#to live in a time where fanfiction is free and readily accessible.'

[kwondotcom]

hana— in our first ever conversation, i divulged to you that i've thought of elevatory at least once a week since i first read it. the reason why it took me a bit of time to do a proper rb is because i had annotated it on my second read, needed to take a min to breathe, and ended up only revisiting it now while clearing drafts/my tbr. so, here it is now on read #3!!! THIS WILL NOT BE THE LAST READ (THREAT)

tl;dr one of my favorite pieces of soonyoung writing. the premise in itself is probably the most unique i've seen in a long time, and it just drives me so insane to see such a well-done exes plot. spoilers under the cut. <3

WHAT A KILLER FIRST LINE. an actual art form, really, to have u hook line and sinker in the first sentence!

knew as early as this part that i'd be in for a wild ride. it's very telling of a post-break up sentiment, and it's a stellar set up for the MC's mindset.

there's a lot to love here. the touch of "nine now, but who's counting", the call back of "God hates you" and just. soonyoung's trying to make the most of it. oomf. because of course kwon soony would jump at this opportunity, would try to make small talk w/someone he's been no contact with. it's just his style, and it leads in well to the rest of the story. the next paragraph is actual pure gold: "- sad puppy, you've nicknamed it," following the description of soony as an open book. vicious and accurate read. goes really well with the descriptiveness of this:

(aha. i'm on to you, MC. you can say what you want, but at the end of the day, you can still read him. you still know him.)

i'm more than a little obsessed at a tactless soony + jeonghan, of course, inadvertently being the one at the crime scene.

the first part is already a punch in the gut in itself— the acknowledgement of their differences, serving as a bit of a gravity that explains how the two have acted so far. think the wrong side of magnets clinking against e/o lol. but what amazes me is how hana manages to manifest is a couple of sentences later. soony who winces, who is still obviously pained by his ala-taylor swift the moment i knew moment (i don't even want to think too much of the forgotten birthday scene or i will cry) vs. mc who's 'not sure why [you're] trying to reassure him'.

i said i don't want of the birthday flashback, but it must be said. this fucking line? shot to the chest and i'm in love with the shooter (hana). sighs.

[CAR CRASH] [GLASS SHATTERING] [EXPLOSION] “OH MY GOD” [BABY CRYING] “WAAAHH WAHH” [YELLING] “HELP MEE” [POLICE SIRENS] WEE WOO WEE WOEOO [YELLING] [HELICOPTERS] ‘WE’RE REPORTING LIVE-‘ [EXPLOSION] ‘MY LEG… MY LEG!!’ [BABY CRYING] “AHFUCKK SOMEONE HELP US” [REPORTER REPORTING] oh, this got got me. something about the intimacy of a name, so deceptively simple, and soony feeling the weight of the moment :") man.

this is my favorite flashback scene (and the eventual conclusion 'tried so hard/neither of you tried hard enough) for a lot of reasons. on one hand, there's something my friends and i call the burden of knowledge, which is something i feel jeonghan is vouchsafed in this scene. he's the one who hears out why MC wants to break up with soony, who talks her through it. "little things add up." my god, what a simple truth. part of why i adore elevatory so much— aside from being a study of form, an entire story told in a one-act that no one else besides hana could pull off— is because of the way it aches. it doesn't cut, like some stories might. it doesn't scar. it's just... a dull, familiar sort of throb. like a phantom pain. i think that's the best way to put it. cuts scab over. scars heal. but aches are forever, and this is exactly what that fic does. some old forgotten breakup, some bitterness at the circumstances, some truths packaged in a kwon soonyoung fanfic that remind you right, my pain of that-time-we-don't-talk-about is somewhat universal. it's comforting, in the same way that it's damning, to realize that there are people who know y/our pain that same way. to read it back, though— to have it glaring up at you— is just. a one-of-a-kind experience.

the lead-in to the breakup is devastating, because it really is that, sometimes. you realize love in the tender mundane, which means you can also loss love on a random weekday. "... after realising you had no idea where he kept his cereal bowls" is just an absolute gut-punch. like, ah. this is a life we're supposed to be sharing, a small fact i would know if it weren't for all the distance and time apart (what kind of girlfriend doesn't know where their boyfriend keeps their cereal bowls?!) and it just. little things, as jeonghan had said. also: something so cruel in the breakup starting, and consisting, of MC just saying soonyoung. this, after present-day soony is jolted when MC says his name? yeah. abso-fucking-lutely brutal, man.

won't even try to act like i can be coherent about this when i started crying actual tears the first time i read this passage. even now, my eyes are skipping over the words in an attempt to guard my heart against that impending pain. like, hey, hana. what the fuck! reminds me of a poem, which i'm attaching here. "but i remember our kindness that day, / when it longer mattered."

i can tell you exactly when i first read this (second week of january -ish) and when i read it a second time (earlier this month; the aborted annotation attempt), and i just wish you could've seen the look on my fucking face/the gasp i gusped when it ended with this. i rate about it a lot already in this little post, but it bears repeating: pulling off a one-act/one-setting piece is no easy feat, and you do it with such finesse. the un-chronological order of the flashbacks, the glimpses of their present selves and how they've changed/how they're still like their past versions, and this ending. absolutely bowls me over. hana, you have talent that bursts at the seams. elevatory is living, breathing proof.

You were once deeply and irrevocably in love with Kwon Soonyoung, and it’s incredibly hard to avoid that fact when he works literally two offices down from you. It’s even harder to avoid when you’re stuck in a broken elevator with him for hours, and he seems determined to dissect everything that went wrong three years ago.

⇢ pairing: kwon soonyoung x f!reader

⇢ genre: angst, fluff, exes!au, lawyer!au

⇢ wc: 5.6k

⇢ warnings: minor alcohol consumption, lots of flashbacks

⇢ a/n: early happy new year!! this is my gift to u all <3 thank u to @haologram for hosting this collab and for just being alive. and thank you SOO much to ally @lovetaroandtaemin and em @gyuswhore for beta'ing i appreciate u both endlessly 💗

as part of the don’t hate, litigate! collab hosted by the wonderful @haologram

SOMETIMES IT TRULY feels like God, or the stars in your skies, or whatever the hell is controlling your fate down on this measly earth, hates you.

Sometimes it truly feels like this indefinite being is determined to deal you the worst set of cards, and this – this trumps all. Being stuck in an elevator with your ex-boyfriend sounds like the beginning of a shitty romcom, except it’s not. It’s your life, and it’s been your life for the past eight minutes, since the metal box you stepped in ground to a creaky, noisy halt halfway between the sixth and seventh floor. 

And it takes eight minutes before Soonyoung sighs resignedly. “Are you just going to ignore me forever?” 

Forever, you think, is your least favourite word. There were a lot of things you thought you’d have forever, and one of them is standing right next to you.

You swallow thickly. Your reply comes measured and clipped. “For as long as possible.”

When he speaks next, you can hear the attempt at a forced smile in his tone. “Well, you kinda just failed.”

You stay silent. If anyone had told you five years ago that Kwon Soonyoung would be begging to talk to you and you’d be ignoring him, you would have called them crazy; and yet, here you are. Ignoring him like your sanity depends on it, because actually, it does. So for the past eight minutes – nine now, but who’s counting? – you’ve barely spoken a word. You’re both stuck; the recovery team can’t make it for two hours at least; and God hates you, basically.

Soonyoung’s trying to make the most of it, and you’re not letting him.

He says your name, ever so softly. “Really, though. How – how have you been?”

It’s weird, going from years of no contact to working together. It’s been a year since Soonyoung joined your company, but it hasn’t become any easier. Not when he’s such an open book, so fucking easy for you to read. Every time you cross paths, he gets this look in his eyes – sad puppy, you’ve nicknamed it. Now is no different.

“I’ve been okay,” you say finally, stiltedly. You’ve never been able to resist that face, and you’re pretty sure he knows it too. “What about you?”

The silence is painful, but the way he says fine stings a little bit more. You know when he’s lying, and he never used to do that to you.

“So…” He shifts his weight awkwardly, huffing out an uncomfortable laugh as he gazes intently at his shoes. “This is weird, right?”

You match him with an equally uncomfortable smile. “The weirdest.”

“Our longest conversation after forever,” he says. “But I wasn’t expecting it to go like this.”

You cock your head to the side, fixing him with a questioning gaze. All hopes of ignoring him are sailing out the hypothetical window. “How were you expecting it to go?”

Soonyoung looks up at you with one of those embarrassed, endearing smiles. “Better.”

There’s a pregnant pause, and then – “You know, Jeonghan calls you the one that got away.” 

He’s always had a habit of dropping things like that on you; things that leave you a little winded.

“That makes it sound like I escaped,” you say, with an ease you don’t feel.

Clearly, Soonyoung doesn’t feel it either — he exhales heavily. “Maybe you did. Escape, I mean.”

You snap your head towards him, eyes almost owlish in your surprise; “You’re not serious.” When he doesn’t say anything, you continue haphazardly, “Soonyoung, that’s not — there wasn’t anything to escape from.” 

Your ex-boyfriend looks miserable. Avoids eye contact, staring fixedly at his shoes with a dejected expression he can’t properly disguise; even throughout the three years of your relationship, you rarely saw him like this. He looks…

Heartbroken, your mind suggests.

“I’m serious,” you insist again, pushing the thought out of your mind. “You weren’t a bad boyfriend, Soonyoung.”

He snorts then. “Okay, we both know that isn’t true.”

“It is!” 

“If we had, like, a counter of who fucked up however many times, I would leave you in the dust.”

You don’t know how to tell him this might even be half of it. This weird pedestal he puts you on – it’s not even guilt-tripping. You’ve seen that, but never from him; Soonyoung just truly, sincerely feels bad. Whenever you look back on your relationship, which is more often than you’d care to admit, it’s plain as day. He truly, sincerely feels that he has never deserved you. Like you’re something out of this world, out of his world. 

“Wow.” Soonyoung huffs out the one word, and it’s half a laugh, half admiration. “You are so out of my league.”

“Stop,” you whine, pushing his shoulder lightly. “Don’t say stupid things like that.”

“Well, not everyone gets to date the prettiest girl in law school,” he retorts quickly, lifting his brows. “Not sure why I of all people get to, but thank you.”

“Stop it,” you repeat, rolling your eyes and fixing the tie he’s wearing. “You’re gorgeous and you know it. You should know it, at least.”

“Not just that!” he protests quickly. “I just mean… you’re so smart. And good. And kind, and funny, and — ”

“Ah, yes! Of course, Kwon Soonyoung, known famously for being mean and horrible and extremely unfunny,” you say sarcastically, before tugging his tie and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “I choose my league, and you’re the only one in it.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he murmurs, slightly breathless.

“Oh, shut up and kiss me.”

There were a lot of things that went wrong with you and Soonyoung. You’d started off wonderful: both of you bright, flaming, drawn to each other like magnets. You managed the stresses of law school, graduated together, and lined up jobs – jobs that were miles and miles from each other.`

There were lots of things that went wrong with you and Soonyoung, but if you had to pick one, it would be long distance.

“When did we stop trying?”

The question makes you snort. “What, you want a date and a time?”

Soonyoung smiles ruefully, but there’s nothing happy about it. It’s more of a painful grimace. That’s always been the way with you both: you deflect, he feels. He doesn’t hide the way you do, not from anyone. And for a few years, he was the only one who you didn’t hide from. 

Maybe that’s what has you opening your mouth again. “I could probably give you one. A date, I mean.”

Soonyoung hugs his knees to his chest, eyes searching your face. You can read him so well it physically makes you ache. The hint of uncertainty in his eyes, the twitching of his fingers – he’s nervous. He’s torn between wanting to know what you have to say and the strong sneaking premonition that it might hurt. “Go on,” he says finally, just as you knew he would. 

Honestly, you don’t have an exact date. Things fell apart slowly, and then all at once. A toppling tower – leaning, leaning, leaning, until it crashed. 

“There were probably a few things,” you say, softly. “My birthday, for a start.”

He winces reflexively. “That…” he begins, and then breathes out, shutting his eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make up for that.”

“I mean, in the end, it wasn’t that big of a deal.” You’re not sure why you’re trying to reassure him, even if it's true. You forgave him almost immediately.

“Shit.” 

Soonyoung’s first eloquent word when he walks into the apartment only means you become sure of what you already suspected. He takes in the half-eaten cake on the table, candles blown out and tossed to the side, the scraps of wrapping paper littering the floor, the cards; you take in his face. And you know, as quick and as simple as that – he forgot. 

