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#and i could see my own shit model making skills in there

cinnaminsvga · 2 months

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Harana | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, angst, humor → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, oc has So Many Problems, so much arguing and yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: 16.1K → a/n: HOLY SHIT IM BACK (kinda) and happy new year!! yeah ok its march but im relearning how to form coherent sentences so be patient ;w; this is the first installment of my hfoh series that i teased a LONG time ago... i made it a resolution to complete this series by the end of the year before i kms (Keep Myself Safe) so here's to a brand new year :D (oh god @ universe pls be kind)

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

Two days before the incident, your shower nozzle decides to explode.

Okay, you have to admit that statement is a little misleading. Shower nozzles, in all its nonsentience, do not randomly decide to explode no matter how much you try to defend yourself to your landlord. Maybe your grip had been a little too harsh that morning, or maybe hanging 5 pounds of hair products on the handle had been a bit too much for the old sport to handle. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was warning you about the incident.

Whatever it was, it doesn’t erase the fact that your shower would be out of commission for the next week or so (though your landlord seems adamant about prolonging your suffering as long as possible). Until then, you’re going to have to find some other ways to keep the grease and grime from building on you. Heavens know that you already have a thriving ecosystem living in the back of your couch—you don’t need another one growing under your armpits.

Lucky for you, you have friends. More importantly, you have friends who have showers. There is one problem though—all your friends live on the other side of the country.

It’s been two years since you moved to the Big City™️, but you have done little to grow your social network. Call it introversion or depression, either way, you have no more contacts on your phone than you did when you left your hometown. Well, except for one person, if you could even consider him one. Frankly, you didn’t have a choice.

“Welcome to my humble abode, stinky,” Jimin greets you as you enter his house. Your nose is instantly assaulted by the smell of Bath & Body Works® Sweet Pea, reminding you once more why you didn’t consider him a friend.

“Hey,” you reply gruffly, shucking your ratty shoes near his entrance. Your shoes look incredibly out of place amidst the sea of designer Chelsea boots and a singular pair of thigh-high heels. You take a glance at his living room, already feeling worse about yourself tenfold.

You had met Park Jimin by complete accident, much like how his mother probably felt when she first saw him too. You had never known anyone quite as… interesting as him, to put it lightly.

When you got your job as a hostess for a luxury bar and restaurant, you figured you wouldn’t make many friends with your coworkers. Everyone was so… pretty, but in the shiny, untouchable sort of way. Almost all of the servers were as gorgeous as the models you’d see in magazines. You hadn’t known that the owners only hired a certain “demographic” of people for their restaurant, and you were equal parts flattered and disgusted that you’d somehow made it (though you suppose your bullshitting skills were all to thank).

Unsurprisingly, even the bartenders were gorgeous, including one Park Jimin. He did have an aura to him that screamed “I’m a cut above the rest and I know it,” but that could just be the gold chains dripping down his neck. You almost mistook him as one of the patrons who mistakenly made his way behind the bar, and knowing the sort of clientele you’ve had to deal with so far, you wouldn’t have been surprised. It took a couple of weeks before you finally found out who he was (and what his fucking problem was).

Jimin was a part-time bartender with a full-time job as a bitch a self-made entrepreneur. Which is to say, he sold… tasteful photos of himself on the internet. You had nothing against his line of work. In fact, you would go far as to say you didn’t give a shit what he did outside of your shared workspace. But if there’s one thing Jimin is, it’s that he hates being ignored.

So when you were adamant about not oohing and aahing at everything that makes Park Jimin perfect, he made it his self-appointed mission to befriend you. Or at least that’s what he claims, but given how he treats you lesser than the shit that cakes his cheeks, you have a lot of doubts. Perhaps he’s never made an effort to make a friend, hence his inexperience with being a decent human being. Or perhaps he’s just an asshole, but who is to say? The point is: he’s the only person you knew in this godforsaken city who would likely allow you to use his shower without being awkward about it and that’s that.

The worst part about being an acquaintance with Park Jimin was that he lived in the richest area of Downtown but he wasn’t old money, that’s for sure. His entire essence screamed overconsumption, and his myriad of little trinkets littered across his apartment confirmed your previous assessment. You wouldn’t be surprised if you opened his freezer and found ten types of ice sorted assorted by color and shape like the extra bitch that he was.

He made his money through sheer force, and it would have impressed you if he wasn’t, you know. Him.

“Bathroom is over there. I placed a towel and other shower amenities that you can borrow,” he says pointing to a door with a large “FART ZONE: ENTER WITH CAUTION” sign taped to it. You don’t ask.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You wait patiently for his out-of-pocket comment.

Like clockwork, Jimin smirks. “Sure thing. I gave you the super heavy-duty stuff. Figured you’d burn a hole through my expensive towels with how stinky you are, with your yeasty cu—”

“Aaaand I’ll be done in a few minutes. Thanks again Jimin,” you interrupt, making your way to the bathroom and slamming the door with as much force as you can muster. You hear something fall as the door shuts, and you vaguely hear Jimin mutter something about his “fart zone” signage.

You begin to prepare your shower routine, humming lowly as you go about your business. You try to ignore the suffocating scent of ten million diffusers entering your nostrils, wondering for the umpteenth time if Jimin is suffering from long-term olfactory dysfunction.

“Focus, Y/N. The quicker you shower, the quicker you can get the fuck out of here,” you whisper to yourself. However, in your haste, you knock over Jimin’s towel by accident. When the towel falls, a sheet of sandpaper slips out from underneath it, and you stare bemusedly until it finally hits you.

“YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!”

From behind the door, you can hear Jimin’s infamous cackle. “Did you find the loofah? I got it just for you, darling!” he shouts back through his laughter, and you just grumble back in response. How on earth no one has strangled him to death, you have no idea.

“Whatever. I’m gonna shower now! Go beat off or whatever the fuck you do in your spare time,” you grouse, stripping as quickly as possible.

When the first droplets of water hit your body, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. You had both anticipated and dreaded going to Jimin’s house, but you desperately needed the shower. So you go through your routine, trying to find some semblance of relaxation throughout the process. However, it seems that Jimin was yearning for a little bit of attention as he chose to recline on the other side of the door and chat your ear off. Peace was never an option, it seems.

“Hey, Y/N! So why haven’t I seen you at work recently?” Jimin hollers from his living room. Despite the wall separating you, his voice manages to retain its volume.

You squirt a large glob of Jimin’s (expensive) conditioner onto your hands. “What do you mean? I go to work every day. You were the one who hasn’t been clocking in.”

You can hear Jimin scoff. “Um, correction! I went to work last Friday, which so happened to be your day off. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed you were avoiding me.”

And right you are, you think. But instead, you say, “Yeah, what a coincidence. I’ll be back to my regular schedule on Monday, though.”

“So that means you didn’t see the Justin Bieber wannabe stationed outside the restaurant then?” Jimin asks, voice miffed. “The guy suddenly sat down by the entrance window and a whole damn crowd started to appear! The absolute nerve of these people—don’t they know Park Jimin was just past the doors?”

This provokes Jimin to go on his long epic soliloquy, which you’ve learned to drown out over the past two years. He could go on hour-long tirades if he wanted, and any interruption from you would just bounce off his nonfunctioning ears. And so, you allow his voice to fall to the back of your mind, similar to white noise if it wasn’t so grating.

However, this was likely your greatest mistake. If you hadn’t been so exhausted, or if Park Jimin hadn’t been so damn annoying all the time, or if the stars had aligned just right… Maybe you would have been forewarned about the incident. It’s as if the universe was screaming at you to pay attention, but alas… You were standing on the proverbial highway, unbeknownst to the incoming traffic because you had your metaphorical AirPods on.

So there you are, completely showered but none the wiser to your impending doom, naively looking to the future with unsuspecting eyes. Even if you had known of what was to come, would avoiding it even be possible? In hindsight, you suppose not, but you still kick yourself for being so blind. If only you’d steeled your heart, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt like vomiting in front of a crowd of innocent bystanders the very next day.

xxx

Monday comes and your shower still isn’t fixed. Jimin makes the benevolent gesture of allowing you to use his shower in the meantime, though you’ll only partake in his offer as minimally as possible. He does mention that he’ll need at least an hour’s notice, warning you about “accidental voyeurism.” You shudder to think of what sort of horror you might find if you did visit him without warning, and you pray for the continued well-being of your retinas.

On your way to work, you’re too busy watching cute videos of animals to notice the unusual flock of people idling close to your workplace. When you get closer, however, the growing commotion is enough to rip your gaze away from your phone, and the sight of the large crowd makes you stop in your tracks.

It is 4 pm and the usual line of waiting patrons should not start piling up for another three hours, so this confuses you more than anything. You shuffle closer, squinting at the crowd until you notice that they aren’t lined up at all; instead, they have congregated into a large circle, but you are too far to see what they are surrounding.

An accident? You worry, wondering if something terrible happened. You tiptoe above the heads of people, subtly moving forward to take a better look. Curse you and your curiosity. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself to see something grotesque or astonishing, but instead…

It’s worse.

Inching closer, you can begin to hear a soft thrumming of a guitar and a gentle singing voice that causes alarm bells to ring in your ears. The warm melody digs up old memories of a time long past: of ballads sung outside your childhood bedroom window, of promises whispered under Spiderman sheets, of tender caresses tucking stray hairs behind your ears… They flood your senses, but all you can feel is dread.

It can’t be who you think it is. You accidentally elbow a guy on your way to get closer, unsteadying his grip on his phone.

“Hey, watch it! I’m filming a totally not-staged TikTok over here!” He yells, but you can hardly pay attention to him when you feel unnaturally drawn to come closer, still.

You’re nearly at the front, with just a couple of teenagers standing between you and the (not-so) mysterious street performer. But the distance is enough, and your breath catches. You can see him—

Black hair partially hidden under a bucket hat. Boots bigger than Pangaea and a pair of eyes equally as large. Dark ink snaking down his arms, peeking out from under oversized sleeves. Piercings that could rival Park Jimin on a good day. He isn’t facing you, but you can still see his big doe eyes, gentle sloping nose, and pretty lips stretched into a handsome smile.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. This can’t be happening, you panic. After two whole years of rebuilding and reshaping yourself, relearning how to be yourself and not… not just his girlfriend.

Jeon Jungkook stands before you, busking in front of your workplace of all locations. The universe could not have been any crueler to you.

You—you had been known as nothing more than Jeon Jungkook’s high school sweetheart. Buried memories of snide comments from jealous teen girls fill your mind, reminding you of the time when you were coined a simple side piece to the main attraction. Decor, as they would call you. Nothing more than a girl who happened to snag Jungkook before people realized he was going to turn… hot. A hot guy who could sing. An inevitable chic magnet, as they would call him.

And now, years later after much therapy and soul searching, your worst nightmare is standing in front of you in the flesh. This is what you will eventually dub the incident.

At that moment, however, there is little to no time to dwell on naming this ongoing core memory. All you can feel is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, as well as the nausea rising up your throat. You stumble backward, blatantly shoving onlookers away as you struggle to find some air to breathe. In hindsight, you probably should have backed away as subtly as possible, but you hope that your dyed hair might be different enough that Jungkook wouldn’t know it was you if he had glanced your way.

Even when you stagger towards your work establishment, the walls cannot perfectly muffle his soothing singing. You can’t make out the lyrics to his song too well, but his unmistakable voice is hard to ignore. Working as a hostess, your station is also coincidentally as close to the door as possible for maximum torture.

This can’t get any worse, you think as your mind races with conflicting emotions. You thought you had moved on, thought you were past the pain and the memories, but seeing Jungkook again, unexpectedly, stirs up a storm of feelings you thought were buried deep. Anger, hurt, betrayal—all rush to the surface, threatening to overwhelm you.

But there is no time to unpack all that baggage right now. Time will continue to march on, and your job is still on the line. How can you have the time to have a mental breakdown when you were still living paycheck to paycheck?

But even as you try to push Jungkook out of your mind, his voice echoes in your ears, his image burned into your memory. It's as if the universe is laughing at your misery, reminding you that despite all your supposed growth, you are still just you.

Painfully and pathetically you.

As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”

You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture.

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt.

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat.

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk.

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you clarify, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence.

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and fidget uncomfortably.

Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away.

That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door.

“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice.

You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.

Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.

As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off.

He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note.

“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you.

By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole.

You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.

“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero.

“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation.

“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”

You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”

You make quick work of your task and when you’re ready to head out, Jimin is already waiting by the backdoor. He’s twirling his car keys with a finger and gestures for you to follow him. As you make your way to his car in the back parking lot, you catch sight of a lone figure standing next to a beat-up pickup truck. He’s leaning against it, his hands busy tuning a battered guitar.

Your breath hitches, and you immediately feel nauseous. Of course the incident has yet to end. The night is young, after all.

Jimin accidentally slams the backdoor closed, and the noise wrenches Jungkook’s attention away from his ministrations. Immediately, his eyes lock with Jimin before finally turning to you.

Your heart skips a beat as he gazes at you, your mind racing with a hurricane of emotions. You hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, especially not after the tumultuous encounter earlier in the day. What did you say earlier? That “the chances of seeing Jungkook was down to pretty much zero”?

The chances of seeing Jungkook is low, but never zero, your mind unhelpfully supplies.

There is a long period of awkward silence. Jungkook has his mouth slightly agape, his hand subconsciously lowering his guitar to rest against his truck. To your left, Jimin’s breathing quickens slightly. You, on the other hand, are trying your best not to projectile vomit in this damned parking lot.

Jungkook is the one who decides to break the delicate silence. “Is that you…?” he calls out hesitantly.

Don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my—

“Y/N,” Jimin interjects. His gaze is steel cold, uncharacteristic of the carefree boy. He slings an arm around your shoulders, gently nudging you towards his car. With your view still fixed on Jungkook, you miss the way Jimin shoots the other boy with a playful smirk. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go home.”

His words startle both you and Jungkook. “Wha—? Jimin?” you splutter, flushing at his flirtatious undertone. You want to curse him out for his strange behavior, but all the shock has left you mute.

Jimin all but shoves you into the passenger seat. But just as he’s about to slam the car door, you hear Jungkook call out your name. It’s fleeting and quiet, but you heard him crystal clear.

It breaks your spirit to hear him say your name. For a moment, you feel as though you are floating.

When was the last time he called your name? And so softly, too? If you could replay that moment over and over, would you be able to catch some signs of tenderness in his voice? When you close your eyes later that night, would your dreams show you that he had been gazing at you with yearning? Was any of it true?

As Jimin starts the car and pulls away from the curb, you steal one last glance out the window, only to find Jungkook staring at you with an arm outstretched. You continue to watch him until his figure disappears into the night.

You are quietly immersed in your own thoughts, the whirlwind of emotions intensifying your persistent migraine. Unaccustomed to silence, Jimin decides to give his unsolicited two cents, as per usual.

“Geez. Didn’t know you were into the whole starving artist type. If I’d known, then maybe I’d stop trying to brag about my fortune to you,” Jimin scoffs. “If loser buskers like him impress you, then maybe I should—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for once in your fucking life!” You explode, whirling to face him with a glare. Jimin has the audacity to flinch, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

“What the fuck? Why the hell are you mad at me?”

