. I’m sorry it’s too late.” 

You clutch your mouth, suppressing the cries that muffle through the door. You hear Jungkook get up from your old carpet, turn the other way and head downstairs. 

Your first love just closed the chapter for you. His words show how much he cared for you, but didn’t know how to express it. How immature he was, how he realized everything too late. And now, he wants to set you free. Even if it is a good thing, it still tears you to shreds. 

Moving to your vanity, you pull out the chair and lean your head on the table, eyes poking through your hair. You look awful. The skin under your waterline is puffy and your eyes are red and bloodshot. Your forearms feel greasy, and you lift them up to reveal glitter painting the entirety of your skin. Your eyes dart to the open glitter, the package that Jimin gifted to you that fateful prom night. The compact is broken in half and left on the table, probably a product of your younger cousins fiddling through your old room. 

Ignoring the sticky feeling, you let yourself continue to cry. You feel like you’re stuck in the bathroom of the prom venue, waiting for an opportunity to sneak out and go. 

But you want nothing more than to go back to that moment. As amazing as your twenty-seven year old life is, you’re not ready for it. You don’t want a life without Jungkook, or a life having to constantly catch up and mend your relationship with Jimin. You don’t want to be the backstabbing bitch that tips off other magazines, or the two-faced woman who messes around with others for the sake of pleasure.

You long to go back. You long to live and grow. To be seventeen and have time to grow in-between. 

When you lift your head from your vanity, you’re ten years younger.

You scream. 

Your parents dash to your room with a kitchen knife and a confused face. With a wary smile and a teary gaze you say that it’s only a pimple. Your mother giggles and drops the knife, hugging you and helping you conceal the invisible mark. The hug is so warm and so missed that you nearly sigh in content. You’ve missed them. 

It’s a little strange to think well beyond your years, your brain still reeling from the trip you’ve just had. Your hands smooth over your body, the previous curves and maturity hidden away in your skin. That’s okay, you don’t mind waiting anymore. There’s much more important things at hand. 

If Jungkook isn’t going to realize his mistakes until it’s too late, you have to speed up the process. 

Stealing your parent’s keys and hopping in your Accord, you drive off to Jungkook’s. Hair and makeup not done, and still in your plain shirt and jeans. An hour from now, Jungkook will text you saying his car is down and he’ll meet you at the venue. 

It’s still rush hour, so he doesn’t notice when you park a few houses down. He’s sitting on his front porch, looking out the road. There’s really nothing in front of him, he’s just staring aimlessly, probably nervous about what’s about to go down tonight. You suppress a sigh, engraving the vision to memory. He looks great in his fitted black suit and tie, a little silver pocket square on the breast to match your dress. 

He gets up quickly when he sees you, as if caught in the act. Staring at your plain clothes he asks, “Bun, why aren’t you dressed? Prom’s soon—”

“Jungkook, I want to break up.” 

You see it in his eyes. Vulnerability. No longer do you feel insecure, the future told you that Jungkook genuinely did care for you back then. Or in this case, right now. His usual cheery expression crumples at your feet, and his hands fall at his sides. It feels a little unfair, knowing that you have experience under your belt, and Jungkook’s experiencing these feelings for the first time, unprepared. 

“What?” he wilts, “why?” 

“I know about Jennie’s plan,” you say instantly, unfazed. You give him a tight-lipped smile when realization hits his face. “So I know this whole relationship is orchestrated. The sewing sample fiasco is wrong, obviously. But I’m not going to get mad at you, I know she played you as much as she played me,” you clasp the straps of your purse, stopping you from fidgeting, “we graduate in a few months anyway. We don’t have to see or talk about this ever again. You should go enjoy your prom night with your other friends.” 

The present-day Jungkook is still young and confused. He’s at a loss, looking like he’s on sensory overload as he absorbs all the information. You see his eyes flicker to where your Accord is parked, your prom dress hanging on one of the arm pulls. You never even pulled it out of the bag. 

“Here,” you pull his corsage from your purse, placing the white rose atop the porch. If you try to put it on him, you fear you may never leave. With a determined huff, you turn around in the direction of your car.

“Where are you going?” he asks, clutching the railing of his porch, “what about prom?” 

“I have other plans,” you shrug over your shoulder, “have a good night.” 

You don’t look back, although you feel Jungkook’s stare burning in your head. You take great care in going into drive and punching in a new destination in your clunky GPS. This time you have to do things one at a time, once you get your Tesla ten years from now, you’re sure this process will be much easier. 

Jimin’s family comes out of the airport, looking impeccable as always. Ten years younger, with puffy cherub cheeks and bright eyes. To your surprise (but also all things considered, it’s Jimin), your best friend comes out in a three-piece suit. It’s burgundy, and suits his dark hair well. He places his luggage into your car, hugs his family good-bye and waits for them to depart in their cab. 

“You are all dressed up, and for what,” you chuckle, driving out of the airport.

“Well, when you sent that voicemail that you’d be waiting for me, I changed in the bathroom,” Jimin quips, already fiddling with your radio to play some poppy overplayed music, “but why aren’t you dressed? I thought we were going to be fashionably late to prom. Spill.”

“Hm, let’s talk about it in the morning. I wanna enjoy my prom night,” and you reach over to ruffle Jimin’s soft black strands, “y’know, you’d look really sexy as a blond.” 

He pulls down your mirror, positioning it over his face. Pursing his plush lips, he tilts his head. “Yeah, maybe when I’m older,” he grins at his reflection, “so if we’re not going to prom, let’s go get pizza.” 

So the two of you get pizza. But not before you take your prom pictures. Your parents meet you at the park with their old digital camera, ready for your impromptu photoshoot. Jimin uses an old tarp to cover the car up while you change in the car, shimmying in your sparkly silver tulle dress. Your hair is held up and away from your face, looking clean enough to be presentable as you pose for the camera. The two of you pick yellow dandelions from the grass, matching flowers as last minute dates. Your parents coo and are happy for you, knowing that even if you don’t attend the actual dance, the pictures will last forever and you’ll smile at them for years. 

Eventually you tell Jimin about Jungkook and the whole fiasco (sans the ten year mental time jump.) The reaction is expected, Jimin says he wants to fuck Jungkook up. Surprisingly for him, he doesn’t have to do much to console you. In fact, you sip coolly from your smoothie and say Jungkook will probably let Jimin get a punch in even though Jungkook can bench press his tiny body in half. But you tell him you’re okay, and all you want to do is go home and binge watch. 

Jimin carries the pie in his lap while you pull up your driveway. The smell of toasty cheese and fresh dough fill your car. 

“I want to watch Sky City,” Jimin sing-songs, “Kim Seokjin is God’s gift!” 

You crinkle your nose, “He’s alright.” 

“What! You thought he was so hot like, last week.” 

“Things change.” 

Jimin makes it to your room first, saying he’ll take care of setting things up. He��ll probably steal all the available cushions and make a fort for himself while he puts a picnic blanket on the floor in front of your television. You can imagine him hogging all your stuffed animals, placing it on his side of the carpet while he rifles through your drawers so he can change out of his suit. 

Your parents tell you to take out the trash before you have fun tonight. Careful not to get your dress dirty, you hold it away from your body as you waddle out the front door. You make it two steps into the driveway before the soggy trash bag is whisked from your hands.

“I got it,” Jungkook says quietly, and it takes little to no effort for him to haul the large bag into the waiting trash can. His shoulders are slumped under his white button-up, his suit jacket probably stuffed somewhere in the back of the car. 

“Jungkook,” you reply, dumbfounded, “it’s only eight, prom isn’t even over yet.” 

“I know… but then I realized you weren’t gonna get your money’s worth if you didn’t go. I asked the waitress if she could get me a doggie bag for my date and,” he holds up a stapled bag, presumably the dinner that was supposed to be served, “it’s your favorite.” 

“Thank you,” you give him a small, grateful smile as you accept the bag. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.” 

He bites his lip, stuffing his hands in his dress pockets. “A-and you told me before you left that I should go spend prom night with my friends,” he ruffles his hair, blown out of the pomade and falling into his eyes, “and then I realized that you were right. Jennie and all those people out there aren’t really my friends. They like my rep and they like my attention, but they don’t like me.” 

You shake your head, “Jungkook, you’re very likable. Jennie and her group are just one bad bunch.” 

“But I don’t wanna be liked by my rep. I wanna be liked for the things I love,” he steps a hesitant step towards you, and he relaxes when he sees that you don’t recoil, “I haven’t told anyone this. But I want to drop that sports scholarship. I applied to an art school, and I got in.” 

Suppressing a grin with a bite of your lips, you cheer silently in your head. Things are changing. “I’m so happy for you, Jungkook. Congrats.” 

“And I’m sorry for all the fucked up things I did. Jennie may have manipulated me but I definitely was a big part of it,” Jungkook pulls the words out of the sky, finally having enough time to formulate an apology, “but please don’t doubt for a second that my feelings are fake. I really like you, and I wish we got to know each other under better circumstances.”

“I wish we could’ve,” you echo sadly. “But our futures—” 

“I don’t want to lose you.” 

“I liked you, so much. Heck, I think I might’ve loved you.”

You shake your head, frowning at his kicked puppy expression. “I’m considering a fashion school in Europe,” you reach for Jungkook’s hand, squeezing it. Letting him know that everything’s going to be okay. “You and Jimin can visit me during the breaks, Europe has some great spots to photograph.” 

Something in Jungkook’s gaze tells you that it’s not enough for him. He wants to be selfish and hold onto you tighter, but you know that’s not good for the both of you right now. “That’d be nice,” he says vaguely, giving you a pained smile. 

Jungkook rubs his thumb over your hand, relishing in the softness of your skin. “You look really pretty,” he says, looking forlornly over the dress. He can only imagine how ethereal you’d look under the fairy lights that decorated the venue, “I wish we could’ve had one dance.” 