Some small part of you had been holding a sneaking hope that maybe this was just an elaborate attempt at a surprise. You’d told him once, months and months ago, that you didn’t think ignoring people on their birthday to surprise them later was a very nice thing to do. But you’d rather he forgot that than your entire birthday.

His eyes meet yours, both of you frozen to your places. Him at the doorway, you at the table. The distance between you isn’t more than a few metres, but suddenly it feels like an engulfing abyss. Still, even from the other side, you can feel the guilt pouring out of him. 

“Shit,” he says again, before rushing his words out. “Shit, baby, I’m so sorry.”

You haven’t cried all day. You haven’t let yourself, but this has your eyes brimming over before you can control it.

“I’m going to bed,” you say finally, hugging yourself tightly, making yourself smaller. The apartment is warm, but you suddenly feel freezing. And despite your best efforts, there’s a waver in your voice, verging on a crack. “I’m tired.” 

You glance over the remains of your birthday party, one that you plastered a fake, painful smile on the whole way through, and then you turn to leave. 

“Baby, wait,” he implores quickly, and takes a step towards you — you mirror it immediately with a step back, and it makes him pause, his expression falling even further. “Baby.”

“You’re not allowed to call me that.” Your voice is obviously shaking now. “Not today. Maybe — maybe tomorrow.”

Maybe tomorrow you’ll be able to hear his excuses, his promises, but today, you’re allowed to be upset. You’ll let yourself have today, at the very least.

He’d driven hours to see you that day, but he’d still forgotten why he was there. You hadn’t really celebrated your birthday before you met him. Soonyoung was the one who made it a big deal, back when you first started dating, and even now, there’s a sharp pang in your chest when you remember how hurt you were that day.

“You made up for it tenfold,” you remind him now, because it’s true. He made the rest of the week practically a utopia, once you banned him from apologising. And he’d been so busy at work, so incredibly tired the whole month before, and you could understand. Both that he upset you, and that it was an innocent mistake. And you’ve never seen more sincere apologies than those that came from Soonyoung.

He looks grim, shakes his head, but doesn’t say any more. Probably because you’ve had this conversation a few times already, both of you too stubborn to give in. 

“Keep going,” he says, then, looking at you head on. “What else?”

All of a sudden, you don’t want to talk about what else. All of a sudden, you’re annoyed with him, his stupid face, this stupid elevator. “Do we have to do this?” Your voice has switched from somewhat reassuring to harsh – for want of a better word, angry. It makes his brown eyes a little round with surprise, his mouth parting a little.

“What?”

“What else and what if have been on my mind for three years, Soonyoung,” you say acidly. “Forgive me if I don’t really want to talk about it to your face.”

Again, his mouth opens a little bit, stays open as he tries to form words. Until he gives up, seals his lips and nods. “Alright. Okay. That’s fine.”

“I know it’s fine!” you cry out, only more angry that he won’t argue back. You’re lawyers, it’s what you do. And just to be petty, you add — “Besides, I bet your girlfriend wouldn’t be happy about this anyway.”

Finally, his passive poker face drops, and he looks a little confused. “My what?”

Immediately, you regret opening your mouth, but it’s too late to back down. “Your girlfriend. You know, that girl from accounting.”

“The girl fr— You mean Rachel?” Soonyoung gapes at you, and something in you bridles, until he continues. “Mrs Choi, who's married to her wife and adopting a kid next year?”

Well, now you feel stupid as fuck.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he continues, and if you weren’t afraid to look at him right now, you’d swear he was hiding a smirk.

“Whatever. I don’t care. Why are we even talking about this?” you snap, irritated and embarrassed.

He still sounds smug. “You brought it up.”

“You sit with her every lunch hour,” you mutter, heat creeping up your neck. “I just assumed.”

“Well, there’s nothing there. So don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried! I don’t care who you date, Soonyoung!”

He looks a little taken aback, blinking once or twice, cockiness gone without a trace. “Wow,” he says, finally. If you didn’t know him as well as you did, you wouldn’t notice the slight tremble in his voice. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name since — ”

He cuts himself off, but you complete the sentence in your head — three years ago. Three years since you packed up and walked out of his life. It feels like a decade ago; it feels like last week. You’d been so sure that you wouldn’t see his face again after that, that it was a decided end of a full four years of your life. Until last year, when he’d waltzed straight back into your life, this time at your workplace.

“This is the new hire.” Your boss is speaking, but you’re still finishing up the last sentence on the document you’re working on, and you listen absently as he fires a couple instructions — “Jeon, you’ll show him around. Filing system, get him logged on, the works.”

You look up then, to cast Wonwoo a knowing smile, because he always gets lumped with showing around the newbies, but halfway to making eye contact with your friend, you catch the familiar tilt of a jaw, the soft lines of a nose you know so well.

You’ve seen Soonyoung in a hundred people since you left him. You’re always looking over your shoulder at the bus stop, at the grocery store, at the library, finding a tiny piece of him in everyone and everything, a tiny piece that lodges itself tight and sharp into your throat until you take a second look, until you see unfamiliar eyes or too dark hair or shorter legs. Until you find something to make you swallow, exhale, and keep walking.

Now, your second look doesn’t yield anything unfamiliar. Except maybe his hair, gone from blonde to black, but everything else — everything else. It’s him, and he looks just as shocked to see you as you are to see him. There’s a heavy moment that seems only heavy to the two of you, everyone else still talking, the boss still giving instructions, but you and Soonyoung are looking at each other, dumbfounded, and all you can think about is the distinct taste of bile in your throat and the tie he’s wearing is the one you got him for his birthday.

Your initial plan is to avoid him. He foils that plan within two hours, cornering you in the break room, whispering urgently, “I had no idea you worked here, I swear I’m not, like, following you or – ”

The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind, and you just pin him with a blank stare. 

“I could quit.”

You’re shaking your head before he can even finish the sentence. “I’m not so butthurt that I can’t be a professional.”

“Right,” Soonyoung nods, breathing out a little. His lips are chapped. He never used to wear lip balm, just used to borrow yours. You hate yourself a little for remembering that.

The memory almost makes your lips twist with an sardonic smile. “I was so pissed when you showed up here.”

You can see his half smile, rueful and charming, through your peripheral vision. “I felt so bad about it, you know. But you just seemed annoyed when I saw you in the break room, so I figured you weren’t… mad or upset or anything.”

“I went straight from the break room to cry in the bathroom for fifteen minutes,” you admit truthfully. “I had to tell Wonwoo I had curry for breakfast.”

“You cried?”

You scowl. “I’m not saying it to be pitied, Soonyoung. I’m just saying, I’m not, like, some heartless jerk with no feelings. Of course I was upset.”

“I know that,” he says quickly, vehemently. “Of course I know that.” He hesitates, and then continues, words practically inching out of him. “It’s not really my place to ask, but… you and Wonwoo… are you guys…?”

“You’re right,” you say, and press your cheek onto your knees to fix him with your eyes. “It’s not your business. But that’d be hypocritical of me, so… no. No, we’re just friends. I’m friends with his girlfriend too, Cam, she works at the plant shop down the road.”

Soonyoung tilts his head back, lets out one of those breathy laughs that aren’t really laughs. “It’s so weird that you have new friends now.”

“Thanks,” you say, dripping with sarcasm.

“Not like that! I just mean I’m so used to – like, it used to be our friends, you know what I mean?”

“Not since three years ago,” you say with false lightness, because when you lost Soonyoung, you lost the friends he brought you too. You catch the glint of pity in his eyes again, and scoff. “It’s not a big deal. They were your friends first.”

Frowning, he speaks again. “First doesn’t matter. It didn’t matter to them either. Seungkwan said you were the one who stopped answering their calls.”

It’s true, and the feeling still burns a little, because Seungkwan and Jeonghan had called so many times. Even Vernon called a couple times, and you weren’t even that close to him, but Soonyoung has always attracted good people. Like calls to like. Maybe that’s why you ended up leaving.

“I was trying to make it easier,” you say bluntly., “for them to choose you.”

Your ex-boyfriend clicks his tongue, rakes a hand through his dark hair. “It’s not about sides, ___, for fuck’s sake.”

“Well, it felt like it at the time, alright?” Your words come out louder than you mean them to, and you pause, trying to quell your defensiveness. 

Soonyoung raises his hands in half-hearted surrender. “Alright. Alright.”

Something in your stomach feels acidic. Leaning your head back against the cool wall of the elevator, you manage to meet his eyes apologetically. “How – how are they, though? Seungkwan and everyone?”

Graciously, he ignores your quick show of temper. “They’re good. Seungkwan’s working freelance photography now. Jeonghan still hates his job, but keeps getting promoted anyway.”

Jeonghan. You told him you thought you were going to break up before you even told Soonyoung. You wonder if he remembers it, because that night is seared into your memory – New Year’s Eve, three years ago.

You’re much drunker than you ever intended to be when you finally find a place to sit in the cramped apartment, waved over by a sympathetic looking Jeonghan. He pats your head affectionately as you groan. 

“Feeling alright?”

“No,” you say elaborately.

Jeonghan never pries, which is probably what makes people tell him everything. He only raises his eyebrows at you, a hint of scepticism toying with his smile.

You look away, eyes drawn immediately to your boyfriend, laughing in the middle of the kitchen. Throwing his head back, squeezing his eyes shut, looking so fucking happy; when you see him like this, your heart always feels so incredibly warm and so incredibly full. 

Except today, there’s something else intertwining it, something similar to dread, and it causes the faint smile on your face to fade a little.

Jeonghan sees it, of course, and when you look back at him, his eyebrows only raise higher. 

You sink further into that horrible, looming feeling. “Jeonghan.”

“___.”

“I think I’m going to break up with him this year.”

If you didn’t know Jeonghan as well as you do, you’d think the information hadn’t affected him at all; his features remain completely impassive, but you catch the flash of surprise in his eyes. He stays quiet for a long time, the silence between you filled with thumping bass and indistinct conversation, until finally, he asks the only question there is to ask. “Why?”

It’s ridiculous, how one word can bring you to the verge of tears. But that one word holds so much weight – why would you break up with him? Why would you, when you’ve pictured a future with him a thousand times over? 

Why would you leave the best thing that ever happened to you?

You blink back the tears, and Jeonghan waits.

His voice is soft, but you still hear him under the din of the party. “Is this about your birthday?”

You shake your head quickly. “No.” You stop. “Maybe. It’s – there’s just – little stupid things.”

“Little things add up,” Jeonghan says gently. You hate how he’s already understanding.

“Sometimes – ” You swallow thickly. “Sometimes I just feel so far away from him.”

You don’t have to explain that you don’t mean physically. Because that’s part of it, but it’s not all of it, but without you saying that, Jeonghan knows. You barely notice when he takes your plastic red cup from your hands, setting it on the table next to him. “And I know he loves me, and he’d never hurt me on purpose, and – he’s been so good to me, Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan only hums, waits for you to continue. And you do, the alcohol only pushing more words out of your mouth. “The distance,” you say, “is killing us.” You rub furiously at your eyes. “No matter how hard we try, Jeonghan, it’s not working, and I feel like – I’m the only one who can see that. He’s ignoring it, but we can’t keep going like this.”

Jeonghan hesitates for a second, looking torn, more torn than you’ve ever seen him look. “Do you still love him?”

Tears blur your vision again, but don’t quite escape this time. “I don’t know how to stop.”

When you kiss Soonyoung after the countdown, your cheeks are wet.

“Long distance.”

“What?”

“You asked what else,” you say, picking at your nails. “I think it was the distance. I think that’s what – you know. Broke us up.”

Soonyoung has that look in his eyes, the one where he wants to argue but knows he’s going to lose, knows that you’re right. He breathes out, licks his lips and tries to speak. “We tried so hard.”

It’s not even a counter-argument. You agree with him, even. The two of you were brilliant at long distance, until you weren’t. Hours-long video calls, surprise weekend visits, staying over for the holidays, until it all started collapsing. Weekly movie nights kept getting postponed. Visits had to decrease in number. You were missing each other’s calls – if one of you wasn’t working late, the other always was. It was like the entire universe was working against you both, and suddenly, you felt like a burden rather than a lover, and Soonyoung would probably say the same. It’s hard not to feel that way, when you’re celebrating your anniversary over FaceTime and both of you keep dozing off while the other talks.

In a way, Soonyoung is right: you both tried so hard. In a way, he’s so wrong: neither of you tried hard enough.

Towards the end of it all, you were too tired to fight. Both of you were. The breakup was a quiet affair, mostly. You brought it up first, standing in the kitchen of Soonyoung’s apartment after realising you had no idea where he kept his cereal bowls.

“Soonyoung?”