“What the hell was that back there? ‘C’mon babe.’” You mimic his voice with a sneer. “Why on earth would you do that? Now he thinks that we…”

“Why do you care what he thinks? He’s your ex, remember?” Jimin cuts you off, but you can’t even refute him. He continues, “Figured as much. And judging by how spooked you’ve looked all day, I have to assume that he was an asshole, right? Why else would you accept my offer for a ride home if you really wanted to avoid seeing him?”

You shrink under his accurate assumptions. Damn, were you really that easy to read? “I… I mean, yeah but…” You clear your throat, still feeling wronged by him. “You didn’t have to act like a weird prick in front of him!”

Without warning, the floodgates burst forth. You begin to ramble, the thoughts that have been weighing you down pouring out of you in waves. “Jungkook was my ex, yeah. But he wasn’t an asshole. On the contrary, he was really sweet. The nicest guy in my school, at least. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, that sort of person. I dated him all throughout high school and he was a great partner.”

Jimin hums skeptically. “Then why the messy break-up?”

“It wasn’t messy!” You retort defensively.

“Could’ve fooled me!” Jimin snorts. “I also frequently act like a trembling kitten when I see my exes,” he says sarcastically.

You ignore him. “The reason we broke it off was because he wanted to pursue his dreams to become a singer after high school and I wanted to do other things. It was a mutual break-up! Honestly, I’m glad that we did. Too many girls wanted him and all the unwanted attention was getting on my nerves. I was glad to find a reason to end it all,” you explain, hoping you didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. What you said was mostly true, though you left out the important bits to yourself. Mostly to save some of your dignity intact. (Truthfully, you just didn’t want to admit things you weren’t ready to face.)

“Then if you’re so glad, why do you look like you wanted to shit yourself? It ain’t adding up,” Jimin fires back.

“It’s just—” you stammer, trying to find a reason why you were so bent out of shape after seeing him. “I-I was caught off guard, I guess. I knew he was pursuing his dreams to sing and all, so I expected him to leave the country. I wasn’t expecting to see him outside where I work, of all places,” you mutter lamely. You have your head bowed, biting your lips from the nerves. Again, you weren’t totally lying.

Jimin is silent for a moment, contemplating your admission. When he looks so calm like this, it’s hard to get a read on what he’s thinking. As Jimin speeds down the highway, the street lights illuminate his face in a strange way, and for once, he looks like a stranger. His steely expression makes you nervous, for some reason.

Eventually, he asks you a question you would never have expected. “And he just let you go?”

You pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Jimin huffs, irritated. “He just up and left without a fight? If I were him, I would have…” he trails off, his jaw clenching.

You don’t know where this Jimin came from. Under the moonlight, Jimin looks livid, but that can’t be right. Jimin, mad for you? Sure, you’ve seen his anger directed towards you, but this? Everything’s gotten so complicated, and you are just about ready to succumb to sleep and hope to wake from this nightmare.

The rest of the drive to your house is silent, save for the sounds coming from passing cars. Jimin pulls up to your apartment complex, his mysterious anger finally subsiding.

Just as you’re about to reach for the car door handle, Jimin places a hand on your shoulder. “Listen, Y/N. I’ll talk to management tomorrow morning. I know the manager well enough that I can probably convince him to do something about that ex of yours. He’s busking on private property, so it should be easy to get rid of him,” Jimin says, tone serious. He swallows, and for a moment you think he looks a little nervous. “If that’s what you want, I guess.”

His kindness scares you. You want to tease him, ask him where Mr. Bitchy and his $2000 Chelsea boots had gone. Anything to make this air of severe sincerity to abate. This new Jimin feels suffocating. But instead, you nod your head stiffly.

Jimin makes a pained expression for a moment, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual playful smirk. He slaps you upside the head, laughing heartily at your stunned face.

“Get some rest, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” he chuckles, reaching over to open the door for you. You scramble out into the cold city air, taking one last look back at him through his window.

He rolls it down, leaning forward to flash a toothy grin at you. “Hey, stop with all the angst, pookie. Wouldn’t want my favorite toy to get sick from overthinking. Who else would I bother at work if not you?”

You snort, both endeared and irritated in equal measure. He’s right. Everything was going back to normal tomorrow, you’re sure of it. You flip him off with a cheeky grin before making your way to your apartment.

Everything is going to be okay. Jimin says he’ll do something about it, and for whatever reason, you feel like you can trust him on this. Surely good fortune was soon to be upon you.

xxx

Jimin had texted you while you were still sleeping:

Spoke to Manager Jeong about your little problem. He said he’ll deal with him.

You breathe a sigh of relief, your body feeling significantly lighter. Your sleep last night had been tumultuous and restless. You feel more tired than you did when you went to bed, but all your weariness fades once you read Jimin’s text.

Once you make it to work, you find that management has gotten rid of Jungkook somehow. Added with the fact that your landlord has promised to look into repairing your shower (no guarantees, but you want to stay optimistic), today has been significantly better compared to yesterday. You even catch yourself humming as you set up your workstation, a small smile gracing your lips.

Jimin has a later shift this evening, and you find that you are somewhat disappointed for once. Your overwhelming gratitude is surely the only reason, otherwise you would never admit to wanting to see him at any given time.

You are in the midst of texting Jimin about all the good news when your manager passes by your desk. You are quick to pocket your phone away from his prying eyes, ready to defend that you aren’t slacking off… but his demeanor does not reveal any ire. In fact, he looks rather pleased for once.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeong. What’s up?” you ask, suspicious. You instinctively fold your hands behind your back; it is a subconscious effort on your part to keep your distance from him. Something about your manager always gives you a bad feeling when he looks a little too happy.

He grins widely. “Everything is going splendidly, Ms. Y/N. In fact, I think today might just be our lucky day!”

Never during your time working here has his and your luck ever coincided. “Our lucky day?” you echo.

“Why, yes! I spoke with your lovely friend and coworker Jimin this morning,” he starts, and immediately your alarm bells ring. You don’t even bother correcting him about the ‘friend’ part like you normally would. He continues, “He gave me a brilliant idea about the busker who had been performing in front of the restaurant the past two days.”

You nod slowly, not quite understanding. “Yes… The busker has been quite… the spectacle,” you say carefully. Somehow, you know calling Jungkook a ‘nuisance’ would have been the wrong choice in this instance.

Manager Jeong beams. “Exactly! You must have noticed the amount of people we served yesterday despite being a Monday. Additionally, almost all of those new customers requested outdoor seating no less!”

You feel the world tilt on its axis. What is he on abou—?

“What are you talking about?” you exhale.

“Don’t you think it would be even better for business if we got that busker to perform inside the restaurant? Why, it’s a brilliant idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first! Our live band has always been missing something special, and perhaps a vocal accompaniment is the exact answer to our problem! Think about it, the atmosphere would be…”

Manager Jeong continues to prattle animatedly about his plans to your unhearing ears. There must be static or cotton plugging your head because you cannot possibly understand anything he is saying. Jungkook? Inside? Performing at your restaurant? But Jimin said he had spoken to the manager about getting Jungkook away from you! None of this makes sense.

“That makes no sense,” you verbalize, unknowingly cutting Manager Jeong from his monologue. He halts in surprise, as if now just realizing you were standing there (much less capable of interrupting or disagreeing with him). When he snaps out of it, you sense that familiarly sinister aura emerging from him in waves. You belatedly realize he must have mistaken your outburst as antagonistic.

“Well, Ms. Y/N. Whether it makes sense or not, we have hired Mr. Jeon to perform live at the bar stage for the next four weeknights. If, for some unknowable reason, I am incorrect,” he pauses to emphasize his words, “then his services will be promptly terminated. However, judging by his popularity from simply standing out in the cold and singing silly love songs, I am sure that worry is unwarranted.”

Behind you, the telltale sound of the main door swinging open catches you even more off guard. You do not even have the chance to turn to face the newcomer, only managing to register the gust of cold wind that accompanies their entry.

And so, you hear him before you see him.

“Hello?” Jeon Jungkook greets quietly.

Even without turning, you can imagine how he looks, how he stands, how he feels, how he tastes—

Manager Jeong claps his hands gleefully. “Splendid timing! Speak of the devil…” The older man nearly skips towards Jungkook like a youthful school girl, accompanied by his uncharacteristic squeals of excitement.

You can feel his gaze on you, almost tangibly. With nothing but your shreds of dignity left intact, you force yourself to face him.

He’s still so tall, is all your mind can helpfully supply as you stand feet away from your high school sweetheart for the first time in two years. He’s still wearing the same bucket hat from the night before, semi-shielding him from view. Despite that, you catch a small flash of white graze his bottom lip as he chews the soft flesh nervously.

“Hi, Y/N.” He addresses you directly, completely overlooking your manager without a single glance. Despite his hat, he still has his eyes lasered on you, as if not quite believing you were there. You hate how his attention makes you shiver all the same.

Even though he ignored your manager (which would have been a major dispute had you done the same), Jungkook still receives a friendly handshake in return. “Mr. Jeon! I’m surprised you know Ms. Y/N, though I’m sure you must have spoken with her when she was escorting guests to the outdoor seating the other day.”

You had actually gotten your co-hostess to seat all the outdoor seatings yesterday, but you weren’t going to mention that.

Manager Jeong claps him on the back, inadvertently causing Jungkook to stumble forward closer to you. He looks up at you then, eyes bugging out of their sockets like a rabbit caught in a bear trap. You stagger backwards in turn, barely concealing the anxiety on your face. Oh fucking hell.

Your manager is none the wiser, of course. “Well, this makes my job much easier! Since you’re both acquainted, I’ll let Y/N show you the ropes. The band doesn’t start their set until later in the evening, but you’re free to take a look at the stage and other parts of our facility in the meantime,” he says, chuffed. Meanwhile, Jungkook looks like he’s been shot by a freeze ray.

Then, your manager points a sharper gaze at you. “Ms. Y/N, treat our super star well. I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Fucking superstar… You can only nod in defeat. “Y-Yes, sir…” you whisper, clenching your uniform with your fists. It is the only way to keep them from shaking like a leaf. You watch as his figure disappears behind his office door, leaving you to fend for yourself. Powerless, you train your gaze to the floor, unwilling to meet Jungkook’s eyes.

But the nerves are taking control of your body, screaming at you to eject, eject, eject!

“Sorry, I have to go to the toilet,” you splutter quickly, almost tripping over yourself on the way to the restroom. You dimly wonder if Jungkook is going to think you’re leaving to throw up, but you can’t find any self-respect left to care. All you need is air and space to breathe—preferably away from him.

You slam open the stall, hardly checking to see if anyone else is around before locking the door shut. You sit on the toilet, plant your face between your knees, and scream.

Should you go home and use sickness as an excuse? But even if you did, you still had shifts every weeknight. You would have to see him eventually. You can pray all you want that Jungkook will be fired by the end of the week, but even your delusional mind can never fathom the idea that anyone would willingly want to send Jeon Jungkook away. Plus, you remember that the regular band that plays at the restaurant has been wanting to get a singer to accompany them for ages, and you know just how damn affable he can be. They are going to love him, and you hate him for that.

It is clear to you that there is no other option:

You pull out your phone to quickly open up Indeed on your browser, frantically hunting for any openings that might fit your measly qualifications. However, you have to pause in your search to deliberate. Wouldn’t it be better to move out of the country? You had been so naive to think that moving cities was enough distance between you and Jungkook—going across the ocean is the obvious answer. Should you start up your Duolingo lessons again and hope that you can somehow survive in a different continent with only a few dollars to your name?

You shut your phone in despair. Whether or not your plans of escape are feasible or not, in the short term, you are stuck with having to suck it up and just learn to ignore your ex-boyfriend’s presence. Surely you can force out a fake smile or two, especially with how much practice you’ve gotten after working with unbearably entitled customers.

Taking a step outside of the restroom stall, you head to the sink to splash some cold on your face. You stare at the mirror, confronted by a girl who looks two seconds away from having a Netflix Original-esque meltdown. You rake your fingers through your hair, doing your best to look like you aren’t about to rush into incoming traffic. To no one's surprise, it doesn't work.

“Okay, I got this. Just pretend like he’s just some guy, because at the end of the day, he is just some guy,” you mutter to your reflection. She looks back at you unconvinced. “He may have broken my heart into little bite size pieces, but who cares! HE’S JUST A GUY!” You repeat the phrase over and over again like a lunatic, in a desperate attempt to cognitively alter your brain chemistry.

At that moment, one of the other stalls in the restroom creaks open, and a girl you recognize who works as one of the dishwashers walks out. You both have a silent eye conversation as she quietly studies your crazed expression and crumpled work uniform.

Eventually, she awkwardly clears her throat, pointing to the only sink in the restroom. “Uh, sorry to hear about your, uh, guy problem. Could I use the sink please?”

You hastily back away, allowing her to take your spot. You don’t even have the energy to apologize for your spectacle, just bowing sheepishly to her before making your way back to the main hall. If she rats you out to the rest of your coworkers, then that gives you another reason to move out of the country. Maybe you should consider a name change while you’re at it.

When you exit the restroom, you half expect Jungkook to be waiting for you by the door, but find that he isn’t anywhere nearby. He isn’t by your hostess station either, and you thank your lucky stars for once. Even if your manager had asked you to show him around, you’re sure that Jungkook can find his way around just fine. Plus, the stage is at the corner of the restaurant and is sufficiently far enough that you wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him if you were careful.

You don’t know which greater entity has been messing with your sanity these past few days, but you hope that they can show you mercy just once—a brief reprieve, if anything.

You clasp your hands in prayer. I’ll eat more vegetables, I’ll remember to floss, I’ll call my parents from time to time… Just please let me survive tonight.

“Remember, Y/N… He’s just some guy,” you reiterate through gritted teeth. If a passing coworker happens to overhear your demented chanting, then you pay them no mind.

You walk towards the entrance, flipping the sign to open. You feel like a video game character when you glance at the clock, which signals the start of your shift. You can imagine the red bold text hovering above your head: 8 more hours until freedom.

This is just like playing Five Nights at Freddy’s, except you’ve only watched the movie and you suspect your life is probably worse than whatever Josh Hutcherson had to survive through.

You take a couple heaving breaths to brace yourself for what will be the longest eight hours of your life. You’ll show Jungkook just how well-adjusted and mature you’ve become. You are a professional, and not even a boy with angelic vocals will make you crumble. After all, what’s the worst he can do?

xxx

He could, in fact, do a lot worse than you thought.

“I have many regrets being born at all,” you mutter bleakly, three hours into your shift.

Jungkook had started singing only an hour ago, so you had been filled with false confidence at first when the restaurant was filled with nothing but ambient chatter and soothing jazz music. You felt more and more confident as the minutes ticked by and your anxiety slowly melted away. You even forgot that he was somewhere in the back, likely warming up or whatever it is that singers did before a performance.

However, your brief moment of courage shatters almost immediately when Jungkook finally takes the stage.

At first, you did your best to tune out his voice, but it’s especially hard when whoever was in charge of the sound system decided to crank his volume to an excruciating level. You wanted desperately to grab some napkins and shove them in your ears, but you suspected that your customers (and manager) would be unappreciative of that gesture. And so there you lay, forced to wallow in Jungkook’s melodious singing like a criminal strapped to an electric chair.