You shrug, “The night’s still young,” you gesture to the space in the driveway, and the lights that overhead the garage. 

The slow Taylor Swift music that plays from his pocket is muffled, but it doesn’t deter either of you as he places his hands on your waist and you wrap his around his neck. You’re wearing your bunny house slippers and Jungkook’s neck is moist from his nervous sweats, but you know that this memory will be engraved in your brain for years to come. 

It feels good to know that from now on, you don’t have to be so concerned about the future now that you’ve had a taste of it. All you want now is to take it one day at a time. At this moment the, the only thing you want to do is focus on how you’re going to hold onto Jungkook for the last time. At least for now, who knows what will happen in the future. 

“I really want to kiss you, Bun,” he leans in, foreheads touching, “but I don’t deserve it.” 

“You’re right,” you tease, “you don’t.” 

He frowns playfully, “Ouch. But fair.” 

Yet you figure you’ve made enough headway these past few weeks, and you deserve to be a little selfish. One last kiss, you think to yourself. Your fingers flatten against the pressed material of his collar, meeting in the middle to clutch Jungkook’s slim black tie. Jungkook bites his lip, looking down at you for permission. With the tiniest of nods, you get on your tippy toe toes you lean forward and you can smell the apple cider lingering on his lips—

“Ohmygod—are you broken up or not!” both of you whip your heads up to see Jimin hanging over your open window, looking absolutely bored. His arms dangle over your sill, wearing a frayed high school jumper. “Either tell him to get lost or invite him over to watch television because I’m hungry!” 

You pull away from him fully, squeezing his biceps. “Want pizza?” 

He shakes his head, “I think it’s a trap. Jimin’s waiting for me to come up so he can rip my head off,” he gives a tentative wave to the second floor, but Jimin just scoffs and goes back inside, “but I’ll see you Monday.” 

“Okay. Good night, Kook.” 

“Good night, Bun.” 

Your heart pinches a little as you watch him drive away. Before, you knew what the end game was between you two. It didn’t end pretty. Now, you’re not so sure. At the very least, it isn’t ending on a sour note. 

Some time later.

“Your majesty,” you give her a practiced smile, taking careful measures not to brush the lady’s shoulders too hard in the fear she’ll whittle away, “emerald is an impeccable color on you.” 

The Queen of England (the McDuckin' Queen of England!) just laughs at you and waves you off. You can’t believe you’re photographing a real queen. This is like the childhood equivalent of meeting Malibu Barbie. You thank every single choice and mistake you’ve made in your entire life that has brought you up to this impeccable moment. She’s a vision, you could cry. In fact, you’ll cry later in the comfort of your hotel room. “Do you think the photographer will take long?” she asks, frowning, “I have drinks with my friends in an hour.” 

You smirk, pleased to know she’s still kicking it in her golden years. “Yeah, just so long as my husband doesn’t get distracted. Fifteen minutes, tops.” 

“I’m not distracted,” Jungkook huffs, pulling away from his tripod. He gives up on trying to stabilize the camera, instead preferring to go freehand for this one. He gives you an incredulous look, hands on his hips, “I have two queens in my viewfinder and I only got room for one. Get out of the shot, Bun.” 

With a playful roll of your eyes, you step away from the lady of the hour to let Jungkook do his thing. He’s right in his element, blurting choreographed poses and telling the lighting people to move at his beck and call to get the perfect angle. You stand a distance behind him, letting him take control. 

“I’m so hungry,” your whisper is low enough to blend between the jazz music, but loud enough for Jungkook’s ears to listen in, “please tell me you’re almost done.” 

“Oui, oui.” 

“Wrong language, Kook. Please don’t offend anyone,” and discreetly, you take one step closer in your Tory Burch flats, “did you get any candids of me and the Queen?” 

“Duh, Bun,” you can’t see his face but you know he’s grinning, “Jimin will faint.” 

"Oh, yes! Thank you, I love you," you gush, reaching over to discreetly pinch his butt. 

He shakes his head, looking over his shoulder to give you a brief smirk, "Show me how thankful you are tonight." 

So silly, you think. It's amazing how well you work together as two separate entities of a photoshoot yet share a brain cell in the presence of each other. In another world, Jungkook said if given the chance, he'd be by your side and make your world a better place. 

Ten years later, it's exactly that and more. 

[lockefanfic]

The Girl with the Purple Hair

A/N: No smut here, guys, sorry to disappoint you - just some fluff. I wrote this fic literally four (!) years ago - one of my first k-pop fics and my first non-smut fic. I never reposted it here for some reason, but an ask I received recently got me to re-read it and I remembered how proud I was of it when I wrote it, so here it is. Please don’t judge me :P

---

Purple.

 It’s the first word that comes to mind when you see her. And how could it not be, given the color of her hair? It’s not like purple hair is a common thing - not like there are other people in the noisy, crowded bar that have purple hair. In fact, this is probably the first time you’ve seen someone in person with purple hair. Normal people had normal colored hair, like black or brown or blonde. Her hair isn’t some lazy dye job, either, with shades and highlights and a gradient to the violet strands.

 You don’t want to be caught staring, and so you steal glances at her every now and then, and every time you look her way, the first thing you notice is the wavy strands of purple as they play about her shoulders, falling lazily down like a waterfall on an alien world, where the water happens to be purple.

 Beautiful.

 It’s the next word that comes to mind, because were anyone to look just a little past the eye-dazzling color of her hair, they’d find a beautiful face, made with delicate, small features. She is traditionally beautiful in the sense that any man or woman  would agree with you if you said “here is an attractive human being.” There is a timelessness, a universality to her beauty. She could have been born a hundred years ago and still be considered pleasing to the eye - purple hair aside, she could be a painting of a woman from a time gone by, dressed up in the fashion of a model from the magazines of today.

 There is a playfulness about her features at the moment, as she indulges in conversation with the three other girls at her table. Her three friends are nothing to sneeze at, but she makes them all pale in comparison - part of it is the ridiculous, daring color of her hair, but there is something more than that. She possesses a magnetism, an allure that makes her stand out amongst three girls that, were they anywhere else, would easily be the most attractive girls in the room.

 You’re not alone either, sitting as you are with a few of your friends at your own table on the other side of the small bar. It is Friday evening, and as is custom with your co-workers, you all headed to the bar to celebrate another week gone by. But they are currently immersed in a conversation about some work-related topic, some absent co-worker or client (you weren’t really sure anymore) that was frustrating them. Uninterested in the topic, you found your attention drifting, naturally, to the girl with the purple hair.

 You notice that she has a certain aloofness about her, a certain detached nature from the conversation her three friends are having, and for a moment you wonder if perhaps she is in the same boat as you - stuck at a bar with friends who are babbling about co-workers or video games or guys or shopping or cars or clothes or those girls in the random k-pop video playing on one of the big screen TVs, when clearly you’d rather be anywhere but there.

 The other three girls seem like average girls, typical of the type you’d see at a downtown bar on a Friday night, out to have a good time with friends whilst under the influence of perhaps one too many alcoholic beverages. They are the type that would head to a club after they are sufficiently liquored up at this bar, spend the night dancing, post a group picture on Instagram when the night is at its peak, and then make a post on Facebook about how awesome it was the day after.

 But the girl with the purple hair seems different from the other three.

 She lets her gaze wander, and for a split second you are afraid again that perhaps she would catch you staring, but thankfully her eyes drift in a direction opposite from you. She lets a small, almost imperceptible sigh escape her lips, and you wonder if perhaps she would rather be somewhere else, perhaps at home on the couch binge watching some random show on Netflix, or playing Overwatch, or indulging in some random artistic pursuit that you didn’t even know existed.

 She seems like the type that would play Overwatch. She seems like the type that paints, or makes her own earrings that she sells on Etsy, or likes to watch movies in foreign languages. Maybe she watches them with the subtitles off sometimes, just to see if she can understand what they’re talking about simply from the universality of gestures made by foreign hands and the tones of foreign voices coming from foreign mouths.

 The sudden realization that you are framing this random girl in your mind rattles you a bit, and you smile to yourself as you shake your head, as if to rid those stupid, childish thoughts. You didn’t know this girl, not even in the slightest, and it was wrong of you to impose a character, a personality, on someone you knew nothing about.

 You play idly with the small glass of whiskey in your hand, watching as the amber brown liquid swirls about. You take a sip and appreciate the warm taste of it in your mouth and down your throat, appreciating the soft burn, the soft warmth it leaves behind.

 You take a moment to try to tune back into the conversation your friends are having, but they are knee-deep in a conversation about a Super Nintendo game. You loved vintage games - there was something about the original plastic in your hands, and the classic, blocky pixels on your screen, that made it feel more authentic in the way an emulator on a modern console could never be.

 You are about to join in on the conversation, about to tell your friends about some random game you picked up online, when a movement on the other side of the bar catches your attention - the girl in the purple hair is raising a glass. One of her friends is speaking earnestly, it appears, and after finishing her little speech the brunette girl next to her gives her a hug - perhaps it was a toast? Perhaps it is the brunette’s birthday? It probably was. Either way, the girls clink their glasses together, and down their shots in one gulp.

 The girl in the purple hair scrunches her face as she forces the strong liquor down her throat. Immediately you think that perhaps it the cutest thing you’d ever witnessed, and you find that a small smile has appeared, unconsciously, on your lips.

 The four girls share that wonderful post-shot reaction with each other, complaining about how awesome that small bit of alcohol they just had was. Together three of them tease the orange-haired, thin girl who is struggling with the alcohol and having a coughing fit. They laugh and one of them grabs her phone to take a picture of the poor girl, who, to her credit, is laughing along with them, probably out of embarrassment.