“Babe, I told you, it’s the third cupboard from the left,” he calls, but he’s rounding the corner to his kitchen anyway. He stops in his tracks when he sees your face, smile fading, and for a second, time freezes.

“Soonyoung,” you say again, quieter.

And he knows. “Don’t,” he says, faintly, but there’s no weight behind it, because he knows.

Tears are already brimming your eyes, and you’re wrapping your arms around yourself, shaking your head. “I can’t,” you say, and you’re not sure what you mean. I can’t end it. I can’t keep going.

The picture before him is enough for Soonyoung, and any defence, any fight he still had in him (because he’s always been the more tenacious) drains. He gives in, same as you. 

“Okay,” he says, in a voice that’ll haunt you for years to come, a clashing harmony of gentle and damning. “Okay.”

You try to formulate words. You fail. All that you can say is “Soonyoung.” before you trail off. 

You don’t finish. He gives you a tired, forced smile, says something about, “We had a good run, didn’t we?”, but you’re too busy trying to wrench the tears back into your eyes to focus properly. Your efforts are in vain, of course, tears slipping down your cheeks hot and heavy, no matter how much you try to stop.

“I’m sorry,” you say tearfully, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t be sorry.”

After that, he only helps you load your bags into your car and says thank you when you give him the house keys. He does everything so quietly, so methodically, so defeatedly. It’s like he’s just lost a war he’s been fighting for far too long.

It turns out that in the end, four years can be reduced down to this: two cardboard boxes, three bin bags, and two broken hearts.

It’s your fault, in technical terms. You finished this. You’re the one who said the words, or almost said them, the one who spelled out what was so obviously ignored. More than once, because you’d tried this before, six months ago. Soonyoung was the one who fought back. He’d said no, of course, that first time. He’d said no with tears in his eyes, like it was a surprise to him, like he couldn’t see it the way you saw it — that you were on two very different paths. 

Soonyoung didn’t believe in following diverging paths, he believed in forcing yourself straight ahead hand-in-hand, come hell or high water. He believed in it, until he didn’t, and then he let you go.

When it’s time for you to leave, he accepts the hug you can’t help but fling on him just before you step in the car. Both of your arms around each other, fitting into place like you have a hundred times before, but so much tighter and so much briefer this time. Soonyoung clings to you like he’s never going to see you again, because he isn’t. You cling to him like this is the last time you’ll ever hug him, because it is.

And then both of you are pulling away, laughing awkwardly at the wet patch you’ve left on his shirt, and then you’re getting in your car and he’s waving you off and it’s over, just like that.

“It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it?” There’s an acerbic quality to Soonyoung’s laugh as he continues. “We broke up because of distance, and here we fucking are.”

There’s a metre and a half between you two.

“Maybe it was a dumb reason,” you say. Voicing the thought that’s tormented you since the day you drove away. Because maybe it was stupid. Maybe it was a temporary rough patch, and if you’d stayed, if you’d fought a little more and a little longer, you’d still have Soonyoung.

But you didn’t, and you don’t.

There’s a heavy expression on Soonyoung’s face, a strange mix of anger and confusion and guilt. “Maybe,” he says, at last. There’s the vaguest trace of bitterness, the little tiny sting that reminds you again that you’re the one who called it quits. 

“It felt like the weight of the world at the time,” you say ashamedly, squeezing your eyes shut for a second.

Soonyoung takes the chance and scoots closer to you, sitting against the wall with you, shoulder-to-shoulder. (How easy it would be to just rest your head there, as you’ve done a thousand times before.) “It can’t have been easy,” he says, patting your hand with his own. Warm and familiar in its unfamiliarity, which is when you realise you’ve misread him, for once – he’s not bitter. He’s empathetic.

“It wasn’t stupid,” Soonyoung continues softly, rubbing his eyes, “but God, I wish you’d just talked to me. Actually — I wish we’d talked to each other.”

“Yes, well,” you say dryly, wondering if he’s going to catch your reference, “I’ve always had a problem with communication.”

He catches it; it makes him pause, lift up his head, give you a tiny smile.

It takes you a minute to register that the seat across from you has been occupied. When you do look up, you realise Soonyoung’s mouth has been moving since he sat down, and you haven’t heard a word of it. Also, somewhere between the class you guys shared two days ago and his presence in the library this morning, his hair’s gone from a discreet dark brown to a particularly indiscreet blond.

“I’m sorry,” you shake your head, taking out your earphones and setting down your pen. “What?”

“I said – do you have a problem with communication or something?” Despite the nature of his words, he’s practically beaming at you.

You blink at him, bewildered. “I mean… maybe? But — what?”

He holds up his phone. “Project,” he explains elaborately. “I’ve been texting, and I didn’t get a reply, and then I saw you over here, so I thought I’d ask.”

You frown, grabbing your phone. “I didn’t get any texts.”

Soonyoung mirrors your expression, tapping at his screen, and you’re struck by how much the blond suits him. As did the brown. As did the black he had a semester ago. Not that you’ve been keeping track, but it’s hard to not notice someone like Soonyoung. Even if the first time you talked to him was two days ago to organise the project you’ve been paired up for — you know him. Of him, at least.

He swivels his screen round to face you, showing you a contact with your name and what you quickly realise is almost your number. You smile a little awkwardly, tapping the last digit. “That’s meant to be a seven. You’ve got an eight.”

“Fuck,” he exhales, “that explains it. Who the hell have I been texting about litigation then?”

Something about his expression and his tone is so comical it makes you laugh, which surprises him a little – he glances up at you with a blatantly admiring smile, and he taps the edge of the desk. “Your eyes light up when you laugh, did you know?” And as quickly as he says it, he moves on, gesturing to your phone. “I’ll text you about the project, okay?”

He’s like a hurricane, and you’re trying your best to keep up. “Okay,” you agree confusedly, still hot-faced from the sudden compliment. “Yes. That’s — yes.”

As he gets up to leave again, he shoots you another one of those blinding, dazzling smiles, and sticks his hand out. “We’re friends now, right?”

His question sounds childishly sweet, and you can’t find it in yourself to do anything other than agree. 

Your one little reference sets you both off. You spend the next two hours talking and talking and talking, every other sentence beginning with “Remember when…”, as the two of you dredge up the long-buried memories of four long years spent together.

Soonyoung talks about the massive crush he had on you before you even got paired up for the project. You talk about how you never believed him, even when he did ask you out – it took three tries before you understood how serious he was. And then you remember the time Soonyoung sprinted from campus to his accommodation and back just to get you the calculator you forgot for your exam – and the time you both went to a frat party and ended up playing the most intense game of UNO in the bathroom with Vernon, which ended in a drunk Soonyoung trying to flush the cards down the toilet. 

He talks about the surprise party you threw for his birthday, and you talk about the time he tried to make you pancakes for National Girlfriend Day and failed horribly. You ate them anyway.

You don’t, however, talk about other things, even if you remember them. You remember Soonyoung kissing your forehead every morning he woke up next to you. You remember him buying your favourite flowers for your favourite vase every week. You remember coming home after a long day to food already delivered and paid for when he was working hours and hours away. You remember being so incredibly in love that it made you giddy and so in love it made you calm. And you don’t talk about it, just store it away somewhere as a reminder of what love is meant to feel like. If four years with Soonyoung brought you anything, it’s that: it taught you how to love and be loved.

When the recovery team finally arrives, you leave the elevator feeling like a new person. It doesn’t hurt when you look at Soonyoung anymore, there’s only a vague, warm fondness. And he can look you in the eye now, which he does. He smiles at you, sticks out his hand the same way he did all those years ago.

“We’re friends now, right?”

an / AHHH!!!!!! i know this fic is only like 5k but it took a lot out of me so i’d love to hear your thoughts. literally any thoughts. i wanted this fic to be longer but it happened this way and. what can i do. i may be the author but im NOT in control. it’s not a fic i’m 100% proud of but i think it’ll still hold a special place in my heart!!!! i love an angsty exes au.

anyway — this will be my last fic this year!!! see you all in 2025 and thank you so much for all the notes and all the reblogs and all the wonderful conversations this year i love you

perm taglist: @n4mj00nvq @eoieopda @som1ig @glowunderthemoon

@wondering-out-loud @tokitosun @hannyoontify @sahazzy

@dokyeomin @icyminghao @smilehui @nicholasluvbot @lvlystars

@immabecreepin @hanniehaee @kokoiinuts @astrozuya @doublasting

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[inuhalfdemon]

Alastor and Niffty Fanfiction Headcannon

[I plan to write this into an actual fully-fleshed one-shot at some point…]

Alastor finding Niffty and bringing her back with him to Hell.

In Life:

Niffty was a “mail-order” house bride; brought bought from her family in Japan

She genuinely enjoyed cleaning, cooking and took great care in all of her wifely duties

Her husband was “a man of science”; his research (his findings, pointless at best) took priority over anything else and he demanded nothing but obedience and subservience from the women in his life

Niffty had a natural attraction for men so when her husband recognized that she was really and truly attracted to him and enjoyed sexually pleasing him; he immediately had her institutionalized into the local mental health hospital asylum for the insane (under the care of and study of a valuable colleague of his…) where she was lobotomized – not once, not twice, but three fucking separate times.

Even after the procedures were over;  and despite living the rest of her days in constant terror within the insane asylum itself, Niffty never garnered an ill thought toward her husband – always naturally supposing he had her best interests in mind.

Alastor is a selected participant in Hell’s regular reaping of souls event and for 10 years he has free access to and from earth

 Alastor came to the insane asylum – not for Niffty – but for a man that had feigned insanity in a poor attempt of preventing the radio demon coming and collecting his wretched soul following the completion of a deal that he had made.

The asylum was poorly regulated; patients were often left unattended and sexual and physical abuse among the population was rampant.

Niffty was a victim of such abuse by the man whose soul Alastor came to claim

When Alastor found the man within the asylum, catching him in the commitment of unspeakable and horrendous acts to the young woman…it turned into a rather bloody business, indeed.

Alastor finds NIffty’s records within the asylum and is appalled by what he finds

Mentally holding on by a thread and nothing but grateful to “the bad boy” that came to her that night as her own personal dark angel; Niffty readily gave him her soul.

Alastor took it from her; not to use but to protect from any further nefarious insult by anyone else who might seek to claim it

 Niffty doesn’t just give him her soul; she forfeits her life and follows him, going with him, to Hell.

In Death:

When Niffty first came to Hell she was incredibly erratic (yes, even more so than she is now)

She continuously darted all over the place and was entirely obsessed with bugs (yes, even more so than she is now)

She wouldn’t verbalize much; and when she did it was a continual string of variations to one word or complete nonsensical blabber

NIffty’s behavior drew open curiosity, agitation or concern from others residing in Hell but never Alastor

Alastor let her be and never once minded or objected to her constant and complete adoration of him

Alastor calmly allows her to frantically climb and clamber all over him – something he would never tolerate from any other being in Hell

Alastor takes pangs to set aside quieter moments with Niffty; times in which he encourages her to draw or write out her thoughts and whatever emotions she might be feeling

Her drawings are a series of indecipherable scribbles; usually black rings she draws going round-and-round in a chaotic fashion until the paper tears and Alastor gently has to persuade her from gouging the rings further into whatever surface they were utilizing

Her writings are what really start to develop and this is where her passion for creating fanfictions truly begins to blossom

Alastor doesn’t quite get it, but he’s happy to see that she’s found her own outlet and encourages her work

Niffty never knows this, but Alastor makes a point of finding her husband while he is still allowed to visit earth. He easily forms a deal with the rather foolish and short-sighted man; upon completion of the agreement he immediately rips the fucker’s soul apart – never bothering to find a use for it or add it to his collection of broadcasts.

Slowly; Niffty’s verbalizations and interactions with others develop and take form

Alastor enjoys watching her come into her own; seeing her develop relationships with others apart from him and finding a new and brighter confidence in herself

He is incredibly proud of her when he hears what she does to Adam; he also finds a great poetic justice in it: that she got to really and truly stick it to the first and original man; the original dick

Alastor keeps her soul…allowing it to mold and morph from something that was once less than tattered shreds – slowly becoming something beautiful and whole: until the day he can return it to her, knowing that she is ready to take it back.

[writinglittlebeasts]

🏡📝📱

Writing Shop Talk ask meme! 🏡- Would you live in the world you created? Why or why not?

answered here!