But how much more pleasant an electric chair would be! Why on earth was Jungkook so adamant to sing sad love songs the entire time? Why couldn’t he be like his other singing contemporaries, who loved to write songs about getting bitches and making money? At the very least, even if he wasn’t quite a platinum selling artist just yet, surely he was constantly sharing beds with anyone he pleases? Couldn’t he sing about that?!

(In the back of your mind, you wonder if it would be less painful to learn that Jungkook has slept with multiple people… Because then, it would mean that he had moved on while you stood alone on your island, stranded and yearning.)

You didn’t want to think too deeply about his lyrics. However, you're only human. So when your mind barrier failed and you caught snippets of his singing, you noticed a pattern. There was always a girl in his songs. She was omnipresent, and Jungkook was always pleading for her. Begging and aching and wanting. But most all… he was always repenting. In every song, he always whispered a pious apology.

You feared what would happen if you turned around in those moments of weakness. You were terrified of admitting something, of letting words spill that had been trapped in your throat for the better part of two years.

Lucky for you, salvation comes in the form of one Park Jimin. Though, can you even count him as your savior when he had also inadvertently caused your demise?

Jimin doesn’t even have a shift today, so you’re more than surprised when his bright blonde head stumbles through the restaurant doors. His expensive coat is askew and his signature designer shades are nowhere to be found. He is panic incarnate—an expression you have never seen on his face before.

“Holy fuck,” he greets, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His profanity startles the elderly couple waiting to be seated, their glares menacingly sharp. To his credit, Jimin doesn’t even seem phased.

In lieu of an answer, you gesture vaguely behind you. You can imagine how dejected you must look. “Holy fuck indeed,” you sigh.

It takes a moment for Jimin to regain his bearings. He straightens up and pats down his coat, but his hair is still tousled by the wind. If not for the fact that he has a car, you might have thought he had run all the way here.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen,” he starts, genuinely remorseful. “I texted Manager Jeong this morning and he said he’d get your ex to leave, but I didn’t think he’d offer the damn bastard a job!”

“Mind your language, Park. I’m still at work,” you scold. You try your best to ignore the scrutinizing gaze of the elderly couple. You lower your voice. “And don’t apologize. I know you’re an asshole, but I doubt you’d actually prey on my downfall like this. I know you’re not into public humiliation.”

Jimin brightens slightly at your joke, but he still looks like a guilty puppy who'd been caught shitting on the carpet. “Yeah, well. I happen to enjoy tormenting you and I won’t let some upstart Charlie Puth wannabe ruin your life. That’s my job.”

You smile wryly at him. “Well, that’s too bad. Jungkook’s been singing for a few hours now and I’m pretty sure Manager Jeong is going to keep him long-term. He might have broken my heart, but damn does he have vocals. I'm sure you'll have plenty competition when it comes to 'who can make Y/N's life feel like hell.'”

Jimin doesn't smile back, but instead studies your face for a moment. Then:

“Do you think if I offer to suck Manager Jeong off, he’ll fire him?”

“What the fuck?” You nearly yell out in surprise, your jaw dropping to the floor. Judging by his serious scowl, you know he's actually considering it. By now, the elderly couple waiting to be seated have left the premises.

Jimin continues, unperturbed. “I know he secretly wants me, based on how his wife seems to have a personal vendetta against me. He definitely wants a taste of my bus—.”

“Stop, I get it!” You wave your hands to make him shut up, heat rising up your cheeks. “Never say that string of words to me ever again. You have just inflicted ten years of suffering onto my poor brain.”

“Hey, I’m just offering solutions here!” Jimin pouts.

You stare at him, unimpressed. “Save it. You tried solving my problems already, so let’s just accept the fact that there’s nothing else for me to do but to suck it up. It’s time for me to put on my big girl pants for a change.”

“I mean, I could do all the sucking instead, but you’re being a little bitch about it,” Jimin mumbles. He’s lucky you didn’t hear him this time, lest you give him something to really whine about.

“Anyway, I guess this is my life now. Nothing to do except hope that he never tries to interact with me or I can find another job,” you shrug.

Over your shoulder, Jimin fixes Jungkook with an icy glare that is cold enough to give you the shivers. For the first time that entire night, you hazard a glance back at the stage, finding that Jungkook is already looking back at you.

You whip your head back forward, perspiration forming down your back. For fuck’s sake, this guy.

“Well, let me know if he tries anything. I’ll beat that little freak into the floor if he tries so much as breathing the same air as you.” Jimin huffs, puffing up his chest with false bravado. You can’t help but laugh at his empty threat, knowing that Jungkook could probably bench press Jimin without breaking a sweat. Jimin's muscles are only for aesthetics, after all.

“Don’t worry, he hasn’t actually spoken to me actually. He can keep singing his sad little love songs, I really don’t mind,” you say, like a liar. Jimin snorts, wholly unconvinced.

“Well, if you need me, I’m heading to the bar to grab a drink so I can stare at your ex uncomfortably until he leaves. See you!” Jimin bids you farewell with a cheery grin as he skips a little too happily inside the restaurant.

Why'd you have to befriend the largest lunatic in the city? You massage your forehead with a groan, willing away your growing headache.

The rest of the night trickles away like molasses. Jungkook continues to sing his heart out, save for an hour intermission where he presumably takes a short break. In his absence, you hear Jimin guffaw loudly, his laughter too sharp to be considered happy. You faintly hear Jungkook shy stutters in response, and you momentarily consider running in to interrupt.

Why? Did you want to save Jungkook from Jimin’s unnecessary harassment? It’s not like Jimin is doing it out nowhere, he was just trying to be… a good friend?

You pause to ponder. As much as you hate to admit it, you know why you want to help Jungkook. But Jimin on the other hand? Why did he want to help you? Questions begin flowing through your head like a whirlwind, and your nausea increases. God, when was your next therapy appointment again?

You save those questions for another day. As you look at your watch, there are only thirty minutes left until two in the morning. You tap your foot impatiently, smiling curtly at departing customers as the restaurant slowly emptied. As they left, you overhear some of your regulars giggling amongst themselves, whispering about the cute new singer and his charming demeanor.

The last nail on your coffin has been hammered. Yeah, Jungkook isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

With the restaurant closing soon, it sounds like Jungkook is ready to end his set as well.

Throughout the night, Jungkook rarely made a point to speak. The only time he didn’t sing was when he quietly introduced the title of his next song and the band swiftly began the first opening notes. For his last song, however, Jungkook decided to give a little more backstory for his final song.

“Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for listening to me for the night,” Jungkook says with a soft voice, his tone awfully shy despite his powerful belting throughout the evening. The few customers left give him a warm round of applause, and you hear the familiar sound of his timid giggles spill from the restaurant speakers.

“This will be my final song for the night. Most of the songs I sang today were covers, but this one is an original. I…” He hesitates for a moment, and something pulls you to turn despite the alarm bells ringing in your ears. You face him, and just like earlier in the evening, he is already looking back at you.

This time, you don’t look away; he does. His eyes flit to the ceiling, and he licks his lips from nerves. “I… I wrote this song a long while ago. I’ve never sang it in public before and I never thought it would ever see the light of day. Until, well…”

He stops again. This time, he gestures to the guitarist in the band, silently asking to borrow it. With a guitar in hand, he smiles a little more confidently at the small crowd of people. He begins strumming the first few notes, and your heart stops. “I hope everyone had a pleasant evening. Get home safe and have a great rest of your week. My name is Jungkook, and this last song is called…”

Before he can sing the first line of his song, you make a break for it.

You slam the restaurant doors open, and the stinging cold air immediately pierces their fangs into your skin. Your coat is still inside, but you can’t bring yourself to reenter. You take a long breath, the chill barely registering in your mind with how loudly your heart is pounding in your ears.

Hearing the opening to that song was enough to bring you back in time, three years ago:

You are in his childhood bedroom, his walls littered with concert posters and his floor a mess with unfolded laundry and guitar picks. The afternoon sun is streaming through his windows, bathing him in gold. You have an exam the next day and he has cram school to go to, but you’ve both chucked your books somewhere on his desk, left forgotten.

He has his eyes closed, concentrated. You’re both on his small twin bed, squished together side by side and thighs touching. You have your head on his shoulder and he has his hands on his guitar. He strums a few chords experimentally and sings a melody that only the two of you know.

(Not anymore.)

“Are you writing a new song?” you ask, voice a little scratchy. Neither of you had spoken for the past few hours, just basking in the setting sun and Jungkook’s indistinct strumming. But now, his chords sound more sure, more certain of something.

“Yeah, I just thought of it,” he hums. He opens his eyes a smidge, a smitten smile on his lips. You mirror him.

“What’s it about this time?”

His brows furrow. “I’ve been trying to write about other stuff, you know? Namjoon-hyung tells me it’s important that songs have meaning and impact.” He pauses in his strumming, looking a little conflicted. “And I get what he means. Art is all about saying something, but… I can’t help that there’s only one thing I ever want to talk about. Is that so wrong?”

You chuckle, understanding what he means. You nudge your head against his cheek, grinning from ear to ear. The fluttering in your chest has become routine to you at this point, but he somehow always knows how to increase it tenfold. “God, you’re such a sweet talker. Really, Koo. There’s no need to serenade with love songs—I’m already yours.”

He looks back at you, brimming with tender affection. “I know,” he responds. Then, he takes a pen from his bedside table, and begins writing.

During those years of dating him, you always thought that If he was a waterfall, then you were a teaspoon. You desperately tried to be enough for him, but you’re barely able to fathom the depth of his devotion. Everything about him was excessive, and you could seldom understand how he managed to contain himself. He was born to share himself, to tear bits of his soul so that the world may understand him, love him. His songs were a testament that he was trying to do that, and you always felt so lucky to be able to receive him, wholly and fully.

How cruel was it that Jungkook uses that same song to rip open the barely healed scab on your heart, leaving you bare and stinging and raw all over again.

You have no idea how long you've stood there in the cold. It must have been barely a few minutes when Jimin finds his way to you. He wordlessly shrugs his coat off and places it on your shoulders, but you make no move to acknowledge him.

You hope your silence is enough for Jimin to infer that you are not in a conversational mood, but he’s nothing if not impatient. He forcibly pulls you to face him, his hands warm even through your clothing.

“Hey, you good? Did something happen?” He asks with barely concealed irritation, but it’s not directed at you. Still, you flinch at his scathing tone, shrinking in on yourself. In your daze, you vaguely notice his resemblance to an angry baby chick.

“It’s nothing. Go back inside, I’ll be right there,” you mumble lamely, weakly pushing him back towards the restaurant. Jimin does not budge, instead leveling you with a hard stare. This time, you’re sure his irritation is for you.

“You idiot, you literally ran out like someone was out to get you. Of course it’s not nothing,” he grouses.

You sigh tiredly, shaking your head at him. “We can talk later. It’s almost closing time and I just want to go home and sleep.”

Before Jimin can argue further, the door to the restaurant opens once more, but it isn’t a leaving customer.

“What the fuck? What are you doing out here?” Jimin all but shouts at Jungkook. He holds up an accusatory finger at him and uses his other hand to nudge you behind him as if to shield you.

Jungkook winces, instinctively stepping back. Despite being a few inches taller than Jimin, Jungkook’s timidness makes him look smaller. “I… I was just worried about her—”

“Don’t you have a song to finish in there? Talk about professional,” Jimin spits out. Jimin maneuvers you so that Jungkook can’t see you, but you manage to catch sight of how his gaze follows you unfailingly.

“I finished up my set. It’s closing time.” Jungkook responds coolly. He’s still a little quiet, but you can sense some of his natural composure rising to the surface. When he needs to be, Jungkook has been known to stand his ground—usually when it comes to matters involving you.

At this time of the night and after hours of mental torture, the last thing you need is to watch your two worst nightmares duke it out in front of your work establishment. You are beyond exhausted, and you hardly have the fortitude to withstand another minute of their voices ringing in your ears.

Your eyes well up with tears of frustration, causing the two boys to freeze up in panic. You don’t give them the chance to fuss over you; instead, you haphazardly wipe your cheeks before roughly pushing them back towards the restaurant.

“Get back to work, you idiots.” Your voice sounds warbled even to your own ears, but you push past your overwhelming emotions in favor of getting back inside to close up. Hell, you might even call in sick tomorrow, just so you can cry pathetically into your bowl of cereal in solitude.

“I’m not even on the clock today!” Jimin complains faintly, but you only push him harder.

When you all reenter, you walk back to your desk and pointedly ignore the two of them until they awkwardly float away from your orbit. Despite the distance they give you, their gazes are still fixed plainly on you and they feel like knives digging into your back.

Eventually, all the final customers of the day take their leave, and your remaining coworkers start dimming the lights and bidding their goodbyes. From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook bowing respectfully to the band, who were giving him friendly pats on the back for a job well done. Jimin walks toward you, his car keys dangling from his left pinky.

“No thanks. I’ll take the bus home today,” you declare before he can offer a ride. Jimin opens his mouth like a goldfish, flapping his lips dumbly as he stares at you in shock. You have no idea why he’s so surprised, given how you’ve been making it obvious that you need some space.

He looks like he wants to argue again, but thinks better of it. A singular moment of restraint from Park Jimin, which is an act you once thought impossible. Maybe he does care about you more than you thought.

He stiffly nods at you, shoving his hands and keys into his pockets. He still has a frown on his face when he tells you to text him when you get home. You flip him off with a shaky smirk in response, a feeble attempt to bring some levity back to your now tense relationship. It works a little, and Jimin brightens up significantly. How simple-minded of him.

With a flippant wave, you leave work and head towards your bus stop. At this hour of the night, the streets are mostly dim, save for some street lamps and bars that stay open longer than your restaurant. There are always some people milling about, enough that you never feel too on edge about how late it is. Still, your bus stop is often empty, leaving you to mull over your thoughts in peace.

You are in the midst of jamming your earbuds into your ear when a presence makes itself known beside you.

Is it possible to go through the five stages of grief in under a second? You suppose not, but it’s hard to tell what sort of emotions swim through you when you come face to face with Jeon Jungkook again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. You pause the song playing on your phone to glare at him with as much venom as you can muster.

Jungkook holds up his hands in surrender, doe eyes wide like prey. “I-I’m heading home too! I’m not following you, I swear!”

You groan internally. Figures that you and Jungkook take the same bus home. But hold on— “Don’t you have a car? I remember you were parked near the restaurant the other night,” you note, squinting at him.

Jungkook looks sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. That car was my hyung’s. He lets me borrow it sometimes, but he needed it tonight.”

“Sure…” You level him with a skeptical frown. You remember his hyung, but don’t recall him ever owning a car. You aren’t even sure that his Namjoon-hyung is allowed by the country to drive a car, much less own one.

He could be lying, but you don’t want to give him an excuse to continue any conversation. So, you busy yourself with your phone and keep your head bowed away from him.

When the bus arrives, Jungkook makes it a point to sit a few rows behind you. Thankfully, he has a better understanding of social cues than a certain Park that you know. He leaves you alone, but your entire body still feels like a rope pulled taut. You have to convince yourself not to look behind you, your morbid curiosity scratching your insides raw.

You are in the home stretch now, and it’ll only be a few more minutes before you get to your stop and make your way to your safe haven. Hell resumes the next day and the next, but at the very least you’ll have your home to yourself. No one could take that away from you.

Again, this is where you learn that tempting fate is never a good idea.

When you exit the bus at your stop, you can hear his footsteps following you. It’s hard not to notice, especially when his large and distracting boots make such a distinct racket that makes him so Jungkook.