 The girl with the purple hair joins in on the fun, saying something that must have been hilarious, for all three of her companions burst out in laughter - including the thin girl struggling with the shot. The girl smiles, and her eyes narrow to thin half-arcs. In that moment she is the picture of happiness and joy.

 She says something else to her group - you assume it is her declaring that the next round is on her. She stands, and the girls make way for her to leave their table.

 For the first time you get a glimpse of her from head to toe. She is wearing a short, black dress, and what appears to be a grey patterned collared shirt beneath it. The dress is plain and relatively short but not overly so, showing off her long, slender legs without being improper or overly suggestive. It’s an interesting outfit; classy enough to be worn to work, whilst casual enough for a night out with the girls.

 Here again she differs from her compatriots, who appear to be dressed in typical club girl outfits, with short tops and skirts, heels and small, glamorous purses and accessories. If ever there was a club girl starter kit, they were perfect models.

 But the girl with the purple hair, as you’ve come to see, is a little different from her friends.  

 You watch as she approaches the bar. There is an elegance in the way she walks, which is admirable considering the alcohol you presume she’s consumed thus far this evening.

 Later on, you’ll wonder where your sudden burst of confidence came from. But at that moment, when the girl with the purple hair reaches the bar and tries, unsuccessfully, to flag down the overly busy bartender, you see an opportunity.

 Hastily, you mumble something to your friends about grabbing the next round, and step away from the table. Out of the corner of your ear, you hear one of your friends wonder where you’re going, and another say that you still have an almost full pitcher at your table - but they are irrelevant now. Nothing else exists aside from the thirty feet between you and the spot at the bar next to the girl with the purple hair.

 Where did this come from, this sudden burst of confidence, this sudden need to get up and go over to this girl to talk to her? Was it the liquor, the liquid confidence coursing through your veins? No. It was the desire, nay, the need to speak to this girl, the need to see if she really was everything you’d built up in your mind. You needed to speak to her, to ask her her name, maybe find out a little about her. Even if she shot you down before you could get a sentence out, well, at least you had tried. You couldn’t bear the thought of wondering what might have been had you not done something.

 Ten feet away. You take a deep breath, and ready what you are about to say in your mind. Some comment about her hair? A stupid, corny joke, just to break the ice?

 Five feet away. Maybe some witty comment about bad bartenders?

 Two feet - and suddenly your thoughts disappear, and your mind goes blank as the girl with the purple hair turns her head and makes eye contact with you. Later you would realize that moment seemed to go on forever. You were hardly the mushy, sentimental type, but you finally understood why the movies slow that moment down, why the soft music plays in the background during those scenes. You wonder if this is what it feels like when someone who will be important in your life looks at you for the first time.

 You are relieved, beyond words, to see a smile appear on her lips.

 You smile back, although you wonder if perhaps the nervousness coursing throughout every fibre of your being is having an effect on your smile, and if you are actually grimacing oddly at her instead of smiling. But your mouth and lips miraculously follow the orders sent to them by your dazzled mind, because her smile widens a little bit in the way that smiles do when they are returned.

 It is just a second, maybe two, of the many billions of seconds in your life, but it felt like an eternity.

 You reach the bar, your legs - your wonderful, reliable, stable legs - by some miracle not failing you and delivering you safely to the bar without collapsing due to sheer nervousness. You remember who you are, what you came here to do, and you try to act as casual as your nerves could allow you to. You make a show of trying to flag down the bartender, but he is busy on the other end of the bar catering to some especially loud patrons.

 Your mind is racing, trying and failing to remember what it was you were going to say to the girl with the purple hair, your nerves suddenly afire at the mere proximity of the young woman you’d been stealing glances at all night. You were far from inexperienced with the opposite sex, far from being some timid fool when it came to approaching them. But this one was different. This one was special.

 Maybe you should just say hi. Start simple, y’know? But dammit, that never works. You needed something witty, something memorable, something that would make her laugh and giggle and think ‘clearly this man’s shirt is made of boyfriend material and I should throw myself into his arms posthaste.’ You don’t get that with hi!. No one gets that with hi. Girls want someone cocky and confident and sure of himself. No one ever just says hi! You know who approaches girls and says hi? Single guys, that’s who! Don’t just say hi!

 Dammit! What were you going to say? Your mind races, tries to think back to other times you’d approached girls, tries to remember what you said to them when you were successful. Gah! Your mind fails you, returns only a simple blank slate, as though your mind had put on its hat and jacket, hung up a sign that said “you’re on your own, kid,” and then started to walk home.

You tap your fingers nervously on the bar surface, trying, and perhaps failing, to appear as casual as possible as you stare, blankly, in the general direction of the too-busy bartender as he struggles to pour the correct kinds of alcohol in the correct kinds of glasses in the correct proportions.

 Clearly you needed to make some witty comment to break the ice. A small joke, perhaps? A corny one, or a genuinely funny one? What was a good joke… dammit! Damn you, mind, and your vacation time! Perhaps mention something… about… sports! Yes, it was a bar, and there were sports playing on the TVs. Maybe she was a hockey fan? Or soccer? What if she liked one, but not the other? Which sport had the highest proportion of purple haired fans? What if she thought sports were stupid, a male-dominated dick measuring contest that wasn’t worth her time or attention, and she thought less of you for liking them? Dammit!

 Maybe you should comment on her hair? Maybe something along the lines of… perhaps… using her hair to get the bartender’s attention? Then segue into how it got your attention. That’s it. Hahahaha, you laugh nervously in your mind’s eye. Then she would say how she was hoping you’d come over to talk to her, and you’d say she was awesome and you’d go on a date the next day and get married a month after that and later you’d have kids and live happily ever-

 There is a soft tap on your forearm. You turn, nervously, to the girl with the purple hair, and the sight of her face, her eyes locked on yours, that bright smile once again on her lips, causes your heart to skip a beat like it was a crack on the sidewalk.

 The next day, when you’d recovered from the whirlwind of the night’s events, you’d realize that her first words to you, the first sounds you’d hear from her voice, would sound like music. And it was crazy, considering it was just a single syllable, a single word, but someone could have told you that the entirety of Beethoven’s works were held within that syllable, and you’d have believed it.

 The girl with the purple hair’s mouth opens, her lips part, a she leans towards you with a soft smile and says:

 “...Hi.”

[no-gays-in-russia]

Why you should watch Young Royals

Introduction: Young Royals is a Swedish teen drama that was released by Netflix earlier this July; it consists of a season of six episodes, all about an hour each. It talks about Wilhelm, prince of Sweden, who gets sent to the fancy Hillerska boarding school after getting involved in a scandal; there he meets a hottie named Simon and let me tell you, things get really spicy from then on. Long story short: this show is a masterpiece and if you haven’t watched it already this is your sign to go and binge it. Immediately.

Reason number 1: we need a second season. So, as of now the show only has one season and there hasn’t been any talk of further seasons yet; clearly, Netflix will renew the show only if they realize that a lot of people like it and it will therefore be profitable to release more seasons, so if many people watch the show. Now, I’m not saying the show needs a second season exclusively because I loved it and want to watch more of it- I believe the show would be enriched by a second season. Now, at first I was really disappointed by the ending and that’s why I was hoping it actually wasn’t the end, but I’ve now realized that it’s actually quite a positive and satisfying ending: it marks the highest point of Wilhelm’s character development and gives a lot of hope for the future. But there is still a lot to discuss and explore, expecially in regards to Wilhelm furtherly coming to terms with his sexuality, confronting his mother about it, adapting to his new status etc. That is why a second season would add a lot to the show, and one of the main reasons why as many people as possible should watch it.

Reason number 2: teenagers who look like teenagers. A big issue I have with most teen dramas is that a lot of the time these characters that are supposed to be teenagers 1. look several years older than they should and 2. look like flawless supermodels. I remember always thinking there was something wrong with me because I looked so much younger and so much “uglier” than these “teenagers” I saw on tv- it made it hard for me to relate to them and hurt my self esteem terribly. But the beautiful thing about Young Royals is that this is not an issue- the actors all look their characters’ age and they look like actual, realistic teenagers. They don’t always have their make-up perfectly done or have perfect hair. Essentially no one is conventionally attractive (good-looking, yes- but not the super hot super model type).

Reason number 3: teenagers who act like teenagers. Another issue with teen dramas I have is that it seems the writers’ conception of teenage activities is just drugs, alcohol and sex. Sure, many teenagers actually do those things, but I always found the way these shows highlight them excessive and unrealistic. As someone who doesn’t do any of these things (and actually feels repulsed by them), it was always very alienating- again, I wasn’t able to relate to the characters and I felt like something was wrong with me for not acting like these teenagers. The quantity of drugs, sex, alcohol in these shows was always so much that at some point I felt overwhelmed by it and had to stop watching them, and I thought the same was going to happen with Young Royals- but it didn’t. The teenagers in Young Royals drink, do drugs, have sex, but it never feels excessive and unrealistic: I watch it, I think “Oh yeah, my classmates do that”, I recognise it as realistic, it doesn’t feel overwhelming, and there are characters who don’t do that stuff as much and that I can relate to.

Reason number 4: it’s delicate. As an easily impressionable person something that I love about Young Royals is that it’s almost never excessive, it never goes too far; for example, I was afraid that the amount of homophobia in the show would be too much and too triggering for me, but it wasn’t the case- there is homophobia, but it’s never overwhelming. And there was really only a scene or two in the whole show that made me so uncomfortable I had to turn my head. But unlike a lot of shows these days, it’s actually pretty delicate and moderate.

Reason number 5: a beautiful love story. Simon and Wilhelm are definitely one of the best couples I’ve seen on tv in a while. They are such a good representation of teenage love- passionate and hungry, but also sweet and naive and tender and shy. Everything about their relationship, from the first to the final episode, is completely realistic, beautiful but never eccessively romanticized, delicate and honest. You can just feel the love they have for each other through the screen- it’s heart warming.