📝- What writing software do you use? Does it work for you?

i used to use google docs for everything and just backup with word documents, back when i had access to word (switched from my old school laptop to a new one that works), because i like that i can use it across devices and for a couple of years there i was writing mostly on my phone. it's still fine for fanfiction, but now that i'm a big boy with a functional computer i've been using scrivener and im gonna be honest i have NO idea if i'm using it right, because it keeps yelling at me whenever i open it about how it's saving to the folder i asked it to save to (the horror) and i don't know what it actually wants from me. AND i'm about to compile for the first time to print, and that might go REALLY poorly so the answer might change. but for now it's pleasant to write in, sort of easy to organize (the fact that you can turn your text file into a note if you don't remember to expand your chapter folder is SOOO annoying i do NOT know how to use scrivener), and i totally made my indent preset something ridiculous i want to change but can't be assed to after the last time <3 love and light

📱- Are you planning on publishing? How and where? Are you trying to monetize your writing?

i am! like, my original fiction. all of my fanfiction is already like readily available to read online.

anyway, i'm going to try tradpub first, because those childhood dreams are hard to shake and all, but i'm not opposed to self publishing if it isn't with amazon (no judgement 2 anyone who does but i'm Proud of my lack of amazon account and also hate them dearly). i'm not entirely *trying* to monetize my work, but i realize that that's just, like, a part of that process. like i'm not under any allusions that i'll wake up one day a financially successful author, esp. with the way i'm just not really on social media that would give me any kind of publisher-friendly exposure.

i've wanted to put fixed up for free, though; somewhere like on my tapas account . whenever that's done lol

[creekfiend]

I saw your post about reading fanfiction and I love it so much. My enjoyment of fanfiction doesn't challenge my availability to like understand Shakespeare. But, I know my enjoyment of fanfiction is because a.) It's Fun, b.) It's Comforting and I Feel Seen, and C.) It's Accessible.

I had a good high school education as in I went to a tuition free private school. It's easily the best high school in my area and some parents explained it as "An A in a public school here is just a C at this private school." It was common for straight A public school children to /fail/ our enterance exams. So, I know I'm very privileged to have this education where even middle of the pack was better than being left to the wilds of our county system.

I also know that I grew up poor and my grandmother hated buying me books. She saw them as a single use item even if I excitedly reread everything I owned. It was very rare for me to get new books of my own. I scavenged for free or someone gave them to me as a gift. You know what was free and readily available at this time? Fanfiction.

Now, I'm dealing with debilitated mental health where I rarely have enough spoons to do more than get out of bed, eat simple foods, and shower. Sometimes I have really great days! Other times, I have worse days.

Fanfiction is readily available on my phone, doesn't take as much mental energy, and isn't frightening because it's not an entirely new series. It's more like interacting with a new series in the same universe. I'm not having to forge new bonds with brand new characters or hope a series pans out even if the reviews looked good.

Writing fanfiction is also a hobby of mine. It brings me great joy. To solve the puzzles to fit in what I want to happen. Or, I connect little details I discovered and want to use.

As a reader and writer, it also gives me a chance to explore my own identities? My sexual and romantic orientations, gender, and polyam natures can appear in my favorite series now. They aren't being done in passing but have the chance to be fully explored in a way canon wouldn't really allow. It's fantastic.

It's also disheartening when people want to reduce a hobby that brings a lot of people joy down to "It's for the stupid masses." When that's not at all what's happening for majority of people? It's a free, enjoyable hobby that I watch person after person do as a passion project. This is just thing written from the heart with love.

💜

I think it has become cool to shit on fanfiction recently in a response to the navel gazing self satisfied posts that were going around a bit ago about how fanfic is REVOLUTIONARY and ANTICAPITALIST and NECESSARILY INVOLVES BEING PROGRESSIVE and engaging in Fandom is A RADICAL ACT, being in Fandom is a MARGINALIZED IDENTITY, etc

Which, yeah. Those takes were frustrating in a lot of ways and failed to address a lot of nuance. But I think the sheer *glee* with which a lot of people have jumped to going "THATS NOT TRUE AND ALSO YOUR HOBBY AND SUBCULTURE ARE BAD AND STUPID" is... not a flattering look for those people either. Lol

It's something that brings people a lot of joy. It's a hobby! It means a lot to a lot of people. And that doesn't mean it cant have issues just like any other hobby subculture (most of those issues mirror the issues present in Mainstream Society, though. Usually these are not brand new never before seen issues invented by Big Fanfiction. Lol)

I'm glad you have an activity that brings you joy and a space that you feel you fit into. That's important for people to have and I think we should be glad when people have that in their lives. It brings me joy that people have joy in their lives!!! It's hard to be an alive human!!! God bless stuff that makes it less hard for anyone

[quietbtsing]

Stained - P1 (M)

Pairing: vampire!OT7 x idol!Reader

Genre: Supernatural Romance (fluff, angst, dark themes, idol!au, vampire!au, poly!bts)

Warnings: Blood, soft gore (barely), wounds, blood drinking

Word count: 8k+

Summary: Today is your debut as Big Hit Entertainment's first (completely solo) female idol, and the day has more in store for you than just dealing with the stress of the beginning of your career. With BTS's 'Love Yourself: Speak Yourself' World Tour ending, your manager couldn't have set up your debut at a better time. With a party held at Big Hit Headquarters that night in your honor, you're expected to play the part of a perfect idol despite your anxieties.What will happen when a few members of BTS unexpectedly run into you on the day of your debut? You never expected to meet any of your seniors, not like this. Not covered in blood.A Vampire!BTS and Idol!Reader AU mashup where you, the reader, are throw into the stress of being a brand new idol just months after TXT's debut as well as the stress of slowly finding out your Bangtan seniors are vampires!

AO3 Link: here

Authors note: This is my first fanfiction I’ve ever posted to the internet as well as my first BTS fanfiction.  Its a bit self indulgent but I’m hoping others like it!

----------

You stare at the 75 inch screen television in front of you, spine straight and breath caught in your throat. Sweat pooled between your palms, your hands clutched tightly together in your lap. Every fiber of your being was wired, anxious. Today was the biggest and most important day of your career so far: your debut.

Even though you had seen plenty of your own choreography practices and recordings of you in the studio, nothing surmounted to the feeling of watching your first ever fully edited and stylized music video. All of your hard work through idol training, all of the hours spent recording main and backup vocals, all of the days you locked yourself away in a dance studio practicing for the music video until you were spent -- it was all finally paying off.

Although you weren’t the first solo artist to debut with Big Hit Entertainment, you were the first solo female in a company completely domineered by male idols (that was signing on solely with Big Hit). It was intimidating to you to say the least, especially since Big Hit’s biggest success and golden boys were finishing their Love Yourself: Speak Yourself world tour. Just like with TXT, your managers at Big Hit expected your debut to take off immeasurably well due the army of a fan-base that your seniors had. You hoped that factor of your exposure would only be a precursor to your own fans who could connect with your passion in music, and not just with your association to the one and only Bangtan Sonyeondan.

“A sure-fire hit,” your manager says with a smile as she reaches across the table to give you a hearty pat on the back. A chorus of agreement flutters around you from your seat at the head of the table as the rest of your production team watches the live feed with you. Despite the unanimous agreement that your debut song is as perfect as it can be, you find yourself critiquing the little things: the runs that accompany your chorus, the dance moves that may have been playing it a little safe, even your final hair and makeup choice for some of the scenes of the music video.

Your manager seems to catch on to your analyzing, her smile quickly fading. She scoots her rolling chair around the edge of the table to lean in close, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Quit furrowing your brow, Y/N. It is wonderful, you look and sound wonderful. I promise you.”

“I appreciate you saying that,” you mumble, doing your best to relax your eyebrows and unknot your hands. You wipe the sweat of your palms off on your leggings, turning your attention from the screen to your manager’s worried face. “I just know I’m in such a large shadow.”

She seems to agree with you on that, nodding her head softly and giving your shoulder a squeeze. “It’s true,” her voice is still soft, nurturing like always. “But I’ve seen what you are capable of. I wouldn’t worry about that shadow for too long, you’re bright enough to cast away any darkness.”

You give her an earnest smile, probably your first one all week. She always knew the right thing to say to brush away your self doubt, even if only for a moment.

Turning your attention back to the television screen, you watched your music video come to an end. The Korean television station you were tuned to faded out and into a commercial and the room erupted in applause, not only for your debut but in turn for all of the team’s hard work in producing the video. You kept your earnest smile and clapped along too. Even if your own self doubt was constantly in the back of your mind, you knew how hard the production team at Big Hit worked for and with you. At the very least they deserved the applause.

With a final pat on your shoulder, your manager stood and hurried to the television to mute it. She stood in front of the wide screen and waved her hands up and down, shushing the crowded meeting room. “Thank you so much everyone for joining me and Y/N this afternoon to watch her live television debut. I’ll save my big, sappy speech for this evening’s festivities but I wanted to thank you all truly, from the bottom of my heart, for all of your hard work.”

After her short monologue, your manager gave a small bow and the room erupted once more with congratulations. At this you stood yourself and beamed at everyone, giving your own small bow of thanks. Your manager had promised you she would do most of the talking throughout the day, and you were eternally grateful. You were incredibly anxious in front others when it came to your work, and because of your manager’s warm personality, most people did not seem to mind that you mostly stayed quiet.

Tonight would be different though. You were expected to give a speech, as well as preform your debut single.

Pushing aside such nauseating thoughts, you spent the rest of the time in the meeting room delivering personal thanks at the door with your manager as everyone left to finish their work or prepare for the festivities that were planned for that night. Thankfully, it went fairly quickly and you were allowed to disappear to your personal studio until it was time for hair and makeup for your Big Hit debut party.

Your studio was on the same floor as the other idols’ studios, though you rarely ever saw anyone. With the TXT boys spending so much of their free time finishing up their schooling and the members of Bangtan gone abroad for their tour, you have had the floor almost to yourself for many months. Today was no different as you found yourself exiting the elevator and rounding the empty halls to your studio. It was on the opposite end of the floor as the Bangtan boys and just past the members of TXT, with Huening Kai being your neighbor. You eased past his door to yours, reminiscing briefly on the English lessons he crafted for you that now sat untouched at the bottom of your desk drawer. Without Kai here to encourage you (or rather, help you through the grammar and vocabulary), you had let your studying slack in place of your long hours in the dance studios.

You would pick up learning English again. At some point.

Punching in your access code and clicking open the frosted glass door to your small studio, you kicked off your shoes immediately on entering. You’d be stuck in heels the rest of the night so you might as well experience the bliss that is being flat-footed while you could. Your shoes slid under your sofa-turned-bed and you readily threw yourself at it, collapsing amongst the multitude of pillows and fuzzy blankets that coated your black leather couch.

Your studio was an absolute mess. With the couch being a makeshift bed and the floor being your makeshift closet, it was incredibly cramped and cluttered. You were given the option to stay in a hotel while your dormitory was renovated and set up for you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to accept such an offer. The thought of your living space being essentially invaded by cleaning staff daily was too much for your private heart to handle, not to mention being surrounded by strangers in the rooms around you. You’d much rather stay as you are: cramped, alone, and at peace in your small studio.

Digging around in the blankets and pillows that encompassed you on your sofa-bed, you quickly found and followed the charging cord that lead to your cellphone. Tapping it to life you sighed as you read the time. It was half past three, which meant that you only had about two hours before you were expected downstairs in the salon to get your hair styled and makeup applied. Scrolling through your social media feeds, careful to avoid any commentary on your debuted music video, you debated whether or not to nap until it was time to get ready.

But without much more thought and only a bit more scrolling a small wave of exhaustion caught you, tugging you quickly into a snooze with your phone still in hand.

--

6:09.

That was the time that read on your phone when the vibrations against your face finally woke you up. It was your manager’s seventh missed call that finally stirred you from an apparently well-needed nap, and her eighth call that caused you to tear out of your studio so fast that you didn’t bother with shoes or locking the door.

“Y/N? Where are you? Hair and makeup was scheduled for almost forty minutes ago!”

Your manager’s warm and cheerful voice was obviously strained, and your heart ached at the sound.

“Iamsosorryohmygod,” you slurred out as you skidded around a corner of the studio floor, sprinting your way towards the elevators with phone glued to your ear. “I fell asleep without setting an alarm, I am on my way I promise!”

The phone call ended with her tutting you for your mistake as you reached the elevator doors, nearly sliding past them on the marble floors in your socks. Letting out a loud and exasperated groan, you shoved your phone into the band of your leggings and pushed the down button on the keypad. Almost instantly the doors slid open, much to your delight. The elevator must have remained on the floor. Swallowing the next stressed groan that tempted to rear its head, you quickly jumped into the elevator.

And face-first into someone’s chest.