You hasten your pace towards your apartment complex, your shoulders hunched and hands shoved into your coat pockets in an attempt to hinder the bile rising from your stomach. He had promised that he wasn’t following you, but that proclamation seems to be standing on feeble legs with how long he’s been on your tail now.

Your street is filled with rows of low-rise apartment buildings, so you hope that if anything happens, you can yell as loud as you can and alert some compassionate neighbor to come to your aid. (Not that you think he would ever physically harm you, but… You can’t say the same about your mental state.)

Your home is just two buildings away from where you are, but Jungkook still seems determined to follow you to the end. You all but skip the remaining feet to your apartment entrance, your breath coming out in puffs as you finally muster up the courage to face your supposed stalker and give him a piece of your mind.

“If this is some convoluted way for you to find out where I live, then you aren’t being very subtle about it,” you say, your chin held up high despite the growing urge to vomit pathetically in front of your ex-boyfriend. You have your hand rested on the doorknob, just a moment’s notice away from bolting into your house if the need for a quick getaway arises.

To your surprise, Jungkook wasn’t following you as closely as you expected. He had stopped trailing you about two buildings down, his own hand poised on the door with a look of genuine shock.

You both stand there, staring at each other as mutual understanding dawns on the two of you.

Everyday, the universe learns of more creative ways to be cruel.

“Oh…” Jungkook’s voice falters. He looks simultaneously frightened and amazed, as if he too finds this entire situation unbelievably harsh. He swallows thickly, looking at you and back to his door in quick succession. “Well… This is a strange coincidence,” he murmurs.

You want to believe that this was his entire fault, that Jungkook had somehow managed to track you down to haunt you for the rest of your days. You want to believe that he’s a crazed stalker who is willing to find where you work and live so that every hour of your wretched life is filled with nothing but reminders of what-could-have-beens. You just want someone to blame instead of just the cosmos—you want someone tangible to hate so that your suffering can be given some sort of identity. You want to give your mourning and hurt a name so that you can learn how to heal.

You want to believe all of that, but it’s hard to do so when Jungkook looks so incredibly uncomfortable, as if he’d rather melt into the shadows and never be seen again.

In all your memories, you have never seen Jungkook look so small.

You heave a big sigh, your fingers grasping the door knob so tightly that you half-expect it to be dented from the force. You linger for a moment, your mouth opening but nothing spills out.

What is there to say? What do you say to an ex-boyfriend that you haven’t seen in two years, who is suddenly so deeply entwined in your life once more? Do you tell him goodnight? Tell him to stay away? Tell him to come home with you?

Jungkook looks equally as conflicted. His lips are pursed tight with words left unsaid. You aren’t sure whether you want to punch the confession out of his mouth or seal them up forever. It feels like eons before he finally breaks the silence with a mirthless laugh.

“I… I just wanted to say—back at the restaurant. When I sang that last song,” Jungkook begins, and his voice feels loud because of how empty the streets are. For a moment, you are reminded of a cathedral you once visited during a vacation, how sacred silence can be. The world holds its breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I meant it all. Every word. Every lyric. I never stopped…”

He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. He stares at you helplessly, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to listen any more, but your feet are planted to the ground. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, forced to brace against him as he crashes into you.

He continues, “And when we broke up back then… I never wanted that to happen. You broke it off before we could even try something—and I hated how I didn’t fight for you harder. I let you misunderstand me because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to stick around if I didn’t succeed. I convinced myself that I was holding you down, but I never gave you—us—a chance. I never stopped regretting it since.”

“Me? Break up with you?” You echo incredulously. That statement is enough to break you from your trance, the telltale signs of indignation rising up your chest. “How dare you suggest—Me? You were the one who broke up with me, asshole! You were the one who broke my heart and decided to up and leave to god knows where! Only to miraculously respawn right next to me, groveling at my feet with sad love songs as if that’s enough for me to forgive and forget? Fucking entitled bastard,” you seethe.

Somehow, Jungkook manages to shrink more, like a bunny with his tail tucked between his legs. “Yes, you’re right that I broke your heart but… When I told you I was moving away to try and become a singer, it was always with the intention of staying together. I know it would have been difficult, but I wanted you to be with me through thick and thin. But when you misunderstood and took it as a break up, I let you go because, well… I was scared that it would happen eventually. Who wants to date a broke busking fool anyway?”

He laughs, but it sounds watery. He sniffles, and you hope it's only because of the cold. “I tried looking for you, but you blocked me everywhere and no one from back home seemed to know where you went. So I just accepted that we’d never see each other again… Until a few days ago, that is.”

A misunderstanding? Is that what everything boils down to? Years of trying to build yourself back up again, relearning what it means to be happy—all the fallen domino pieces in your life trailing back to a single moment in time? All because Jungkook was scared that you didn't love him enough?

You’ve never felt angrier in your life. You fear what you might say if you continue to stand outside there, face to face with the singular person strong enough to whittle you down to the bone. Jeon Jungkook is all soft smiles and sweet songs, but how come he’s always able to knock you off your axis? Few people on this earth can stitch you up and break you down in equal measure, but somehow, Jungkook manages to do all that and more.

Then, comes the guilt. Had it been all your fault? That you hadn't returned his love in equal measure? Had you secretly given up on the hope of being on his level? Always looking down on yourself: unable to move past your insecurities. Were you terrified of being his side piece, his girlfriend, forever?

Who are you, even? And where do you stand?

(Beside him, is what you want to answer. You don't know if that's the right choice.)

You can’t bear to look at him, least of all answer him. Without another word, you shove your house key into the door before slamming it shut despite the late hour. If you awaken any neighbors, you’ll apologize later. For now, all you require is sleep and hope that this has been all a terrible nightmare.

xxx

Reality is a bitter pill to swallow.

Jeon Jungkook continues to sing at the restaurant, and after only two days of repeat stellar performances, your manager decides to promote him as the official vocalist for the band. It hurts to admit that you're not the least bit surprised; you might have a hard time looking at him, but you can never deny his talent.

His song list has added a larger variety of genres ever since his first performance. That is to say, he isn’t always singing about lost loves and tragic couples every night. Perhaps it is due to some requests from customers or his other bandmates, but it doesn’t stop him from sprinkling one or two love songs into the mix.

He doesn’t sing any original songs ever again. That, at least, is a small mercy. He doesn’t make any moves to speak with you either, despite the daily awkward trips back home after the end of your shifts. Whether that’s because he’s given up on you (again), or he’s waiting for you to make the first move, you don’t know. Frankly, you don’t think you have the energy (nor courage) to do anything about it.

It’s a few weeks after Jungkook’s first performance at the restaurant, and closing time is approaching. You appreciate Friday nights the most because it means you’ll have two consecutive days to relax and avoid your problems. It’s also the busiest night of the week, when white-collar workers decide to drink and eat for as long as the night allows them. Busier nights mean more distractions, and you’re willing to deal with twenty Karens over one Jungkook.

During nights like these, your manager occasionally asks you to fulfill some waitress duties when there aren’t enough hands on deck. Normally you’d hate it, but earning the extra tips is enough to keep your grumbling to a minimum To this day, your landlord has yet to do anything about your broken shower, and you’ve finally conceded to the fact that you’ll have to be the one to do something about it.

As you inform the customers in your area that the last call for orders is approaching, you sneak a glance at the bar to see Jimin dutifully performing his job. That is to say, he’s flirting up a storm, getting women and men alike to blush from head to toe as he serves their drinks with a salacious smirk.

What a swindler, you think to yourself, snorting when he makes eye contact with you. He gives you a cheeky salute, mouthing something as he gestures to the back door.

Despite the semi-fight the two of you had all those weeks ago, Jimin was never one to argue about the same topic two days in a row. When you saw him the next day after your confrontation with Jungkook, Jimin was back to all smiles. You still catch him sending death glares towards Jungkook on most nights, but he doesn’t bring up the matter with you anymore. For that reason, you’ve gratefully settled back into your weird, banterful friendship with him. Even if there’s still a lingering tension between the two of you that you refuse to acknowledge.

You nod thankfully back at him, excited to go to his house and take a much needed shower. At this point, going to his house has become second nature to you, and it gives you an excuse to not see Jungkook at your regular bus stop every day. You have half a mind to never fix your shower for that reason, but of course there is still the problem of having to deal with Jimin every time you need to bathe. You hardly consider yourself an impatient person, but Jimin likes to toe the line far more often than necessary.

You’re down to your last two tables before you can close up shop when your manager suddenly barrels right into your path. You nearly drop your tray of dirty dishes to the floor, holding in a loud yelp as your suspiciously stern-faced manager halts you in place.

“Ms. Y/N, may I have a word with you for a moment? It’s regarding your paycheck for the month,” he barks, lips downturned. He appears disgruntled about something, and it sends a worried shiver down your spine. And here you thought Fridays are meant to be fun. He doesn’t wait for you to reply before he stalks back to his office, an unspoken command for you to follow.

You unload your dishes in the kitchen before making your way to his office. The small, dark room is cramped with overflowing file folders and coupons from multiple take-out places. You accidentally step on a stack of papers, and upon further inspection, seem to be a pile of applications for new hires. You distinctly remember complaining to him months prior about being understaffed and him replying that no inquiries were coming in.

As you approach, your manager shuffles through your coworkers pay stubs, and you notice yours and Jungkook’s on top of the piles.

Manager Jeong clears his throat. “Well, Y/N. It seems to be your lucky day. As you know, we split the tips based on your hours and what sort of duties you fulfill. With the new hire we have as our in-house singer, we’ve had to split it one way more to accommodate his arrival. However, he has recently requested to me that his portion be reallocated… to you, Ms. Y/N.”

Your jaw drops immediately. “I-I don’t understand, Manager Jeong,” you sputter.

Manager Jeong snorts, bemused by your reaction. “Don’t understand? Well, I suppose you’ll have to ask Mr. Jeon if you want his reasoning. Regardless, since we normally deposit your salary straight to your bank account, would it be alright if I hand you his tips in cash for now? He only informed me about his request an hour ago, and the accountant has already clocked out for the week.”

All you can do is nod dumbly back at him. With a huff, your manager presses a white envelope into your hands before promptly ushering you out of his office. “Well, that's settled. Out you go! Have a good weekend, Ms. Y/N. Don’t forget to lock the register before you leave!” He calls out before slamming his door in your face.

It takes you a moment to reanimate back to life. You stare at the white envelope for a long while, unable to fathom the scribbled out name of Jeon Jungkook replaced with your own name. Then, you crumple it into your fist before stomping over to where Jungkook and the rest of the band are in the middle of packing it up for the night.

Jungkook looks up from his guitar case when he senses you fast approaching. For a fleeting second, a smile graces his handsome face before it’s smacked away by your crumpled envelope.

“Keep your fucking cash, Jungkook. What the hell is your problem?” You fume, cheeks heating from agitation. Jungkook splutters for a moment, prying the envelope away from his face and looking at it in bewilderment. When he sees it clearly, recognition dawns on his face, followed by guilt.

“It’s just… my way of saying sorry, I guess.” He answers you meekly, neck flushing red in embarrassment. Behind him, the rest of the band grow silent at the scene before them, and you debate on telling them to mind their own business when they quicken their pace to leave.

“Well, keep your apology to yourself. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you correct him with a frown. To offer an apology is to offer accountability. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to hear him say that.

“No, it’s a sorry for… using you, I suppose.”

“Using me?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “For what?”

Jungkook smiles wryly back at you. “For inspiration?” he clarifies. For being the reason I can sing? He leaves that part unsaid, but you can almost imagine him saying it.

You feel heat rising to your cheeks again, but this time you aren’t quite sure if it’s from embarrassment, anger… or something else.

Unable to conjure up a response to his simple confession, you stomp away from him with a pounding heart and shaking hands. You continue the rest of your closing shift routine instinctually, your body moving on autopilot as Jungkook’s words continue to ring inside your head. When all is said and done, Jimin makes his way to your station with a questioning stare, but you wave him off in favor of stomping ahead of him to the parking lot.

In his car, Jimin rattles off about his latest exploits and purchases, his grating voice a comfort for once. You hum noncommittally during his stories when appropriate, but you suppose your usual indifference feels different, even to Jimin's untrained ears.

At his house, you drift to his bathroom immediately. You already have a shirt button undone by the time you get a handle on the door when Jimin’s hand stops you in place. You can feel his warmth emanating against your back as he slowly pulls the bathroom door close. With a tired sigh, you reluctantly turn to face him and find him standing closer than you expected.

He has an arm resting above your head, effectively caging you. You feel your shoulders sag. Damn, here comes another confrontation. Why can’t everyone just leave you alone?!

“Talk to me,” he says. No, he demands.

You push him away weakly, but he hardly budges. “Nothing to talk about,” you lie. Had you no filter, you’d be word vomiting all over the place ages ago.

Jimin groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Enough with the emotional constipation. I’m here to listen, alright? No teasing or anything, I’m all ears and maybe a shoulder to cry on. Just don’t stain my Chanel top too bad,” he jokes.

You puff out a short breath—a sorry excuse for a laugh. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to talk about it, and that’s that.”

“It’ll make you feel a lot better, though,” he offers.

You scoff. “What makes you think that? What if I just want to ignore all my problems forever and never grow from it? Is that so bad?”

Jimin pushes himself away from you, raising his hands in mock defeat. “You’re so fucking annoying. Can you stop running away from your problems and talk to me? Hell, talk to Jungkook for all I care! Just stop being a doormat and speak your mind for once in your damn life!”

“What are you, my therapist?” You brush past him, shower all but forgotten. You begin toeing your shoes back on, ready to head home tired and smelly. At the very least, you won’t have to deal with this stupid annoying asshole any longer.

Jimin strides back towards you, but for once he doesn’t do anything to forcibly stop you. Jimin has always been gruff with you, not afraid to push and pull you in any which direction. It’s part of the reason why you can’t take him seriously, even though you’ve recently realized why he was always being such a prick towards you—

“Yeah, I’m not your therapist. But for better or for worse, I’m your friend and I—I fucking care about you, alright? And it sucks seeing that good-for-nothing stick his nose in your business and act like he can do anything without any repercussions.”

Is Jimin being for real right now? “With how often you look at yourself in the mirror, you’d think you’d be better at introspection,” is all you say to that. You shove your feet into your shoes, not caring that you’ve probably put them on wrong. Maybe it’s because it’s Friday and the fatigue from the week has finally settled deep in your bones, but you can’t help but leave one last scathing remark to drive the final nail in the coffin.

“You know, if you were a little nicer to me, maybe I would talk to you. Hell, maybe I’d like you back. But no, just keep being your domineering, asshole self and I’ll keep being the same fucking doormat bitch you know and love,” you spit, turning towards the door and away from his face. You’re not even curious to see how he reacts. “I don’t need protection, alright? When I tell you to stay out of my business, you stay out of it. So don’t try and pretend to be my knight in shining armor.”

There’s an ocean of silence, enough to hear a pin drop. The urge to apologize surges to the surface, but you stamp it down. He’s petty all the time, so now it’s your turn.

Okay, maybe that’s a little too mean on your part, but you’re exhausted. Perhaps it is true when they say you should never act on your anger when it’s past midnight. But can anyone blame you? You’re only a girl, and girls need to snap too.