Reason number 6: the characters. All of the characters appear as people that you might actually meet in real life. They are realistic and they are never caricatures- always complex, multi-dimensional, difficult to put in a box. Simon is selfless but also stands up to himself. Wilhelm is rebellious and brave but also anxious and submissive. Felice isn’t at all as snobby as she seems, August is a pain in the butt but as the story unfolds we almost end up feeling bad for him. And Sara- I’m not even going to talk about her, I don’t know what to say, she’s my favourite character, I love her to pieces and I LOVE that there is a neurodivergent character. And finally, each character’s character development is natural yet clearly recognisable- perfect, perfect, perfect.

[multiharlot]

josslyn / tom holland x reader, harry holland x reader

summary: based off of josslyn by olivia o’brien. listen to it here :)

warnings: cursing, angst, implied smut, mentions of blood and having a breakdown (lmao been there done that) and a reader who’s definitely had enough of tom’s shit.

masterlist

I know we never said where we drew the line But I was in your bed almost every night I thought we made it clear how we felt, read the signs But now there's nothing left 'Cause you did nothing right

you never intended on falling in love with him. but he just made it so damn easy. and for a moment, you were sure that he loved you too. the way he’d gently cradle you as you sleepily lolled your head onto his shoulder during a netflix binge. or how he’d always make sure to hold you tight when walking through large crowds. of course, you two never disclosed what exactly you two were to each other. but that’s only because you thought the actions exchanged between you two spoke so much louder than any pile of substandard words either of you would be able to conjure anyways. you had let every i love you, and every sincere emotion pour out into the way you kissed him. the way you bit into his shoulder to contain the involuntary noises that spilled past your lips. the way he stared into your eyes, connecting your foreheads as you gave yourself to him entirely. he held you close, your tired body melting into his strong arms, and your heart collapsing as he pressed his lips gently to your forehead. he raked his fingers through your hair, humming softly. 

“i’m the luckiest man in the world.” he mumbled, causing a tired smile to grace your lips. 

“i mean...yeah.” you sighed happily, laughter erupting from his mouht cuasing his chest to vibrate against your cheek.

soon, the two of you were entangled in each other’s arms, reveling in the laughter echoing off the walls. your heart illuminated by the love you thought surrounded you two.

You had to go and ruin it So you could get a quick fuck I'm sure you had fun doing it And I won't make a big fuss

you first saw the photos of them two when you were seated on your best friends couch. the notifications on your phone were exploding, definitely more than normal. your screen lit up with twitter and instagram notifications and the texts began pouring through, following your social media mentions. your eyebrows furrowed as you reached over, grabbing the remote from your best friend’s lap and pausing the movie you two were previously engrossed in. 

“hey! it’s not time for our scheduled br- hey...what’s up?” they said, their tone softening as their sights fall onto you. 

your lip quivered as you scrolled through the paparazzi photos of tom and the beautiful tall blonde woman. your eyes skimming over the headlines and captions. scrolling past all of the comments and quickly typing her name into your instagram search bar. 

“ummm...hello? wanna tell me what’s happening?” your best friend asks, snapping their fingers in front of your face. 

“it’s uhh...it’s tom. he uhhhh...i think he’s seeing someone.”

“sorry...he’s what!?” they exclaim, squishing themselves next to you and peering onto your phone screen, gasping as they looked at the photos. 

“is that her?”

“yeah...yeah paps spotted them out together. holding hands and kissing and whatnot.” you mumble, a numb feeling spreading through your chest. 

you two continued to investigate her further. what you knew so far was that she was an instagram model of sorts. your best friend grabs your hand tightly, leaning their head on your shoulder.

“i’m so sorry...” they sigh.

“don’t. ummm...it’s fine. well it’s not but...it’s whatever.” you shrug, standing up off the couch. 

“y/n...” they sigh, and you just chuckle sadly. 

“no really it’s cool. it’s fine.”

But know we're off and we'll never be on again I hope that it was worth it, fucking Josslyn Don't wanna fight, I just never wanna talk again I hope that it was worth it, fucking Josslyn I know we weren't together but we're more than friends Said you couldn't see me while she gave you head So please, don't ever call again I hope that it was worth it, fucking Josslyn

“y/n love i-”

you stick your hand up, closing his flat door behind you. 

“i just came here to get my stuff. don’t worry.” you mumble, harrison and the twins stood behind you two, staring awkwardly. 

tom pauses, his lips pursed slightly. 

“wh- what? y/n no.” he says, shaking his head and grabbing your arm as you attempted to walk past him.

you shrug, adjusting the empty bag on your shoulder. 

“i didn’t come here to talk.” you sigh, taking your arm from his hold and waving at the boys in the living room.

“hey boys, i’ll be quick. promise.” you say, a tight smile on your lips and you start throwing the random items you’d left in his flat into your bag. 

“no it’s...we’re gonna go. it was good to see you.” harrison says, smiling sympathetically at you. 

you nod, all of the boys giving you tight hugs and light head kisses as they walked past you. harry, however, clung tightly onto you. you two were always close. 

“i’m sorry.” he mumbles into your hair. 

“your not your brother, harry. don’t worry. i’m fine.” you say, nodding your head up at the tall curly haired boy. 

he just sighs, shaking his head at his brother as he walks out of the flat. 

“y/n can i please just explain-”

“no.” you say, walking past him and into the bedroom.

you pulled open the drawer he had designated for you, packing the clothes into the bag. 

“y/n please. i just...i was drunk and honestly once it started happening i just couldn’t think of anything else and i-”

“you’re really good at making things worse for yourself.” you say sarcastically, slamming the now empty drawer shut. 

“you deserve the truth and- can you look at me please!? can we talk about this like adults!?” he shouts, making you flinch. 

you sigh, flipping the last item, your hairbrush, in your hands. you tuck it into the bag, zipping it shut and throwing it back over your shoulder. 

“i didn’t come here to fight with you, tom.”

“don’t...don’t do that y/n. don’t shut your emotions off from me. yell at me. be angry, baby. hit me. scream at me. throw things. just please...talk to me.”

just for a second, you wanted to. you did. you wanted to scream and yell and throw his things out his own window. but you couldn’t. tom had taken enough from you, and you weren’t about to let him take your integrity too.

“no. what do i have to be angry about? sure we may have been more than friends, but like you said, it’s not like we were together anyways. here’s your key. i hope she was worth it.”

You didn't wanna be like the boys from before Well, look at what you did, 'cause you hurt me more You didn't have to lie like the truth is a chore I guess I can't be mad 'Cause I was never yours

the lack of emotion you were displaying was concerning to those around you. you continued on with your life. you posted things you would’ve normally posted. you went out with your friends, partied, drank, had a good time. it was almost as though tom had never existed. your best friend came by almost everyday just to check on you. as did harrison and the twins. and of course, you had convinced them you were fine. you were still eating and you were just fine. nothing like the way you used to be the many other times you’d had your heart broken by the men tom promised he’d never become. but you’d convinced yourself that you weren’t allowed to be angry at anyone but yourself. you let yourself believe that there was love blossoming in infertile soil. you were never his to begin with, so who were you to be angry when he denied being yours? this went on for a few weeks. you continued living your life as though these events had no effect on you. but everyone knew better. you knew better. you were in pain, even if you didn’t want to admit it. 

You had to go and ruin it So you could get a quick fuck I'm sure you had fun doing it And I won't make a big fuss But know we're off and we'll never be on again I hope that it was worth it, fucking Josslyn

tom being who he was, and your affiliation with him, meant you were bombarded with press and tweets and messages from gossip outlets trying to get the scoop on the situation. so tom’s publicist had reached out to you, a non-disclosure agreement in hand. this, this was your breaking point. you were on your couch watching the great british baking show on netflix and judging the chefs as though either of you could do any better. then the knock came to your door. you sighed, pausing your show and walking over to your door expecting to see harrison and the twins or your best friend stopping by to come and check on you as they did, but instead, you were met face to face with tom’s publicist megan. 

“ummm...hi?” you say, your eyebrows furrowing as you clutched the sleeves of your sweatshirt. 

“hi. can i come in?” she asks, smiling sickeningly. 

“uhhh...sure.” you mumble, holding open the door for her and allowing her to step inside. 

she walks straight past you and into your kitchen, seating herself at your dining room table. 

“no. just make yourself right at home.” you grumble underneath your breath, locking the door behind you.

“so i’m just going to get straight to the point. i know you’re aware of all of this drama happening with you and tom and josslyn. so i thought i’d pop by and bring this over. just so we can assure that tom’s career isn’t-”

“hold on...i- i know you didn’t come by just to bring me a non disclosure agreement?” you scoffed, leaning forward on the table. 

“with tom’s new films premiering, it’s imperative that he’s not derailed by any scandals.” she explains, pulling the contract out of the manilla envelope, and sliding it across the table.

you wanted to keep your cool, because you understood. you really did. but for some reason, out of everything that’d happened. this was your breaking point. 

“are you fucking kidding me right now? you seriously think i’m a fucking liability? after how long since shit hit the fan for him, i still haven’t said a single fucking word. but at this point, i think i should! you’re not going to come into my house and speak to me as if i’m some fucking risk to tom’s career like he didn’t just fucking rip my heart out of my chest and throw it into the fucking garbage disposal. so you and this dumb ass contract, can get the hell out of my flat. and i swear to you, if you come back here with that shit, not only will i not sign it, but i’ll contact every fucking media outlet i could possibly think of and release an official statement on just how much of a piece of shit tom actually is. get the hell out.” you growl, and his publicist scoffs. 

“i’m afraid i can’t-”

“oh you can’t? cool. then you stay right there, and i’ll call the police to have you removed from my property. how’s that for bad publicity?”