You recoiled almost instantly, hands flying up to clutch your nose as the other person flung themselves backwards against the wall of the elevator clearly startled. Both of you let out a string of words akin to ‘what the fuck’ and you backed out of the elevator, raising your now watering eyes to whomever you’ve just assaulted with your face.

“Iamsosor-” you start to spit out again from behind your hands but the face that stares back at you with similar sympathy catches you off guard, and your words lose themselves.

“Y-Yoongi sunbaenim?”

You stared up in awe at the grey-haired Bangtan member, your tear-filled eyes meeting his surprised ones briefly before you ducked your head into an apologetic bow.

“I am so sorry,” you repeated slower, head still angled down and hands still clasped over your nose and mouth. “I did not expect anyone to be on the floor and I just kind of sprinted into the elevator without thinking.”

After a few beats without hearing a reply, you lifted your head curiously, your eyes still watering from the pain of having your nose bashed into someone’s collarbone. It was in fact Min Yoongi, member of BTS’s rap line and one of your seniors at Big Hit, and his eyes were fixated on your hands.

“Your nose..” he mumbles, back still pressed to the elevator wall, his hands curled into small fists at his side.

You cocked your head to the side instinctively, a trademark of your confusion, and are instantly met with a terrible throb from your skull. You pull your hands away from your face and grimace, the smell and taste finally hitting you -- you had busted open your nose. And you were bleeding profusely.

“Oh shit,” you gasp, moving your hands back to your face in an attempt to slow the flow now trickling down your chin and to your shirt. You quickly discover that isn’t going to do any good and wipe your hands down your shirt, thankful that it is black, before flipping it up to press the fabric of the hem to your nose. That should work a little better.

Ready to try and laugh off what had just transpired as well as the pain, you turn your attention back to the elevator only to see the doors sliding closed. You can barely see him as the doors slide to a close, but Yoongi looks absolutely disgusted. Your stomach flips a little, suddenly riddled with guilt.

That wasn’t how you expected your first meeting would go. At all.

--

It takes you another twenty minutes to get down several flights of stairs and make a quick stop into a bathroom before you find yourself in the salon, nose still running slightly and your face an absolute bloody wreck. You’re an hour past when your hair and makeup appointment was and the air in the room absolutely bleeds annoyance.

Once you push through the doors you are met with multiple cold stares from the hair and makeup team, as well as a frustrated look from your manager who was sitting at one of the styling chairs. You assume she was about to call you again, but once you are fully in the room and just a slight bit closer, the atmosphere in the room changes drastically.

Your manager drops her phone on the makeup counter in front of her and rushes to your side, quickly assessing the damage to your face while running her hands all over the air in front of you, as if she’s afraid by touching you she’ll make it worse.

“Oh my god, Y/N. How in the hell did you break your nose? I thought you said you were napping!” She barraged, her previously annoyed tone replaced with an incredibly worried and motherly demeanor. You’re quick to jump back a little at her waving hands, your face throbbing enough that even a gust of air sends immense pain through your skull.

“I know, I know,” you sigh, doing your best to step around her and towards the styling chair that you assume is where you’ll be prepared. Your usual makeup artist is there and instead of holding any form of brush or sponge, she’s now holding a wet washcloth and a very worried look. Your manager doesn’t stop you from taking your seat, but she’s absolutely glued to your side with her face scrunched in distress.

“Don’t just sigh at me,” she scolds, furrowing her brows at the same time she crosses her arms beside you. “Tell me what happened while your MUA here attempts to clean you up.”

You gift your artist your most apologetic look you can muster, which you imagine looks terribly pitiful with your current state. You can’t bring yourself to look in the mirror to check yourself, so your eyes find a pretty pink bottle of hairspray on the makeup counter in front of you to focus on.

“I sprinted out of my studio right after I picked up the phone,” the explanation begins, your lips forming a soft pout. Your makeup artist does her best to begin to wipe your face and neck clean of any blood, being careful of the slight gash across the bridge of your nose. You do your best not to wince with every touch. “When I got to the elevator, the doors slid right open and I bolted straight into.. someone.”

You bit your lip slightly on ‘someone’, Yoongi’s contorted face flashing through your mind again. He truly looked like he had never seen something more hideous, and you suppose that you couldn’t blame him. The new idol, makeupless and covered in her own blood? Atrocious at best.

“Oh, Y/N..”

You look over at your manager who has now taken her place in the styling chair beside you, her chin in her hands. For a second, you think she’s going to start crying. She looks just about as miserable as you feel.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you on the phone,” she mumbles, shaking her head softly. You know that she didn’t, at least not really, but she has always been the type to take blame on herself for just about every infraction that goes on around her. Your manager’s heart was almost too big and empathetic. “You didn’t have to sprint down here, you couldn’t help that you fell asleep..!”

Before she can continue scolding herself, you reach a hand out and place it on her knee. You give it a gentle squeeze and do your best to shake your head back while your makeup artist wipes the final smears of blood from your cheek.

“Stop that.”

She blinks up at you and as if it doesn’t cause you any pain, you gift her your award winning smile.

“I’m fine, okay? Things happen. And it is most definitely my fault for slamming into sunbaenim.”

Your manager seems consoled enough and manages to bat back her tears behind her eyelashes, nodding at you curtly. You are relieved she’s let it go so quickly.

“Wait, sunbaenim?”

Oh, or not.

As if sent from above to rescue from embarrassing yourself further, your makeup artist returns with a primer and a lotion in hand -- as well as a small bottle of liquid skin. “Excuse me ladies but if we’re going to have Y/N-nim ready on time for her debut party, I’m going to have to get working on fixing up her cute little face.”

And with that, your manager bids you a slightly skeptical farewell and you keep yourself occupied by counting the gemstones in the makeup counter as your MUA does her job.

--

“It’s like I never busted it.”

You stare at your reflection in the mirror, completely dolled up and ready for the party that was only minutes away from beginning. Your makeup was light and airy, a compliment of light creams and rosy pinks. The buffed out pink shadow that framed your eyes matched the deeper and shinier gloss that coated your lips. Your cheeks were a soft peachy color as well, sculpted out just slightly to accentuate your cheekbones. Even the highlight that framed your face and the bridge of your now seemingly healed nose shone out a beautiful shade of pink.

You looked absolutely adorable, beautiful even, and you were amazed that your makeup artist in tandem with your hair stylist was able to completely turn around your appearance in just over thirty minutes.

“Of course not, I’m just that good.” You smile at your artist in the mirror, her head popping up from behind you as she zips up your dress for you. You gift her a grateful bow before turning around on your newly donned heels, taking a few steps back from the mirror to take a look at your full ensemble.

The dress that was chosen for you is a pale cream color without any sleeves or shoulders. A lace floral bodice clings to your torso and once the material squeezes down to meet your hips, it billows down to your mid-thigh with opalescent pink floral designs in another layer of lace. You have stockings that leave just a few inches of bare skin between the edge of your dress and the top of the design, which stripes down in a very intricate pattern that upon closer inspection are rows of white roses. Even your shoes, a pair of white pumps, have small roses nestled over the buckle. Your hair is pinned half back and over one shoulder, a cream hairband holding back any fringe you have in a subtle flower crown.

You feel like a princess, and for someone who got their nose busted just under an hour ago, you really needed that feeling.

After a few more moments admiring the party look (and a few selfies) you quickly find yourself ushered by your manager out of the salon and down towards the main lobby of Big Hit Entertainment. You’re not surprised to find that the lobby has been slightly made over in order to accommodate many big screens, presumably for a music video viewing, as well as the inevitable cameras that plan to capture all of the speeches and speakers of the night.

Which includes you. Your stomach churned a bit, but you continued your quick look around as you and your manager descend from the main glass elevator into the main lobby. There are plenty of catering tables set up along the far walls of the gymnasium sized lobby, a dance floor seems to be prepared, as well as not one but two full bars. People are already in vast abundance, gathering into groups to socialize and seemingly pouring in from the front doors with no end.

The glass elevator stops at the lobby in just a few seconds but your stomach continues down into the lower levels of Big Hit Entertainment Headquarters, doing a few flips on its way down for good measure. You absolutely hated crowds but you would be damned if anyone found out. Your manager was the only one who knew about your aversion, and she gives you a reassuring hand squeeze before guiding you out of the elevator.

The world seems to stop around you as everyone turns to stare, waves of heads turning to witness your arrival. Everything is in slow motion, from the lights that dazzle overhead to the steps that you and your manager take forward. Your entire being feels wired, like electricity is running through you, and almost for a moment it feels good.

But then it doesn’t, and your anxiety catches up with you. Your breath catches in your throat and you feel as if you’ll fall over.

Right before you feel your knees give out, a strong arm wraps around your middle and time seems to speed back into place. Startled that someone has caught you, your head whips to find a familiar face just inches from yours. Your pulse skyrockets and your skin comes alive with another wave of electricity as your eyes connect with yet another of your seniors’.

“Careful there, pretty girl.” Jung Hosoek’s lips are close to your ear as he muses this to you, the world famous cheekbone-y smile shining down at you. Eyes wide and perfectly glossed mouth slightly open, you find yourself gawking at the older idol.

Your manager is quick to turn to you but you can’t see her expression, you’re simply lost in your senior’s eyes. There is a soft voice that you only vaguely recognize as your manager’s speaking to the two of you, but even Hosoek seems completely entranced with you. Where his hand supports you on your upper back feels aflame and you’re close enough to be brushing chests with him which sends even further heat through your body. He smells of fresh herbs and cedar that completely overtake your senses, and the lights overhead give him this warm, gilded glow. You’re almost certain that he’s going to lean in closer to kiss you when the speakers that line the lobby begin to boom with the familiar voice of Bang Sihyuk, Big Hit Entertainment’s founder and co-CEO and the two of you abruptly rip apart.

“And here she is, everyone! Our new lovely rose, Y/N!” Your founder’s voice booms all around you, and it takes you a minute to find him among the crowd. He’s walking towards you and a spotlight shines down on him, illuminating his determined yet cheery march in your direction. At this announcement, a spotlight shines down on you as well, just as Hosoek removes his arms from you. Thankfully you’ve caught yourself as he releases you and your manager steadies you by the shoulder.

You’re almost blinded by the light pouring down on you, but you’re quick to notice that Hosoek is no longer beside you. Although difficult, you squint off into the crowd in search of him as the co-CEO known as “Hitman” Bang finds his way across the stretch of lobby to you with microphone in-hand. Just as both of your spotlights connect as he reaches you and your manager, you think you see Hosoek’s dazzling smile disappear into the crowd with a wave, but you’re not sure.

Head still fairly fuzzy for a multitude of reasons, you’re quick to slap your preprogrammed idol smile on your face just as Hitman places a hand on your free shoulder. Your attention bounces from him to the large screens that litter the walls of the lobby, all illuminated with you, your manager’s, and Hitman’s smiling faces. You’re hoping that only you can tell the smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Doing your best to not come across as robotic or stiff, you let yourself be guided across the lobby floor with Hitman and your manager, each of them with a hand on your shoulder. You clasp your hands together in front of you, secretly fidgeting with the floral designs embossed on the front of your bodice, keeping your pink lips set into a well practiced smile. Hitman takes the lead in guiding you over to a small stage that has been set up towards one end of the room where the majority of the crowd has been mingling. People are still filtering in, and although the crowd is respectfully silent as Hitman speaks, the feeling of so many eyes on you is almost deafening.

You know that he is giving a short introductory speech that will lead to your own before the party truly commences, but your mind is utterly distracted. All of the people, lights, and the overall atmosphere buzzing around you causes your anxiety to skyrocket. Your mind quickly races to catch up with itself, replaying the events of your day so far as if that will quell any sort of jitters you have.

Your body still feels electric where Hosoek touched you. Your nose and eyes still burn from where you cracked your face on Yoongi’s collarbone. Although you’re no longer groggy from your impromptu nap, your stomach still flips with guilt from being late to your hair and makeup appointment. Even the self doubt from watching your music video’s premiere is still lingering at the back of your mind. And to top it all off, your body won’t stop vibrating. It is like your skin is filled with electricity, and you’re not sure if its the anxiety or something else lighting you aflame from the inside.

You are barely register that Hitman’s speech has concluded before your manager gives you a gentle nudge towards the podium center stage where a microphone and camera await you. And because of your already dissociated headspace, you’re able to approach the podium with little resistance.

And you deliver a cheery, almost entirely improvised, thank-you speech.

--

“It really wasn’t that bad, noona,” Heuning Kai, the diamond maknae of TXT and one of your best friend’s since the beginning idol training at Big Hit, tells you. Sitting beside him is another of your close friends and the only member of TXT that is able to toast champagne with you, Choi Yeonjun. Although you’re on your third glass and he’s only on his first flute, you both look about the same shade of sun-kissed red.