When he responds, his voice sounds weak. Park Jimin, weak? It's almost unthinkable. "Why don't you trust me?"

Isn't it obvious? you want to say. But some mercy remains within you. You'll pick up the pieces another time. Instead, you rasp out, “Good night, Park. I’ll see you on Monday.”

The walk of shame back to your house is long and arduous. Your phone dings thrice, likely signaling texts from Jimin, but you turn it off without checking for sure. For once, the weight on your shoulders is slightly lighter. You huff out a dry laugh, realizing belatedly that maybe Jimin is right—maybe speaking your mind has its benefits.

There’s a small park in your neighborhood that you always pass by. You don’t remember the last time you spared it a second glance, but this time you notice a lone figure swinging back and forth, arching dangerously higher than what you would consider safe. From a distance, all you can make out are the person’s comically bright boots, and you have a sinking suspicion you know who it is without seeing their face.

Cosmos, or whoever it is that controls my life, why must you braid our strings of fate so tightly? You ask, but as always, it refuses to reply.

Against your better judgment, your feet bring you closer towards him. He has his back towards you, his feet pumping him higher and higher and you half expect him to swing in a perfect arc like a gymnast on parallel bars. You have to keep your distance a bit, lest you get the wind knocked out of you by his signature stompers.

You clear your throat, and the boy stops mid-swing and nearly catapults himself into the spongey, playground floor. Hunched over and wheezing, Jungkook directs his shocked eyes at you with a comical stare.

You raise a hand in greeting. A peace offering, maybe. “Hello—”

“I swear I’m not stalking you!” Jungkook interrupts as he scrambles to his feet. He bows deeply in remorse, the action so endearingly him. “S-sorry, I’ll make my way home now…”

“I don’t own the park, Jungkook. I was just saying hello…” You snort, wringing your hands uncomfortably. You grind your shoes into the ground, the sound of crunching leaves breaking the still air. “A-and… to say sorry, for earlier.”

“Sorry?” Jungkook repeats, confused. When he realizes what you mean, he waves his hands frantically. “No, no! Don’t be sorry! It was my fault for being so inconsiderate. I understand how you might misconstrue my actions, and I made things more awkward. I’ll consider your feelings more in the future…”

In the future… You cough, unwilling to meet his bright and honest gaze. If you stare too long, you fear you might go blind.

“I come here to the park often, when I feel too cramped inside my apartment,” Jungkook explains, frantic energy radiating off him in waves. He’s gesticulating too much, a clear sign that he’s trying to hide his nerves. You remember how he would do the same thing in high school, whenever he had to present his projects in front of the class.

You hold a hand up, a weak attempt to get him to calm down. “I’m not here to interrogate you. I just wanted to…” What is it that you wanted to do?

The two of you just stand awkwardly like that, similar to a few weeks ago when you discovered you were neighbors. You’re grasping at straws in your head, both conflicted for wanting to tell him something and running away. Even if you were to talk to him, what would you say? There’s a reason you told Jimin you didn’t want to talk—frankly, it’s mostly because you have no idea what to say or feel.

But you do know, the universe responds.

I ask you questions all the time, and this is how you respond?

Either that, or you’re going insane, the universe remarks.

Jungkook pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he unlocks it. He takes a furtive step towards you, but thinks better of it. There’s a few feet of distance between you, but it feels like worlds apart. Close and yet so far. You recall how you’d easily pull him towards you in the past, how being together felt as natural as breathing.

“I know you absolutely hated it the last time I played my original song at the restaurant, so I refrained from performing any ever since that night. But that didn’t stop me from writing them. I was fine with keeping them locked in a vault forever, but…” He hesitates, searching you for any signs of discomfort. When he sees the carefully blank look on your face, he continues with trepidation.

“Can I try a song for you? You don’t have to say yes, and you’re free to tell me to fuck off and I’ll never even look at you ever again. Just…” He flails one last time, a choked sob making its escape from his throat.

Are you hopeless for wanting to say yes? Or were you reverting back to your old self who relied on him and believed in him so heavily? If you wanted him out of your life for good, you would have quit your job at the first sight of him. Maybe you were masochistic. Or maybe were you hopeful for a new start, a chance to rekindle a relationship that you’ve secretly always wanted to repair.

You have so much life ahead of you. Many more mistakes will be made and maybe they’ll haunt you when you’re older. But would it really be such a terrible gamble to take one more chance?

You nod, and seal your fate.

He presses play, and the soft strumming of a guitar fills the empty playground air.

Not for the first time, you wonder how it can be so easy for Jungkook to be so… honest. He spills his heart in every song that he writes, and you know he’s never been a great liar. He can’t help it, being genuine is in his DNA. This crashing waterfall, this boy with overflowing emotions—he sings what he thinks but feels terrified because of it. You might not understand his honesty, but you know that fear. You know it all too well.

He beholds himself to you—raw and unfiltered. A little battered and bruised, but still Jungkook. Behind everything, still the boy you’ve been yearning for.

Maybe this song is what will give you enough confidence to admit everything to him, too. As you stand there, listening to his mellow voice sing confessions to no one but you and the stars, you think you grow a little more courageous that day.

Maybe you won’t be able to tell him tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, nor next week either. But as you gaze back at his hopeful eyes, you know deep in your heart that you’ll find the words you’ve been looking for.

“I’ll keep waiting for you, if you let me.” Jungkook’s voice floats gently to you, and settles in your open palms. This time, you don’t let go

xxx

Months later, Jungkook stops working at the restaurant when an offer from a major record company arrives in his mail. Apparently, a big shot from the local radio station had pitched him to an employee at that company and they were all pleasantly surprised to find a hidden gem at a random bar and restaurant.

In your apartment, you stare outside your window and to where his home is—well, where it was. You wonder if he finished packing his things, ready to make the big move tomorrow. You stand up with a stretch, sparing a glance at your still broken shower. It would be nice to have one more shower at his place… And after that? Maybe you should start looking for a nicer apartment; somewhere far away might be nice.

Your phone rings, and you see his contact photo light up your screen. With a smile, you answer.

“Come over, if you want. I won’t make you,” Jungkook assures you.

You laugh lightly, already halfway out the door.

#bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bangtan #bts #bts fanfic

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piratefishmama · 1 year

Text

Pt1

It continues, also with Robin. She leaves Steve on that floor, pathetically cycling through this random metalheads video game music repertoire, sending a silent apology for her fallen friend to the lady in the apartment below them, sure she got to hear Steve practicing his songs every now and then which was a blessing, but she also now had to deal with his pathetic puppy crush as well.

Sorry two (definitely not house-trained) poodle owning lady, Robin sent her condolences for her hearing. But only a little condolence, one of those dogs had left a steamer in the elevator and it was a tall-ass apartment block. Karma really, sweet sweet karma.

It continued because Robin had a mild gift for hunting people down on the internet, it was a skill she’d developed and honed purely to hunt down the assholes who occasionally popped up on Steve’s insta with threatening messages and dumb as shit behaviours that a best friend refused to abide by. Steve had never allowed her to do anything with the knowledge, but one day, one day, the dogs of war would be released, and she would rain fury down upon them for making him make the sad puppy eyes.

He was just a dude, sure he grew up with wealthy parents, sure he had connections since birth to help him get to where he wanted to be, but… that didn’t make him any less of a soft-ass with a genuine love of sports, and sweaters, and listening to audio books in reading nooks with mugs of coffee like some kind of pinterest mood board model.

That didn’t make him any less of an actual mother hen to several child actors and young musicians ensuring they got fair treatment, ensuring they were never taken advantage of by the industry or the people around them.

It continued because within an hour of sleuthing, Robin poked her head back around from Steve’s guest room (read: Robin’s second home), and proudly announced “Found him!” As loud as she could to get over the cover of the final boss battle from Banjo and Kazooie that Steve absolutely did not recognise but was clearly vibing to.

“Found who?”

“Your mystery hater! He’s a—”

“Robin!! You can’t dox people!!”

“I’m not doxing him, I’m telling you exactly where he is so you can go confront him.”

“That is exactly what doxing is. How did you even find him?!”

“Dumbass posted a pic of a newspaper article that his friend wrote, which, uhm, that’s pretty cool I guess, but it had her name on it! All I had to do was search LinkedIn for her and boom, I gottem.”

“…Okay so he’s basically asking to be found is what you’re saying right now.”

“EXACTLY, can we go? Can we? I wanna see him squirm like a little bitch baby when you turn up to confront him.”

“All you’ll see is my pathetic attempts to flirt with him because I don’t know how I’d be anything but pathetic around him I mean have you seen his hands? Do you remember the Hemsworth incident? Do you remember the Hemsworth incident, Robin?” The incident in question involving a low doorway and a concussion that left him delirious in the fantastic arms of the God of Thunder.

“Do I remember you acting like a drunk school girl with her first crush around a guy with biceps bigger than your head? Yes. Yes I do. It was hilarious and you gained a handsome Aussie as a life-long friend out of that pathetic display—"

“I was concussed.”

“Drunk school girl. That doesn’t mean you can’t manage to charm a little bitch from Indiana, we’re from Indiana, we have common ground, you can bond with him!”

“Oh, because being born within the same state makes for such a conversation starter… should we really go?” Would that be stupid? Would that be crossing a line? Would that be absolutely batshit insane?

“For true love—" and champagne in First-Class "I think we should.”

“…Fine.”

Part 3

#Steddie #PirateWrites #ficlet #I DONT EVEN HAVE A NAME FOR THIS ONE #but it's in demand apparently so here #take it #Stranger Things AU

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rindouheart · 1 year

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hiii!! how's your day going?? i hope you have a good day♡♡. i was wondering if you could write some headcanons about yukimiya and nagi (i know you said you write for almost everyone but you can ignore nagi if you dont want to write him) having a crush on someone who is really flirty and affectionate??? you can avoid this request if you dont feel like writing dont be pressured please. thank you for reading my request, take care♡♡💕

YUKIMIYA and NAGI falling for an affectionate s/o 🌿

content. pure fluff + gender neutral s/o

author’s note. hi cutie, tysm for your request + AWWW YUKKI MY BB i love him more than my own life and yes, i also write for nagi despite being a btch towards reo (love/hate relationship with this giant marshmallow). I hope you like it!

YUKIMIYA KENYU

this boy!!!

he’s obviously used to be surrounded by people (especially girls) since he’s a model.

yukki has experienced many love confessions towards him, but he never had the chance to say the ✨ magic words ✨ to someone important for him.

and then there’s you. his best friend since childhood. you, his special someone.

you’ve always loved to give him hugs and to compliment him about his football achievements.

he just goes aww when he sees you.

yukki realises that he’s in love with you when otoya asked him “are you looking for them again?”

holy shit.

he absolutely adores when you give him loads of affection.

how to make him melt on the spot: say “i love you so much, yukki”

oh boy he fell so hard for you.

“you know you’re the best person i’ve ever met in my whole life?”

yukki dot exe stopped working

yukki often has to cover his face when you say something flirty to him.

he’s so embarrassed omg, he can’t even look at you without blushing 😭

he used to think that flirty and extremely affectionate people were kind of a burden, but you made him reconsider his opinion.

you’re so charming and sweet that he wants to protect you

while he was in blue lock and hadn’t access to his phone he missed you A LOT

yukki would probably confess to you on the two weeks break: he invited you to a cafè to meet his teammates and friends.

then, when you all went to the nearby arcade, he won a pink teddy bear in one of those damned claw machines.

he gave it to you and asked if you wanted to be his partner (!!!)

shocked otoya and karasu in the background

NAGI SEISHIRO

clearly clueless

he didn’t mind your clingy behaviour.

at first, reo introduced you to him, because he thought that having a couple more friends wouldn’t harm nagi’s health.

nagi was like “okay, whatever”

you weren’t sure if nagi was okay with too much affection all at once, so you just sat beside him and laid your head on his shoulder.

“you’re comfortable”, you pulled out your phone and started playing a random game.

reo absolutely adores you two as a soon-to-be couple.

nagi has mixed feelings: he loves and hates the fuzzy feeling that you give him.

“sooo… we’ve been picked to participate in this football special programme” reo was the one who told you about blue lock.

“can i give you a hug?” you asked to nagi before leaving

he obviously said yes!! he didn’t mind your affectionate behaviour at all!!

while his stay at blue lock, nagi always thinks about how much he misses your lovely actions towards him.

and when you kiss him on the cheek and say “i’ll miss you, seishiro”

he just 🧍🏻

reo basically died on the spot

nagi will never admit that he has feelings for someone who has an opposite character in comparison with his.

he would invite you to his apartment and play genshin impact with you (adorable)

“how did you become so good at league of legends? this game is so difficult” - nagi loves when you compliment his gaming skills.

you’re the only person who can play badly and not annoy nagi. this is how he tells you “i like you”.

you fell asleep on his shoulder while he was playing fifa on his PlayStation.

he thought that you were the cutest person he’s ever seen (yes, he took a selfie and sent it to reo).

he would confess his love for you by initiating an hug or whatever that has to do with affection.

he’s so awww when he hugs you, this 190cm marshmallow gives the best hugs ever, but he doesn’t know that.

@rindouheart ‘s headcanons — 01222023

#bllk #blue lock #bllk headcanons #bllk imagines #blue lock x reader #nagi seishiro #seishiro nagi #bllk scenarios #bllk nagi #yukimiya kenyu #blue lock yukimiya #blue lock nagi #kenyu yukimiya #bllk yukimiya #bllk x y/n #bllk x you #blue lock headcanons

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mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess · 2 years

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AITA for getting punched in the face?

So I (16, M) am betrothed to a girl (16, F) I don't really like but my mom and her mom made the arrangement before we were born and neither of our dads (or us) get much say in this because our moms are scary.

Anyway, I really don't like this girl. She's just average and the only reason we're supposed to marry is because our moms are sworn sisters and we're from powerful, noble families. Not to brag, but I'm exceptionally good-looking and highly skilled, and I don't think a girl so meek and ordinary would be fit for me at all.

I don't see the point of hiding my disdain for her. Anyone with a good pair of eyes can see how different I am from her and there is no point in me pretending I feel any different about her.

To preface, I don't think I'm the asshole and I want to prove I'm not the only one who thinks that.

Onto the story:

Some friends were talking about pretty girls and such, and since I don't necessarily care for those discussions, I kept silent. One of them then mentioned I am not saying anything because I am already in love with my forced fiancee and see no other girls as interesting.

I simply responded like I did above: that I find her unappealing and she's not at all my type. Which prompted her almost-brother (long story, but the guy isn't even adopted in the family, just hangs out around them and somehow ended up as head disciple) to punch me in the face. Hard.

I am not weak at all but the hit took me by surprise and led to me walking around with a swollen face for several days. The guy got punished but not without him and my fiancee's actual brother both calling me an asshole.

Could you all convince them I am NTA once and for all?

Edit 1: To update you all, I actually did marry my fiancee (not resulting from the arranged marriage, it was annuled and then we ended up falling in love on our own) and she's an amazing, kind and beautiful person with whom I am going to have a son in a few months.

I was an arrogant, annoying, entitled, incel-esque piece of shit two years ago but thankfully, I got better and am on the way of becoming a decent person and hopefully a good father!!

I love my wife very much and I regret I didn't treat her right from the start, but I now have the rest of my life to make it up to her although I know she has already forgiven me anyway.