Don't wanna fight, I just never wanna talk again I hope that it was worth it, fucking Josslyn I know we weren't together but we're more than friends Said you couldn't see me while she gave you head So please, don't ever call again I hope that it was worth it, fucking Josslyn

you sat on the floor of your kitchen, drained of energy and feeling completely empty. you weren’t sure what had come over you, but you didn’t regret it. you weren’t sure how long you were sitting there, but a soft knock flooded your ears. you sighed, pushing yourself up off the ground and pulling the door open, coming face to face with tom. your breath hitched in your throat and he fidgeted awkwardly. 

“i didn’t want this.” he says, and you look down at his hands, where the manilla folder was placed. 

you scoffed, snatching the envelope from his hands and pulling the contract out. 

“can i come in-”

“no.” you bluntly say as your eyes skimmed over the contents of the contract. 

you nodded you head, pretending to skim over the fine print. you grabbed a pen from your hallway table, and you could hear him let out a sigh of relief. 

“thank you y/n. i know i don’t deserve this but i-” his speech immediately stopped as he saw you scribble over the contract. 

‘NO’

you smiled, handing the contract back to tom. 

“i already told you. i don’t want to fight. and i don’t want to see you again. you made your bed, lie in it. i’m not signing shit. if you or your publicist show up again, i will be pressing charges, this is borderline harassment.” you deadpan, slamming the door in his face. 

you bit your lower lip, looking up at your ceiling, listening to tom pleading outside your door. shouting his apologies and attempting to get you to respond. 

“i don’t even care about this stupid contract y/n! i just want you! so go ahead, go to the media. tell everyone how shitty i am. i’m an idiot! is that what you want to hear!?” he shouts. 

“go home, tom!” you shout, your voice cracking slightly as the tears began spilling down your cheeks. 

“baby please...just open the door.” he says, leaning towards the door. 

you cup your hand over you mouth in attempt to silence your cries, and he sighs. you hear him walking off and when you hear the car start, you let the sobs escape. 

Can't believe I was so stupid Just another girl you ruined My friends said I shouldn't do it Should've listened, guess I blew it

shattered glass littered the floor as you continued to cry out. the months of emotions finally spilling out, and you couldn’t breathe. you tried, gasping for breath as you tugged at the roots of your hair, your cries becoming more and more panicked. you remembered your friends telling you that relationships like that never ended well. and at first, you thought they meant friends with benefits. because to the outside eye, that’s what you two seemed like. friends who sometimes liked to sleep with each other. but you could’ve sworn there was more there. you let yourself fall after having your heart broken so many times before. you so stupidly allowed yourself to hurt like this again. you let him break you. and now here you were. throwing picture frames and having a break down on your living room floor, praying that someone, anyone, could come and save you from yourself. you crawled across the ground, sobbing over the mess you’d made and attempting to pick up the pieces, shouting out when you sliced open the corner of your palm. 

“y/n!?” 

you didn’t bother looking up, you just continued trying to clean up the broken glass. a pair of hands grab yours and you look up, meeting harry’s soft eyes. 

“i- i can’t. it’s so messy and i need it clean. i need to clean it i-”

“love, come here. it’s okay. it’s okay.” he coos, taking you into his arms. 

your knees buckle underneath you and your butt hits the floor and harry pulls you onto his lap, cradling you in his arms as you sobbed. 

“it hurts. i can’t do it. it hurts.” you sob, the images of you and tom flooding your head, finally coming to terms that it was over. 

that he didn’t love you the way you wished he had. he didn’t love you the way you loved him. 

“i know, darling. come here, let me see.” sam whispers, crouching down next to you and pulling your hand up from your lap and examining the bloody palm, harrison crouching down next to him. 

harry continued running his fingers through your hair, placing gentle kisses to your hairline. 

“you don’t need stitches, so let’s get this cleaned up and get you into bed, huh?” harrison smiles softly, pushing your hair off of your wet cheeks. 

you hiccuped, nodding tiredly and the boys help you stand up, and harrison takes you in his arms, carrying you over the messy floor, the glass crunching underneath his shoes.

“i’m sorry.” you whimpered, and he sighs, placing you on the counter. 

“you have no reason to apologize, dear. you’re going to be alright, yeah?”

you nod, but you knew, you wouldn’t be alright. not for a while.

But know we're off and we'll never be on again I hope that it was worth it, fucking Josslyn Don't wanna fight, I just never wanna talk again I hope that it was worth it, fucking Josslyn I know we weren't together but we're more than friends Said you couldn't see me while she gave you head So please, don't ever call again I hope that it was worth it, fucking Josslyn

your head was perched gently on top of harry’s shoulder. his fingers combing softly through your messy hair as the two of you stared blankly at the movie playing on your tv screen. neither of you truly paying attention to it. your head was too polluted with toxic thoughts and concerns over tom, and harry was preoccupied looking at you. his heart aching for the girl he’d let fall into the hands of the wrong man. the girl he’d loved. harrison had gone out to buy you more first aid supplies for your hands and sam was downstairs, cleaning up your living room. 

“he came by today. he wanted me to sign an NDA.” you mumble, feeling harry tense beside you. 

“he may be my brother, but he’s an absolute div.” he scoffs. 

you shrug. 

“i get it. it’s his career. but i wasn’t gonna say anything.” you sigh, and harry leans his head on top of yours. 

“i know, love. i know. but don’t think about tom. he’s dumb and he doesn’t know what he’s lost. how about you get some sleep, huh?” he smiles softly, massaging your scalp in attempt to get you to fall asleep. 

your eyes shut softly, as you hummed softly, allowing the relaxation to take over your body. and harry watched you fall asleep, the peaceful look replacing the melancholic one that coated your face only moments before. he thought this might’ve been his own sick and twisted version of if you love her, let her go, and if she comes back then it was meant to be. he saw how much you loved tom, and despite it killing him inside, he let you go. and he couldn’t help but think back to the conversation when you asked him if it was alright if you’d gone after tom. he can’t help but think that if he’d said what he wanted to in that moment, you wouldn’t be here, hurting. he sighed, placing his hand on your jaw and running his thumb over your tear stained cheek. 

“i hope that it was worth it, tom.”

[bananaofswifts]

PARK CITY, Utah —  

When it comes to pop stars, Taylor Swift isn’t the most forthcoming. While her fans love to read into her every song lyric, she never actually reveals who her music is about. Unlike Miley Cyrus or Lady Gaga, her social media presence is pretty demure, mostly reserved for photos of her cats and promotional material.

So when it was announced that Swift had agreed to be the subject of a new Netflix documentary, we couldn’t wait to see what — if any — candid details she’d disclose in “Miss Americana,” which begins streaming Jan. 31 on Netflix. We went to the Sundance Film Festival premiere of the movie on Thursday, and took notes on all the doc’s biggest revelations.

1. She struggled with an eating disorder

In New York City, the outside of Swift’s apartment — her “front yard,” as she calls it — is permanently surrounded by paparazzi ready to snap photos of her to sell to tabloids. But in “Miss Americana,” the singer acknowledges that she’ll no longer look at the images posted of her online daily. “I tend to get triggered by something — whether it’s a picture of me where I feel like my tummy looked too big, or someone said that I looked pregnant or something — and that will trigger me to just starve a little bit. Just stop eating.”

Swift goes on to reveal that she struggled with an eating disorder for years, often feeling as if she was going to pass out during her concerts. She made a list of everything she put in her mouth each day, exercised constantly and got down to a size double zero. (She’s now a size six, she says.)

“I would have defended it to anybody who said ‘I’m concerned about you,’” she says. “I don’t think you know you’re doing that when you’re doing it gradually. There’s always some standard of beauty that you’re not meeting. Because if you’re thin enough, then you don’t have that ass that everybody wants, but if you have enough weight on you to have an ass, then your stomach isn’t flat enough,” she says. “It’s all just [expletive] impossible.”

Now, whenever she has the urge to judge her body harshly, she practices positive self-talk: “Nope. We don’t do that anymore. We do not do that anymore because it’s better to think you look fat than to look sick.”

2. She wishes she’d spoken out against Donald Trump during the 2016 election

After years of keeping her political beliefs to herself for fear of isolating her fan base, Swift first voiced support for a candidate during the 2018 midterms. The film shows her weighing whether or not to speak out against Republican Senate Candidate Marsha Blackburn, and those closest to her fret that it will put her in physical danger.

During a heated family discussion, her father points out that old-school performers like Bing Crosby and Bob Hope never talked about politics. Swift, her eyes filling with tears, tells him she’s “sad” she didn’t publicly oppose Trump two years ago. “But I can’t change that,” she says. “I need to do this. I need you to, dad, to forgive me for doing it — because I’m doing it.”

Just as she’s about to press send on an Instagram post about Blackburn, her team is still concerned about the impact. Her publicist warns Swift that “the president could come after you.” “[Screw] that,” Swift replies. “I don’t care.”

3. She used to live her life to be liked

As a kid, Swift says, she kept stacks of journals. But she didn’t just write in them with sparkly gel pens. At one point, she used an actual brass quill and ink.

And what did she use the antiquated writing tool for? To write about her “moral code” — “the need to be thought of as good.”

“It was all I wrote about. It was all I wanted,” she admits in the movie. “It was the complete and total belief system I subscribed to as a kid.”

She lived for “pats on the head,” she says — any praise that she was doing a good job on her homework or her songwriting. She only found fulfillment through external approval, and subsequently became “the person who everyone wanted me to be.”

That’s why public criticism — She’s annoying! She’s gone through so many boyfriends! She’s only friends with models! — has been difficult for her to overcome.

“When people decided I was wicked and evil and conniving and not a good person, that was the one that I couldn’t really bounce back from,” she says, “because my whole life was centered around it.”

4. Her sexual assault court battle changed her irrevocably

In 2015, Colorado disc jockey David Mueller sued Swift, claiming he lost his radio station job after her security team accused him of groping the singer. Swift countersued, alleging assault and detailing the inappropriate touching. She won and was awarded the amount she sought: $1 in damages. But the emotional impact the verdict had on her was far more consequential.