“He’s right,” Yeonjun’s deeper voice confirms from behind the champagne flute. You give both boys a distrusting look from your place at the hightop table across from them, and they both pout in unison.

“I’m pretty sure half of what I said didn’t make any sense,” you lament, setting down your champagne flute and scooting it to the center of the table. You lower your head to rest on your arms, which are now crossed against the cool marble surface. You stare up at the two of them from behind the bubbling glass. “I just kept repeating how grateful I was and babbling about the future.”

The two boys share a look and Kai isn’t able to contain a giggle that rises to his lips. “That’s kind of the point, noona.”

You blow a defeated raspberry at them from the table, letting your eyes slide from their faces to the party raging around you. It has been about an hour since your speech and you only recently were able to escape from center stage. You answered a few pre-planned questions for the invited press, shook many hands of people you either did not know or had only vaguely heard of, and spent a solid fifteen minutes being coached by your manager on what the rest of the night should be like for you.

She suggested you mingle, ask for opinions and advice from the staff members and experienced idol invitees that may be roaming the lobby. You had decided on drinking and hiding in a corner on your phone. Your face often plastered the television screens around you with your music video and debut single playing on repeat with a mix of other Big Hit Entertainment group and solo artists’ music videos in between. The dance-floor was absolutely packed with drinking party-goers, and every corner of the lobby (and some other areas of the building) was absolutely bustling. It was sheer chance that Yeonjun and Kai had found you, a small gift of familiarity and peace amongst the chaos that was a debut party.

“It does get easier,” Kai tries to reassure you, reaching out across the table to place a hand on top of your head. He gives your flower crown a small pat and shoots you a lopsided grin. “I think we’re more awkward on stage than you, anyway.”

The small but cute gesture makes you laugh and you bat his hand away, a bit flustered. You sit up straight and shrug, shaking your head a little with a soft smile. Even though you are older than them, getting a slightly late start at being an idol for most people’s standards, they’re still your sunbaes and they’re always there for you. Yeonjun and you bonded fairly quickly over your love of soju and snacks, and even though he’s often busy he somehow makes time to help you with your choreography at least once a week. Kai of course had been teaching you English, and as your studio neighbor he was never too far away if you ever needed an ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on when things became too stressful. The other boys from TXT also had your back, with Choi Soobin always ready to escape the studio with you to find some de-stress ice cream, Choi Beomgyu on call anytime if you need help with lyrics or just want to jam out on guitar together, and Kang Taehyun who’s told you their dorm is always open for American movie nights.

Even though you were being trained separately, the boys were being prepared for being idols at the same time as you were with your debut only a few months after theirs. You felt such strong connections with each of the TXT members because of this, as if you were apart of TXT yourself. Looking at the two of them across the table from you, glammed up just like you were, you couldn’t help but feel part of your stress and anxiety melt away.

You truly were lucky to have such good friends who understood what you felt so personally.

“Hey speaking of awkward,” the older of the two boys begins after finishing off his first flute of champagne. “Was that Hosoek sunbaenim that met you at the elevator earlier?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, folding your face in your hands, feeling a wave of embarrassment take you briefly. “Yes, yes it was.”

Although your first meeting was incredibly intimate and brief, you still weren’t sure how to wrap your head around what you had felt when he touched you. Or how he had gotten to you so fast when your knees buckled.

The two boys shared another look between themselves, both cocking an interested eyebrow, before turning their attention back to you. Moving in unison once again they both propped their elbows on the marble tabletop and nestled their chins in their hands, smug looks playing both their faces as if to say ‘go on’.

You feel your face flush more. “I don’t know why you’re both giving me that look,” you begin, playing with the koala bear phone charm that hangs from the bottom of your phone on the table. “I was feeling incredibly anxious, like my legs were going to go out from under me, and all of a sudden Hosoek sunbaenim was there. I didn’t have time to even react before he was gone again.”

Kai sticks his tongue out at you, one eyebrow still arched in suspicion. “Oh really? Is that why he held you like a long-lost lover?”

“Or why your eyes were the size of saucers, lips only inches apart?” Yeonjun adds, snickering into his hands.

You briefly consider reaching across the table and giving the two of them a well deserved slap on the wrists for speaking to you in such a manner, but you know they’re only teasing. You’re more upset that they’re right, your brief embrace with the BTS rapper was incredibly intimate. Your face flushes further.

“Have the two of you met before?” Kai inquires, managing to keep a fairly straight face as he digs for more information.

The elder boy stops his snickering and elbows the other. “They’ve been gone on their world tour, Kai. She hadn’t the chance to meet them before they left, so of course she’s not met them before. They just got back last night.”

Kai doesn’t seem convinced, turning towards his senior with pursed lips. “We don’t know that for sure! What if they were meeting..”

The both turn back towards you comically with wide eyes, grins returning. “..in private?”

They’re both playing with you at this point, and you fall for it. Your face goes beat red, both embarrassed and slightly frustrated by their teasing. You have to bite your lip from scolding them and this doesn’t go unnoticed, both boys immediately erupting with laughter. You snatch your phone from the table and slide it in the side of your bodice, abruptly standing in a huff.

“I need another drink!” you quickly proclaim, a piss poor but handy reason for excusing yourself from the table. You quickly turn away on your heel from the two cackling boys and march off into the crowd towards one of the two bars. It didn’t matter which one, just that you put some distance between you.

The dance floor is too populated and fast-paced for you to be able to sneakily dance your way across the lobby so you’re stuck attempting to navigate between all of the tables that have been set up for the guests that litter the edges of the dance floor. Even though you’re certain you stick out like a sore thumb in your bright white ensemble, you don’t notice any eyes following you for too long. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, which is a relief to you both because it means your debut party is a success but more-so that they’re too busy having a good time to notice its you, brand new idol for Big Hit, sneaking across the floor.

You find one of the full bars in just a few short minutes of dodging elbows and twisting through groups of busy party-goers. Every stool that has been set up with the traveling bar has been taken but you’re determined to at least have one last drink before disappearing to your studio so you saddle up at the edge of the bar beside someone in hopes to flag down the bartender. You wanted something a bit stronger and more flavorful than the 3 flutes of champagne you had taken from the waitstaff walking around with trays.

The bartender, a tall man with bleached hair, is expertly tossing tumblers and pouring out different drinks simultaneously at the opposite end of the bar. You do your best to try and catch his eye but he’s too absorbed with his work to notice and it’s too loud to shout over the music and chatter of the others sitting at the bar around you. Although in the past you have been praised for having an angel’s patience, you find yourself absolutely antsy at the edge of the bar.

Pressing onto your tiptoes, which is quite difficult in your heels, you do your best to become as big as possible on the clear space at the edge of the bar. There’s a reasonable distance between you and the person you’ve saddled up to at the bar since you’ve taken to the edge of the counter top, so there is no reason for you to accidentally bump them. And you don’t.

Instead you raise your hand to try and actively flag down the bartender, knocking your knuckles into the person’s drink and sending it flying straight into their lap.

“OhmygodIamsosorry!” you blurt out for what feels like the billionth time that day, almost shrieking it in surprise. You quickly dive for the glass you’ve flung but to no avail, ending up twisting your ankle because of your flailing and you tumble directly into them.

He’s quick to react to the glass falling towards him, sliding off the back of the stool to spare his white slacks the stain, but because of this he’s unprepared for your body to collide with him. In a messy array of limbs, you feel your face collide with yet another chest this day and your face throbs with a familiar pain, your attempt to catch yourself failed and his attempt to dodge you only making the impact more forceful.

Howling in pain, unable to contain your agony as your nose’s wound is undeniably reopened, you push yourself off of the person you’ve collided with and spin on your heel. A plethora of almost unintelligible apologies spill from your mouth as you turn and bolt along the wall. You bump into quite a few other party guests as you run in search of the nearest bathroom, your hands pressed painfully tight against your nose as to keep any blood that dare spill out from landing on your beautiful white dress.

This could not be happening a second time. Not again.

You burst through the swinging door to the ladies room, thankful that the polished marble that makes up the sink is a black and grey speckled color, and immediately throw yourself over one of the basins. Flipping on the running water, you hang your head over the sink to let your face drain into the steady stream. Adrenaline courses through your veins, any calming affect your (albeit mean) best friends and the alcohol had granted you completely dissipating. You fumble aggressively for any sort of tissue, paper towel, or wash cloth to press to your steadily dripping nose in hopes to still the bleeding, cursing at yourself the entire time.

You usually weren’t so clumsy. You didn’t have a habit of slamming your face into the chests of strangers. You usually were never late. Of course it had to be the day of your debut as an idol that goes so terribly wrong. But even worse, no-one but you (and for previous infractions, your manager) knew of how terrible your day had been progressing. It was a secretly terrible day, one that you should have been able to at least somewhat enjoy since it was the day that was starting your career, where all your hard work would begin to pay off and you would begin to be recognized for it. You were having a party in your honor, for heaven’s sake!

Grumbling obscenities to yourself, you let out a sigh of relief when your bloodied fingers finally catch hold of one of the hand towels on the counter. Quickly dunk the material into the stream of lukewarm water and press the damp cloth to your nose. It stings and your whole face throbs, but you know that this will help stop the bleeding. Or if not, at least keep it at bay long enough for you to find your way to a first-aid kit. Standing up straight sends your whole head into dizziness but you manage to keep yourself upright, leaning back against one of the stalls.

Or rather, what you thought was one of the stalls.

Glancing up in the large oval mirror that lined up with the basin you stood before, you notice that the hard surface you were using for support is in fact a man. A man wearing a white suit jacket and white slacks. You let out a small squeak that is muffled by the wash cloth pressed to your nose and jump away, turning to look over the man. Your suspicion was correct: he’s the same man you’ve just smashed your face into at the bar.

You know because his suit jacket, once white as snow, has been splattered with your blood.

You are prepared to begin spitting out another set of long winded apologies to him but the look on his face strikes you silent. His eyes are fixated on you in such a fashion that sends an immediate chill down your spine, his pupils absolutely blown to the point that you can’t see any semblance of iris. His dark hair is disheveled and thrown over his forehead and into his eyes, his lips parted in a quiet pant which gives him a wild and dangerous look. You almost don’t recognize him because of this.

“T-Taehyung sunbaenim?”

He cocks his head at you abruptly, like a dog who’s just heard his name be called or a dog who’s just been whistled for. Its unnatural, and sends a shiver down your spine. He takes a step towards you and you immediately retreat one step back. This continues until your lower back is pressed into the counter and he looms above you. You squeak as he leans close to you, nostrils flaring. With one fluid motion, his hands are at either side of your hips pinning you as he inhales your scent. You are absolutely shaking like a leaf, completely intimidated by the animalistic display of one of your seniors. His face is so close to your own that his lips brush over the damp cloth you have anchored to your face.

In fact, he licks it.

“Sunbaenim!” you cry, voice wavering, trying to wince away from him but with the counter already pressing against you and his body enveloping you more and more as each moment passes. Its useless. “Sunbaenim, please..”

He leans away from you only slightly at your scared pleading, tilting his head to the side again as if studying you. His face is unreadable, the emotions flickering across it completely masked by your surprise at what is occurring between the two of you. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but instead sucks in a large gulp of air.

He’s tasting your blood, you realize. One of the members of Big Hit’s golden boys is tasting your blood.

“Taehyung, get off of her!”

A raspy, almost pained voice booms from the swinging door to the bathroom Taehyung has pinned you in. Both of your heads snap in the direction of the yell and you see Hosoek standing in the doorway, completely out of breath. He snaps the door behind him and repeats himself, this time the words almost completely overtaken by a snarl of anger.

Taehyung simply smirks and shakes his head at his hyung, leaning close to your face again. Not breaking eye contact with the other man, he expertly pushes through your shaking hands to the cloth you’ve pressed to your face and removes it from your fragile grasp with his teeth. He tosses the bloodied cloth to the floor, a demonic grin replacing it.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Hosoek warns, and its at this time you notice how wild he also appears. His eyes are also wide, pupils blown, and his mouth hangs open just as Taehyung’s did. But he’s completely focused on his junior, and his face is contorted in pure rage.

You know Hosoek’s line wasn’t bait, but the beast of a man pinning you to the counter takes it. You attempt to squirm away as his face grows closer to your own again but one of his strong hands flies to your chin and locks your head in place with a surprising amount of strength. Its painful and even the slightest bit of resisting sends terrible pain through your skull. You are completely helpless as Taehyung leans in and swipes his tongue over the gash that lines over the bridge of your nose, never breaking his eye contact with his band-mate.