Growth is a wonderful thing and I think everyone should embrace it. I used to really hate my life and resent my parents for the environment they have raised me in as an arranged marriage couple that was never really happy. I thought the same would happen to me and I projected all of that onto my wife for no reason - but now I am happily married and feel so loved and appreciated that I can't help but model after my wife's kindness and good character.

Edit 2: My son just came into the world a few days ago. He is happy and healthy and I am fighting with my wife about who gets to hold him more!! I can't wait for his one month celebration, I'll try to make up with my wife's brothers and make sure my son has all his uncles in his life! I'll update you all with pictures after the event!

Last updated: 15 years ago

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #writing attempts #jzx #i love writing posts like this and i also spend too much time on aita

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doubledyke · 9 months

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i think ed and double dee have a special bond that we see some of in the show, but in my head of course it goes deeper. for example, i really like the scene in "to sir with ed" when ed is over at double dee's house late at night and they're just hangin out. it's one of my favorite little scenes because i feel like it gives a brief but interesting view into their friendship outside of the trio's dynamic.

we can pretty safely assume that ed's parents don't give a shit about him and frankly don't want to be around him, hence the removal of the basement staircase at least once. they're (mostly his mom) so blinded by their detestation for their son that they forgot they'd need to do laundry at some point. and you guys know what i think of dee's parents. they don't give a shit about him outside of how good or bad he makes them look.

i think the two really connect because of their lack of caring parents and for being kids who spend a lot of time alone, and are probably comfortable with/used to solitude, but crave the company of another person. i imagine that on a lot of summer nights when the boys are parting ways, eddy goes home and does whatever he does. but the other two go to edd's house to hang out until they're ready to go to bed. ed's parents wouldn't notice he's gone and edd's parents rarely come home before midnight.

their time together consists of science experiments where edd gets to teach his friend about things he thinks are cool. whether or not ed absorbs the knowledge is another story. they build models together, and watch gory horror movies while critiquing the practical effects. edd gets his hands on a taped surgical procedure and they watch between handfuls of popcorn. i think they'd also enjoy doing their own thing while in the same room; ed drawing while dee is studying or compulsively organizing, etc. i wonder if they ever make fun of eddy behind his back... 🤔

in the show, i see ed being somewhat of a protector of dee. he doesn't process a lot of the things dee says or does, but cares nonetheless and sometimes anticipates things that might upset his delicate friend. whereas with double dee, he takes on an almost parental/motherly role for ed. he tries to guide and teach him, but also wishes to keep his innocence intact as much as possible. he's also sensitive to his friend's feelings and reactions, though he might not really understand them. i could see him wanting to mentor ed in things like hygiene and other basic life skills that his parents neglected. he's not very successful in his efforts though.

ed and dee do, of course, get on each other's nerves for similar reasons. ed doesn't always want to learn about quantum mechanics and the clinical quality of dee's house creeps him out, in a bad way. a little filth would really liven up the place. double dee really wishes ed would take a shower - why, he'd even provide the hypoallergenic soap! he also struggles with ed's one track thinking and tendency to (unintentionally?) disrupt and destroy. one thing i find hilarious in the show is that most of the time when dee is frustrated with ed, he calls on eddy to handle it. there's something interesting about that, but i'm not fully prepared to delve into that right now lmao. maybe it's because double dee doesn't know how to get ed to change behavior barring physical force and he's not comfortable doing that (aside from the band-aid method). but eddy'll do it! i imagine ed's response to being upset with dee would be to utterly zone out and forget about it entirely in five minutes. but he might also purposely continue to piss him off for shits n giggles. he secretly wants to see double dee's "dark side" really badly.

anyway, those are just some thoughts and hcs i had the momentary mental energy to gather in one place. nothing revolutionary, but fun to share nonetheless. thanks for reading!

#i think there's a lot more that could be said but my brain is absolutely fried as usual #i remember back in my original run being so emotionally attached to ed and being suuuuuper normal about his dynamic w/ edd #ed edd n eddy #eene #text

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noahl-art · 28 days

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Oh darling, you see when you shared the artworks stacked it's very clear it wasn't traced because the lines don't line up. The match ain't mathing. And oh wow you work in publishing. Rah rah rah for you I guess. You too need to get over the ego and stop trying to act like you know everything. Real artists do this shit all the time. Do you know how many books I have read that's the same fucking plot but different names and towns? 🙄 You clearly don't know how much of this actually happens then do ya? Pick up a book, visit a museum, you'll see. Don't wanna do that? Turn on a TV the same shit happens in movies and TV. Same with music. Hmmm it's like you really aren't as smart as you thing. Go touch some grass.

Oh my sweet sweet love, what a shame you don't have eyes trained enough to see the problem 🥰See every lines are the same. Changing the slightest one of the part of the pose won't change the fact that the rest is traced. 😁... would I even dare to say BADLY traced because the changes makes it a bit bad anatomically speaking.

You know that people doing bad things... doesn't mean it's right and should be done 🙃 Crazy right?? And truly I know how much it happens because I work hands in hands with the legal team from where I work, which has taken done quite a lot of counterfeits of our books 🥰 But truly I don't know what I'm talking about as a publisher. Yeah... I work as a graphic designer but I'm also in charge of publishing and working on making said books, and everything that happens after... Oh what a surprise 🤭 But please try and educate me on authors right and intellectual property 😊 Sorry can't hear you over my very much inflated ego that has me not be able to go through doors without announcing my name in a song. Because truly pointing out that it is wrong and that in my field you could get in trouble makes me so egoistical. And it will actually shock you soooo much... but I'm not against tracing as a form of... TRAINING! ✨I even quite actually encourage to reference artist you like and admire and trace over complex objects to understand them better! Look here is the moodboard I always use because those are artists that inspire me a lot. It is something I always have up on my desktop whenever I work because it helps me remind me what I like about their art and the way they approach things. This is referencing. Which is one of the best thing you can do to grow as an artist. Understanding and taking notes on why you are drawn to someone's art will help you apply some of the techniques and elements to your own things and make them your own by applying your own touch and sensibility. (if you're interested I can give you all the names of the artists of course 😊)

And here is me tracing over a screenshot of the movie Last Days by Gus Van Sant (2005) to train my anatomy skills. (yes the dude is peeing don't mind it, he had very defined scapulas which were very interesting)

See the difference yet? I'm actually using my brain to learn from things. I don't trace mindlessly. I see where the bones and muscles should be from points on the skin, mark them, and from there build where the muscle probably are because I learned where they begin/end how they move and why 😘 Also I'm very rusty and know that it isn't that good (which is why I'm training) so do mind me... oh yeah right I forgot you're not even able to tell apart something traced and inspired, nevermind then. I also did that with real live modeling if you're wondering, so not always tracing 😘 Also these are things that I keep PRIVATE and DON'T POST. And even less PROFIT OF. And if I were to want to post this kinds of things online (which I would definitely not because I don' trace over the art per said personally and will prefer to take notes), I would first go ask the artist to get their permission and if they said yes (and only if they said yes) I would then credit them correctly. And never pass it as my own creation. I really thought a good part of the internet saw the hbomberguy video and took notes that plagiarism really isn't good... guess not then. Also I touch plenty of grass daily thanks to my gardening thanks for worrying ❤️✨ I'm trying to plant basil again this year, hope it won't die like last time 🌱

Have a lovely night anon ❤️

#you did this to yourself #i warned you #i'm kind and understanding until you come anonymously trying to teach me stuff that I've spent almost half of my life working on #also don't try to be sassy with me #nono answers #and nono is pissed off 😊

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ancientgoddessofegypt · 3 months

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LIGHTS, CAMERAS, ACTION - BEING YOUR MOST MAGNETIC, PHOTOGENIC SELF ; MANIFESTATION 101

Hey ! So I wanted to share my thoughts on being more magnetic with your persona and growing into your most photogenic self. As someone who didn't like taking pictures, and was always stuck with the same selfie pics being shot from my left angle I had decided to put myself into different boxes until I eventually stuck my foot out of them. At some point, I felt rather estranged to photography, not liking how I looked or felt and my my my did it show on camera. I had a vision of me being my most picturesque, most striking, beautiful self, and knew that if my mind could see it then it meant it we're possible. And I mean, to be honest, I had done it so many times before I was just unaware of it. And for me, even when your unaware of it the potential is there, it just needs more work.

So now, I'm ready to share what I've learned with obtaining a more photogenic persona. If you've had dreams of being a supermodel, a star or someone who just likes to be photographed a lot then this is for you. I'll try to make this super sweet and easy for you guys and give some tips on how to manifest your best photogenic self.

First tip : Start small. Get that camera phone and start taking pictures from unusual angles.

Sometimes it hurts to see ourselves in a way that doesnt match the vision we see for ourselves and thats okay. It takes work and practice but don't give up..

Now if you didn't like some of the pictures, what emotion do you feel? Shame? embarassed? cringey? I ask because our emotions play heavily into our reflection, and a lot of how you feel can reflect back to you on the photo.

When you're looking straight into the mirror, you gotta feel it. Feel allll of it. And leave no crumbs.

If you're not use to feeling like your 'that girl' then baby you gotta make it that way. I aint never said it would be easy, but I never said it could get difficult. Be a star! DONT BE AFRAID TO SHIT ON EM!!!!

Now when focusing on trying to manifest this desire, who are some super models, ig babes, or people who inspire you to be more photogenic look like? Vision boards are a great way to create a space for your vision to come to light because the focus is on the energy and less on the individual of liking.

When meditating on your desire, affirmations around photoshoots, feeling beautiful, and being a model work to the t. It's even best to program your mind into believing them while doing the thing.

So when your practicing, challenge your mind while focusing on some new poses. Your mind will begin to follow divine instruction through intuitive based thinking and you'll flow deeper into the subject at hand. No need to control every aspect, this is simply watering a plant. We got to plant the seed just to see it through babies.

Play with yourself, baby you gotta have fun! I wan't yall to shake off those insecurities because I promise you the roots of them aren't from your own tree. So weed them out and start all over. You deserve to see yourself in a new, beautiful light. This is your world, we just livin' in it.

It all starts off with the poses, make them worth it! Whenever you feel uncomfortable thats when you keep going because THAT'S what starts this train up until we get ready to go into the finish line. Like I said before, this doesn't come easy if you're not use to allowing yourself to freely pose and feeling good as hell while doing it.

You manifest it by forcing yourself into this new formation. When you look into the camera, you need to feel that you are the supermodel of the moment. Even if it doesn't feel real, even if you have to fight with yourself. The thing is. We are born with a certain ability to manifest the desires of our reality. Everything can be ours, if you just see it through.

Mirror Magic should be one of the main focus for practicing and developing your skill. Because the camera is reflecting back to you what you see. You ever took a picture of yourself and just hated it, but other people did? It starts with how your mind reacts to certain things based of emotion. So when I say try focusing on poses and doing affirmations in the mirror I want you to appreciate your beauty and also understand that your beauty is indescribable and can't be duplicated. I want more of y'all to understand that your thoughts can sometimes play tricks on you... so if you feel like you're not photogenic than your commiting to downplaying yourself and thats the lowest frequency to be on. You get what I mean?

Being confident puts you in a neutral/higher frequency than most, so you always gotta stand ten toes on your magic, your beauty, your essence, and your light. I hope this message can help a babe be her most photogenic self. Have fun, and be yourself! Bye babies.

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x-authorship-x · 1 year

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Hey hey!! I was wondering if you could tell me some of your headcanons/ideas/details/etc for your fav characters? I've been really stressed lately and seeing people talk about characters they adore give the best good vibes :]

Hey, anon!

I'm sorry things have been stressful for you 🥺 I hope things work out and calm down soon!

(honestly this is ironic though because I've also been stressed beyond belief hahahaha-)

I was wracking my brains trying to think of who I could talk about for a bit before... I hit me! Who do I always bring in but I rarely get the chance to really dig deep into as a character?

Inoichi!

I'll just... ramble 🥰

I initially picked Inoichi, name-dropped as Shisui's sensei in In the Eye of the Beholder, because I had seen quite a few fics that centred around Shikaku from that generation and I knew I wanted someone different. He's also very distinct from the Uchiha, he's respectable, with talents that worked really well with Shisui's, and in a position of power that could act as a counterbalance to the status of the Uchiha/Police etc. Inoichi's exact role in T&I didn't matter much in Eye because he was a minimal mention, past tense, and only really served to contextualize Shisui's own skill.

When I got to writing HOPE AU, starting with No Tomorrow, things became much clearer.

Inoichi hadn't ever really factored in with me, beyond a vague disbelief that he'd let Ino get away with not training and going on a stupid diet in canon, but he'd been growing on me. Something about his soothing presence compared to Shisui's more hectic, quick action, just clicked and the pieces came together. Whilst Itachi & Shisui work because Shisui is a kind of twisted martyr/role model who Itachi, quieter and tragic in a slightly different way, always looked up to (and the world went to shit for real when Shisui left Itachi to scramble with the fragments), Shisui gets to have his own guiding force with Inoichi.

Inoichi, ironically, is something of a moral compass and a foundation for all of my stories. Whilst Shisui is the protagonist and narrator, more often than not, he's also tormented and unreliable in his perspective, for all he tries. Inoichi, however, is much more grounded. This is because I wanted Inoichi to be the remedy, in a way, to Shisui's mania and trauma and very visceral POV.

Example: Shisui wanted to martyr himself for the village, putting everyone's lives above his own... So that his dream of peace could continue in a way that was very specifically his. Inoichi, in turn, wants to rid the village of corruption, so taking down Danzo is more important than his own safety and position... Because he wants to keep his family, especially Shisui, safe.

Again, this is all ironic because Inoichi is never detached or clinical when things are connected to Shisui yet you can still trust him, as a reader, to 'keep a lid' on things. What makes this so delicious to me is that most of Shisui's methods and coping mechanisms... are directly copied from Inoichi. Shisui manipulates people like Inoichi taught him to, he takes stock, he manipulates his Clan in a way that is very distinct from other Uchiha (like Mikoto) because it's actually Inoichi's influence.

Even when I'm placing them as counterparts, they are symmetrical. Shisui is sobbing and breaking down and lashing out? Inoichi is soothing him... Whilst also feeling that grief and fear and pain. He's really so emotional, but he is able to put it into his professionalism because he desperately wants to help; it's a kind of selfish selflessness that Shisui also uses a lot, putting everyone before himself... But in the direction of his own goals.

And then! Then we get this glorious imagery! Sun and mood, dark and light! Summer and winter! Completely reversed!

Sun and Moon? Aesthetically, Shisui is dark and pale, he (cba for real quote) thinks a true Shinobi is faceless in the darkness for the betterment of society... But he undeniably burns brighter than the sun. Inoichi is golden hair and sea blue eyes and nurturing care, he has a wife with a flower shop and a nine-to-five, a clan and a family, he doesn't go on bloody missions from home... But he is most definitely the moon in this situation, serene and controlling and vigilant.

Summer and winter! Idk how to tell you that I pose Shisui in monochrome lighting so much not just because it's dramatic and he looks great, it's about the brutality and the crisp lines, it's about the survival and the burning heat inside with coldness in action... But, again, Shisui burns, he flourishes given warmth and nurturing, he withstands the heat, he basks in the sun, he melts and unwinds... Inoichi is winter because he is so bitingly cold in anger, he is eyes like ice and arguments that you can't fight against and chakra that is refreshing but can turn so bitter in an instant.