“I was unspeakably and unchangeably different after the sexual assault trial,” Swift says in the film. “No man, or organization, or my family, will ever understand what that was like.”

Despite winning the case, Swift said she didn’t feel any sense of victory “because the process is so dehumanizing.” And in her situation, she had seven witnesses and a photo backing up her claim. “What happens when you get raped and it’s your word against his?” she asks.

5. She was attracted to Joe Alwyn because of his ‘wonderful, normal, balanced kind of life’

Swift has dated a handful of famous men — Jake Gyllenhaal, Harry Styles, Tom Hiddleston — who have also made their way into her music. But when she started dating actor Joe Alwyn in late 2016, she liked that he had more of a “wonderful, normal, balanced kind of life.” His vibe put her at ease during a difficult time in her life, she said, when she was facing Kanye West-fueled backlash. (Remember the “I made that bitch famous” line from his 2016 jam “Famous”? Yeah, it was about her.)

Alwyn barely appears in the documentary, though. At one point, she kisses his hand during a car ride. She also runs into his arms after a concert, and the couple sweetly drape their arms over each other’s shoulders as they wander around backstage.

6. She didn’t try a burrito until she was 26

Just as she’s about to turn 29, Swift sits in the record studio reflecting on what the age signifies. There’s a part of her, she admits, that isn’t ready to have kids — for “all this grown up stuff.” Heck, she points out, she just tried a burrito for the first time two years ago. Which means that Taylor Swift did not eat a wondrous mix of meat, cheese, beans, rice, guacamole and sour cream until she was apparently 26 years old. Process that.

7. She’s not ready for kids yet

While Swift takes excellent care of her feline children — she even feeds one at her dinner table as she eats alongside the animal — she isn’t ready for kids of her own just yet. At 29, she says, part of her feels “57 years old” — but another part is “definitely not ready to have kids.” Case in point? She recalls visiting a friend who just had a baby and hearing how the newborn’s schedule consists of sleeping, eating, and being changed. Swift’s response? “So it’s like a Tamagotchi,” she says with a smile.

[delusion-of-negation]

fucking hate the oversaturation of streaming services??? doesn't disney have like two??? and half of their stuff is on hulu which isn't accessible here??? and also some of their shows have like three seasons and only one is available on disney+ in some countries, like here??? and I'm like??? look I don't want a monopoly by one service or anything, but the least things could do is have most shows available on all of them, maybe a handful of hidden gem exclusives that you could binge in the free trial, and there only be a handful of services in total, with the features being what differentiates them??? or something like that?? y'know like "oh I use crunchyroll for anime because I think the subtitles are better and it gets released faster" and "oh I use netflix for my kids because I think it's got better parental controls" or whatever??? or even have the ability to pay a one time small fee for a specific show??? y'know like how there's different cinema companies but they all release the same movies??? cineworld isn't making exclusive movies that you need a membership with them to see??? you don't need a cineworld membership to see a movie??? and like, I don't wanna pirate all these disney shows, but I don't exactly have a choice when I'm already paying for netflix and crunchyroll, and I can't always find shit on my tv (which is already almost full because of F1 races anyway... really gotta clear that out some time), and disney+ doesn't even have half the stuff here??? it's so frustrating??? and then they bitch about people sharing memberships or pirating and it's like girl??? what did you expect??? when your entire business model is to essentially hide every show behind a reoccurring payment??? god I miss the days when the family with the vhs recorded the show, then we'd all sit down and watch it??? at least then the tv channels weren't each a separate fucking paywall that bitched at you for helping your friend out???

[missmentelle]

So I’ve seen a bit floating around online about how this pandemic qualifies as a collective trauma and I wondered if you could speak to that. I don’t feel traumatized—I mean I’m self isolating in an apartment and it sucks and I don’t love worrying about food and my fam and friends, but is that the same thing as trauma? How would I tell? I already have depression and anxiety so that isn’t really new to me. Idk I just feel guilty going “oh I’m traumatized” when I have it pretty good, actually

A collective trauma is not just a grouping of individual traumas, and not everyone who lives through a collective trauma will be traumatized by it. When we talk about “collective trauma”, we’re talking about the ways that groups understand, process and remember that trauma as a whole, on a group level, and how that trauma becomes a part of collective identity. What defines a group trauma is not post-traumatic symptoms or individual experience, but the way that we as a group talk about that trauma, create art and traditions to commemorate that trauma, and tell our children about that trauma. You don’t personally need to live through a collective trauma in order to be a part of it; the vast majority of Jewish people alive today did not personally live through the Holocaust, but that event remains in their culture as a collective trauma that continues to play a part in their Jewish identities. Likewise, the vast majority of ethnically German people alive today did not participate in the Holocaust, but they still participate in collective trauma by finding ways to come to terms with their history and move forward with the knowledge that that is a part of their collective identity.

The idea of collective trauma is that, even if your own individual experience was outside of the norm or “easier” than most, you can still dial into the collective experience by being part of the group it happened to. The event as a whole was “yours”, as a group, and it’s meaningful to you. Those of us who aren’t Rwandan can learn about the Rwandan genocide in academic terms, by reading history books or even speaking directly to people who survived it, but it’s not “yours”. You can have sympathy for the victims and think that it’s a terrible thing that should never have happened, but it’s not your trauma. It doesn’t have personal meaning to you - it’s just a thing that happened in history. Rwandans born after 1994 have no lived experience of the genocide, but they do share in the collective trauma; the genocide is a direct part of their family’s personal story, and they have to come to terms with not only the role that their own family might have played in the genocide as victim, perpetrator or both, but they have to come to terms with what it means for Rwanda that such a terrible thing happened there. They walk past physical memorials, they see disfigured survivors with missing limbs, and consume poems and books and songs about what happened. Whether you were someone who personally survived and was injured in the genocide or whether your connection is more indirect doesn’t matter - the collective trauma is the group’s experience as a whole. 

A collective trauma does not have to be something that occurred on a national or international scale, like a genocide or world war. Collective trauma can occur on a much smaller, more localized scale. The students who survived the Stoneman Douglas school shooting are part of a collective trauma, as are the community members who lived in Parkland at that time; whether they were students who actually survived taking a bullet or just concerned community members whose view of their hometown was shattered by the event, they were part of a collective trauma that developed around that event. My hometown lost four boys when their hockey team’s bus crashed into a semi-trailer two years ago - that event was a collective trauma for my hometown, and for the people outside our hometown who knew those boys and their teammates. An event does not have to be famous to form a collective trauma, and you don’t need to be right at the center of it to identify with that collective trauma - the trauma exists independently of any one person. 

This pandemic certainly qualifies as a collective trauma because it has disrupted the lives of nearly everyone on earth, in a variety of different ways. The vast, vast majority of us won’t actually be traumatized by this pandemic in a clinical sense - most people will find the disruption annoying and kind of scary, but they won’t have nightmares and flashbacks for years after it ends - but they are still a part of the collective trauma. Everyone who survives this pandemic is probably going to be weird about physical contact and cleanliness and crowded spaces for a very long time to come - that’s collective trauma. It’s going to take a very long time for people to start seeing things like movie theatres and concerts and public transit as totally “safe” again, and stop worrying about the possibility that they may get some kind of infection. We might stop shaking hands entirely, and a lot of office jobs might permanently shift to a work-from-home model. Tourism in NYC may suffer for years, and it might take a really long time for the city to shake off the notion that it is a “dirty” and “infected” place. All of that is collective trauma. Even if you aren’t currently on the front lines of an emergency room or facing imminent financial ruin from losing your job, you’re still probably going to feel a little uneasy in crowded places and get upset if your coworker comes to work sick for years to come after all this is over, and that’s still part of the trauma. It’s about the way that our society changes after something catastrophic happens, and it will affect all of us, even if we had a relatively easy few months sitting at home binging Netflix. 

Hope this helps!

Miss Mentelle

[legacyridley]

— LYING IS THE MOST FUN A GIRL CAN HAVE WITHOUT TAKING HER CLOTHES OFF (BUT IT’S BETTER IF YOU DO!)

“I CAN’T RECALL a single amazing thing i have seen first-hand that i didn't immediately reference to a movie or tv show. a fucking commercial. you know the awful singsong of the blasé: seeeen it. i've literally seen it all, and the worst thing, the thing that makes me want to blow my brains out, is: the secondhand experience is always better. the image is crisper, the view is keener, the camera angle and the soundtrack manipulate my emotions in a way reality can't anymore.”

                                                                                          — gillian flynn , gone girl

ooc —

hi there ! i’m shannon, i’m non-binary, my pronouns are she/they and i’m from the united kingdom. you can just call me the ceo of the unhinged rosamund pike cinematic universe, though. or keira knightley’s bitch, because i am, even if i decided against bringing her this time ( still might later ! ) i love morally corrupt women, i’d give my life for them, if one couldn’t tell by . . . uh. frankie. 

application —

[ rosamund pike | 40 | she/her | cis woman ] if it isn’t FRANCESCA RIDLEY ! you know, FRANKIE ! they’ve lived in monarda for TWO MONTHS. some people say that they’re CONSCIENTIOUS & CHARMING, but that they can also be PRIVILEGED & AVARICIOUS. last i heard, they were working FREELANCE as a BUSINESSWOMAN ! i’ve also heard the rumor that they’re a WITCH. if you’d ask me, they remind me of BEING BORN WITH THE METALLIC TANG OF A SILVER SPOON IN YOUR MOUTH ( JUST LIKE THE TASTE OF YOUR OLD-MONEY BLOOD ), “MANEATER” BY NELLY FURTADO PLAYING, SLIGHTLY MUFFLED, FROM INSIDE YOUR CAR, LIKE MUSIC FROM A PARTY BATHROOM, & THE NOTION OF A NEW SELF YOU’LL FIND BY THE SHORE ( BUT HOW’S THAT WORKING OUT FOR YOU, HONEY? DO YOU FEEL LOVED? ) ! i wonder what monarda’s got in store for them today!