And Hosoek absolutely loses it.

In a flash your face is free from Taehyung’s grip and you scramble away from the counter, barely able to keep up with what is happening before you. At lightning speed, a speed that you literally never could have thought a human to possess, Hosoek is on top of Taehyung with flying fists.

You instantly run to the door, your hands clutching the pull handle, letting it support your weight. You know you should run, you know you should get the hell out of dodge, but you can’t bring yourself to pull open the door. Its as if your arms are made of lead, immovable. You watch in horror as Hosoek absolutely lets into his junior, his bestial rage completely erasing the intimate scene you had with him from earlier in the night from your mind. Taehyung laughs the entire time, even as fists collide with his face, only able to block so many hits from his position on the marbled bathroom floor.

This continues until you hear Taehyung stop laughing.

Body shaking and sweat loosening your grip on the door handle, you dry swallow as Hosoek turns around from his position over Taehyung’s now limp body. His face is splattered with blood from his punches, and he uses his untucked dress shirt to poorly wipe away some of the blood. He doesn’t get up, nor does he make any moves towards you, but the look on his face is wildly changing between the rage he had shown before and the doped out look that Taehyung had been giving you before.

“Run,” he croaks.

Your arms finally cooperate. You’ve never run so fast in your entire life.

--

You clutch your knees against your chest on your makeshift bed in your studio, forcing away the remaining jitters from your panic attack. You had immediately raced to your studio the moment you fled from the bathroom. No one tried to stop you, you’re not even sure anyone noticed as you ran for your life. You weren’t sure if you were thankful no one else witnessed the horrors you had just experienced, or if you were angry that no one else had come to save you.

You aren’t even sure if you should be thankful to Hosoek. Whatever transpired in that bathroom didn’t feel like a rescue mission, despite him saving you from whatever Taehyung had planned. You weren’t even sure if Taehyung was capable of proper thought in those moments. The look he gave you, the gaze of a predator staring at a defenseless slab of meat, kept flashing through your mind. The heat of his gaze, of Hosoek’s despite his protecting you, seemed to burn through your veins. The feeling of Taehyung’s tongue over your wound.

You cursed to yourself, sliding off of your bed and easing to the full body mirror that hung on the wall beside your desk. You had completely forgotten about your nose. You quickly took inventory of your appearance in the mirror. Your shoes had drops of blood on them, something you could hopefully scrub off. Your dress was miraculously clean though, and you let out a small sigh of relief. Your hair was an absolute mess and your flower crown was no where to be seen. Small bruises formed on either side of your jaw in the shape of Taehyung’s finger prints. You scowled, reaching up to tap them with your own fingers.

Ow.

Finally, you glanced over your nose to see how terrible it looks. Raising an eyebrow, you leaned closer into the mirror, flicking on the desk lamp beside you for an extra dose of light. Surely your eyes weren’t tricking you. Yes, what had just happened was traumatic, but surely you weren’t seeing things. You traced your finger over the skin of your nose, right where Taehyung had swiped his tongue. You gasped, and nearly fell to the floor.

It was completely healed.

[ethereal-pluto-blog]

I feel like shit today

I'm lethargic, slow, crying, and insecure. So yep ~depression~ has come to rear its ugly head once again.

But since I'm not into the whole anti-recovery thing, I'll give you some useful tips on how to maybe help YOUR depression that doesn't seem like a generic twitter self help thread. (Though I'll mention some things I found helpful and give explainations as to why.)

Talk to your therapist/counselor/mental health expert if available. Not everyone has the luxury of seeking professional help, but if you have the opportunity, PLEASE go to a professional. However be noted that it's often an experience to go through many different experts to find the one that matches your specific needs/ you like the most. Also keep in mind there are also online therapists ready to help if you're not big on one-on-one contact like myself, though often insurance is tricky. I put this one first because it might be the most beneficial for some, though not readily available for others.

If you have the strength, shower. Showering/cleaning yourself is a blessing in itself as it gives you a sense of detox. Though if you don’t have the strength or motivation, try some of this instead-

Utilize facewash and lotion. Particularly facewash that makes your face feel all chill and tingly, it makes you feel more refreshed. Lotions and cream will help you keep skin smooth.

Simply get wet with water, a quick 5 minute rinse in hot water is less of a chore than a full shower.

Dry shampoo will help with hair oiliness. Though if you don't have access just brush your hair and pull it/part it so it's out of your face.

Baby wipes. Baby wipes will cure yo soul. But seriously use baby wipes and rub them on your face, underarms, and genitals. A good rub down will help prevent you from feeling gross.

Splashing your face with cold water, it makes your pores tighten up and as a bonus it'll wake you up.

Utilize deodorant and vaseline. I haven't tried it out for myself, though if you put down deodorant and then vaseline on top it should trap the nice fragrant smell. And while you're at it you can put on cologne / perfume if you think you're getting a lil ripe, but if you want to smell like a fresh shower use ones that are labeled "shower fresh" or "baby powder."

If your lips are chapped, put on some balm shisters. (I don't trust the brand chapstick, I'm a conspiracy theorist okay I'm soRRy)

Change into some cleaner clothes. They don't have to be normal everyday clothes but at least change into new clothes, especially underwear.

Clean your fingernails/toenails. Clean under them, since random junk can get stuck up in there. Also clip them if they're too long for your liking.

Brush your teeth. But if you can't, use mints, gum, mouthwash, mouthspray, etc, or a combination of those. Anything minty will make your mouth tingle and feel fresh and clean.

Clean yo ears! Since probably nobody uses an ear vacuum (like you're supposedly supposed to idk I'm too broke for that shit anyways) just be careful using Q-tips.

If you don’t have any deodorant, try hand sanitizer! I'm not kidding. Put a dollop under each underarm, and let dry. Smells are caused by bacteria, so if you get hand sanitizer, it should greatly reduce smell.

Try to get some sun. Using the natural sunlight will help you absorb vitamin D. So open up the blinds and photosynthesize binches. Though it also helps to open up the window if you can, a breeze/fresh air blowing in with the smell of outside might even raise your mood. Though if it's currently shitty weather outside, try turning on your lights to match your circadian rhythm, so keep lights on during the day and dim it at night so it'll help with letting you be on a decent sleep schedule.

Feeling like there's no hope or that your future is going to be shit? Highkey me too, but here's what I do to combat that feeling.

It's corny, but I write a whole idealized future for myself. I write about my dream job, I write about my dream s/o, I even imagine the type of house I want to live in, the kids I'll have, what kind of pets I want to own. Etc. Although the economy is shit and no future is guaranteed, it's nice to put some positivity into light and show what I really want in life. I don't want to be some millionaire, I just want to be comfortably well off with a family and people that love me. And in all honesty a future like that isn't hard to obtain.

Even if you can't imagine a good future for yourself, imagine being a part of your friends or loved one's futures. For example, you know your friend who's dating this really cute person that you totally ship them with? Imagine being a part of the bridesmaids/groomsmen for their wedding when they tie the knot! Imagine your really smart friend finally graduating from college and you're at their graduation party giving them a speech! For me this really helps since I aspire to be drinking buddies with my best friend's future husband. (I'm rlly goofy ik lmao)

Feeling stressed about not doing anything? We've all been there. Try:

Doing work if you're due for assignments, though don't do it alone, if you can, arrange a group text/tutoring session/Skype call. If everyone is focused on getting something done then you'll be motivated to do it with them.

Though if you don’t absolutely have to do anything but want to do ~s o m e t h i n g~ I also got your back on this too.

Organize your inbox for your email. (Ik I'm lame)

Tidy/clean your room/any room if that gives you something to do.

Make your bed.

Cuddle someone/something.

Rearranging your stuff in your room, makes it feel like a whole remodel tbh.

Burn candles/incense. Don't ask just...trust me on this it can change the aura.

If you're religious, practice!

Take aesthetic photos of things in your room. Download VSCO and experiment with it. I also recommend Huji Cam and Afterlight. All are available for IOS and Android.

If you appreciate music- use YouTube and find some Playlists, or if you can, spotify premium will save yo mortal soul.

Like video games? Play some! Or if you're a brokeass like me, let's plays and walk throughs work well too.

If you got pets, pet them. Do it. Snuggle. Or if you love animals in general go and watch some vids on YouTube.

Build a fort.

If you're an artist or appreciate art- draw! Or you can watch animatics, animation memes, art channels, or follow artists on here or on Instagram and Twitter if you want to be inspired, or just observe.

Have a certain series you keep putting off? Watch! It! Netflix/Hulu that shit. Or cable TV works too.

Go on Wikipedia and just go on an adventure. Click from link to link and see where it takes you. Learn some weird new facts!

Read a new book.

Read the news/watch the news.

Write about a certain topic that you're absolutely fascinated about.

Watch movies!

Join a club/interest group. You can do this online too and it'll help meet people with similar interests as you. You can make new friends this way.

Give your friends a call/text. Having conversations will keep you occupied.

Self love aka masturbate. Or have (safe) sex with someone you trust!

Workout

Do some makeup/skincare routine. Even if you think you look bad just commit to practicing.

Sometimes it's just funny to go through and read some Reddit threads so be safe when surfing on there.

Stretch and move around! Dance if you wanna!

Do your hair/experiment in some new styles, maybe even dye it if you feel daring.

Have an icon you stan? Stan HARDER.

Watch iconic vine/rare vine compilations until you can memorize them.

Clean out your phone contacts of people that are irrelevant/toxic!! Out of sight out of mind! Don't hang on to them if they did you wrong. All the text conversations will just make you feel worse!

Actually cook your favorite food, cooking it will make you more dedicated to eating it and give you more of an appreciation for it.

Organize your closet.

Organize anything in your room/closet. Throw away things that you don't need or are too old to use.

Start collecting things, stuffed animals, pins, snowglobes, you name it.

Pinterest is addictive lowkey so try that if you're into that kind of stuff.

Write! Write a new story, write poetry, write about your feelings, write a letter, write fanfiction, express yourself.

Use Duolingo to try and study a new language to learn. (The owl will harass tf outta your email though but as long as you do like 5 minutes a day he won't bother.)

That's about all I can think of but feel free to add more for activities to dedicate your time to.

If you need to, because of your self image, don't go and stand in front of mirrors. If I stand in front of a mirror too long I'll end up scrutinizing myself and find a flaw after flaw. If you are specifically insecure about something with your body, look up models who have the same thing! Like if you're insecure about having vitiligo, look up Winnie Harlow! She's gorgeous! If you're insecure about being chubby, look up plus sized models! If you have a tooth gap, there's plenty of people like you! You don't have to feel ugly because of that when you have these awesome models rocking what they got.

Vent. You can vent to your friends, family, or even online. There are apps that allow you to vent anonymously to others without the fear of judgement. But if you can't do that, take a pen/pencil and write something down in your notebook. Though don't reread it to keep drowning in the negativity, once you write it, shut it. You can do the same on Google Docs online, once you write down everything, delete it. Don't keep trying to fuel your negative thoughts and bitterness, get your rant over with and be done. It's like a fresh start. (Plus on my Instagram spam account I always feel really silly looking at my old rant posts, so I usually delete stuff afterwards when I'm not feeling so in my feelings).

Don't expect recovery to be in a straight line. You'll have amazing days and also have extremely shitty days. Recovery isn't hoping to never experience shitty days, recovery is being able to feel the strength on those shitty days and know that they'll pass, and with each storm you'll be stronger than before. Don't push yourself to be flawless, because shit happens. But you'll make it through. And that's what matters.

And last but not least, seek emergency help if you feel like you're dangerously close to ending your life due to pain. Call the suicide hotline for support, because the pain can ease soon if you ask for the help that you need and deserve.

Not everyone that reads this is going to be like "wow this really helped me cope with my depression/mental illness!" But my goal was to at least try. It may not work for everyone unfortunately, but I hope that anyone dealing with a mental illness is on the road to recovering. Because I know how it feels. It feels sucky as fuck. But if this helps even just one person, then that's enough. I hope everyone has at least a decent day, and I hope that everyone's pain eases soon.

[thesuccessorchallenge]

"Rest assured, you fools. Your time will come. This is only the beginning. Let us start a new reign of terror. I will let you live a fantasy beyond your imagination."

(He was one of us... Seifer... You've become just a memory. Will they... Will they talk about me this way if I die, too? Squall was this and that. Using past tense, saying whatever they want?)

“There are no guarantees in the future. That’s why TODAY, the time we have now, is important.”

"You've all grown so much... and become so strong... I have waited for this day to come.��And also feared this day would come. Is today a joyous day? Or an odious day?”