Dark and light? Again, Shisui appears dark, he literally works in Black Ops, but he has a spark to him - literally, with his nature, his Susanoo, his glowing Dojutsu - that draws others like moths to a flame and, despite everything, he is always searching for goodness. He wants peace, he does not revel in the gore, he is deeply empathetic to foreign Shinobi. Inoichi, like I said, is golden and he upholds the laws, he does wellness checks on Shinobi and intervenes on their behalf, he takes his subordinates and his superiors to task, he wanted to change the world with Minato... But he is the torturer of the Leaf, he has so many secrets that they're locked behind a hidden vault, he tears apart minds and he collects evidence and he stews on his information, plotting.

So far I've spoken mostly about Inoichi alongside Shisui, which is understandable because they are THE duo of the whole series.

But what about Inoichi alone?

He might've lived longer than most characters, much longer than Shisui, but we never got much to work with so I pretty much went by vibes and rolled with it.

First things first- contextualising his abilities. Now, some fic writers might be okay with the bullshit that is Kishi's non-existent timeline but I wasn't and neither am I the kind of person who can just willfully imagine that somehow we went from feudal energy with the Founders to video games with B[redacted]'s generation. Especially not when I'd reworked the timeline so that we're around year 64 when Shisui and Danzo's drama goes down. So, with that in mind, I had to question how much legitimate psychological study had been done in this time. I tried to bracket it by generation, but also I only have a vague sociological understanding of the field of Psychology and I really can't afford the time - or have the will - to dig enough into that to make Inoichi a psychologist by our modern standards. Welcome to camp: How To Bullshit Inoichi!

Now I don't know a lot about psych but I have studied nationalism so the propaganda side of things was much more fun haha. Inoichi's job became as much as a safeguarding measure for the state as much as it was about the actual Shinobi. Inoichi's whole role in the village, and therefore his very core sense of purpose, is to keep the Shinobi forces 'in line'. The imagery of the tree filled with leaves, the teamwork and will of fire, the obedience and feral loyalty and martyrdom might have been plastered across every surface and shoved down every orifice by the village as a whole but it's Inoichi who ensures that it sticks. If someone is unfit for a job, it'll be influenced by this loyalty, if someone is losing faith in the field then it's just as a much of a red flag as self-sabotage or a mental break.

It's a game, all of it, and the Hokage is actually on the board for this one; this shaped the kind of person Inoichi has been for most of his life, this overlap between individuals and the big picture.

Inoichi comes from a Clan who have notorious mental techniques, who are allied with a Clan that makes alternative medicine, controls shadows and have scary intelligence, as well as a Clan that is so well-connected across the continent that they may as well be the mafia, that are brutally strong even without the augmentation, and who have an extremely welcoming clan culture. Where do you situate yourself in this?

I think it's quite telling that, whenever I talk about Inoichi, it's generally how he reflects and manages the different personalities around him.

Inoichi is an only child - Yua's parents are actually his cousins, 'niece' is sentimental, so yes her grandfather was the Uncle mentioned below - and his mother died when he was young. His father Inojou, we know (I say, like I didn't write this lmao), was both Clan Head and Head of T&I before Inoichi inherited these roles. Inojou took on the Department under Tobirama's tenure (Tobirama died when Inoichi was seven).

The Nidaime was dead, Inoichi was soon to graduate, and being the best Yamanaka Heir was all about being the best Shinobi possible. For most kids, that would be fighting. For a Yamanaka? It's about the power and control. From an adult? Masterful, upsetting, discomforting. From a prepubescent child? Fucking horrifying and possibly overly cruel before Inoichi worked out how to walk the line. Yikes.

So the household, it's immediately clear, was one that was cold, vacant, and work-obsessed. Inoichi's softest memory as a child were the rabbits his mother kept when he was a very small child, before she died. That's it. Inoichi, as I've mentioned before, was an extremely manipulative child. Why? Nurture and nature, he was alone with a father who lived and breathed his work and clan history, his playmates were Chouza and Shikaku (who, some of you might notice, I've really leaned into a slightly more dangerous interpretation of him✨) and the world seemed to be falling apart around them.

As a teen, going through the second war when Konoha was the one committing all those atrocities in Rain Country (traumatising Konan and the boys), when the Sannin were just getting their feet on that pedestal... Inoichi is only falling deeper into this mentality that Konoha was cultivating within him. He'd be working at his father's elbow in the middle of wartime, when ethics just don't exist, and we've already had mention from Inoichi before about some atrocities his own Uncle committed in the first war in the name of 'science'. Shisui's education was softened by Inoichi's care for him; Inoichi never got anything like that from his own father, their relationship was like playing 3D chess nonstop, including every little thing. Informative, yeah, but not comforting or restful.

Then we get the big turning point; Inojou's death. Inojou, unlike most character deaths in Narutoverse, didn't pop his clogs in a violent skirmish in the field but, rather, in his own domain; a Mindwalk.

Can we just appreciate the horror and trauma that Inoichi's only close family, as well as the person he'd learned everything from,... died from the technique that was supposed to ensure his absolute control? Inojou Mindwalks an assassin, the assassin's mental safeguarding triggers a suicide Jutsu, and it manages to take Inojou with it, rendering his body literally brain-dead. Mic drop

This was in wartime. Inoichi is completely alone in the world, his clan a distant but pressing responsibility, his teammates and friends like Chouza, Shikaku, and Minato are just barely grown men in their own right, with their own problems and none of them have inherited power like this yet. They keep going out to the front lines; Inoichi has to stay right there and, somehow, immediately pick up where his father left off. Using the very techniques that killed Inojou.

Inoichi goes home, to his big empty Clan Head House, his friends far away, and gets dangerously drunk and, in his own words, "howled like a deranged soul, barely human." 🥹 He was not fucking okay.

This goes on for.... gah, maybe a few months before Shisui's Genin Team are killed and Inoichi, stressed to his eyeballs and absolutely not in a position for a student let alone a pet-project like 'keep the newest, youngest Mangekyou sane so we can use him', is not ready.

I've written this scene before (Tomorrowland), Inoichi's impatience frustration bleeding into curiosity and, eventually, empathy. He's too stubborn to give up and then he gets so invested.

This another defining moment in Inoichi's character. He's been raised to be manipulative to unmatched levels. Shikaku recognises it in him, it's how they align, and Chouza is self-assured enough and welcoming enough to know exactly what Inoichi and Shikaku are like and survive - in fact, flourish - whilst embracing them.

Inoichi doesn't think he's cut out to be a tutor, let alone a sensei. I think, pretty much from the get-go it was inevitable that they'd be family. They... recognised something in the other. For all my parallel imagery earlier, the harmony between them is even stronger; morally and ethnically suspect specialities, gentle words and hard action, big pictures with some extremely precious few loved ones.

Inoichi spent a fortnight visiting Shisui's hospital room, the little Genin struck mute by guilt and grief, and talked about anything he could think of. He spoke about guilt on missions, breaking his leg from mistaken arrogance and realising he'd put his team at risk, he opened up about the few memories he had of his mother, he tries to coax Shisui into opening to him... By opening himself up first. Just talking to Shisui about food makes him go home and cook his first square meal in weeks!

Inoichi becomes much more human again.

Inoichi's T&I is different from the versions that came before. Inoichi's Clan is different as well. It was through trying to help Shisui actually heal, not just function as a weapon, that taught Inoichi how to heal and open himself. Working with Shisui's Mangekyou and his Uchiha techniques helped Inoichi adapt his own Clan Jutsu, he implemented safeguarding against what happened to his father, learning how to torture and interrogate people with his words and body language instead of just clan techniques, how manipulation can be used to genuinely help people. Do you think Inojou was the closest thing Konoha had to a psychologist too? Nope, Inoichi induced that side of things too

This also marks a time in Inoichi's life when he's involved with Minato's Hokage campaign, to the extent where Kushina gifts him some rare sealing paper and helps him install a secret reinforced vault in his office 🤭 Inoichi also started reading parenting books to help with Shisui lol

Inoichi married a civilian woman who had little interest in Shinobi affairs, with skills that don't compliment the Yamanaka in that sense but, rather, do in the spirit of them. Sora is snarky and mischievous and tender and empathetic, she brings out the best in Inoichi, as he does with her, and they are matched because they chose each other and grew together to make it work.

Inoichi hasn't completely transformed. You'll notice that there's always a line between him and Shisui's friends, we don't get a clear insight into the dynamic between Mikoto and Inoichi (they exist in the same space when shit hits the fan with Danzo and that's about it), and you never see Sora's side of the family. Inoichi is a taskmaster with his staff, he is breathtakingly cruel to those in his cells, and he could barely hold himself back from fucking up Kisame's mind! Shisui is his only 'therapy' client. Just wait and see what else unfolds in the series gah!

I just really love Inoichi, i think the way he's approached this part of his life where he is defending and raising his children, after the way he grew up, is just so endlessly fascinating. The kind of fucked up moral compass he has, which because of both his role in Shisui's (protagonist) life and the way his say-so shapes the village, became like... the centre of right and wrong in the story, his particular brand of loyalty and paranoia, the contrast of his wonderful heart and his terrible abilities...

I just really love Inoichi! 🥰

Enjoy, Anon! Hope things get better soon~

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crybabyhearts · 5 months

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Think outside a the box this Holiday Season! Who needs socks for their cold feet, or a new video game ta keep kids happy? When you've got--

Me!

Introducin some terms an conditions-- I am here in the Tumblr multiverse market ta play with fate!

So say goodbye ta basic sales, an say hello ta fast service mail!

Do ya want a bottle a liquid youth for your grandma? How about a checkbook that dont run out?

Need help crammin for exams? With my help you can perfectly memorize everythin you just read for up ta 3 years time! Oh my!

Further Information an Rates Below! ♠

All transactions an trades made on Tumblr will follow a "Thou Shall do No Harm" business model. While Salut Inc is the property of Hell, we believe in Good Business.

This means that there will be no intent ta harm, maim, or kill. Some may see the word "Demon" or "Nightmare" an think that we want nothin but cruelty. But in fact, we simply want happy clientele!

An how you'll be happy can be shaped by you! With our new an improved flexible payment system!

♠ CASH PAYMENTS ﹃

All potential clients are more than welcome to, an even encouraged, to choose this plan! Cash (digital or otherwise) is the easiest way ta get your promised wishes without havin to worry about payments later down the line! All wishes come with their own rates an conditions. Choosin this payment method will lock you into a fixed rate calculated at the time of wish makin. No payments are required prior to delivery or exchange- givin you a window of time ta cancel the transaction if you so please! But I don't know why you'd want to!

♠ EXCHANGES & TRADES ﹃

Do you have something extraordinary on your hands? Somethin you could live without but would make others go "WOAH!"? Then you've got yourself a trade! No deposits, payments, or otherwise! We are always in the market for the freaky shit the multiverse can crap out! Ain't nothin sell better than somethin no one's ever seen before! All ya hafta do is match your request with an item, skill, or potential working contract a equal value! Easy as PIE!

♠ FAVORS ﹃

When you hear "favor" you usually think "I'm screwed.", but I am HAPPY ta let ya know that, that? Ain't the case! Favors are a special kind a currency, somethin ta build trust with. An I don't believe in fuckin up my flow. SO let's get inta em, shall we? ♠ Endless Checkbook - Endless Checkbooks come with a steady favor of Promotion, as every check is Salut Inc branded. ♠ Three Years of Crystal Clear Memory - This can include favors such as; The Use of Your Voice*, An Extra Tax Taken from Your Income, Promotion, etc! *When agreein to the conditions of Salut Inc usin your voice you are hereby consentin ta the followin examples: marketin lines on the radio, covers of songs, advertising campaigns, and more! ♠ A Bottle of Liquid Youth - Can I ask you a favor? Will you sign your soul away ta me so this bottle a youth can find its way to your loved ones lips? Now I'm sure this one sounds like a doozey! But you hafta consider the weight a life. Other RATES apply! (Soul favors do not increase the risk of death, or expedite it. Soul favors are simply that, a favor. Once the signed dies (a death without ANY second party involvement, even manipulation an hirin) their soul will simply be that of Salut Inc's jurisdiction, an will result in a specified Hellscape (Ours).)

SIDENOTE!!

Raph's been on my ass about takin breaks an makin friends. So bein my friend could count as a sort a favor. But you've gotta play the part! ;* Parties, board room bitchin an ventin, an hangovers galore!

That should be most things important or another! Business Inquiries @ IM's.

#an easier rundown for all you folks who get cold feet #mad ads #crybabyhearts #((this post is SO long and im so sorry))#((anyone that reads all of this i love and appreciate you SO much))#((its an insane amount of text imo))

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clowngames · 22 days

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i’m a game dev student at an art school and i’ve been really struggling with finding my niche…. i LOVE being a environment/modeler/texture artist, and i want to have more skills in the design/tech side… but i’ve been struggling really hard with learning unreal engine 5 for my classes. do you have any experience in unreal5 blueprinting or just anything more on the tech side? i would appreciate some advice to get through these tough college quarters :’D

Whenever someone entering gamedev on the programmer side is struggling to figure it out, there are generally two reasons for this.

The first is that they're struggling to get into the programmer mindset. Blueprints try to bridge the gap, but code doesn't work like english. It doesn't even work like the human brain. When we think or talk we take shortcuts to formulate or convey ideas because we can trust that when it comes time to interpret those ideas another person (or ourselves in the future) will fill in those gaps. This is so intuitive to us that we don't even notice that there are gaps. Programming forces you to become aware of how many gaps there are and fill them, and quite frankly it's a humbling experience.

I'm probably not saying anything you don't already know, but I want to emphasize that the way coding works is unintuitive to most people and we need to retrain our way of thinking to get good at it. This is unfortunately not a fast process. It's very common especially for new programmers (though I'm not immune even now) to go "I'm a fucking idiot, I'm a fucking idiot, I'm a fucking--I'M A GENIUS" because of the cycle of shit not working for stupid reasons and then finally working.

The second problem is that they're unfamiliar with (and overwhelmed by) the library they're working with.

A "library" in a programming context is typically collection of functions and objects you can import into a project, but each game engine has its own built in libraries which the engines are built around. These are the verbs and nouns that aren't built into, for example, C++, but have been added by Unreal Engine to make it easier to make games.

The better the game engine, the larger the library. Unfortunately, the larger the library the more overwhelming it is because that's a lot of shit to learn.

In your case anon the "library" would refer to the different kinds of nodes you can add to the blueprint. When you're new to it, even an expert Unity dev will struggle in Unreal because they don't know what their options are to accomplish things.

Now the reason I break down the new-programmer hurdles into two distinct problems is because they often seem like one problem, which can make it hard to solve. Both get better with experience so sometimes slamming your head against a wall is a viable way to get through them, but it's not the best.

If you think your main issue is the first problem, you can work on it through "exercise." This can be in the form of taking programming courses on codecademy (I'd recommend C++ since you're using Unreal, though C# isn't a bad choice) or by playing a game by Zachtronics like Infinifactory or Opus Magnum. These games are "programming puzzle games" and I can personally attest to having gotten better at Infinifactory as I got better at programming.