BASICS —

NAME: francesca legacy ridley ( yes, really. )

AGE: forty ( b. 28 january, 1981 — knightsbridge, london, united kingdom. )

NICKNAMES: frankie , and frankie only.

GENDER: cis female.

ORIENTATIONS: bisexual / biromantic.

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: divorced & single.

NATIONALITY: british-american ( dual. )

ETHNICITY: white ( english. )

LANGUAGES SPOKEN: english, french, german.

OCCUPATION: social media mogul & socialite. ex-sunglasses model. 

EDUCATION: institut le rosey & magdalen college, oxford.

PERSONALITY —

ASTROLOGICAL BIG THREE: aquarius sun, scorpio moon, scorpio rising.

MBTI TYPE: entj-a. ( the commander. )

HOGWARTS HOUSE: slytherin ( ravenclaw hatstall. )

ENNEAGRAM TYPE: eight with a seven wing ( the maverick. )

THEME SONG: maneater by nelly furtado.

FAVOURITE SONG: lay all your love on me by abba.

FAVOURITE ALBUM: super trouper by abba (1980)

PET PEEVES: people who don’t say ‘thank you’ when you open the door. back-seat drivers. chewing too loudly. tea that’s too milky. cambridge graduates. 

PHOBIAS: trypophobia. hemophobia ( blood ). arachnophobia. coulrophobia ( clowns. )

GUILTY PLEASURES: radio-friendly pop music. sunglasses, still. netflix-binge style sitcoms. kate winslet movies. true crime documentaries. st trinian’s (2007) dir. oliver parker.

ABOUT —

she’s deeply charming but also . . . it’s mostly theatre. ridleys know how to put on a show. ridleys know how to make friends. so meet frankie: #1 flirt, #1 liar, and perfectionist to the nth degree.

oxford graduate from a family of oxford graduates ; if you don’t get what that means for a person, substitute oxford with harvard and you might just about be getting there, right down to the annoying person — the sort of humdrum regular who grinds on francesca’s gears — who says ‘ oh, you went to harvard? say something smart! ’ growing up in a house in london that looks like it is out of a fairytale ( would be, if the city and all its bustle and noise weren’t on the doorstep ) is about as sweet as it sounds, and who could blame one for getting a touch . . . jealous ? well, other than frankie, a product of a private school in switzerland, an oxford college, and a trust fund, who could judge someone for breathing incorrectly, and says things such as ‘ jealousy is a disease, get well soon. ’

HOW DID SHE GET TO HER CURRENT POSITION ? . . .other than her parents’ money and a wealth of connections? well, frankie quickly came to understand something; that every time the older generations catch up to a social media platform, there’s a sudden vacuum as the younger generation work out where to go. and where the audience go is where the influence is, which gains you more connections, more wealth, more influence in places people would never even think to look. do you ever think about what information leaves your hands, and where, when you agree to the terms and conditions? you probably should. 

[ NOTE : when i imagine the platform, it’s something fairly twitter-esque, but without the people who use long hashtags and can’t figure out how it works. and more . . . aesthetic, somehow. like pinterest-level aesthetics. i’ll be working it out over time, but i’ve named it spectrum. yes, it’s named after the florence & the machine song, please don’t judge me. it started off as a university project á la the social network ( brilliant bloody movie ) that went onto a massive scale & became trendy and addictive. imagine if mark zuckerberg was a cool, bisexual, female ex-sunglasses model who once married the heir to grovesnor group, made him sign a considerable prenup and then divorced him when he cheated ( there was some full diana revenge dress content ) fifteen years ago, just before her old university idea went mainstream. he regrets it now, doesn’t he ? ]

imagine the kind of assholes who would give their child ‘ legacy ’ as a middle name to remind her of the constant pressure on her shoulders ? welcome to the ridleys, london-born mother & father to francesca ( golden child, with more issues than meets the eye, actually as much of a party girl as her sister but successful ) and roman ( motorbike-obsessed disgrace. ) they’re one of the oldest witch families out there, but — up until frankie & roman — they’ve been able to keep it quiet for their own benefit. 

so what does frankie DO with her magic? she always says she specialises in the tempting, though the addictive is perhaps more apt. want to feel so excited about something you’ll never be bored again? want the best trip of your life? frankie’s your gal. and does it have anything to do with how influential spectrum became & how much of an addictive presence she can be? . . . well, that’s for her to know & no one to find out. 

AND NOW, THE FINAL QUESTION: why the fuck is london’s premier rich bitch in where she’d consider nowhere, maine ? well, she’s on sort of a self-recreation trip right now. think about tahani in the good place when she tries to step out of the spotlight without actually doing it, except she’s thinking the sea air will cleanse her of a slight... unease coming with the approaching mid-life crisis and having to dye her greys out. 

but now she’s in a smaller place than sprawling london, living in that house you look at and think ‘fuck, i’d kill for that view,’ having to associate with people properly rather than being almost a concept of a person . . . what if people tear aside the mask and discover the serpentine nature and the moral rot that lies behind it ?

credits —

template !

[stregacorvina]

She-ra!! (part 1)

Good morning! As you may have noticed, I decided to add a new entry on my journal routine: every Tuesday I will show you a single set, not a collection.

And from the title, you can easily tell what is the topic of this new entry, She-ra! This weekend I bing watched the 5# season on Netflix and I was so ispired to do a Bjd version! I will miss this show soooo much now that is gone, I really want more episodes...

I have to say that it has been a very long time since I fell so in love with a tv show, even if I wasn’t a big fan of the 80s version (I have seen it when I was a child but I don’t remember much) I think it is so full of positive messages and representation, we needed a show like this from a long time, especially if we consider it is a show for young people.

I will not write a full review here as there is plenty around the web, but I really suggest you to check out the show!

The animation is just average-good, modern anime get us used to excellent quality levels, but every character is so well characterized (well, the main ones, the background cast are just...background unfortunately) and as I said it is full of positive messages and LGBT representations that are still lacking in most tv shows, most of all the ones for young peoples... in conclusion, it is not the BEST show ever but a very interesting example in the wide world of the tv shows! How I wish a show like this when I was a teenager!

Going back to the costume, I will not spoiler you the new costume of this latest season (even if you probably have seen it in the Netflix thumbnail as I did) and also because I do not like it very much, I decided to make the first one, very different from the 80s one but very fitting for this new teen reboot!

I was already studing this costume when the first season aired because I was thinking of cosplaying She-ra in some conventions (as right now I have almost the same bodytype), I am still thinking about it... never say never...

Let’s start talking about the...

- Materials

I chosed white spandex for the main part of the costume: the top and the shorts, golden spandex for the details (with some foam structure inside to keep the shape) and red cady fabric for the cape - I have already used this fabric for a Thor cape some times ago and even if it is a bit pricey compared to my usual materials but it is really worth the price! It has the perfect flow and the look...speaks for itself! -

For the chest and the tiara’s gems I will use some glass gems I bought from Aliexpress some time ago, painted with different nailpolish; for the shoes, the armbands and the tiara I will use foam and fabrics...I am still thinking about making the sword or not...we’ll see.... 

 - Step 1: patterns

I decided to use the patterns I did for the pajamas set with a few alterations.

For the top I used the t-shirt base without the sleeves (I am still thinking about making a binder - a sport bra to compress the chest, often used for female cosplayers to do male characters - because these dolls have sooo much breast compared to the original character...)

For the shorts I used the pattern for the pajama pants, already altered to make some leggins a while ago (I will show you their set in a few weeks)

When the She-ra set will be done you will find the PDF pattern pieces, including accessories, in my Etsy shop.   Done with the bases, last’s start with the...

- Step 2: shorts

I decided to start from the shorts because I tought they will be the quickest piece, so after cutting the white spandex base I started to handmade sew the golden stripes on the sides...you will see A LOT of handsewing in this project!

Before joining the two parts I decided to give the stripes a good press and I fitted them on my model doll to check the lenghts.

After I decided the hem lenghts I sewn waist and legs with a very tiny zig zag stitch on my machine and i noticed that the spandex elasticity was enough to not use an elastic band on the waist.

(After seeing them with the top on I then decided to shorten them for the second time because I didn’t like the final lenght) With the shorts done, it was time for the...

- Step 3: top 

I made the base in white spandex but before joining the pieces I decided to do the crest on the front. 

As you can see in the pictures, at the beginning I was going for a single piece, a top with a flared bottom, but in the end I decided to redo this part because I didn’t like the “skirt”.

I decided also to add two little darts on the bust because these dolls have really too much breast! As everythig is soo small in this project it was almost all handsewn, so I decided to discard my initial idea to make the crest with foam covered in golden spandex and I went for a golden spandex cut-out, handsewn obviously.

After finishing the crest I decided to wait until the end of the top to add the glass bead because I will probably work with this piece a lot! So i decided to go on with the flared part and to do the final version of it. Firsty of all I cut away the wrong part,

then I redraw it as a half circle “skirt” in three parts, one for the back and two for the front, with the center front slightly shorter than the back. I was thinking about leaving the raw edge but in the end I made a little zig zag stitch just like the shorts.

And then, for ending with the white spandex, I made a tiny hight neck collar, mostly handmade as well. I was thinking about the usual stripe of velchro fastener in the back but I noticed that a small slit on the back was enough to fit the doll’s head, so I didn’t add it but only a small snap button on the neck (most of the back will be hidden with the cape anyway...)

To finish the top I started to make the epaulettes, with 2 mm foam as a base. I drafted the basic shape in paper pattern, then I made it two times in foam and then on a double layer of golden spandex.