“You can find out things about the past that you never knew. And from what you've learned, you may see some things differently in the present. You're the one that changes. Not the past.”

 “I don't want the future. I want the present to stand still. I want to stay here with you...”

 “Reflect on your... Childhood... Your sensation... Your words... Your emotions... Time... It will not wait... No matter... ...how hard you hold on. It escapes you..."

 In commemoration of the fifth anniversary of the original Where I Belong Challenge and the third annual Successor Challenge, time is this year’s theme.

 All Final Fantasy VIII fans — both experienced and new — are invited to participate in The Successor Challenge in August 2017. This challenge is open to any character(s) you wish to write about, draw or create fan mixes for.    

The challenge’s requirements are as follows: 

1. Entries have to be posted and completed in August 2017. Any submissions after 11:59 EST on August 31st will not be accepted. The submission page will be enabled on August 1st.

2. Submissions have to be made specifically for the challenge. No reused or re-purposed pieces will be allowed.

3. Any fanfiction pieces submitted cannot rely on any knowledge other than the game canon so they can be readily accessible to everyone. They must be standalone pieces - no sequels to existing works will be allowed.

4. As this year’s theme is broad in scope, the sole thematic requirement for fanfic submissions is that the word ‘time’ is included somewhere in the body of said submission. Other mediums are not subject to this requirement but it is encouraged to be depicted some manner.

5. There are no restrictions on fic length or genre. One-shots and poems are welcome. Multi-chaptered fics must be completed before the end of August or else they will be removed from listings.

6. All works posted on other sites must mention that the submission is for the Successor Challenge.

7. If you would like your works featured here, please use the submission page as changes to the site have made it impossible to pull up tagged posts with links.

8. All that is required for submissions is a link to the original posting. As submitted fanfiction posts are formatted to a standard convention, the details (synopsis, featured characters, genre, etc) will be pulled from the link provided. Other mediums will simply be reblogged if the work was posted on Tumblr or hosted with appropriate credited links otherwise. Feel free to include any additional links for collaborators, if applicable.

9. As the challenge is here to celebrate the game and the relationships within, please refrain from character bashing and keep OCs to perfunctory roles only. They should be either minor characters to support the main cast or serve as antagonists - no Main Character x OC pairings, please.

If you have any questions about the guidelines outlined above, please do not hesitate to send an ask! :)

(Note: all questions will be answered publicly to minimize repeat questions - barring any requests to be answered privately, of course. As the theme is different from previous years’, please do not refer to asks from 2015/2016.)

[xoxopandapanda]

Little Family Ch. 1

Chapters  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

FF.net

AO3

A/N: The Lucky Ones is one of my favorite Inuyasha fanfictions of all time, and I am drawing inspiration from it, along with every other story where a little hanyou is found and needing more love. MOAR LOVE.

I read somewhere that Inuyasha was based off of the Akita inu (and I love that breed of dog more than anything in the world), so I was inspired to ask myself ‘what if there was a red Akita hanyou’, and I’m taking it and running.

Also, I want to make it a little bit like post-canon, but I am definitely making it AU. (There is a baby and Kagome can go back through the well, because Mama Higarashi is life.)

When Kagome had first come back through the well, both she and Inuyasha had figured it was a one-way trip. The well was closed now. They had never once considered to even try to go back down it, nor did they even give it much of a second thought.

The had quickly settled into their new norm, Kagome apprenticing under Kaede to take over as the village priestess, and Inuyasha maintaining his position as the village guardian.

Kagome hadn’t been that surprised to find out that Inuyasha had taken to making sure that everyone in the village was safe, and there were no threats lurking in his forest. What had surprised her is his involvement in other areas of the village. He planted rice and built homes with the village men. He cleaned up larger kills, and sometimes even smaller ones like fish, for the village women. He carried anything to heavy for any of the elder’s to where ever they needed it.

What surprised her the most was when it came to bartering, and Inuyasha was the mindful eye making sure everyone got a fair deal.

“You’re really involved around here, Inuyasha,” she remarked one day in passing.

Inuyasha had simply responded, “It’s my home.”

Kaede was the watchful eye that reminded Kagome of Inuyasha’s standing in the community whenever she seemed to forget. “People used to be so scared of him, Kagome. But you taught them, and me, that he was to be trusted and let into our lives. He is invaluable to us now, and he is part of our community.”

Kagome was also miffed by Inuyasha’s willingness to let Sango and Miroku’s girls mess with him. The Inuyasha she knew would never have allowed toddlers to climb all over him and make squealing noises that startled her with her human hearing. But the Inuyasha of now did, and sometimes would even let the girls take a nap on his knee.

Sango had told Kagome that Inuyasha had stayed away at first when the girls were born, but one day he came back and never quite left. “Miroku had gone the village over to help with an exorcism, and Inuyasha just came over for dinner. He held one of the girls all night for me, switching with me as necessary. I don’t know, Kagome. It was like he suddenly realized that they were also a part of our family.”

“They sure do love their Uncle Inuyasha,” Miroku had commented once while the girls snored on Inuyasha’s knee.

Inuyasha had grunted in response and said nothing further, making Kagome think that maybe Inuyasha loved them just as much.

Kagome had been back for a few months, before Inuyasha built her a home. She had been suspicious it was in the works for a while, but wisely said nothing to him, as it was also probable he was doing it by himself.

Kagome had found out about the structure from Kaede who told her that one of the younger village men had found it while out trapping, and was appalled Inuyasha hadn’t asked him for help. “Inuyasha has helped built or fix nearly every building standing. I think the men were hurt he hadn’t asked them for help.”

Inuyasha had grumbled and carried on that he didn’t need anyone’s help, because it was his home for his Kagome, but the village men had ignored him and done as they pleased.

Within a week of Kagome learning she had a home being made in the forest, she was moving into her home and welcoming guests who brought household items for the newly married couple.

When Sango and Miroku visited, baby and toddlers in tow, Inuyasha was proud to show his friend around his new home.

“I’m going to put Kagome’s garden here,” he pointed just a stone’s throw outside the front door, “and a bucket for washing right here,” he pointed to just next to the door. “I’ve already got the fire pit installed, but I think when the traveling salesman comes back, I might try to get the supplies to make some tatami mats. I think that would look nice on the floor.”

Miroku hummed to indicate he was listening, but if he had any thoughts of his friend’s plans for the new home, he said nothing.

Sango however was quick to tally up what was still needed, and tell Kagome. Kagome took her advice to heart, eager to learn how to manage a household of her very own. “Have Inuyasha build you a little rack to dry herbs on. One that can go outside in the summer, but move inside in the winter. Sometimes you can still dig up good herbs in the snow.” Sango patted the lightly fussing baby in her arms, now entering a big growing phase and uncomfortable in his own skin.

“Do you think we will need more pots and dishes than this? I have two pots, and they are pretty big, but that’s about it. I have quite a few bowls from different women.” Kagome showed Sango her wedding gifts from villagers.

“Not until you have extra mouths to feed, you won’t.” Sango assured her.

Before they departed, Miroku announced that Inuyasha and Kagome should have a ceremony in the village, and he was happy to officiate. Inuyasha had balked and tried to protest, but Miroku ignored whatever warbling words had escaped his friend’s mouth.

Kagome readily agreed, thinking back to how Kaede had told her that Inuyasha was a part of the community. It was agreed that the next day a small ceremony in front of the small shrine would happen.

Inuyasha had trudged down to the village that morning, releasing all the theatrics he was capable of to show Kagome his level of displeasure, but once the village men started to congratulate him on his wedding, he changed his tune and told them all to come to watch.

Which was exactly how the ‘small ceremony’ turned into the whole village crowding the entire area around the small shrine, and Miroku having to shout out the prayers over the newlyweds.

The party and drinking that ensued carried on into the early morning the next day, and Kagome swore she had never felt so happy in her entire life.

It was six months into living in the feudal era as a married couple that they discovered the well was still open to them to travel.

It had happened quite unexpectedly one day. Miroku and Inuyasha had been taking the twins for a walk, and Kagome was taking care of the baby boy at her home to give their mother a break. The twins were leading the walk, meandering as they pleased with their father and uncle keeping watchful eye on them.

They had made it back to the bone eaters well without the men thinking much of it, where the girls were playing with each other and running around. They had managed to rope Inuyasha into playing along with them, as he rarely denied them anything besides direct access to his ears.

They were rather sly girls, much like their father, and had, while playing peek-a-boo with their favorite uncle, gotten him to balance on the ledge of the well. While he had his eyes covered pretending he couldn’t see them, they each shoved a leg with all their might, and toppled him into the well. They squealed in delight at having gotten the upper hand on their beloved uncle. But instead of him jumping out to playfully startle them, a bright blue light flashed.

Miroku had rushed over from where he had been resting in the shade as soon as he saw the light, but knew there was nothing to be done- Inuyasha was on the other side of the well. Sighing loudly and scooping up his girls, one in each arm, he made his way to Kagome and Inuyasha’s home to tell Kagome.

“What do you mean he’s gone?” Kagome stared at the monk, one eyebrow high on her forehead. The baby at her chest was asleep, having finally given into his body’s demands for rest. The girls were back to chasing each other, seemingly to have forgotten their favorite uncle was gone and nonplussed that they had been taken somewhere else.

“I’m afraid they pushed him down the well, and now he’s gone.” Miroku reached and picked up his son from Kagome’s embrace, tucking him carefully against his chest and rocking him to stay asleep.

“Well, where did he go?”

“Down the well, I suppose.”

“The well is closed, Miroku. He couldn’t have gone down it.” Kagome crossed her arms and regarded the man in front of her. “I can’t believe you lost my husband.”

“I didn’t lose him, the girls did.” Miroku dropped a kiss to the baby’s head as he snuffled and nuzzled closer to his father.

Kagome turned to look at the girls. “Ayame, Suzume. Where did Uncle Inuyasha go?”

The girls stopped playing and looked at their beloved aunt. Ayame, the far more vocal girl, spoke first. “With the blue light.”

“Poof!” Suzume added with a flourish of the arms above her head.

Kagome paused before turning back to Miroku. Kagome opened her mouth to scold him, but found that she was speechless. The robed man shrugged before holding out an arm to his girls. “Let’s go find Mama, girls. Aunt Kagome needs to find her husband.”

With that, Kagome was left alone.

Sighing audibly, Kagome walked to the well. Looking down it, she reasoned that trying wouldn’t hurt. But she wanted to go slowly down it, as to ensure she wouldn’t break something in case it wasn’t open. Hoisting herself over, she cautiously worked her way down the vines to the bottom of the well. Her feet touched the solid ground, and she stood still for several seconds. Realizing she wasn’t going through, she cursed out loud.

“YOU’RE SO DAMN FULL OF IT, MIROKU,” and then the light engulfed her.

Although she had endured the sensation for years of her life before, Kagome was startled at the free-falling sensation of going through time before being gently placed on her feet in the future.

Blinking back sudden tears from the rush of emotions that over took her realizing she went through time, Kagome looked up and saw her little brother staring at her from the top of the well. He had grown quite a bit, she noticed. He no longer had his chubby baby cheeks. Her heart-strings pulled hard as she realized how much she had missed.

“Took you long enough, nee-chan. Inuyasha-nii-san is already on his third bowl of ramen.” He tossed the rope ladder down her. “Mama went to the store to make oden for you.”

Kagome’s tears finally spilled down her face as she made her way out of the well. When she reached the top, she grabbed Souta and squeezed him tight. “I’ve missed you,” she whispered, her voice cracking from emotion.

“I’ve missed you too,” Souta was fighting his own tears as he held her just as tight.

Arm in arm they walked towards the house where Inuyasha was watching TV with grandpa and slurping down noodles. Giving her grandfather a hug and a kiss, Kagome sat at the table as well, waiting for her mother to come home.

Her reuniting with her mother was the most tear-filled, as she told her mother about everything she had done since she was gone, what had changed in the village, and her mother listened happily. Kagome made dinner with her mother again, grateful for the chance to spend time with her family again.

They ate dinner with gusto and many tales of the last year that night. It was a large meal full of familiar and favorite foods. When Momma heard that Kagome and Inuyasha had married in the feudal era, she insisted on running to the store and buying a small cake. Inuyasha didn’t understand the significance of the small white cake, but he sure enjoyed the taste of it.

As they returned to the feudal era the next morning, Inuyasha and Kagome agreed to come back as often as they could for a day or two, to share a meal and stories. Kagome promised it would be at least once a month, but hopefully more frequent. With a new house and new responsibilities being the apprentice priestess, Kagome knew she was busy. However, she also knew she was blessed with a chance to come home for dinner.