If you think it's the second problem, the biggest solvent is curiosity. When I get into a new engine, I spend a bit of time learning how it works and then immediately try and figure out how to do dumb shit in it. I made an incremental game in RPG Maker just to see if I could. It wasn't good, but it was a fun educational experience. Sometimes I'll come across a function I don't understand, and I'll open the engine's manual and read about the function and use that as a jumping off point to dive into similar functions.

It doesn't feel good for my advice to be "read the manual" but genuinely there's a point where you realize that you're reading the manual instead of watching youtube videos and it's like, holy shit I'm a real programmer. It's a sign that you're getting comfortable enough in the role that you're learning what questions to ask to figure out what you need to know (youtube is still a great resource of course).

All of that said though, if your aim is to be an environment artist I think it's okay to be bad at programming. Survive college, of course, but if you're in a team with a dedicated programmer (which you will be if you are not the programmer) then all you need is to be able to understand how to communicate with the programmer. It's really beneficial to know enough about the fundamentals of what you're working in to know what info the programmer needs from you and what info you need from them, but you don't have to be good at it to do that!

#asks #gamedev #I hope this advice is useful!

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agbpaints · 1 year

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2022, A year in minis

Well we're almost at the new year so I decided to drag everything I've painted out of its many boxes and lay it out to see what I've done. Overall I think this is the most productive year of painting I've had yet, with 123 figures finished in total. I crossed some big milestones with my admech, surpassing 1,000 and 1,500 pts of total painted models. I also started collecting necrons, started collecting battletech, and finished the last few stragglers from my cursed city box. My speed at painting increased this year considerably and I've definitely improved my confidence in my own skills- I've started using basic freehand and weathering techniques on my models and my airbrush is becoming a significantly more used tool even if my motor coordination isn't good enough for it to be a tool for anything more than monocolor base coats.

My favorite 2022 projects

Scrap-mech. Equal parts infuriating and awesome. Cawdor bodies have some of the jankiest connection points I've ever seen but their aesthetic is top notch and slots right into admech. This was the first project I did using citadel contrast paints, and while I don't think they're the one stop replacement for normal techniques they were billed as they work fantastically as like an 'extra thicc' wash.

Battletech. I really did not expect to have as much fun as I did with these big stompy murder bots. The models are appropriately chunky and gave me a lot of practice with panel lining. I also discovered how much fun flocking is!

Vargskyr: One of my favorite monsters that I've painted and my absolute most favorite piece from cursed city. I had a lot of fun getting the hair to blend in with the skin on this big chunky boy.

Tech-wraith Kitbash. This was an idea that came like a bolt from the blue while I was buying discount models that went from notion to build to done in less than 3 days. It's mostly bits and pieces from a kataphron kit welded into a cairn wraith but I'm super proud of it.

Flayed One Kitbashes. Flayed Ones are one of my favorite necron things period and after my initial spooktober idea hit a roadblock I fell into my backup plan, a flayer killteam. The lord is probably my favorite model I built out of the mix- he's mostly a primaris intercessor mashed together with an old warrior sprue.

Goals for 2023

Pile of shame busting: holy shit do I still have a lot of bare plastic to get rid of. My biggest goals for next year are going to be finishing my warcry and infinity starters that I've left to molder in their boxes and building/painting the rest of my admech backlog. In total I believe this is about 60 models

Spooktober project: last year I recieved a Seraptek heavy construct second hand that's been hiding in a box in my attic ever since. After reading twice dead king I've decided to make it the Seraptek from That Scene (you know the one) but life and the overwhelming size of the project meant I wussed out for spooktober this year. With another year of experience and time to plan ahead, it's gonna happen this time.

Advanced techniques: I've been experimenting recently with non-metalic metal and its absolutely nerd sniped me. I suck at it, but I see a glimmer of something I could get better at that I'm gonna try to claw towards. I'd also like yo try messing around more with various blending techniques in general.

Model photography: so far all of my models have had their photos taken using a desk lamp, a piece of calligraphy paper, and the phone camera on my Samsung. They're OK but I want to devote some time and resources into upgrading my kit and skills here.

#hobby #mini painting #miniatures #warhammer #wh40k #warhammer 40k #admech #necrontyr #adeptus mechanicus #battletech #year in review #2022 #goals for 2023

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northwest-cryptid · 2 months

Text

I don't think people fully understand how freeing it is to make 3D models for VR, I know this is gonna sound stupid to a lot of people (especially those who haven't experienced good VR or VR at all) but there really is this kind of fun and freeing sense of self in being able to self realize your own ideal image and see it come to life without needing the aid of like paying someone a ton of money to do something you could do if you just sat down to learn it.

I'm not gonna shit on anyone who gets commissions, or the people commissioning them. If you have more money than time or something sure it makes sense. However as someone with no money and too much time it's freeing to be able to learn a new skill and put it to use immediately.

I am working on making an avatar for my good friend Nea and the fact it's recognizably Nea makes me really happy. It's going to be weird to see someone else walking around in the digital flesh I made for them.

I've still got some work to do on it, but I'm very happy with it so far.

Meanwhile I've been finally putting together a few Aki models, some of which are literally using High Entia wings, the very same models used by the individuals Aki was inspired by, and there is something really weirdly just I don't know how to explain it because like "emotional" isn't accurate because that's way too extreme but "cool" kinda undersells it. It's some kind of emotion to literally use an avatar that contains parts of the very entities that inspired the design. It doesn't even feel cheap or lame, looking at my wings and going "oh shit these are their wings and now they're MY wings?" Just kinda hits different.

I cannot tell you how much I'm fucking ascending, my friends.

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burning-fcols · 6 months

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Hands squish, or at least try to squish the robot's cheeks. It wasn't the same as the real deal, but god damn if Mammon wasn't proud enough to have them tethered to his side. "You are my pride & joy, Fizzie. If I can't have the real thing, at least I have you to keep me company, baby boy." ( dhejfhdjkfjld; Imma crawl under a rock xD - Mammon for RoboFizz ) - ✧ ˖ ˙ 「 @Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴᴀʙʟᴇᴍᴜꜱᴇꜱ 」 ˙ ˖ ✧

「 ☆ 」 Robo Fizzarolli Beau is a dime-a-dozen in Hell… One of the many replicas of, ironically, the most unique Imp to grace the horrid landscape. But amongst the common, he’s found a spot of honor. Truly only the most EXCEPTIONAL of machines would be entrusted with entertaining the masses— much like the original Fizz —let alone Mammon, instead of getting sold off to whatever sad horny freak scrounged up enough cash to afford a RoboFizz. At least, that’s the lie Beau wishes he could believe.

Unfortunately, he’s too smart to overlook his shoddy repair-work ( glitching and sparking as usual; although one would never guess he’d been set on fire thanks to Mammon’s focus on appearances ) or the fact that ANY RoboFizz could have been assigned to LooLoo Land. He just happened to be the one shipped off to the nightmare-inducing cash grab. Still, there’s something to be said for keeping the crowd enamored with him for as long as he has. Avoiding being upgraded by a shinier specimen HAS to be proof of his skill and not merely a matter of no one giving an actual shit about keeping the amusement park up to date…

Yeah, he wishes he could believe that pretty lie too.

But, there’s one flaw in logic that keeps Beau’s pride intact. No matter what Hell sees fit to throw at him, no amount of fire or snotty kids or horny parents can overshadow that LooLoo Land isn’t his only gig. For some unfathomable reason, Mammon has taken quite the shine to him. Spiriting him away from the theme park when time allows— and it ALWAYS does when Mammon is the one knocking —to cozy up to the Deadly Sin like his own personal playmate. With any model of RoboFizz at his disposal, there must be a reason Mammon keeps wasting his time with an outdated replica like him.

Beau just can’t fathom WHAT that reason is.

❝ And what de-elightful company it is~ ❞ Beau obediently playfully replies to Mammon’s usual flavor of praise. An addictive mixture of ego-stroking and reality, reminding Beau of where he is while also making it clear who Mammon would RATHER have instead. Despite the crash that is bound to come, Beau craves the high regardless. Mammon's attention, his hands upon his squished face— not quite as soft as newer models or the real thing, but remarkable nonetheless —more exciting than the loudest of applause. Loudly purring, stuttering and sparking from deep within his chest, Beau leans forward into Mammon's touch.

❝ I don't know why a-a-anyone would pass up an opportu-unity like this. Especially for some overgrown chicken. ❞ Beau jokes with a mocking laugh, eager to tear down Asmodeus to help inflate Mammon's already massive ego. It's not like anything he says is going to get out to the other Deadly Sin... and even if it did, the King of Lust has more important things to care about than the meager opinion of a sex bot. ❝ I'd choose Big Daddy over that pompous Ho-ot Wing ANY day~ ❞ Nickname is suggestively growled with a wiggle of his eyebrows, before the robotic replica jokingly sticks out his tongue with a laugh in a mimicry of Fizz. 「 ☆ 」

#(( *sprays Beau for calling mammon 'Big Daddy' rip* dfjgnjkdg ))#burning-fcols #⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ɪ ᴅᴏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴜʟʟꜱʜɪᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴇɪɢʜᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ᴀ ᴡᴇᴇᴋ ❞ ¦ 「 Robo Fizz IC 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ꜱᴘᴏᴛʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴏɴ ᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ’ᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴛᴏ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ ❞ ◌ ᴍᴀɪɴ ¦ 「 Robo Fizz 」#questionablemuses #⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ɪᴛ’ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇxᴘʟᴏɪᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ❞ ¦ 「 Mammon 」#♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴡʜʏ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴋɪꜱꜱ ᴍᴇ; ɪ’ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ʜᴀʟꜰ ᴀꜱ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛʏ ❞ ¦ 「 Robo Fizz and Mammon 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ꜱᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪꜰ ɪ ᴍɪꜱʙᴇʜᴀᴠᴇ? ɪᴛ’ꜱ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏʙᴏᴅʏ ᴄʀᴀᴠᴇꜱ ❞ ¦ 「 Answer 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇʙᴏᴅʏ ɢᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀɪᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ ʟᴏɴɢ— ❞ ¦ 「 Queue 」

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alectoperdita · 1 year

Note

What creative hobbies does your interpretation of Joey and Kaiba (in general) have or do? Like for example, drawing, creative writing, 3D modelling, sculpting, woodworking, etc

I do remember reading one of your chapters from the gundam crossover series where joey did sketches lol

I don't think I really have a consistent view of creative hobbies for these two. In fact I don't seem to write a lot about them having creative hobbies unless it's directly plot relevant. Ironic, given 90% of my life outside of work revolves around my creative hobby.

Canonically in the manga, Jounouchi is mentioned as enjoying plamos. Which makes a lot of sense to me that he likes making stuff with your hand. It's also hard to have a lot of creative hobbies when growing up poor. So I can see Jounouchi wanting to make a lot of stuff like plamos and kits, but that shit gets expensive fast if you do the whole painting bit too. One of the pleasures of growing up and making your own money for Jounouchi will be getting to explore those hobbies he might have always wanted to but couldn't because of financial reason. That opens the door to related hobbies like painting/sculpting/woodworking.

(Related, I love making Jounouchi a carpenter. I think it's an excellent trade for him to pick up, giving him both room to grow and decent financial security).

Conversely, traditional sketch art/doodling is relatively inexpensive and a much lower barrier to entry re: tools. So that's why I think drawing/sketching is a nice hobby that Jounouchi could pick up and enjoy earlier on. In the Gundam crossover, that combination of a love for plamo and sketching definitely informed his career choice.

I think Jounouchi enjoys singing too, but he probably thinks of it less as a hobby than as a way to goof around. He's pretty good too when we take into account his Japanese VA's singing career.

Kaiba, on the other hand, lived a life of (relative) financial security. However, given how strict his education was, I dunno if he was ever given much of the mental space to explore creative hobbies. Art might have been seen a frivolous waste of time within his home schooled education. The one exception to that might be music. I can see Gozaburo insisting on Kaiba learning an instrument or two. But at that point it's more about developing a skill set to show off (and maybe me projecting the Asian experience of your parent forcing you to pick up an instrument because that's classically considered part of a well-rounded education in many East Asian cultures). Violin or piano are the most likely candidates here. Kaiba is good at them, because he has to be. He can't not learn it well if Gozaburo is invested in that part of his education.

How much he personally enjoys it is up for debate.

Definitely one of those things that I imagine falls quickly to the wayside once he's out from under Gozaburo's control. But that also offers opportunities for him to maybe rediscover it later in life, after his skill set had rusted a bit from lack of practice, and learn to enjoy the hobby for itself while relearning the ropes.

A lot of the creative hobbies I've written for Kaiba follow the same development model, including tea ceremony and calligraphy.

I guess that makes them both kinda comparable, because they've each lived a life of scarcity in their youths (more financial for Jounouchi, and emotional deprivation for Kaiba) that robbed them of opportunities to explore their creative sides. As they heal and grow, they can begin to explore those possibilities for themselves.

#replies #nanoseven #thanks for such a thought provoking ask #I originally thought I wouldn't have much to say but uhhh #this is longer than I first planned (like all my fics lol)#joukai asks

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exeggcute · 1 year

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seeing all these posts panicking over ai coming for their jobs was baffling me, especially seeing artists doing so, because as someone fresh out of visual arts college i felt like from everything i learned about illustration and the art market, there was very few areas, if none, that were at risk of being replaced (genuinely the only thing i can think of is visdev but only the subsections that already reward repetitive derivative artwork. artstationcore concept art etc), and by seeing some artists lose their shit over ai made me sometimes wonder if my confidence on art not being easily replaceable was naivete of a fresh new professional artist, or ignorance. and i really agree with what you said about that people who already devalued artists in the first place would be the ones to replace artists with ai, it's pretty much the conclusion i came to, it's people who already won't commission someone and choose the cheap way out, canva book covers and graphic design nephews and such. communicating something is a much more important part of illustration than just making a nice looking picture, and neural networks would need to have clarity of intent for them to be any threat to professional illustration. imagine trying to teach gestalt to a machine

I laughed at "artstation core" lol. this is an interesting perspective, thank you! I've definitely wondered if my own "these tools are kind of fucked up but they're not about to take my job" attitude was a unique to me being a writer and not a visual artist... but from what you're saying, like, maybe not.

the "canva book covers and graphic design nephews" thing def struck a chord with me because you definitely see that kind of lowest common denominator shit with writing where people either overestimate their own ability to write or think the quality doesn't matter, which yeah, I do think AI could exacerbate those lowest rungs of content, but if we're just raising the skill floor slightly to be like "if you want to be a professional writer/artist you have to be slightly better than the robots that cobble shit together" then that should not worry 95% of people.

the writing/art parallel is also interesting because in any kind of writing there's so many things going on under the hood that have to come together to make an effective piece of writing (both in terms of process that produces the writing and more subtle structural features that actually appear in it)—which certainly applies to visual art just as much if not more so. something that looks or sounds nice and something that communicates an idea effectively are often miles apart, but people who can't do either will look at something that can (sometimes) create the former and assume that it's automatically creating the latter.

and that's not even to say that I think auto-generated art or writing is inherently devoid of meaning or whatever, because I don't—were we not in a little mini culture war about it right now, I imagine that would be a less controversial statement—just that capital-c Communication is not easy. even if you're trying to do it, it's not easy!! so hitting the randomize button on a generative model until it sort of vaguely says what you want it to say seems like a lot of effort for potentially very little payoff lol

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