I sewn the little gap with tiny handmade stiches and the I attached them on the sleeve cap with some others handsewn stitches.

This is the (almost) finished top! Isn’t it lovely? My fangirl soul is so eager to finish this costume!

This is a little preview with the flared part attached...I’m alredy in love!!

- Step 4: cape and belt

Before starting with the accessories, that I will probabily show you in Part 2, I made the cape and the belt to finish the base of the costume.

For the cape I made an half-circle to add more volume at the hem and I also made the top wider than the shoulders so I can gather it a bit more.

(BONUS PIC - Salem wants to try the cape on)

I really love the look of it! I put the cape aside for now because I still need white thread on my machine so I will hem it later on...

For the belt I decided to sewn it onto the top instead of doing another single piece (also to hid the waist seam because I didn’t like that much)

I made a mock up with white spandex to check the lenght and the V depth, then I use this mock up as the pattern for the final one on golden spandex.

And this is the finishe top! I really like it and I cant’ wait to finish this project! As finishing touches I still need to add the glass bead on the crest and the snap button on the neck.

See you on Thursday as usual for the second part of this loooong entry where I will show you the accessories and the final look.

See ya!

Chiara (StregaCorvina)

Bentornati! Ho deciso di inserire una piccola “deviazione” alla pubblicazione del giovedi: il martedi sarà dedicato ad un set singolo, non una collezione!

E come potete immaginare dal titolo, questo primo martedi è dedicato a She-ra! Quest weekend ho divorato la 5° Stagione appena uscita su Netflix e mi sento decisamente orfana percio ho deciso di realizzare anche la sua versione BJD.

Devo dire che il reboot Netflix di She-ra è una delle serie che mi ha “preso” di più negli ultimi anni, era da tanto che non mi appassionavo così tanto ad una serie, sebbene non fossi una grande fan dell’opera originale (che ho visto da piccola e non mi ricordo quasi per niente...) Secondo me è una serie piena di messaggi e rappresentazioni positive, c’era davvero bisogno di un cartone simile, soprattutto se consideriamo che si tratta di un prodotto indirizzato ad un pubblico giovane.

Non starò qui a fare la recensione dello show visto che in giro se ne trovano tantissime, ma vi invito caldamente a guardarla se non lo avete ancora fatto! Le animazioni non sono eccelse ma sono belle, gli anime più moderni ci hanno ormai abituato ad un livello qualitativo davvero alto, ma i personaggi sono caratterizzati benissimo (per lo meno i principali, diciamo che i secondari sono davvero...sullo sfondo e basta) e come dicevo la serie è piena di messaggi positivi e rappresentazioni LGBT che sono ancora un po troppo trascurate dagli show per ragazzi...insomma, non sarà il capolavoro del secolo ma una piacevole novità nel panorama cosi vasto delle serie televisive! Avrei tanto voluto crescere con una serie cosi vent’anni fa...ma mi rendo conto che ai tempi una serie così per ragazzi era impensabile! 

Parlando di She-ra, per non spoilerare troppo il nuovo costume che indossa nel corso di questa serie e che non mi piace particolarmente, (ma se avete visto la copertina su Netflix ve lo sarete spoilerato comunque come è successo a me) ho deciso di riprodurre quello della prima trasformazione, che si discosta parecchio da quello originale degli anni 80 ma che calza a pennello per il mood più teen di questo reboot!

Avevo già puntato questo costume quando uscì per la prima volta su Netflix perche avendo un fisico abbastanza simile ad Adora, avevo in mente di farne il cosplay in qualche prossima fiera....progetto che non ho ancora abbandonato del tutto chissà... perciò partiamo con la scelta dei materiali.

- Materiali

Ho deciso di utilizzare lycra bianca per le parti principali del completo, la casacca e i pantaloncini, lycra oro per tutti i dettagli (irrigidita da una base di foam qua e la in base alla funzione) e cady rosso per il mantello - avevo già usato questo cady di medio peso per il mantello di Thor in un precedente cosplay e anche se è leggermente più caro del tipo di materiale che sono abituata ad utilizzare ne vale decisamente la pena! Cade benissimo e l’aspetto...si commenta da solo -

Per il petto e il diadema userò degli ovali di vetro colorati con smalto per unghie per lasciare intatta la trasparenza, mentre scarpe, bracciali e diadema avranno un’anima in foam e il resto in tessuto... sono ancora in dubbio se fare la spada o meno, vedremo un pò in futuro...

 - Step 1: patterns

Avevo in gran parte le basi gia pronte da quando ho fatto i pigiamini, perciò per la casacca sono andata abbastanza tranquilla con la base della tshirt (sto ancora valutando se fare una sorta di binder - per chi non lo sapesse è una sorta di reggiseno sportivo che comprime abbastanza il seno, usato parecchio dalle cosplayer per avere un aspetto più “maschile” - per nascondere un pò il seno delle bambole e restare più in linea con la fisionomia del personaggio)

Per gli shorts invece ho utilizzato il cartamodello dei pantaloni del pigiama che avevo precedentemente modificato per fare un paio di leggins super aderenti (che vi farò vedere prima o poi)

Quando il set sarà finito troverete il cartamodello in PDF nel mio shop su Etsy completo di accessori.   Le basi ci sono, perciò iniziamo subito con...

- Step 2: shorts

Ho deciso di iniziare dai pantaloncini perchè mi sembravano la parte più rapida del costume, perciò dopo aver tagliato la base in lycra bianca ho iniziato ad applicare - rigorosamente a mano per mantenere l’elasticità - la striscia dorata sui lati.

Prima di unire le due parti ho dato una bella stirata alle strisce e ho fatto una prova sulla bambola che stavo usando come modella per vedere la giusta lunghezza.

Soddifatta degli orli ho cucito gambe e vita con uno zig zag stretto e alla fine ho deciso che l’elasticità della lycra era sufficente perciò non ho inserito nessun elastico in più.

(Una volta finita anche la casacca ho deciso di accorciare ancora un po i pantaloni perchè mi sembravano troppo lunghi). E con i pantaloni finiti era il momento di passare alla...

- Step 3: casacca

Ho realizzato la base in lycra bianca e prima di unirlo al dietro ho iniziato subito sul davanti la decorazione in lycra oro.

Come potete vedere nelle immagini, inizialmente avevo pensato di fare una casacca svasata sotto, in un pezzo unico, invece poi sono tornata su questa decisione perchè non mi piaceva la parte della “gonna”. 

Ho anche aggiunto delle piccolissime pences nel giromanica perchè queste bambole sono troppo prosperose per non averle! Viste le dimensioni ridotte dello stemma sul petto alla fine ho deciso di scartare la mia idea iniziale di farlo in foam e ho semplicemente fatto un’applicazione di lycra cucita poi a mano con micro punti nascosti.

Una volta cucito tutto il contorno dello stemma ho deciso di aspettare la fine della base per incollare la pietra al centro visto che avrei dovuto manipolarla ancora tanto, perciò sono passata oltre e come vi accennavo all’inizio, ho deciso di cambiare la parte bassa della casacca perchè non mi piaceva più e l’ho tagliata via.

Per fare la parte svasata ho tagliato una “gonna” a mezza ruota divisa in tre parti con cuciture sui fianchi, leggermente più corta sul centro davanti. Avevo pensato di lasciare l’orlo a taglio vivo ma poi ho deciso di fare un piccolo orlino a zig zag come per l’orlo dei pantaloni.

Infine per terminare le parti in lycra bianca ho fatto un mini collo alto, anche questo cucito prevalentemente a mano visto le dimensioni ridotte.

Avevo deciso di chiudere il retro con una striscia di velcro ma considerando la presenza del mantello ho deciso di fare solo un’apertura fino alle scapole e chiudere poi il collo con un automatico.

Per concludere la base del costume ho iniziato le spalline, dopo aver fatto una prova con un pezzo di carta per decidere la grandezza definitiva ho realizzato una mezzaluna in foam (bhe, due) e l’ho riportata su un doppio strato di lycra oro.

Ho chiuso poi la parte lasciata aperta con dei piccolissimi punti a mano e le ho attaccate al giromanica, sempre a mano, con dei punti nascosti.

Ed ecco la casacca quasi pronta pronta! Non è un amore? Il mio animo da fangirl è super entusiasta di fare questo costume!

Per concludere la casacca ho attaccato la parte della “gonna” ed ecco una preview...gia la adoro!!

- Step 4: mantello e cintura

Prima di passare agli accessori, che visto la lunghezza di questo post verranno presentati in una Parte 2, mi sono occupata della cintura e del mantello, per concludere la base del costume.

Per il mantello ho deciso di realizzare una mezzaruota per averlo bello ampio e fluente, leggermente più ampio della larghezza spalle in modo da drappeggiare un pò la parte alta.

(BONUS PIC - Salem che decide che vuole provare il mantello)

Direi che come ampiezza ci siamo! Per il momento visto che mi serve ancora il filo bianco sulla macchina da cucire mettiamolo da parte, lo finirò più tardi.

Per la cintura invece ho scartato l’idea di fare un pezzo separato visto che il costume aveva già tanti pezzi e ho deciso di cucirla sulla casacca per nascondere la cucitura sotto la vita.

Ho fatto prima una prova con un pezzo di lycra bianca per decidere l’altezza e la profondità della V, poi l’ho usata come base per quella vera e propria realizzata con due strati di lycra oro.

Ed ecco la casacca finita! Mi piace sempre di più e non vedo l’ora di finirla!! Come ultimo tocco devo aggiungere solo la gemma al centro dello stemma e l’automatico dietro per chiudere il collo.

Visto che questo post sta diventando lunghissimo vi farò vedere gli accessori e il final look nel prossimo post, che verrà pubblicato normalmente di giovedi.

A presto!

Chiara (StregaCorvina)